Once, a mighty power had been placed before Anbaixiu, but he had failed to cherish it. Like a heartless scoundrel, he had taken the benefits and run.
Loviatar's single whip lash had struck Anbaixiu right back into the state of ascending to legend.
His soul merged with the world once more, needing to pluck the pearl that belonged to him from the vast sea of laws.
Only this time, the blood-tinged pearl surfaced on its own, forcefully shoved into Anbaixiu's hands, leaving him no choice whatsoever.
Now, the jilted fate made a domineering comeback, returning in triumph as if clutching a court ruling stating "marriage ties not severed, divorce denied," backed by its brawny brother-in-law to settle scores with the scoundrel Anbaixiu.
Vast power converged upon Anbaixiu's soul. Things once blurred in his memories were dredged back up like old grievances in a lovers' quarrel. Every forgotten past he had sought to bury was raw and bleeding, making Anbaixiu feel a long-lost pain.
The feeling of breaking up only to be forced back together was just that cruel.
A new legendary boon began to form, and Anbaixiu's soul returned to his physical body.
They were still inside the secret vault from before, though the blood-red glow upon the idol had dimmed considerably. The Duke of Flaying and his daughter knelt before the statue, madly scourging themselves with whips—likely having noticed the idol's fading radiance and fearing they had done something wrong to incur the goddess's wrath.
Little did they know that Loviatar had used the power of faith accumulated over countless years simply to play a nasty joke on Anbaixiu.
Anbaixiu stared expressionlessly at the idol. Loviatar's phantom still lingered above it, eyeing him with an amused glint.
Having received the new legendary boon, Anbaixiu now understood Loviatar's scheme.
It was an immensely potent, utterly absurd legendary boon—Destiny Weaving.
Anbaixiu could use this ability to craft a future for any target. However, influenced by Loviatar's divine power, the future he wove could contain only boundless agony—whether physical torment or mental collapse, both could be brought into reality.
Thus, in truth, this legendary boon ought to be called: Pain · Destiny Weaving.
Whenever Anbaixiu used this ability, it amounted to spreading pain throughout the world—working on Loviatar's behalf.
On the surface, there seemed to be nothing wrong with it, since he only had to use it against enemies. Yet Anbaixiu wished he could sell this legendary boon for a single gold coin.
The power of the School of Divination had once supported Anbaixiu through years of adventuring, carrying him through crisis after crisis. But the more he used that power, the tighter the threads of fate wound around him.
Borrowing the power of fate would ultimately turn one into fate's slave.
If you believe in fate, you lose the power to change it.
When you know what your next meal will be, its flavor is halved; when you know the ending of a game, half the fun is lost.
Foreseeing destiny constantly erodes one's willpower, dulling the capacity for independent thought, turning life into a spoiled detective novel—utterly tasteless.
To live like that was torture to Anbaixiu.
If it were only a century or two, enjoying the spoiled plot wasn't bad, and playing the prophet occasionally was a novel experience.
Yet as time stretched infinitely, in the third century of his life, Anbaixiu found himself growing numb.
When everything was already predetermined, the harder one tried, the more one looked like a clown.
Once, Anbaixiu had foreseen that a friend of his would die a violent death. Then, he did nothing, watching with his own eyes as that friend perished.
Before dying, that friend had asked Anbaixiu a question: if he hadn't known this future in advance, would he have done everything in his power to save him?
Anbaixiu had given no answer at the time. He did not even know why he had grown so numb that he did nothing.
Perhaps it was because he had struggled countless times before, only for the outcome to match the prophecy exactly. The web of fate grew tighter and tighter, trapping Anbaixiu's soul within a thick cocoon.
It was also that friend's death that made Anbaixiu see his own numbness clearly.
When a person lived to such a point, it was hardly any different from being dead. Perhaps that was also why the School of Divination had gradually vanished—all mages walking this path would eventually turn into feelingless stone.
Therefore, Anbaixiu began to loathe the power of the School of Divination from the bottom of his heart. He knew he could not tear free from fate's woven web, but he could choose not to look. Closing his eyes, not looking at the future, striving only to live in the present.
This, instead, added a touch of color to Anbaixiu's life. Years later, when he broke through to become a legend, he finally parted ways with destiny.
Though he no longer possessed the power to foretell the future and lived quite wretchedly, this was what truly felt like living. What did being a little poor matter? If he truly couldn't survive, he could always transform into a lich.
Giving up a few worldly desires was far better than throwing away an entire life.
So during his previous ascension, Anbaixiu decisively rejected the resurgence of divination power, resolved to see the path of wealth through to the end.
Who could have guessed that Loviatar would ruin it all?
Anbaixiu wished he could strip her bare and toss her into a goblin camp. At the moment of this third ascension, Anbaixiu saw those visions of the future once more—scene after scene, collapsing his infinitely branching future into a mere handful of choices.
Anbaixiu glared at Loviatar's phantom above the idol, swearing with his soul:
"Loviatar, I will shatter your godhead and cast you down to the mortal realm!"
As if grasping Anbaixiu's thoughts, the phantom of Loviatar first showed surprise, then burst into mad laughter. "Declaring war on a deity? Has your intellect been washed away by legendary power? What a foolish declaration! What right do you have to utter such words?"
"Loviatar, right now you are a deity and I am a mortal. But I might be the only mortal in this world with three legendary boons. Would becoming a god be so difficult?" Anbaixiu's tone was brimming with certainty—a confidence born of the School of Divination.
Loviatar sneered dismissively. "There are gods aplenty. Even if you become a god, so what? Could you possibly weave a destiny that turns me mortal?"
The divine power of any lunatic deity was never weak. Regardless of how many believers they had, they always possessed formidable tricks up their sleeves, for the genuinely weak lunatics had long since been slain.
Even if Anbaixiu ascended to godhood, Loviatar did not think it would be a problem. There were plenty of deities who wanted to kill her; one more or one less made no difference.
Anbaixiu smiled faintly. "Loviatar, you know nothing of the power of fate. I am a lich, and you are a deity. Our time is boundless. The threads of fate extend infinitely; one day, they will wrap around you, and I have already seen that future.
"The terror brought by predestination is a torment even to deities. As time passes, your soul will ultimately be crushed beneath the weight of prophecy. I will take my time waiting for that day to arrive."
Loviatar's phantom discarded her prior arrogance, donning an enraged expression. She was beginning to worry that Anbaixiu spoke the truth.
"First, you have to survive until then. You should know very well that after agreeing to your deal with the God of Alchemy, your name was etched onto the monument of hatred of many gods.
"Had you agreed to become my chosen, I could have granted you a chance to survive. Now, you have cast it away yourself. My prank upon you is merely a trivial bit of retribution; the punishments of other deities will descend upon you again soon enough. Take your time enjoying it. I, too, look forward to seeing your face when you behold your own death date and await your demise in agony and despair."
Yet in the end, Loviatar inflicted no punishment upon Anbaixiu. Perhaps the power of faith upon the idol was insufficient to sustain a divine chastisement, or perhaps she still dared not violate the rules set by Ao.
In short, the deity's phantom quickly vanished, and this conversation confined to the soul remained known to no one.
After Loviatar departed, Anbaixiu seemed expressionless on the outside, but his soul was seething. He had never imagined he would get schemed against by this lunatic goddess.
When he said earlier that he had seen a future where Loviatar's godhead shattered, it had been a pure bluff; the future he had seen had nothing to do with Loviatar at all.
But no matter—frightening her first was what counted.
Loviatar had clearly had her composure broken by Anbaixiu's scare, which was why she resorted to such pointlessly petty threats.
What vengeance could deities take? Another prank that would make Anbaixiu ascend to legend once more? That wouldn't be half bad; a few more times and he might ascend on the spot, achieving godhood purely through sheer power.
As for retaliation, Anbaixiu sneered. He would see who retaliated against whom first.
Those lunatic evil gods wanted to stir up trouble, did they? Then he would make an example of Loviatar first and see whose vengeance was fiercer.
Anbaixiu's mind turned, and a plan was already hatched.
With a wave of his finger, the Duke of Flaying and his daughter, who had whipped themselves bloody, were bathed in the radiance of a healing spell. Their wounds rapidly knit together, and the pain naturally vanished into thin air.
Yet this won no gratitude from father and daughter. The Duke of Flaying even cried out agitatedly, "Lord God-favored, using healing spells is forbidden!"
Loviatar was the Goddess of Pain. Healing was only permitted after suffering pain. They had only just begun mutilating themselves, so how could healing be allowed? Every ritual cost half their lives until the goddess was satisfied and bestowed her blessing to mend their injuries.
Previously, many of the Duke of Flaying's children could not endure this cruel ritual and failed to receive the goddess's healing blessing, ultimately dying from severe wounds.
For Anbaixiu to cast a healing spell beforehand was a grave act of blasphemy against the goddess.
Faced with the Duke of Flaying's questioning, Anbaixiu retorted, "Are you the God-favored, or am I? Do you understand the Goddess of Pain, or do I?"
This counterquestion shut the Duke of Flaying's mouth instantly. The oracle was real. When Anbaixiu had appeared before the idol earlier, the Goddess of Pain had reacted immediately; the Duke of Flaying had clearly seen the blood-red light from the idol envelop Anbaixiu. He was all too familiar with such a scene—this was the effect of the goddess conferring her blessing, only he had never seen such an intense crimson glow before.
The power of faith stored within the idol for years had been nearly exhausted, showing just how deeply the goddess favored this lich.
Thus, when Anbaixiu spoke these words, the Duke of Flaying did not dare utter a single contradiction.
Seeing that the Duke of Flaying had been duped and that Loviatar did not appear to dispute him, Anbaixiu knew his guess was right: the Goddess of Pain had indeed depleted the power required to manifest.
Anbaixiu said to the Duke of Flaying, "Enough. The reason I interrupted your ritual is that the goddess is no longer watching this place. Your sacrifice is merely going to waste and cannot provide the goddess with the power of faith at all."
The Duke of Flaying and Bellatrix had an epiphany. So that was why!
"From this day forth, I am that goddess's spokesperson. Praying to me is the same as praying to her."
Anbaixiu summoned the Golden Throne, suspending it in midair, and said to the lunatic father and daughter, "Now, kneel before me and pray devoutly, just as you would before the goddess."
Chapter 108