While the elves prepared for the negotiations, so did Anbaixiu.
Contact had already been established with the desert dwarves, who were preparing to send over the first batch of dwarf iron guards. The first wave of migrants had also gathered at the border. Anbaixiu helped select several tracts of wasteland, preparing to reclaim them and construct cities.
Anbaixiu didn't need to worry about city construction. Desert dwarves were exceptionally skilled builders; give them three days, and they could throw up a set of city walls for you.
What Anbaixiu needed to do was "persuade" the neighboring lords to give the desert migrants a warm, welcoming reception.
In truth, it wasn't particularly difficult. The dwarf iron guards, combined with Anbaixiu's skeletal army, were teleported to the northern border. After taking a few casual strolls around the area, Anbaixiu received their non-aggression pacts.
There really were plenty of peace-loving folk in the world. Orc tribes, lizardfolk lords, human nobles—all expressed their enthusiastic welcome to the dwarven migrants and even offered humanitarian care to these war refugees.
Interestingly, the first batch of migrants sent by the dwarves also happened to be orcs, lizardfolk, and humans, matching the races of the surrounding lords perfectly.
Anbaixiu thought that Hoffman Ironfist, the Hand of the King, was quite a clever man.
Salokma's greatest advantage was its open and liberal policies, very similar to the former City of Alchemy.
This first batch of migrants could integrate naturally into the existing environment, making it much easier for subsequent large-scale migrations to be accepted.
Within just a few days, the migrant orcs were already running off to wrestle with the native tribes, the lizardfolk were rolling in the mud alongside their kin, and as for the humans... well, not every race was so welcoming toward their own kind.
Despite a few minor hiccups, on the whole, relations between the migrants and the neighboring lords remained fairly decent.
Salokma didn't want to fight a two-front war either. After all, Ryan had beaten them to the point where they could barely hit back; pulling troops away to expand territory in the rear was a hard prospect for the desert dwarves as well.
Therefore, Hoffman Ironfist had told Anbaixiu directly that conciliation was best for the migration, and it would be ideal to avoid fierce resistance. This aligned perfectly with Anbaixiu's own thoughts. Working in tacit understanding, both sides did their utmost to suppress the chaos around the City of Alchemy.
As a result, a strange phenomenon arose: Salokma, the foreign invader, and Anbaixiu, the evil undead, had barely killed anyone between them. Instead, it was the local lords who, amid the chaotic atmosphere, were slaughtering one another back and forth, causing quite a few casualties.
Yet one couldn't really blame these lords for their madness.
Consider this: a family legacy of hundreds of years, yet possessing only a tiny sliver of territory. When a rare opportunity presented itself—when your weak neighbor lost the emperor's protection and became meat right by your mouth—who could resist?
Whether the desert dwarves ultimately ended up ruling or the elves came to slaughter them all, the greater one's power, the more leverage one had in negotiations. Only by possessing strength could one grasp one's own destiny. It was human nature; who would leave their fate in someone else's hands?
Even the hoodwinked Duke of Flaying grew a bit restless, sending men to ask Anbaixiu for instructions. Naturally, Anbaixiu had no intention of letting this worshiper of pain stir up trouble. He hoodwinked the duke once more with "everything is part of the plan," ordering him to defend his territory peacefully and not initiate war.
Consequently, after a while, a rumor began circulating among the native lords: a crazy lich was currently upholding world peace.
To be a lich and reach such a state was truly one of a kind in history.
Yet the results were visibly effective. War was confined to a very small scale, and thanks to the intervention of Anbaixiu and the dwarves, many restless lords had no choice but to wait and see.
Otherwise, the dwarven host and Anbaixiu's undead legions would hold a "military parade" outside their lands, leaving the petty lords no choice but unconditional surrender.
Now, everything depended on the situation with the elves.
Anbaixiu had been waiting for a reply from the elves, even postponing his transaction with the dwarves for it. Originally, Cicero and the other elves should have been delivered to the desert days ago. This hadn't been easy for Anbaixiu, considering the dwarves offered a million gold coins—a truly handsome sum.
However, the elves had delayed their reply for so long that Anbaixiu was growing a bit impatient.
By his reckoning, that chit Naya should have returned to Silvermoon High Court long ago, and the letter ought to have been placed in the Elven Queen's hands. If they had refused negotiations, Anbaixiu wouldn't have been surprised. But the elves merely halted the Twilight Guards' operations while offering no response to Anbaixiu, which was very bizarre.
Over the past two days, Anbaixiu had been considering whether he should take a trip to Silvermoon High Court in person. But before he could make up his mind, a strange sensation suddenly washed over him.
"Someone is prying into my fate?"
At the same time, inside the royal palace of Silvermoon High Court, an enormous magic circle took shape under the mana control of dozens of elven elders. Immense power drove the magic circle—resembling the Wheel of Fate—to spin continuously.
This was a magical ritual the elves had expended immense effort to create. Refined over several generations, it could discern anything they wished to know through simple means.
Having so many elven elders cast a spell together was a very high-level affair, a solemn measure reserved solely for matters concerning the survival of the elven race.
The Wheel of Fate spun. At the center of the magic circle, the letter was gradually corroded and disintegrated by magical energy. Anbaixiu's residual aura upon it served as the anchor for the Wheel of Fate. As the wheel turned, Anbaixiu's entire life would be laid bare.
Within the magic circle, an image slowly emerged showing Anbaixiu seated upright in his castle. His skeletal face was placid and unreadable, save for the glow of soul fire emanating from his eye sockets.
The old king stood nearby, scrutinizing the image displayed by the circle.
This was the lich who wrote the letter?
He looked entirely unremarkable, no different from an ordinary lich.
Yet the instant their gazes met, the lich's hollow eyes seemed to pierce through the barriers of time and space, settling squarely upon the old king.
The old king, worthy of being a seasoned legendary powerhouse, immediately sensed that something was wrong.
The lich before him was no mere phantom of the past; his gaze felt tangible.
"What is going on? Is there a problem with the magic circle?" the old king hastily asked.
The elven elders hurriedly conducted a thorough check, but found nothing amiss. The Wheel of Fate continued to rotate smoothly. With just a bit more power, the scene before them would begin rewinding, displaying this lich's past life.
Once enough of his "past" was gathered, they could attempt to deduce the future. If all went well, they could predict the outcome of the negotiations entirely.
Yet just as they were about to act, the illusory shadow of the lich displayed at the center of the circle suddenly moved.
Though clearly just a projection of a specific moment, it now seemed to come alive. The lich snapped his fingers at the assembly of elves.
In the next second, the Wheel of Fate began spinning uncontrollably.
One look at the flustered eyes of the elven elders told the old king that something had gone terribly wrong.
Unfortunately, he was not adept in magic; all he could do now was watch, unable to intervene.
The elven elders turned pale with fright. They didn't even know what had occurred. The magic circle hadn't been destroyed, and the Wheel of Fate was still turning, but it had completely slipped from their control.
Wresting away control of a magical ritual they had prepared for so long in a mere instant was simply unbelievable. Yet no matter how hard they tried, the Wheel of Fate was like an unfaithful lover—completely unmoved, throwing itself mercilessly into another's embrace.
An elven elder had to inform the old king of this terrifying reality: "The ritual has been seized. It's completely out of our control now."
"Can't you cut off the mana supply?" the old king asked.
"We cut it off long ago! It's no longer our mana powering the ritual's operation."
The old king's expression changed drastically. This sounded utterly absurd.
Not only had the other party seized control of the ritual in an instant, but he could also supply mana to the magic circle from such a vast distance?
While the elves were thrown into chaos, Anbaixiu sat inside his castle, watching everything before him with keen interest.
Having seized control of their magical ritual, Anbaixiu could see everything transpiring on the elves' side.
Trying to pry into his fate—he truly didn't know what had gone wrong in those elves' heads. He was destiny's true darling. Even though he had heartlessly broken up with it, the power of fate still did everything possible to get back together with him, desperately infatuated with him.
You say this was Loviatar's trap? Heh, a trap was also part of fate.
It sounded profound, but with such matters, you either disbelieved entirely or believed without reservation—there was no middle ground.
This magical ritual of the Wheel of Fate seemed impressive, but in Anbaixiu's eyes, it was merely a clumsy gimmick forced by people out of their depth. Not a single one of the elves before him truly wielded the power of divination; they were merely simulating it through this ritual.
It was like building an artificial dam to influence and divert a current—effective under ordinary circumstances. But if the current possessed a will of its own, no matter how high or sturdy your dam was, it was meaningless, for the floodwaters could ignore the riverbed's constraints and surge directly upstream.
Anbaixiu had already regained legendary-tier power of fate. For these elves to play with divination before him was like flaunting magic in front of Mystra.
Anbaixiu stroked his chin, pondering the elves' motives.
Compared to the entire elven race, why should a mere legendary lich warrant such grand treatment? What could have prompted these elves to expend so much manpower and resources just to investigate him?
The elves' actions defied common sense, which meant there had to be an extraordinary reason behind them.
"Heh, could it be related to their reason for starting this war?"
Anbaixiu lightly traced a circle with his finger. Over on the elven side, they saw the Wheel of Fate spin wildly as scenes of light and shadow emerged, the visage of Catherine, the Elven Queen, becoming clearer and clearer.
An elven elder cried out, "Disaster! He's using the power of fate in reverse to pry into our secrets!"
The old king roared, "Destroy this magic circle, immediately!"
Yet the elven elder replied helplessly, "We can't destroy it! The circle was designed with safeguards against external disruption. Even if we tear this room apart, it won't affect the Wheel of Fate's operation!"
The old king fumed, "Is there no emergency shutoff?! How do you normally maintain this thing?!"
Even more helpless, the elder explained, "Of course there is! But that requires us to actually hold control of the circle. Who could have imagined the subject of observation would seize the Wheel of Fate instead?"
At this crucial moment, Catherine, the Elven Queen, appeared within the secret chamber.
The elves hurriedly bowed, but Catherine had no time to acknowledge them.
Condensing her mana, she channeled it into the Wheel of Fate, attempting to disrupt the circle's operation and directly crush its structure with brute force. Both Catherine and Anbaixiu were legendary spellcasters; though Catherine was not adept in the power of fate, destruction was always easier than maintenance.
Before ever meeting face-to-face, the two sides clashed in magic across thousands of li—an unforeseen clash that nobody could have anticipated.
Yet Catherine could not back down. The secret of the elven race could never be revealed to him.
After a long while, the rotation of the Wheel of Fate slowed, and the flickering lights and shadows vanished.
Her brow drenched in sweat, Catherine pulled her hands back. The old king hurriedly stepped forward and asked, "How is it? Did we protect the secret?"
Catherine nodded. "It should be safe."
"Thanks to you," the old king said, lingering fear in his voice.
Catherine smiled bitterly and shook her head. "It wasn't me who stopped him. He gave up on his own."
"What did you say?"
The old king was astonished. He hadn't expected that even Catherine's intervention couldn't stop the lich—but what did the opponent's sudden voluntary retreat mean?
"I couldn't control the magic circle. It was that lich who willingly returned control of it. He said..." Catherine hesitated for a moment, then continued, "He said this was a show of sincerity, and that he hopes the negotiations go smoothly."
The old king frowned, unsure whether to trust the other party's words.
"Did he truly not discover our secret?" the old king pressed.
Catherine nodded and said, "Of that, I am certain. The Wheel of Fate did not reveal the secret of mana addiction; none of the relevant information was displayed."
"Good. That is good."
The old king breathed a sigh of relief. It was a stroke of fortune amidst misfortune. However, after this ordeal, they would have to reconsider their negotiation strategy. This lich was far more terrifying than anticipated—truly worthy of being a member of the Elegy Poetry Society.
Meanwhile, Anbaixiu had opened the Necrotic Codex and was scribbling furiously: [Friends, I know the elves' secret now. You definitely won't believe it when I tell you.]
The Wheel of Fate had indeed not displayed the elves' secret, but... after coming into contact with Catherine's mana, Anbaixiu had used her mana as an anchor to peer into her entire life.
There was no need for a dozen people to form a circle and conduct some grand ritual. With just a single thought, hundreds of Dice of Fate could part the veil of destiny for him, laying the elven race's secret bare before his eyes.
And Catherine, lacking Anbaixiu's sensitivity to fate, was completely oblivious to it.
Now that Anbaixiu held the elves' greatest secret, his negotiation plan needed a revision as well.
Chapter 114