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**Giant Power.**

It doesn’t refer to deep power.

It doesn’t refer to wide power.

It doesn’t refer to high power either.

It encompasses depth, breadth, and height, enveloping everything.

It’s a power that does not originate from one, but rather spreads from multiple sources to create a singular region.

The reason they managed to survive, despite being marked as the culprits of World War II, stemmed precisely from this.

Of course, upon hearing this, one might cynically wonder if it’s one of those conspiracy theories that Americans love. After all, the notion that powerful clans, enduring through ages, control and dominate the world is a staple topic on mystery channels.

But this was slightly different.

Unlike the ambitious goals of dominating the world, this represents the desperate survival tale of those who were about to vanish into the annals of history, branded as symbols of World War II—people with enough ability to cling to the power holders in order to retain their lives.

If one has skills, one can survive even in the deadliest corners.

It’s akin to the Nazis who managed to escape execution under America’s covert protection, succeeding in identity laundering to become American citizens. Just like how former Nazi scientists survived and went on to develop missiles or provided scientific assistance across various fields with America’s help.

“We survived not because we were strong. We survived because we were useful. But…”

To put it precisely, the reason why it wasn’t solely because they had abilities.

They were sufficiently competent yet easy to control—the pie was small enough to be gulped down easily, and they were in such a fallen state that they moved like puppets, allowing them to survive.

There was little effort required to keep them alive.

With lives that were barely hanging by a thread, simply allowing them to breathe would be seen as a grace.

And yet, the returns were abundant.

What power holder could simply ignore such luscious prizes?

With overwhelming returns in relation to the risks.

If one invests a mere sum, it could yield considerable profits.

And thus, they were allowed to survive.

They had abilities yet remained insignificant.

And… they could be kept from becoming noble.

Indeed, the thoughts of the power holders turned out to be correct.

They had become, until now, symbols of World War II, destined never to step into the light, unable to operate even properly in the shadows. Even if they did, they could only function within the grasp and vision of the power holders, daring not to even consider challenging their thrones.

Reflecting on the past when they sought to build towers through their own power in World War II, nearly obtaining it… well, one could say they truly fell to the depths, and that wouldn’t be an odd expression.

But what could be done?

Had they succeeded, it would have been another story, but they had lost.

Merely clinging to life, passing down their lineage and academic lines, was already a significant mercy.

However, human hearts are not so simple.

When seated, they want to lie down, and when lying down, they desire to sleep—this is indeed human nature.

Thus, they lived as the dogs of power holders, stubbornly hanging on, while secretly believing that one day an opportunity would arise.

They were living with such hopes…

“Peace only rusts the blade. The moment the retracted sword is drawn from the old warehouse to spill blood is when the war flames rise high, shrouding the sky in black smoke….”

That hope is neither useless nor vague.

Having soared high during World War II, they knew precisely when their value peaked, when they could be truly free and flourish.

Sufficient intelligence and wisdom to explore the truths of the world informed them well.

War.

Not just a change of hegemony, but an intense war where blood flows, steel shatters, and civilization erupts—the very moment they could rise high.

It is coming.

It will undoubtedly come.

Truth and human nature dictate that humans cannot endure without fighting and are a species that cannot cease warfare. Thus, this is why they were able to rise so splendidly and establish the civilization as it stands today.

Humans are not beings capable of tolerating peace.

Proof?

There’s no need to find tremendous research data.

Has there ever been a time in the world when war ceased, even for a moment?

Was there even a single instant of true ‘world peace’ achieved on Earth?

No.

Humans wage wars, fight, and quarrel.

And that holds true even in the present, under the oppressive peace brought by the mightiest empire—this giant nation called America.

“When excessive pressure and heat are applied, the end result is simply an explosion.”

Push, and it will resist; once limits are crossed, it will burst.

They were aware that this moment was not far off. It wasn’t mere intuition or clear cognition.

They waited, filled with a hazy yet firm conviction that the time would come.

If that moment arrives.

If only that time would come.

“Then you shall become the past us.”

You.

Betrayers.

Turncoats.

Those who oppressed us.

And even those arrogant old comrades who casually mingle among people, living in praise as if nothing ever happened.

“When that time comes, you will no longer be able to act as you do now.”

A man recalled.

At the sight of an utterly ridiculous face, he could only scoff in disbelief and remember how his insides twisted at that happy-looking visage.

Old comrades.

Yet now more detestable than the ones who oppressed him, more hateful than those power holders who commanded them like dogs, constantly hindering their growth.

Every time he caught sight of that wretched face, bile rose in his throat.

Right.

That very face that carelessly visited and stayed in America.

“The cursed witch, the hypocrite, the harlot saved by a Jew, receiving a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

The face of Odilia A Reich.

—

For survival, the wretched little rat would do anything.

A foolish crow that only knows how to pick up and hoard shiny things.

A pitiful creature that ends up trembling in the presence of treasures beyond its grasp, unable to die, nor live, lost in a wretched state.

A man, flawed yet smart enough to make a name in finance.

Lucas, Lucas, Lucas.

Lucas Metathronius Goldsmith.

Where could this hypocrite’s warehouse be?

Could it truly be hidden somewhere, making it so elusive?

Hypocrite, hypocrite.

Where on earth is the warehouse of this hypocrite?

…

…

…

“Haha. If the seeker can’t find the hider no matter how hard they try, they’ll eventually reach the end of their wits.”

Inside an abandoned factory, long forsaken, where no one treads anymore.

Park Jinseong was mulling over the records he saw at the research institute.

It was a sort of retrospection.

“Truly valuable materials. Especially, yes… the doodles were particularly remarkable.”

What Park Jinseong just recalled was the text scrawled in Latin on the back of some scrap paper.

Words inscribed with the will for a curse by someone half-mad with stress while searching for the location of Lucas’s AI, Anael’s server.

Of course, it goes without saying that such incantations wouldn’t activate and curses wouldn’t manifest, but if by any chance it did, and flesh did get torn away, then Lucas, who valued his safety above all else, would have covered himself in defensive divine objects or artifacts, and the backfire would have returned to the caster, making for a pitifully gruesome fate.

Hence, despite the curses scrawled against Lucas on the paper, no matter how much Park Jinseong wished for Lucas’s grave misfortune, it would not affect Lucas’s fate or life in any significant manner.

At least, not until it came into Park Jinseong’s hands.

“Thoughts and traces leave behind inspiration.”

That’s how it is.

Even if it appears insignificant at first glance.

The decades-old stone warning of potential forest fires provides an insight into the social conditions of that time, showing how customs have changed or remained the same.

Even the indecent doodles drawn by primitive people in caves serve as a guide to understand the societal norms of that period, their thoughts, and the emergence of cultural life.

Doodles that appear crass, hastily written by a Roman soldier, can lead to the understanding of their wages and the leisure activities they could afford, bringing the past into clearer view.

And the curses and complaints about Lucas and the irritation of not finding Anael, which had now fallen into Park Jinseong’s hands, had provided him with a spark of inspiration.

“Anael. This… it must be either in the sea or the universe.”

This was his prediction of where the elusive location of Anael, long sought by many, might lie.

 

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