He roared—and suddenly, the sky was gone. The entire realm warped into a mirror of his will: an endless expanse of white, empty and endless. From this place of origin, he dragged nine pale lances forged from the bones of collapsed galaxies, and hurled them all toward Asher in a flash.
Asher moved—not away, but into the attack.
His body blurred, veins lit with golden blood and starlight. One, two, three lances shattered as he twisted midair, scythe slicing them clean in two. The fourth grazed his shoulder, searing through his robes and cutting down to the bone—but he did not stop.
By the ti the seventh lance arrived, he was above the white being’s head.
"Fall."
Sanguine Art: Crimson Moon Guillotine.
The scythe expanded, its edge a burning eclipse of red and black. It fell with the weight of a star’s death behind it. This ti, the being didn’t block.
He stepped aside.
And countered.
His hand struck Asher’s chest, fingers glowing with Nether Judgent, a technique ant to unravel soul threads. Asher’s eyes flashed wide as it touched his core—but a shockwave blasted out from within him.
The Soul Reaper Monarch Star ignited in full.
Asher scread as power surged, a black-gold storm flooding his inner world. The being was thrown back, crashing through three planes of space before reorienting mid-flight, breathing hard. His pristine robes were scorched. His face—touched with confusion now.
"You’re not just a bloodline freak..." he hissed. "You forged a white star inside your soul core. How?"
Asher didn’t answer. But the light behind him did.
A single white star, pulsing with chaotic equilibrium—ford from fused blood, soul, and nether laws—drifted behind Asher’s back. It crackled with a potential that dwarfed even peak Star-Forger cultivators.
The color of a star determined one’s potential. The ranking went from lowest to highest as follows: Black, Red, Orange, Yellow, Blue, Indigo, Violet, and at the peak—White.
A White Core was almost a legend among those who truly understood the nature of Star Cores. Even he—who had conquered a Core World and slaughtered billions, if not trillions, to devour other cultivators’ cores—had only managed to obtain a Blue Core. And now, he stared at an ant who was rely a Peak World Rank just few months ago... and now held a White Core. His mind couldn’t comprehend it. How could soone like him possibly possess it?
Asher, on the other hand, simply raised his blade and advanced, unaware that star cores had a ranking based on color. Even when he’d fought terrifying beings within the Infinity Tower, he’d never bothered to look into the color of their stars. He’d rely noticed a single constant: one star each, and overwhelming power.
But now—hearing her speak of colors—he paused for a mont.
"So... the Star Forger Realm’s power is determined by the color of one’s star," Asher thought aloud. Then, a mory surfaced—back in the Tower, that demon who had killed him... his core had been white too.
"Does that an the color also determines strength, just like the size of a world in the World Rank?" Asher mused, voice low.
He turned toward the being and asked, "Tell about the ranking of Star Cores."
The being responded with a grin. "Only if you tell how you achieved a White Star Core."
The battle paused for a mont.
Asher gave a slight nod, and the being exhaled slowly before beginning to speak.
"The stars are divided into nine tiers," he said, "starting from Black—the most fragile and impure—to White, a prismatic, flawless core that holds boundless potential."
"As for the ranking, it goes like this: Black, Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet, and finally, White."
Asher nodded thoughtfully, then said, "Explain clearly—how are Star Cores ford, and how you ascended into Star forger rank."
The being nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as he began to explain.
The being’s voice turned calm, like a teacher explaining a sacred rite.
"Star Cores are born when a cultivator refines the core essence of their soul, bloodline, and comprehension into a singular cosmic point. It’s not like forming a soul core or a mana heart—this is a condensation of your entire path, your truth made manifest."
He raised a hand, and behind him, a faint illusion of stars shimred in a spiral.
"First, you must reach the peak of the World Rank. Then, instead of ascending through a realm or fusing with external laws, you collapse inward. You condense everything into a seed—a Cosmic Star Seed. It’s your entire existence, boiled down to a single point of light."
Asher narrowed his eyes. "And the color?"
"The color reflects the purity, harmony, and depth of your condensed path. A Red Core might belong to soone powerful, but limited. Blue to soone rare and refined. Green to a genius. But White..."
The being paused, genuinely reverent.
"White ans you’ve defied the balance. Perfect harmony. No weakness. A core like that is near-mythical, even among the oldest Star Forgers. Most who try either fail or break apart during formation."
He gestured toward Asher. "And yet you... you possess one. That’s why I had to stop and ask. Because a White Core ans not just potential... it ans fate has bent around you."
Asher crossed his arms, thoughtful. "So the process is... refine everything into a Star Seed, then ignite it into a Star Core?"
"Exactly. Once the seed forms, it must survive the Starbirth Fla—cosmic tempering. If it holds, it becos a Star Core. From that point on, you’re a Star Forger."
He tilted his head. "Now, your turn. How did you get a White Core? Did you use so other trick or an hidden way to forge it?"
Asher shrugged and said, "...No. I made it with my own hands. I just followed all the steps you ntioned—condensed all my power, abilities, even my core world into a singular point. And when I was done, it beca a white, flaming star."
For a mont, the being was silent. Then he let out a low whistle.
"...If you survived the Starbirth without even knowing what it was... and erged with white... then you were already perfect from the start. That’s the only explanation."
The pressure between them surged again, the montary peace evaporating.
"I’ll surely lose this fight," the being said, his voice resolute. "But I’ve never surrendered, and I don’t plan to. So kill if you can... or I will."
Asher’s eyes glowed faintly crimson.
"Try ."
The void between them trembled—Star-forged battle resud.
The air cracked open like a lightning-wracked sky as the two launched forward. The Star Forger struck first, his blade roaring with violet fla, cleaving space as easily as cloth. Laws spiraled around him—Gravity, Pressure, Starlight. Each swing carried the weight of a collapsed planet.
Asher weaved past them with inhuman precision. Every movent he made felt frictionless, like his body no longer moved through space—it commanded it. He ducked beneath a collapsing starlight wave and drove his fist into the Star Forger’s ribs. The impact lit the void in white pulses. Bones cracked. Space howled.
But the Star Forger didn’t falter—he spun, slicing upward with a spiral blade of compressed cosmic dust. It struck Asher’s shoulder, tearing through robes and skin, drawing silver-crimson blood. A mont later, it ignited—trying to explode from within.
Asher’s core flared.
Sanguine Dominion: Second Vein—Bloodlit Dominion.
The blood didn’t burn—it devoured. The explosion reversed, the energy collapsing inward as his blood turned predatory, absorbing the cosmic fire like it was fuel. Asher stepped forward, unflinching, and drove his knee into the Forger’s gut, then followed it up with a spinning elbow that cracked the man’s jaw sideways.
The Forger scread—but it was a war cry, not pain. His body lit up with constellations. Stars embedded in his flesh, glowing like divine gems. Each one burned a different law—Ti, Fla, Storm, Ice.
Stellar Wrath Art: Fourfold Cataclysm.
A dozen spears of elental force shot toward Asher at once—each one fast enough to puncture planets. But Asher didn’t dodge.
He raised his hand.
Blood Mirror.
A sheet of translucent crimson curved into being, not blocking—but copying. Every elental spear that struck it was absorbed and reflected in kind. One by one, the Forger’s own attacks ca back at him, mirrored with deadly perfection.
He snarled, tearing the stars from his chest and hurling them upward.
"Star Grave Ascension!"
Above them, a massive constellation ford—a floating tomb of dead stars, spiraling downward with the weight of entropy. It wasn’t just pressure—it was despair, collapse, the end of possibility. Even light twisted inside it.
Asher’s expression didn’t change. He spread his arms.
"Crimson Bloom: Sovereign Thorn."
From his back blood a vast field of blood-forged thorns, each one longer than a ship, pulsing with vitality and death. They grew rapidly, threading through space, piercing and anchoring the Star Grave in place—then crushing it with sheer vitality.
The Forger’s attack shattered.
He blinked in shock—but Asher was already in front of him.
One palm to the chest.
Sovereign Pulse.
There was no flash, no explosion. Just a silent quake that traveled through the Forger’s core, bypassing defense, bypassing shields, and detonating within his Star Core itself. The light behind his eyes flickered.
He coughed blood. His body trembled.
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