Journey to Become the Zenith-Chapter 115: Smile That Refuses to Break

Smile That Refuses to Break

"Why do you still smile in such a desperate situation? Why do you always gamble your life for others?"

The commanding officer’s voice cut through the battlefield like a blade that had no edge—only weight.

He knew this man.

Not as an Emperor.

Not as a legend.

But as the reckless idiot who laughed too loud, fought too hard, and never once thought about himself.

Back when he had nothing.

Back when he was just... a man.

—

The Emperor twisted his body, letting a silver-tipped spear graze past his ribs instead of piercing through. His hand shot out, grabbing the attacker’s wrist, snapping it with a clean motion before pushing him aside.

Blood dripped.

From everywhere.

Arrows still stuck in his flesh.

Smoke rising faintly where silver burned into his skin.

And yet—

He smiled.

Still smiling.

What makes me grin? he asked again, as if the idea tickled him.

A shadow moved fast beneath the swing of steel. His arm snapped up, crushing air and windpipe at once. A boot lashed out behind him, sending body number three skidding across dirt.

"If I show a desperate face now..." he continued, breath steady despite everything, "...how can I prove to you guys I can save you all and this girl?"

A pause.

He caught another arrow mid-air.

Crushed it in his hand.

Silver burned his palm.

The scent of scorched flesh rose.

Still—

He didn’t flinch.

"Why do I gamble my life for others?"

His voice softened.

Just a little.

"Simple."

He moved again—faster this time—slipping through their formation, tearing through tendons, disarming without killing.

"Because the people I save..."

His red eyes flickered.

"...have more important lives to live than I do."

Another arrow pierced his side.

He staggered—

Just for a second.

Then straightened.

"...I’m already stained."

His smile didn’t fade.

"Thousands of lives."

Silence rippled through the battlefield.

Even as they fought him—

Even as they tried to kill him—

They heard it.

They felt it.

The truth behind those words.

—

One soldier dropped his weapon.

Another clenched his jaw so hard it bled.

Tears—

Fell.

Uncontrollably.

"Then stop!" one of them shouted, voice breaking as he charged again anyway. "Just stop! We don’t want to do this!"

Another voice followed.

"Why do you always have to be like this?! Why do you always carry everything alone?!"

The Emperor laughed softly.

Blood dripped down his chin, yet he stood firm.

"Because none of you idiots can handle it."

Light floated inside each word. It wasn’t heavy at all.

But they hurt.

Deep.

"Look at you," he continued, stepping forward again, ignoring the blades cutting into him. "Crying while trying to kill me... what kind of soldiers are you?"

"Shut up!" someone roared, swinging wildly.

Heavier still came their blows.

Sloppier.

Not weaker—

But more desperate.

—

The atmosphere changed.

The rhythm broke.

And the Emperor felt it.

Saw it.

The hesitation.

The grief.

The cracks.

His expression shifted.

For the first time—

His smile sharpened.

And then—

He roared.

"DON’T YOU DARE HOLD BACK!"

Frozen in place, each warrior heard his voice roar over the clash of steel. A heartbeat passed before anyone dared move again.

"If you’ve decided to kill me - THEN DO IT PROPERLY!"

The soldiers froze.

Shock.

Pain.

Confusion.

"You think this half-assed resolve will save your race?!" he continued, stepping forward, blood dripping from his body like rain. "You think crying while swinging your blades will change anything?!"

Fires lit up his gaze, deeper now.

"If you’re going to choose extinction over one girl - THEN AT LEAST HAVE THE GUTS TO OWN THAT CHOICE!"

Silence.

Heavy.

Crushing.

Then—

He laughed.

Wild.

Free.

"Even if it’s the God of Destruction..." he said, lifting his bloodied hand, pointing it toward the sky as if challenging the heavens themselves—

"I don’t care."

His gaze dropped back to them.

Sharp.

Unyielding.

"I’ll fight."

A step forward.

"Until the end."

Another step.

"For everyone’s happiness."

And then—

He moved.

Again.

Faster.

Sharper.

More violent.

No longer just defending.

No longer just holding back.

He tore through their formation like a storm, his body breaking further with every movement, silver burning deeper into his flesh—but his smile only grew wider.

Brighter.

Crazier.

The battlefield became chaos.

And then—

The vision began to blur.

Edges softened.

Sounds faded.

Victor couldn’t see who fell.

Who lived.

Who won.

Or who lost.

Only—

That smile.

—

...

—

Victor’s mind didn’t return to silence.

Another vision took its place.

—

A different battlefield.

Not drenched in moonlight—

But in rage.

The air was thick with heat.

And blood.

A man stood there.

Tall.

Powerful.

A long tail swayed behind him, cutting through the air with tension. Two beast-like ears twitched atop his head, white hair falling messily around sharp golden eyes.

A werewolf.

But not just any.

His body was built for war—muscles coiled like steel beneath skin, every movement filled with explosive force.

Around him—

His pack.

Or what remained of it.

Bodies.

Fallen.

Used.

Discarded.

His allies—

Were tools.

Nothing more.

"Move!" he barked, kicking one of his wounded comrades forward. "If you’re still breathing, you’re still useful!"

No hesitation.

No guilt.

Only obsession.

Revenge.

The demon lord in front of him towered like a nightmare made flesh.

And he charged.

Using his remaining pack as distractions—bait—throwing them into the fight to create openings.

Cold.

Efficient.

Brutal.

In the end—

He won.

The demon lord fell.

But as he stood there—

Surrounded by silence...

His breath slowed.

His body trembled.

Golden eyes dimmed.

"...Was it worth it...?"

For the first time—

Doubt.

Regret.

And then—

Darkness.

—

...

—

Another shift.

Another vision.

—

A sky torn apart by fire.

A dragon roared.

Massive.

Ancient.

A being born at the peak of existence.

And in front of it—

A man.

Black hair.

Red eyes.

But this time—

Two black horns curved from his head.

Wings spread behind him.

Dark.

Powerful.

A dragonid.

His body radiated strength.

Not forced.

Not trained.

But natural.

Absolute.

In his hands—

Twin blades.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

The same weapon Victor had once seen... the same place where he got Diana.

The man smiled.

Not calmly.

Not kindly.

But with excitement.

Pure.

Unfiltered.

He clashed with the dragon head-on.

No fear.

No hesitation.

Every movement precise.

Perfect.

He wasn’t struggling.

He was playing.

Testing.

Pushing the dragon to its limits.

Waiting.

Watching.

Learning.

The dragon roared, unleashing everything it had.

Flames.

Claws.

Wings that could shatter mountains.

And the man—

Danced through it.

Laughing.

Enjoying it.

The moment the dragon slowed—

The moment it had nothing left—

He ended it.

Clean.

Final.

The massive body crashed to the ground.

Silence followed.

The man stood there.

Breathing steady.

Eyes calm.

Then—

He spoke.

"Thanks for the battle."

Simple.

Casual.

But the tone—

The way he said it—

Victor felt it.

Deep.

Because it was the same.

The exact same way—

He spoke.