As Drakion continued the hunt for his prey, he suddenly felt something—a calling—and it was close. In that moment, everything around him seemed to pause. His gaze fell upon the Death Reaper, which now shone with an eerie, resplendent light.
Drakion stood amid a silence older than time, in a place where even death itself had once paused to breathe. And in that timeless stillness, he saw the truth behind the edge. He closed his eyes... in silence.
This was no blade of wrath or rage.
It did not seek, nor did it thirst for blood.
The scythe waited—always—its edge untouched by desire.
He saw it—not with his eyes, but with his soul. The Scythe Intent was not about slaughter. It was about timing, precision, and the inevitability of severance. Just as a farmer does not reap the seedling, the scythe falls only when something has truly reached its end.
It demanded no emotion. No hatred. Only clarity.
To cut only what had reached its final note.
To spare what still played its part in the symphony of fate.
Where swords clash for victory and spears seek dominion, the scythe does not chase.
And it chooses only that which is ready to fall.
Drakion now understood—it wasn’t about killing.
It was about ending what must end:
Anything incomplete could not be touched by the scythe.
It rejected indiscriminate destruction.
It demanded judgment—a higher clarity to know when to cut... and what to let fall.
The scythe is the echo at the end of all things.
It is the blade of closure, not of carnage—its strike the punctuation mark on a life, a dream, a destiny.
To wield it is not to crave death, but to accept the sacred duty of endings.
Before it swings, time stills.
And in that breathless moment, one must judge:
Is this the end... or not yet?
If it is, then let nothing stop the cut.
And he who holds the scythe... decides when.
"Cut nothing until it is ready to fall.
Then let nothing resist the fall."
It was then that Drakion realized—the scythe does not kill.
It severs all things.
Drakion gripped the Double Scythe and swung.
When the Death Reaper moved, it moved with total conviction—and with it, all of heaven and earth yielded.
His Originat shifted.
Where once his attacks were like crashing storms, now they were like falling leaves—silent, inevitable, irreversible.
In that instant, all those Drakion had been chasing were terminated.
They collapsed, their eyes unaware they had already died.
[Host has comprehended the Scythe Intent – Severance Without Mercy.
All things fade. He who holds the scythe chooses when.]
Drakion took a deep breath as he opened his eyes, his gaze falling upon the silent Death Reaper. He never thought the scythe would be this powerful. He wondered why the characters in the novel never made use of it.
"I never thought you’d comprehend the Scythe Intent so quickly," Drax’s voice rang out, breaking the silence. "The hardest weapon to understand."
"Why is it hard to comprehend?" Drakion asked, his brows raised as he turned toward Drax.
"The scythe is the weapon of the Grim Reaper. Tell me, what did you think about the Grim Reaper before? And now, after you’ve comprehended the Scythe Intent?" Drax smiled, his voice full of knowing.
"If it was before," Drakion began, "I would have thought the Grim Reaper was just a killer, someone who carves through life and enjoys death. But now... I realize that being a Grim Reaper is a duty. They ensure the termination of life, cycles, and bonds is carried out at the right time. The Grim Reaper terminates things to maintain balance and cosmic order." Drakion’s words rang with clarity.
"Now you understand what I’ve been saying. How many others possess such reasoning? None. Most have never seen the Grim Reaper, and all they know is that he comes to kill. So they choose the Scythe of Killing—which is not the right way." Drax shook his head, his expression one of disappointment.
"Well, I couldn’t have done it myself. It was because of the Death Reaper," Drakion said, smiling as he stroked the weapon in his hands.
"It was the Death Spirit that communicated through the Death Reaper. As you wielded the scythe and slaughtered your foes, you were already treading down the path of the Scythe of Killing," Drax sighed, the weight of his words settling in the air.
"It seems I owe the Death Spirit again," Drakion smiled, his thoughts drifting back to the spirit’s help. It had aided him twice: first, during his battle with Leo, and now, again.
"Check your system notifications. You’ve missed something," Drax reminded Drakion, who quickly turned his attention to the alert.
[Since Host has comprehended the Scythe Intent, all sword skills from the Sword Dragon Bloodline can now be used as Scythe Skills.]
Drakion was stunned. His jaw dropped in disbelief. "But isn’t a sword different from a scythe?"
"Yes, you’re right, but there’s something you’re not understanding. The Sword Dragon Bloodline doesn’t only comprehend the sword. It encompasses other weapons. It depends on the weapon you choose to wield," Drax explained, his words making Drakion’s mind whirl in surprise.
"You mean... the Sword Dragon Bloodline includes other weapons? Spears, sabers, and the rest?" Drakion still found this hard to believe.
"Yes, exactly. That’s why the sword skills from the Dragon Bloodline can be adapted for other weapons. However, someone with the Sword Dragon Bloodline can only choose one weapon path," Drax added, revealing more than Drakion had expected.
"Does that apply to me as well?" Drakion asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Yours is a special case. You’ll understand in time," Drax replied, his tone enigmatic.
"I’ve fallen in love with the scythe. It doesn’t matter what other weapons exist," Drakion said with a smile, continuing to stroke the Death Reaper.
"Then go marry it," Drax laughed, and Drakion joined in, the sound of their shared amusement echoing through the air.
"Well, I guess that’s enough talking. We have guests. You can all come out," Drakion called, turning his gaze to the forest that surrounded him.
Suddenly, numerous beasts—twenty in total—emerged, their cultivation levels within the Origin King Realm. But it wasn’t their cultivation that was surprising. No, it was the fact that they bore Draconic Features.
"It seems you are the aborigines of this ruin," Drakion chuckled as he observed them.
"Yes, we are. And we’re here to eliminate any humans or other race intruders," the leader replied. He stood at the Late Stage of Origin King Realm—a massive lizard, its scales shimmering like dragon hide, with horns that curved back like those of an ancient dragon.
"Oh? Are you sure that I am an intruder, one of those other races?" Drakion smiled, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he released a sliver of his Draconic Aura.
In the next instant, an enormous, undefined Draconic Aura descended upon the beasts. They froze, unable to move, as if the very air around them had been solidified. The aura lingered for a brief moment before dissipating, leaving them stunned and immobilized.
"Well, as you can see, I am not one of them," Drakion said, his smile growing.
The beasts stared at him, shock and disbelief etched across their faces. They had never felt such power, such a raw, primal force.
"Can I go?" Drakion’s voice pierced through their reverie, bringing them back to reality.
Reluctantly, they parted, creating a pathway for him. Drakion slung the Death Reaper over his back as he walked between them. Now that he was a certified scythe user, there was no need to hide his weapon any longer.
"Oh, by the way," Drakion added, glancing over his shoulder, "you’ll likely encounter masked figures like me. Just say Devour, or my name—Drakion."
With that, he vanished into the shadows, his form blending seamlessly with the surrounding darkness.
A/N: My dear readers, how did you find this Chapter? Oh, just for clarification, Drakion will use the scythe as his weapon when he is in his Drakion masked form, but if he is Drake, he will wield a sword. This is to help protect his identity from being exposed.