Welcome to Rewind World Game-Chapter 1678 - 21: He Looked Up and Saw the Moon
Come, traveler passing by, Lord Su Ming’an.
Are the key and the Holy Sword ready? Have the necessary elements in the Cat Box for ’slaying the Demon King’ been prepared?
The stage is set, I know you can do it.
Please give me your hand, I invite you to meet the Goddess together...
...
The beautifully lined jaw rested on the pearwood-colored violin rest, the blond man drawing the strings. He closed his eyes, draped in the luxurious robes of the Pope, the Holy Emblem embroidered in gold and silver threads shimmering with sacred luster in the light.
Beneath the dazzling dome, beside him was the corpse of his brother.
The bow was held by slender fingers, placed on the strings, and the melody flowed out like a sigh.
It was Dvorak’s "Songs My Mother Taught Me".
Su Ming’an’s sensitive ears caught the familiar tunes, he looked up, gazing at the radiant high platform.
Under the encirclement of one hundred and two statues of Holy Angels, amidst the kaleidoscope of stained glass illumination, the pope in robes pulled the strings. Sunlight broke into numerous brilliant beams, like a sacred cage, or the canopy of a festival, covering him. A beam passed through the stained glass depicting the "Sacrifice of the Lamb", casting a blood-red shadow near the pale cheek.
...Come, traveler passing by, Lord Su Ming’an.
The man’s crimson eyes half-closed, long lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, within which tumultuous clarity and madness lay sunk.
Su Ming’an walked forward, fingers resting on the hilt of the Holy Sword.
...Are the key and the Holy Sword ready? Have the necessary elements in the ’Cat Box’ for ’slaying the Demon King’ been gathered?
Hui Chi slowly opened his eyes, fingers pressing the strings, the music was anything but gentle, more like a "son’s" rebellion against "mother". The notes were at times low, at times climbing, bringing a sick intensity and brightness.
The light and shadow of the stained glass shifted slightly with the sun, brushing across his slightly trembling lips.
...The stage is set.
Su Ming’an climbed the steps one by one.
The music echoed in the massive space, confronting the silent one hundred and two Holy Angels. Like the clamorous heartbeat, like the countdown drumbeat.
...I know you can do it.
The man played with increasing immersion, his body swaying subtly with the melody, the golden hair brushing against the gem-studded collar. At this moment, he was no longer the refined bishop well-read in poetry, nor the ambitious madman.
Only a soliloquy of a person, a footnote of an era, a musician of a grand conspiracy.
The most devout Divine Defiler, the most clear-headed one submerged, the gentlest executioner.
...Please give me your hand.
Long notes slowly drawn out, suspended in the dancing light.
Hui Chi maintained the ending posture for a moment, then slowly lowered the bow and violin. He opened his eyes, the flames in his crimson pupils settling into unfathomable dark red. He slightly tilted his head, gaze falling on his brother Hui Bi’s serene face, then slowly raised it to meet the traveler’s eyes.
Pitch-black pupils, silently connecting with each other.
"Can I entrust it to you?" The Pope smiled.
"Of course." The traveler replied without hesitation.
The man’s lips curled into an indescribable arc.
An invitation, an announcement, a smile opening the prelude.
He extended his hand.
"...I invite you to meet the ’Goddess’ together."
...
"Boom——!"
As if a slumbering giant beast turned over. The majestic temple let out a groan of unbearable weight, the enormous stone pillars quivered slightly, and fine dust fluttered down from the dome.
Outside the hall, Lü Shu and the others battling fiercely simultaneously felt the ground give way beneath them, their attack momentum halting. Shocked, they looked up, simultaneously sensing the great upheaval of the world.
"What’s happening?" Ajima Kanko tightly grasped her magic wand.
"What’s going on inside? Is Su Ming’an alright?" Xining stopped his buzzing motorcycle and took off his helmet.
"Should we go in?"
"Lü Shu... Lü Shu already rushed in!"
A flash of dark shadow, a white-haired young man holding a scythe smashed through the door, rushing into the crumbling grand holy temple, as tiny particles of light fell relentlessly, like a vast sunset.
Then, the firmament "opened its eyes."
Everyone inadvertently looked to the sky, sensing a fear and insignificance beyond comprehension.
Like an aloof golden giant eye overlooking all beings, bursting with blazing crimson, like molten lava, spreading rapidly from the deepest part of the pupil, swiftly devouring the solemn and cold gold.
In just a few breaths, the eye of the firmament transformed into two blazing crimson fireballs, glaring "intently" with desecrated fury at the quaking holy temple below.
The temple seemed ignited by the crimson gaze, with all the murals depicting the Radiant Mother Goddess undergoing bizarre transformation. The compassionate gaze of the Mother’s face softened as if licked by flames, she began to melt into a vivid red, like a lion meeting her gaze.
—Her visage was being forcibly unified, anchored into the concept image of "crimson eyes and golden hair" instilled throughout the long ages by Hui Chi.
Under the World Tree, Qianqin’s long sword dropped to the ground with a clang, her pupils shrank sharply as she gazed at the two bloody crimson giant eyes in the sky, a chill surged from her tailbone to the top of her head—what happened? What was happening to the temple?
"Kritchens..." Phoenix looked up to the sky, his voice nearly lost, "Her face... is being..."
"Madman... truly dared to do it..." Amidst the shock, Phoenix surprisingly felt a bizarre admiration, he suddenly burst into laughter, "Hahaha... dragging God down from the altar, putting their own ’face’ and ’name’ on Her...!!"
"No... no!!!" An elderly nun let out a heart-wrenching scream, "Blasphemy... this is blasphemy! Mother Goddess... your countenance..."
The young cultivators were dumbfounded, they couldn’t comprehend what this meant, only seeing those crimson eyes, like the Pope’s, reflecting on the Mother Goddess’s face.
Maid Meimei, holding an incense burner, stood at the very back, blinking not understanding the significance of the scene before her. She instinctively touched the candies in her pocket; after tonight, she would return home to bring the delicious palace candies to her younger siblings...
A mortal, using the lever of long years and the fulcrum of collective faith, dared to defiantly pry at the earthly definition of Deity.
Inside, Hui Chi stood beneath the mural, under the daylight, dazzlingly radiant, his robe of the Pope billowed in the wind, and gradually flowed into a magnificent radiance. The dignified lines softened, and the masculine cut subtly transformed into a more classical, more solemn, goddess myth era styled gown silhouette.
Though it was a feminine styled attire, it didn’t seem out of place on him, as if it did not possess pure gender definition.
No, it’s not that he resembles the Radiant Mother Goddess behind him, but rather the mural of the Radiant Mother Goddess behind him... gradually leaned towards him.
He faced Su Ming’an, his figure splendid and slender.
"Concepts are indeed fascinating." He held Su Ming’an’s hand,
"In a world where everyone adores the oracles above all, as long as someone controls the interpretation of the oracles, then no matter how he distorts the Deity’s will, others will follow his explanation."
He opened his other hand, in the palm seemed to hold a sinful red apple:
"The Lord of Dreams observes everything, but when the ’settings’ He fabricated are forgotten, His divine kingdom too ceases to exist."
"—[Then, if I crafted an image that fully meets people’s expectations of the Radiant Mother Goddess, regularly conveying an image and oracles fulfilling their wishes, could it be considered...]"
His pupils grew increasingly fervent,
"—[I have reshaped the concept of the Radiant Mother Goddess]?"
...
[How much must humanity relinquish to truly honor independence?]
[If the source of a seed is a rose seed, can it only grow into a rose?]
...
"Crackle pop..."
The flames burned fiercely.
A red-haired photographer sat before the bonfire, watching the black box gradually turn to ash in the flames, the firelight casting upon her face, she quietly watched as the glowing dust danced, like fireflies heading out the window.
In the end, she chose to burn the box, but it was only an empty box. The incriminating evidence of Hui Chi and other items within it she had taken out and kept on her person.
She knew she could not expose the Radiant Mother Goddess as an Evil God; everything was entrusted to the final divine battle of Su Ming’an, leaving it to Su Ming’an to resolve, she could not proclaim the Mother Goddess’s righteousness. Naturally, she gave up the readily attainable path to becoming a god.
She is not a pushover, nor does she pity that maid, she just... doesn’t want to act rashly like this.
Leave it to the captain; the captain has the ability to distinguish right from wrong, and he will make the most effective decision for the incredibly broad ideal.
She recalled doing similar things herself. To protect some infiltrators during the war, she was forced to burn their identification documents, even had to watch them being executed... As a journalist holding a pen and the truth, she could only remain silent and write the contrary in the dispatches, rendering heroes as traitors and twisting sacrifice into deserved guilt.
Unconsciously, she learned not to deeply empathize anymore. But why, when this intense and familiar feeling starts to surge, does she feel so intolerable and painful?
This pain carries the taste of ashes and dust, making her recall the continuous war flames.
"So..." she muttered under her breath, her voice hoarse, "...this is the price."
Just once, she feels such agony. And how many similar pains has Su Ming’an experienced?
Firelight licked the remaining corners of the box. Suddenly, Zhao Yuan paused, lightly nudging with a fire stick a letter with scorched and curled edges, which stuck in the box’s hidden compartment and only now revealed its corner.
She hurriedly rescued it, shook off the sparks, and the beautiful, ornate text of Hui Chi sprawled before her eyes. It seems he wrote a fairy tale.
Zhao Yuan truly cannot commend Hui Chi’s taste; his previous appalling texts left her stunned, but this seems quite unusual.
She flattened the yellowing letter and gently read it.
...
[Once upon a time, there was a stubborn farmer.]
[He had beautiful golden hair and eyes like rubies.]
[With an extraordinary demeanor and elegant speech, he lived in the most remote corner of Luowasha, farming a plot and guarding a dilapidated little temple.]
[It turned out he was an eternally madman.]
[He would create the concept of the Radiant Mother Goddess in a world without its faith, no matter how many years as the price — using the power of "one person" to make people believe in the existence of "one deity."]
[On the shabby walls, he painted a simple emblem: an eye surrounded by wheat ears. Occasionally, when travelers passed by, the farmer would share food and water, pointing at the gold-red emblem and saying, "Here, we worship a benevolent ’Eye of Guardian’; it blesses lost souls to find peace."]
[Initially, no one believed him. But day after day, the farmer helped people, bringing herbs, cultivating vegetable patches, feeding the bellies of refugees... People started to believe that there truly must be such a deity existing, hence why this man is so devoted.]
[The first convert was an old soldier who had lost everything; his name was Si Nian. He knelt before the farmer.]
["Lord... the deity you mentioned, would it truly... watch over us outcasts?" The red-haired man of the Wolf Tribe tearfully asked.]
[The farmer helped him up: "Of course, you will stand up one day and become a Knight."]
[In the muddy eyes of the old soldier, there was a faint light. He became the first "Knight", although he didn’t even have a decent horse, only a sharpened wooden stick and a patched leather armor.]
[The farmer deliberately sought abandoned children—orphans who lost their parents, infants discarded by their families, boys and girls surviving like weeds in the slums... He brought them back as seeds of Cultivators and Nuns, personally teaching them literacy, arithmetic, herbal knowledge, history, and geography.]
[He embroidered the gold-red emblem on the lapels of the cleverest few children, telling them: "This is the mark of the ’Eye of Guardian,’ wearing it means you are willing to help others."]
[The children nodded in a daze; they liked this golden-haired man who always brought food and stories.]
[Like dandelion seeds, the children gradually grew up, went out to make a living, married, and preached. The faith was brought to nearby villages and towns.]
[The farmer’s footprints began to expand. He was no longer confined to the small temple. He walked through the countryside, helping farmers with crop diseases; he appeared in villages plagued by epidemics, controlling outbreaks despite the dangers; he mediated disputes between nobles and peasants with his knowledge of the law.]
[After each "miracle," he would attribute his contributions to the "Eye of Guardian’s" sincere response to the believer’s heart.]
[—He used "human" knowledge and ability to compile a "god."]
[This was an extremely slow, patient process, like water wearing down stone. Ten years, twenty years, thirty years... the farmer’s face remained young. He encountered countless doubts, suffered persecution from priests of the Old God. Followers faltered and left, carefully nurtured juniors died prematurely, strongholds were destroyed.]
[He had his arm severed, eyes gouged out, even burned on a wooden stake. Yet he possessed the immortal body blessed by the Seventh Thrones, repeatedly dying, repeatedly experiencing rebirth. Until people gradually believed the Mother Goddess truly existed.]
[Gradually, believers of the "Eye of Guardian" spread throughout many provinces of Luowasha, forming an undeniable force.]
[Then, the farmer made a crucial decision.]
[At a harvest festival, he stood on a temporary stage, behind a huge gold-red emblem. Facing thousands of eyes full of trust below, his voice transmitted across the venue:]
["What we worship, the supreme being giving us the courage of mutual aid, the Wisdom of exploration, the hope of abundance... its true name is not just the ’Eye of Guardian.’"]
[He paused, silence enveloped the venue.]
["Since time immemorial, it has been watching over Luowasha, hopeful for universal harmony and the prosperity of civilization..."]
["Transform grace into the strength of our hands, transform oracle into the supreme source of goodwill in our hearts..."]
["Its name is—"]
[He stretched out his arms, in his crimson eyes seemed to have divine light burning, his voice like a deep bell, echoing through heaven and earth:]
["—Radiant Mother God, Kritchens!"]
["Today, She will nurture the ’radiance’ and ’benevolence’ that enlightens Wisdom, shining upon Her children!"]
["Let us return to the appearance that Mother God expects Ruowasha to have—a place of promise where all things have spirits, all beings are equal, rights and responsibilities are self-obtained, where happiness is created by relying on our hands and Wisdom!"]
["From today, let us use ’radiance’ as a name, think of the benevolent Mother, and transmit the goodness and light in our hearts to every corner of Ruowasha!"]
["Please believe in Her existence—Radiant Mother God Kritchens!"]
[The responses like a mountain’s call and a tsunami overwhelmed the wilderness. Countless people were moved to tears, their long-standing Faith now had a glorious name.]
[The farmer stood at the crest of the cheering wave, his face calm, only the fingers within his sleeve slightly curled.]
[—The concept of the Radiant Mother God finally appeared in the eyes of the world.]
[No one knew, the farmer in their eyes, most devout, most loyal, most benevolent, was so devotedly advocating for the God—to kill Her.]
[Only when She existed in people’s eyes could She be killed.]
[From then on, the teachings of "Radiant Mother God" began to spread throughout the world—from a farmer who spent decades with painstaking effort, from nothing to being, from a few people to millions, personally "naming" the teachings.]
[A fictional God, recognized by the whole world through the sincere Faith and practice of countless people.]
[A concept of a "Radiant Mother God" high above the world was forcibly dragged down, falling into this Cat Box.]
[He is a "Sinner".]
[With the long passage of time and the distortion of power, the original intention belonging to love and beauty gradually replaced by the decaying Church and power class. Faith turns into blind belief, humanity begins to lose awe of science, turning to fervently pursue God, even starting heresy trials and witch executions by fire, this was his inevitable mistake and also the inevitable result of Faith Development.]
[He is also a "Saint".]
[The one who brings hope for "slaying God", who pulls the high God into the Cat Box, who with the power of "humanity" creates the concept of "God",]
[—Saint, and Sinner.]
...
[The last day.]
[The farmer sat at the desk surrounded by books, writing letters under the first ray of dawn outside the window.]
[Regarding the advice to reinforce the old church before the rainy season arrives, responses to scholars in the border town, greeting letters to several retired old priests... each letter sealed carefully and neatly stacked aside.]
[He summoned the steward within the palace, handing over a long list and instructed: "...these maids have served in the palace for five years, working diligently. I have contacted the weaving workshop in the eastern city, the St. Mary Anna Women’s College workshop, and several reputable guilds. Please arrange apprenticeship positions according to their individual wishes and talents. Tell them not to worry, I have sorted everything out."]
[The steward seemed to want to say something, with a confused look, as this was not the daily concern a Pope would have.]
[But the farmer merely waved his hand: "Do as I say."]
[In the afternoon, the farmer contacted several hundred subordinates scattered across Ruowasha, requesting them to lead everyone to the Safe Zone immediately after the start of the ritual day, without waiting for orders.]
[The subordinates seemed to sense something, until one trusted confidant of decades slowly spoke:]
["Take care, Your Majesty."]
[Followed by unspoken farewells, voices rising:]
["Take care."]
["Take care, Your Majesty."]
["Take care..."]
[The light of the Array extinguished one by one, the farmer sat alone in a silent room, gently closing the map atlas, as if closing his own life.]
[Afternoon.]
[The farmer’s younger brother knocked on the door and entered.]
[The two brothers exchanged no excessive greetings. The brother placed a thick file on the table, evidence of corruption and collusion with foreign forces by several influential figures within the Council.]
["Everything is arranged?" the farmer asked.]
["Yes." The younger brother adjusted his glasses, his green eyes still calm, "After my ’death,’ these things will spread like a plague. It’ll be enough to throw them into chaos for a while."]
[The two sat silently opposite each other for a while. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting long shadows.]
["The dagger." The younger brother reminded.]
[The farmer retrieved a dagger inlaid with a ruby from the drawer.]
[The younger brother took the dagger, weighed it, and unexpectedly, a teasing smile appeared at the corner of his mouth: "Feels nice. Thanks, brother. Please go easy when the time comes."]
["I should be the one thanking you." The farmer looked up and said softly, "If only it was me being killed..."]
["It’s okay, it’s all the same." The younger brother stopped the farmer’s lament.]
[The younger brother put away the dagger and turned to leave. As he reached the door, he paused for a moment: "...Put less sugar in the tea, you’ve been sleeping poorly lately."]
["Click."]
[The door gently closed.]
[Dusk.]
[The man began organizing his collection of books. He carefully picked out notes and scattered manuscripts. Some were theological texts, some historical documents, and others his own creative manuscripts—domineering presidents, infinite loops, strategies, tragic romances... Each one bore traces of multiple revisions, meticulous like academic papers.]
[This was him learning from the Mother Goddess of Radiance, standing from the perspective of the "Controller," to judge what the ultimate limit of his character setting could reach.]
[He packed up his treasured books, wrote down the addresses, such as universities, libraries, and welfare homes across the continent, and sent them out through trusted confidants.]
[After night fell, he returned to his room.]
[The noise and arrangements were already distant. He lit a brass desk lamp and meticulously brewed some Eastern Territory red tea. The steam rose, the rich aroma spreading.]
[He took out a black box, and carefully placed documents, secret orders, contracts, and decrees into it one by one. His movements were steady, his gaze calm, as if he were simply organizing ordinary files. The last piece he placed inside was a parchment filled with thoughts about the "game."]
[He closed the lid, making a slight "click." He set the box aside, as if waiting for a scheduled visitor.]
[An explorer, after setting all the arrangements he could, placed himself as the final piece in this grand narrative.]
[Outside the window, the night was as thick as ink, the stars sparse.]
[The outline of the man bent over his desk was gently enveloped by the moonlight.]
[As if tomorrow, the sun would still rise as usual.]
...
["The ground was full of sixpences,"]
["And he looked up and saw the moon."]
[——"The Moon and Sixpence"]
...
"——Su Ming’an!"
The door was burst open, and Lü Shu, covered in blood, rushed in, bearing heavy black wings, holding a scythe. Blood drops slid down his cheeks and chest.
He saw the Divine Son standing on the highest step, plunging a jet-black feather pen into the Pope’s chest from a commanding position.
The pen’s tip was sharp, like a blade.
Warm golden hues flowed through fingertips and palms, as if it could reach the heart.
The man with slightly curled blonde hair half-closed his eyes, Bach’s "Air on the G String" had ceased, the strings hanging from his hand, with blood beads seeping from the corners of his mouth.
This scene was daunting. Yet, the worry inside outweighed so much, Lü Shu strode forward, tightening his grip on the scythe—
The Divine Son on the stairs looked over, his eyes rippled with golden brilliance:
"Lü Shu... I’m fine, please wait for me there."
Su Ming’an worried that Lü Shu would get involved if he came over.
Lü Shu confirmed Su Ming’an was fine and gradually halted.
The radiance was like sunlight, like moonlight, reflecting off the ground covered in broken diamonds, like priceless sixpences.
"...Did you know? Su Wenjun occupied too much brilliance in this world." Hui Chi looked at Su Ming’an, his blonde hair gradually growing longer,
"His death, I pushed a bit, Qi Zhou pushed a bit, many secret hands pushed a bit, even the two demons always accompanying you pushed a bit. In the end, you killed him, and he got what he wanted."
"He was radiant, making the entire galaxy pale in comparison."
In the originally unmasked "correct" storyline, Su Wenjun was the World Master who climbed to the top from grassroots, Hui Chi was his shadow, hidden by the overly dazzling light.
Hui Chi did not deliberately hide his talents, but his inner desires and brilliance had no room to unfold under the theme of "Su Wenjun."
Until Su Wenjun got what he wanted, actively facing death, ending himself in a resolute manner.
——Then, a new script was born.
——A script centered around Hui Chi and Hui Bi, revolving around the faith and alteration of the "Mother Goddess of Radiance." With the involvement of the Seventh Thrones, it overshadowed the original storyline. The two were set as the final boss villains, the conservative forces hindering the World Master’s Heir, Su Wenli. However, Hui Chi saw through this script with awakened will.
No reliance on brute force and sacrificing heaps, no need for shouting hoarsely, no need for millions to fight each other till mounds of blood flowed.
People were no longer puppets manipulated at will; they began to struggle, trying to take control of their own destiny.
He knew that Su Ming’an would surely see through his arrangements, so he waited in the Holy Temple, waiting for the Savior to come.
For a moment, numerous scenes linked together, becoming cause and effect.
The absurd manuscriptions in the room...
The involvement of the Seventh Thrones...
Hui Bi’s willing death...
The countless lives as sacrifices in the square...
The Holy Sword theoretically capable of "slaying God," forged by billions of hatred and prayers...
The man’s figure became bright and illusory, as if about to merge with the crimson giant eye in the mural behind.
The entire hall trembled, the heat in Su Ming’an’s hands scorching.
In the surging crimson light, there was a deep voice.
Someone’s illusory lips slightly moved, forming a silent word.
In the center of the crimson giant eye, Hui Chi’s illusory face emerged faintly, in the throbbing red light, he slightly lifted his head.
Across the barrier between illusion and reality, his gaze fell on Su Ming’an’s face.
Su Ming’an seemed to hear laughter.
It was the Pope’s gentle and cheerful laughter.
After a lengthy and relentless quest for the way.
After a cold and tedious quest for solutions.
It seemed imaginable, on that face, finally surfaced a pure, genuine, burdenless smile.
"As the final villain below the Deity, I should disappear now..."
"If you truly break through all constraints, becoming the ultimate hero..."
"If you finish this long journey, resting in the warm spring breeze..."
"If you venture into the depths of the galaxy, never trapped by the mysteries of civilization again..."
"Then... please tell me personally..."
"Buzz——!!!"
The mural instantly came to life! The crimson giant eye suddenly widened to its limit!
As if the Mother Goddess of Radiance being calculated was angry, was roaring!
The entire area between the Holy Seats was completely transformed into an ocean of light, and the murals of the gods and angels shattered and peeled away, leaving only the crimson giant eye dominating the entire view.
In the sky, a giant eye spanning the horizon erupted with a brilliant light that illuminated all of Luowasha, causing countless believers and living beings to tremble under its glow.
"Su Ming’an!" Lü Shu exclaimed.
"You be careful!" Su Ming’an shouted back.
He gripped the Holy Sword in his hand, which seemed to thirst for blood.
On the sword’s blade, the flowing gold-red glow mirrored the radiance of the crimson giant eye within the hall.
The murals completely disappeared, leaving only the mottled base color of the walls, transforming into a myriad of drifting, interwoven gold and crimson light spots, akin to a grand, silent snowfall.
Standing amidst the great snow, Su Ming’an looked up.
He seemed to see a pair of beautiful eyes, like rubies.
"Please tell me..."
The man’s eyes revealed only a calm, resolute burn, a dying ember of crimson gold as he caressed the grape flower at his chest, his image completely vanishing, like a red-eyed beast walking willingly into a cage.
There was no turning back on that path. And he embraced it willingly.
...
"Do I really possess a Golden Apple floating on the ceiling?"
...
— How much darkness must humanity embrace, how much filth must it endure, to prove the independence of its soul, rather than merely a futile mimicry of light?
— If a seed is forcibly grafted with the genes of a poisonous vine, will it ultimately bloom with the fragrance of a rose, or become a bitter flower digging a grave for the gods?
"Traveler,
... I hope you enjoy this story my brother and I crafted with our own hands."
...
Su Ming’an raised the sword high against the mural and statue depicting the Radiant Mother God, his palm scorching hot.
In the moment when his consciousness was infinitely stretched, all the conjectures that had once troubled Su Ming’an about Hui Chi collapsed like a sandcastle. They were all too "small," too "within the sandbox." They were still trapped in the logic of "why one person would help or hinder another."
Players can overturn the game’s board.
...
"Boom——!!!"
The Holy Sword slashed down!
The crimson giant eye shattered violently, turning into drifting dust.
"Zheng——!"
The light split apart like Moses parting the sea. Where the sword’s edge pointed, the crimson giant eye on the mural let out a wail.
"Crack! Crackcrack——!"
Su Ming’an gripped the sword hilt tightly, clenching his teeth.
A dense and terrifying cracking sound radiated outward from the point where the sword struck!
The crimson iris peeled away like shards of broken glass. Pale hands encircling it twitched and turned to ash, and countless eyes embedded in palms exploded simultaneously, while golden threads scattered like burnt embers!
"Rumble——!!!"
A landslide-like roar came from all directions!
The massive supporting pillars creaked with a tooth-numbing twist, and the murals and sculptures on the walls were not spared either. Epic paintings depicting the gods turned into drifting ashes. Statues of angels and saints that had stood for millennia broke in half.
Outside the hall, on the square, people witnessed an unforgettable scene —
The World Lord’s Palace, symbolizing the highest Authority of the Radiant Mother God on earth, with its spires reaching the sky and halls as heavy as mountains, suddenly contracted inward.
The next moment, countless intertwined sword lights of blazing white and dark gold erupted from the palace like a volcano, suppressed for ages! They pierced the flying bricks instantly, illuminating the dim sky as bright as day!
The entire Luowasha seemed to tremble under the aftershock of this one mighty stroke.
Inside the area between the Holy Seats, Su Ming’an maintained his stance of delivering the sword downwards. The chaotic energy currents pulled his hair back, revealing a smooth forehead and calm eyes. The Holy Sword was deeply embedded in the mural, humming as if singing, as if lamenting.
Through the crack, he saw the swaying square under the energy impact, the panicking crowd, the giant eye in the sky flickering uncertainly.
Behind him, Lü Shu spread his tattered bat wings, shielding him from most of the collapsing debris.
"Whew..."
In that instant, a delicate, drifting grape flower, its origin unknown, quietly landed before him.
Its petals were tinged with crystal-clear dew,
like a sixpence dropped in the moonlight.
...
"This afternoon’s sunlight is very nice... perfect for sleeping..."
"Wenjun, I’ll take a nap too. We both deserve to rest..."
...
"Crackle crackle..."
The flames burned to the end as Zhao Yuan poked the wood, ensuring the black box burned thoroughly. She sat with her cheeks resting on her hands, a blend of emotions swirling within, unsure whether she was right or wrong.
She thought she must be a fool.
Why not cherish the path to becoming a god that was within reach?
She fiddled with the torn paper scraps to avoid them burning the precious texts. Suddenly, she blinked and saw a folded newspaper under the porcelain cup. If it weren’t for the intense firelight illuminating the table, she wouldn’t have noticed.
"...Newspaper? What day’s?"
She pulled out the newspaper, brushed away the surface dust, and carefully unfolded it. A bold headline caught her eye: "Imperial Master in Distress, World Master Ascends!"
She paused, looking at the small letters below the headline: "Pope Hui Chi suspected of being corrupted by demonic qi, assassinates Imperial Master Hui Bi. The Church and Council plunged into unprecedented chaos..."
Below was a line of pencil-written small text, the date shockingly marked for tomorrow.
— This was a pre-printed newspaper, prepared for release tomorrow.
The report coldly narrated the course of events: Yesterday, within the Holy Seats, Pope Hui Chi abruptly lost control, murdering Imperial Master Hui Bi, who had come to discuss important matters. The church’s upper echelons had urgently intervened, urging believers to remain calm...
This was undoubtedly prepared by Hui Chi himself.
Sealed conclusions, thus archived.
"...Based on preliminary investigations and resonance tests with Holy Objects, it is fundamentally confirmed that Pope Hui Chi Your Majesty suffered demonic qi corruption, resulting in a clouded mind, hence committing such grievous mistakes. Details are still under further investigation."
Zhao Yuan’s fingertips brushed over the cold ink words: "...Hui Chi was demonized, thereby killing the Imperial Master and will face Judgment."
She softly read the final conclusion, her voice unnaturally hollow in the empty Scripture Pavilion.
This was his story. In the history that the vast majority of people were about to know and firmly believe, he would be recorded as a pope corrupted by demonic qi, betraying faith, and murdering his kin.
All the scheming, all the clarity compressed.
Resisting enemies, resisting destiny, resisting the world’s vanity...
When countless people in the future read this newspaper, they would feel shocked, angered, sigh. They would discuss the pope’s fall, lament the Imperial Master’s loyalty, and use it as a topic for after-dinner conversations.
"Crackle crackle..."
The flames flickered in the heap of ashes, like a dying heartbeat.
A newspaper, his story.
A perpetual struggle between two people.
...
