Sword God in a World of Magic-Novel

Time passed.

Shang just kept breathing heavily as he became weaker and weaker.

A lot of his grit and willpower had already vanished, and he felt like dying wouldn't be such a bad idea anymore.

However, Shang also recognized that this was the effect of Death Mana entering his mind.

There was no Death Mana around Shang, but Shang's mind was still slowly being filled with Death Mana.

That was just natural.

This was how Death Mana worked.

At some point, the body and mind would start to produce Death Mana at a slow rate, and the Death Mana would slowly overtake the body.

First came the sickness. Old people would become ill many more times than younger people.

Then came weakness. The increased density of Death Mana would weaken the body and the mind. The body wouldn't be able to summon as much power as before, and the mind wouldn't be able to focus as much.

In this state, summoning one point of willpower was as difficult as summoning ten points of willpower when one was younger.

The lack of willpower and motivation would tire someone out, and they would just want to sleep and relax.

This was death.Follow current s on Novᴇ(l)Fɪre.net

The end of life.

Shang was so tired.

He just didn't want to continue anymore.

He had fought for so long.

He had suffered for so long.

So what if he didn't achieve his goal?

Right now, he just wanted to sleep and forget about all of this.

Nothing mattered since everyone would someday die anyway.

What's the point of being the strongest if he would just die in a million years or whatever anyway?

Every person was just a transient visitor to life. Someone poor and weak without a family might completely vanish from the world within 20 years.

A normal mortal might die within 80. Their grandchildren would still remember them, but would the children of the grandchildren remember the mortal?

What about those children?

And the children of those?

At some point, the mortal would be completely forgotten.

No one would remember them.

No one would remember what they had done.

What was the difference between them existing and not existing?

The existence of the children? 

That lineage would eventually come to an end as well, and then what?

And what about a powerful Mage?

Wasn't it just the same but on a bigger scale?

Many of the Mage Emperors had been friends with the Mage God, which meant that they all were less than 500,000 years old.

Sure, that was a lot of time, but had the world existed for only those 500,000 years?

Just Earth alone had existed for over four billion years.

How long had this world existed?

What had happened in the past?

Had there been extremely powerful geniuses that could rival the Mage God a million years ago?

Ten million years ago?

A hundred?

Who was the one that reached the Ninth Realm first?

Wasn't this person why every Emperor that lived today was in the Ninth Realm?

Yet, nobody remembered.

Nobody knew.

Arguably the most influential person in existence was someone completely unknown.

And that was it.

Even the most powerful and influential person would one day be forgotten by the world.

Supreme power?

Death would come for you anyway.

Your power didn't matter.

Your age didn't matter.

Your prestige didn't matter.

Your actions didn't matter.

Everything was pointless.

So, why try?

Why not just sleep?

What was the point of chasing a temporary goal?

Shang's mind felt more and more exhausted.

Everything seemed so pointless.

Everything was so tiresome and so exhausting.

If he died now, everyone would forget him after a couple more years, and even if he reached the Ninth Realm, people would still forget him. It would just take more years.

So, what's the difference between dying now and dying then?

Why put up this pointless fight?

Shang became weaker and weaker.

The world around him became darker.

His Spirit Sense couldn't even extend out of his body anymore.

Shang's breathing slowed, which meant that less Mana was entering his body now.

His skin started to dry out and took on a grey tone.

Shang's muscles hurt since they were nearly being torn apart by the natural action of just lying there. Like liquid, they just wanted to flow apart.

Most people would have already died.

This was the reason why so many people didn't stubbornly cling to life when their end had come.

An ancient and happy grandpa would willingly go to eternal sleep after seeing all his loved ones one last time.

A bitter grandpa would no longer care and just go to eternal sleep to escape his regrets.

A good grandpa would be accepting of his destiny and tell everyone that his time had come.

An evil grandpa would be killed by others or refuse to witness themselves becoming so weak, ending it early.

This was no longer living.

Not being able to move.

Not being able to sense one's surroundings.

Having to put in so much effort just to breathe.

What was the point of continuing?

Shang's body grew even weaker.

His mind was slowly thinking about his life.

The wilderness.

The Hegemon.

Jerald.

Warrior's Paradise.

George.

Mervin.

The Skythunder Kingdom.

The Grandmountain Kingdom.

The war.

The Council.

The isolated training.

Jerald's death.

The journey to the Twilight Dusk Family's territory.

The Temple of Blood.

Icy Bastion.

Lucin.

The Clouds.

The Furnace Pills.

The Isolation Chamber.

Void Casting.

The Concept of Twilight.

Old age.

This had been Shang's life.

Just one more Cloud that would die in the Hibye.

Thinking became more difficult.

Shang just focused on his body.

And he just kept focusing.

And kept focusing.

And kept focusing.

A day passed.

A week passed.

A month passed.

A year passed.

Shang had just become 1001 years old.

He looked identical to how he had looked a year ago.

He had not grown weaker.

He had not grown stronger.

He couldn't move, and he couldn't sense his surroundings.

He refused to die.

Shang wanted to sleep more than anything at all, but there was one thought that kept him going.

For his entire life, he had always given his best.

He had always put in 100%.

Full effort for every second of every minute of every day of every year.

That was all he had left.

Effort.

Shang didn't manage to achieve his goal, but at least he had given his best.

Like in a race, Shang wouldn't become the winner, but he would give his best until the race was over.

It was sportsmanship.

Athleticism.

So, even though Shang wanted to die, he would give his all to stay alive until the very end.

Only when he had nothing left to give would he die.

That was his sole reason for still hanging on.

Just fight.

Never stop.

Always go forward.

And if you fail on the way, so what?

At least you've given your all.