A Future

Doubt, resentment, or perhaps numbness and confusion. In the protracted, dead silence, Salah ad-Din's expression shifted continuously. His hands trembled so violently he could scarcely hold the box. His lips parted, but no sound came out. When he wanted to roar in fury, he discovered he had long since run out of strength. It was as if his spine had been pulled clean out. Too much suffering. Too much despair... The elder sank to his knees, reached into his chest, and tore out his own heart—beneath the sifting, sand-eroded flesh lay that drab, dusty heart of iron and stone. "O Saintly Fool, if this is my sin, then please, cast absolute excommunication upon me. Do whatever you will." He bowed low, his forehead pressed against the deck, begging in utter humility: "They have given up everything, hoping only that you might show mercy! We will do whatever you ask, as long as... as long as you..." "The heritage of the Ash King." The Sower lowered his gaze, looking down at that iron-stone heart that had long ceased to beat. He let out a soft sigh, reached out, and gave it a gentle tap—as though banishing all the gloom and dead silence in an instant. In a flash, the radiant glow of a miracle welled up from within the stone heart. After a whole century, it began to thrum once more! Salah ad-Din froze where he knelt. Stunned. Across the entire fleet, every single person turned rigid. They heard an echo rising from deep within their chests. The rhythm was so low, yet so breathtakingly beautiful. Faint traces of color crept back into every pale, cracking face, carrying with them the warmth and cadence of life. Even the sand-eroded, splitting wounds no longer felt numb; prickles of stinging sensation surfaced as the fissures twitched and throbbed, while the grayish-black hues vanished without a trace. It was as though an invisible shackle had quietly slipped free in that very moment... The ancient king's curse, which had bound every surviving soul of the Sand Nation for so long, miraculously melted away. "Now, Salah ad-Din, you are free." The Sower withdrew his hand without touching the amber-like heart. "You have no need to be anyone's slave, nor do you need to seek sanctuary from someone like me in despair and sorrow. You need only answer me one question." He looked down at the prostrate man and asked suddenly, "Now that you have regained your freedom, where will you go?" "..." Salah ad-Din fell silent. Amidst the chorus of jubilant laughter and ecstatic shouts around him, he closed his eyes in exhaustion, feeling neither relief nor joy. He gave only a hollow smile. "Where else is there for us to go?" He lowered his head. "Motes of dust like us were abandoned by the world long ago... Even without the curse, where could we possibly go?" Aside from Hell, there was nowhere left for them. "Then that shall be the covenant between us." Between the dead sea and sky, the Sower reached out and rested his hand atop the head of this exhausted man, telling him: "From this day forth, all you need to do is move forward. Your tears of blood and your sorrows end today. I will forge a future for you that no one will ever be able to steal away." "A future?" Dazed, Salah ad-Din lifted his head as if unable to believe his ears. Yet when he met those eyes, devoid of pity or mercy, he could no longer hold back his tears. Like a child, he choked with sobs, tears streaming down his face: "You mean... we still have a future?" The Sower gave a slow nod. And so, Salah ad-Din slowly pushed himself up, stood before him, and bent his back once more. Raising both hands, he bowed devoutly, offering his complete worship. As if granting an audience to a god. Those clouded eyes brimmed with tears and burning light—a fervent flame that could reduce the seven seas to ash. "Then grant me leave to lay down my life for the future of which you speak!" With that, he surrendered the last heritage of the former Sand Nation, and offered up his very life. Amidst the laughter and anthems of countless souls, upon the pitch-black ocean, the Fourth Void Abyss leading straight to Hell swung wide open! *** On the very day the Wolf Sin perished by the White Stag's hand, a grave peril manifested from within. Even as that hidden danger silently sprouted, the storm raging across the White Nation escalated further. The grisly death of the interim president was merely the prelude. Day after day, the corpses of high-ranking officials were hung from lampposts. Faces that had once regularly appeared on television had now turned into rotting carrion. The sycophantic lapdogs and compradors, terrified by the fate of their peers, lived in constant dread, exhausting every connection they had in a desperate bid to flee this rapidly collapsing hellhole. With past glory wiped out, even the military forces dispatched by the Empire and the Federation began pulling back from all fronts, retreating into their garrison bases and washing their hands of whether these people lived or died. Those who had caught wind of the danger early on had already slipped overseas under assumed identities, using the fortunes they had extorted over the years to start anew, praying all the while that retribution from their homeland would never fall from the sky. Those who were a step too late discovered in despair that every ticket for airships and vessels was completely sold out. All they could do was drive around aimlessly like headless flies, fleeing anywhere they could. Amidst the turmoil, major enterprises beefed up their security while swiftly severing ties with their local operations to stem further losses. Outside the airports belonging to the Empire and Federation, massive crowds swarmed until there was no standing room left. Clasping special passports in sweaty hands, people stood anxiously in endless lines, waiting for notices that seemed as if they would never come. In this agonizing limbo, they could do nothing but invent excuses and lie to themselves to blot out the harsh truth: they had been discarded like worn-out shoes. And so, some wept while others laughed. Amidst wave after wave of unrest, having lost all order and stability, the White Nation plunged into unprecedented chaos—and, at the very same time... ushered in unprecedented vitality! Whether through tears or laughter, faint gleams of light gradually surfaced in eyes that had once been utterly hollow. Even if most people, after their grief subsided, still had to return to their everyday routines and rack their brains just to scrape by in poverty, drawing breath suddenly felt impossibly light. As if their chains had shattered. Yet amidst this tangled mess where everyone else was overwhelmed, while the Empire and Federation wore expressions as grim as a funeral, there was one person whose grin reached from ear to ear. The overseer of Tacheng's local Wilderness Market. Shaban. Life was looking up by the day! Who would have guessed that right at the tail end of his tenure as Dragon Head, he would luck into such a windfall? With the sudden surge of White Stag Celestial Chosen, the local Wilderness Market's business volume had begun ballooning at an insane pace. Things were looking up—everything was looking up! Of course, these golden days weren't destined to last forever. The local branch would inevitably face reorganization and direct control from headquarters soon enough, but what did that have to do with a Dragon Head on the verge of stepping down? Besides, retirement didn't stop a man from finding a new lease on life elsewhere! It was as if his rank had jumped three grades right before retirement, causing his status to skyrocket. Now, even if the Empire or the Federation wanted an audience with him, they had to book an appointment. Before the White Stag arrived, you called me Old Sha, and I didn't hold it against you. Now that the White Stag is here, what the hell are you supposed to call me?! These days, Shaban was swamped from dawn to dusk, so busy he was practically foaming at the mouth, yet he couldn't stop grinning through the mountain of paperwork. Every day, the moment he opened his eyes, he thanked the Wilderness Market. The moment he picked up his bowl, he revered the White Stag. And whenever he closed his eyes, he silently prayed for Lord Lu Changsheng to be blessed with a swarm of children, endless wealth, and a long life. Don't ask why—if you must know, it's because my love for the Evil Transmutation Cult runs bone-deep! As this upheaval brewed and spread, the Wilderness Market grew increasingly bold in its actions. Word had recently gone out that they were reviving the annual Leader Assembly to adapt to the shifts and tempests of this new era. As for how the various factions would interpret such a move, that was another matter entirely. What was most ridiculous of all was that, despite having nothing to do with the Wilderness Market, Ji Jue had somehow managed to turn a staggering profit amidst the turmoil! For no other reason than his stellar ties with the Church of Chongguang! These days, across the entire White Nation, aside from the Wilderness Market, the only major institution standing tall was the Church of Chongguang—and they had personally certified him as a man of supreme virtue! The Medal of Supreme Virtue was still pinned to his chest, and this time, they had even awarded him another one! Double the honor! In fact, Elder Longge didn't even need to speak up... The local White Nation populace already held a fair amount of respect for Haian Industries. After all, prior to this... Ji Jue was the only one who had never looked down on these destitute folks, treating them with genuine, open-hearted sincerity. Leaving aside the relief efforts during the White Stag storm, the perks and wages offered once the factory opened could at least be chalked up to proper business. But when the Kingdom of the Woods incident broke out and Bloodthirst Syndrome ran rampant, Old Gou had followed Ji Jue's orders, pouring untold fortunes into purchasing specialized medicine to supply the church without limit! Furthermore, when the various factions moved to purge the infected, he had acted decisively, opening up factory halls and medical wards to shelter refugees and take in abandoned children. At peak capacity, even the unfinished skeleton buildings had been packed to the brim, forcing the Yan brothers to sleep on floor mats in Ji Jue's office. He wouldn't dare claim to have saved countless lives, but every single local knew full well what he had done. Consequently, when the storm hit once more and other enterprises were packing their bags to flee under the hostile glares of the locals, Haian Industries was leisurely preparing to resume operations. After snapping up production lines and assets left behind by rival firms for dirt cheap, they brazenly posted recruitment notices for everyone to see—offering benefits and pay fully on par with their Xinquan headquarters! Against all odds, business was booming by the day! The only pity was that despite stirring up so much trouble, Shehri had ended up dead without the Sower ever showing his face. That miserable bastard was even better at hiding than The Hermit. With the trail gone cold, Ji Jue could only sit in his workshop and wait, taking in the chaotic spectacle and the magnificent sight of Tacheng burning outside. He was thoroughly enjoying the show. On the third day, An Ning left with her family. There was no farewell, nor a single word spoken. Perhaps she simply didn't know how to face Ji Jue after he had turned into a wolf, unable to fathom how someone could randomly become a wolf yet end up carrying a White Stag aura even thicker than her own... What kind of joke was that? A special dispensation from Supreme Goodness to turn into a wolf?! It was beyond absurd! After waking up, she had reflexively averted her eyes whenever she felt Ji Jue looking at her, her face flushing red whenever she found herself staring blankly at his neck. Yet she stubbornly refused to say a single word to him. Just like a sulking child. When Ji Jue finally woke up, all he saw in the mirror was a face covered in doodles, alongside several gashes carved into the desktop that looked like a crude drawing. After studying it closely for a long time, Ji Jue ventured a bold guess: she had probably, maybe, roughly intended to draw a wolf's head... It was just that her art style was far too abstract. On top of what looked like a crying wolf sticking out its tongue, there was a massive 'X' slashed across it, pinned through with a dagger. Ji Jue was left utterly baffled. After scratching his head for half an eternity, he snapped a photo and sent it to her: [What is this supposed to mean?] The status showed 'Read' for a long time, and the 'Typing...' indicator flashed repeatedly. In the end, all that came back was a sticker of a doge pointing an accusatory finger. Accompanied by a fierce yet feeble threat: [If you dare turn into a wolf again, I'll murder you within three days!] "..." Ji Jue's vision went black. Who on earth could ever decipher that!