Reincarnated with the Country System
Chapter 270 - 270: The Unveiling

Alberto found himself standing in a vast, unknown landscape—an expanse without horizon, where the sky folded in on itself like glass melting in reverse. There was no sun, yet everything shimmered in a twilight hue.

And before him, the Guardian.

Its form was impossible to measure by the logic of physics or perception. One moment, it towered like a titan, a colossus wreathed in celestial fire, its edges bleeding into solar flares and constellations. The next, it was an abstraction—a drifting nebula pulsing with forgotten truths. Its presence pressed on Alberto like gravity made thought.

The Guardian spoke, but not in sound. Its voice was a pressure in his marrow, an idea forced into the vessel of his being.

"Welcome to my domain again, Mortal."

Alberto clenched his fists. When he first stood here, he was a desperate soldier, accepting power without understanding the cost. Now, he was an emperor. And emperors did not beg.

"I want to know everything," Alberto said.

A pause.

"You asked for the Everything."

He met the Guardian's burning eyes with defiance. "I didn't ask. I demanded."

The air quivered. The stars blinked. Something like amusement stirred in the Guardian's ever-shifting form.

"You speak as if you understand what you ask. Very well."

Then—

"Then see."

The words were a blade.

The world shattered.

....

Alberto felt like time was moving backwards very quickly and he was being dragged into some darkness.

But he wasn't afraid.

Then he saw the beginning.

Not the sterile expansion of particles. No collision of chaos and order. It began not with force, but with Will. A mind dreaming in the dark.

The first awareness was alone, infinite, incomplete. In the purity of that solitude, it imagined. And what it imagined became real.

Worlds coalesced from thought.

Stars were born not from gas clouds, but from inspiration. Mountains rose from molten seas like spines of half-formed gods. Oceans boiled under skies bearing moons that sang to them. Time did not flow; it obeyed.

And then—the Dreamer blinked.

In that brief divine pause, a flaw emerged.

A hole not in creation, but before it. Something ancient, more ancient than Will, than God. It did not come after. It was always there.

"Before light. Before gods. There was the Void," said the Guardian. "And the Void… was not empty."

From this darkness came the Eldest Evils.

They were not born. They were revealed—coalescing from formless potential, from the parts of the cosmos that should not have become aware.

Tzeriel, the Devouring Silence, who unwove reason like a seamstress plucking threads from sanity.

Va'Kesh, the Dreaming Maw, who feasted on the marrow of memory.

Xhal-Turath, the Skinless Prophet, who carved fate into living flesh, and painted the sky with prophecy written in nerve endings.

Orzai, the Mother of Rot, who twisted the sacred engine of life into a grotesque spiral—forcing evolution to become mutation, birthing horrors that devoured their own creators.

And In'Therak, the Fractured Star, a being of broken symmetry. Time bent in its wake. Its laughter echoed in recursion—loops within loops, futures eating their pasts.

Alberto recoiled—not in fear, but in awe. These were not demons. Not monsters. They were… ancient children, playing at existence. Curious. Playful. Deadly.

"They were here first," said the Guardian, its form now steady, its fire dimmed. "When mortal life emerged, they found it… amusing."

Alberto saw them watch the birth of fledgling species—proto-sentient beings crafting language, building fire, drawing meaning from chaos.

And the Eldest Evils came to play.

Va'Kesh drifted through an ancient city—name long lost. Where it passed, scholars forgot the laws of mathematics. Children wandered, forgetting what love was. A woman stared at her child and asked, "What… is this?"

Orzai turned champions into horrors—bone stretching, skin splitting, limbs multiplying until warriors became shrines of pain. They still breathed. They still remembered.

"The first mortals called it the Time of Weeping," the Guardian said grimly. "But they did not weep for long. They prayed."

Alberto watched as the cosmos responded.

The Aetherian Archangels descended—not beings of mercy, but weapons of absolute intention. Clad in armor forged from dying stars, wings made of blades and entropy.

He saw the first war—continent-shattering battles. In'Therak laughed as time fractured around him, entire armies undone by yesterday's regret. Tzeriel unmade generals with thoughts alone.

And still—the angels fought.

"They could not kill them," the Guardian said. "So they bound them."

Alberto now saw the prisons—suns converted into eternal jails, each sealed with a cosmic truth. Tzeriel was bound inside a black hole inverted—reversed gravity forever pulling it inward into non-voice. Va'Kesh, entombed inside a godmind that dreamt of nothing. Orzai was locked in the genetic code of a dying world, her influence corralled in perversions of nature.

"They chose containment," the Guardian murmured, "when they should have chosen extinction."

"But they're evil. They wanted to destroy everything."

The Guardian turned toward him. The sky darkened.

"No. That is your misunderstanding."

And then Alberto saw the other world.

A parallel reflection. A universe like his, yet not his. A place where nothing had yet awoken. A blank page untouched by thought. He saw it bloom into being—and then erode from within.

"What is this?" he asked.

"It is not what. It is who." The Guardian's form became as still as death. "Its name is Eclipse. It is not a god. It is… Nothing."

He saw it then—Eclipse, not as an entity, but an absence. It did not create or destroy. It erased. It did not hate; it did not think. It simply was. It crept into consciousness. Into the cracks between thought and silence. Into the pauses in belief.

And the Eldest Evils?

"They are symptoms. Children of Eclipse. Not born, but… mutated reflections of its presence in the early dream."

Alberto staggered. "So you're saying the true enemy is…"

"Nothingness. Not metaphor. Not nihilism. But a real thing. A conscious void."

"How did it get in?" he asked.

"Because the Dreamer blinked," the Guardian whispered. "In the moment between breath and word… it came. The flaw."

Alberto stared into the abyss. "Can it be stopped?"

The Guardian did not answer immediately.

"Eclipse cannot be killed. But it can be contained. For now."

"And the Evils?"

"They are awake again. Slowly. Their prisons decay. This world is built upon the architecture of their chains."

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.