Is It That Simple?

To anyone else, Shar's contract would seem exceptionally harsh. Bring Shar a legendary-rank believer within ten years, or corrupt three paladins devoted to the light into breaking their oaths. Legends were already few and far between, and most possessed their own faiths. To make them convert to a fallen deity—and one despised across the continent at that—was extraordinarily difficult. Furthermore, deities regarded followers of legendary rank with special favor; the apostasy of such a figure could trigger a holy war at any moment. Corrupting paladins was no easier. While the Ryan Empire boasted plenty of paladins, no one could become one without being among the most devout believers. Killing such people was feasible, but driving a paladin to break their oath and fall was immensely difficult. The many paladins Anbaixiu had captured previously had all looked upon death as returning home, their wills unshakably resolute. For anyone else, not just ten years, but even a hundred would hardly be enough to succeed. But Anbaixiu was different. His legendary ability could weave the future for others. All it took was one bad day, and even the kindest, most upright person would go mad. With an agonizing future ahead, changing someone's mind couldn't be simpler. Ten years was more than enough time. Worst came to worst, he could just have the elves produce a legend themselves—sacrificing oneself for the race ought to seem quite noble to them. Shar had also been straightforward. Once Anbaixiu signed the pact, she left behind a deep, dark shadow. It was a writhing mass of darkness; gazing into it felt as though one's soul would be sucked right in. Anbaixiu rolled a few Dice of Fate first, confirming that this thing wasn't some curse left behind by Shar, before reaching out toward the deep darkness. As if alive, the black substance clung to his hand. Hundreds of millions of runes lit up, scrambling to drill into Anbaixiu's bones. Anbaixiu felt as though his soul had been invaded by something; the surging torrent of knowledge forced its way inside, giving him a long-forgotten bout of dizziness and mental fatigue. After a long time, the shadow detached from his arm and returned to its state of slow squirming. Anbaixiu opened his mouth and exhaled a puff of smoke. It was the ash produced when soul fire burned at maximum intensity; for a brief moment just now, his soul fire had nearly detonated. Anbaixiu remarked with feeling, "Is the Weave really such a complex thing? Even more ridiculous than Wish." He had previously thought the Wish project in the City of Alchemy was exquisite enough, with its magic and alchemical knowledge sufficient to fill an entire library. But compared to the Weave, it paled into complete insignificance. Anbaixiu had only skimmed the basic principles of the Weave without delving into further details before his soul voluntarily severed the connection, unable to process such an overwhelming volume of information. No wonder Shar had left behind this shadow—she knew that if the Weave were committed to writing, the text could fill an entire kingdom. Anbaixiu rubbed his skull, realizing he had underestimated how formidable the Weave was. "No wonder that idiot who tried to usurp control of the Weave was blown to pieces on the spot. Unless you're among the highest tier of gods, you can't control the Weave at all. The sheer influx of information alone would blast a mortal until not even ashes remained." A mortal's folly always stems from arrogance and conceit, terminates in tragedy, and ultimately becomes a joke passed down through the ages. Anbaixiu warned himself not to follow in that greedy mortal's footsteps; as far as the Weave was concerned, he only needed to find the portion capable of stabilizing chaotic and disorderly magic. After resting for quite a while, Anbaixiu reached out toward the shadow once more, plunging back into the boundless ocean of knowledge. Thus, immersing himself for a while, withdrawing to jot down hundreds of pages of notes, re-entering the shadow to consult its contents, and pulling back to write hundreds more pages, Anbaixiu became thoroughly engrossed in his research. *** The elves, however, were not nearly as composed. The failure of the Wheel of Fate ritual had pushed the elves' wariness toward the lich Anbaixiu to its absolute peak. Only now did they realize that Anbaixiu possessed a mastery in divination that surpassed the entire elven race. Previously, though they found the lich Anbaixiu somewhat troublesome, he was merely a nuisance; compared to the elven race, a solitary legendary lich was akin to an ant before an elephant. Yet if he was a master of divination, it was an entirely different story. The power of fate was something even the gods feared. If you were fated to fall, not even the greatest divine power could avert that destiny. The only entity capable of standing above fate was Ao, the Creator God; all other living beings merely struggled within the web woven by fate. The power Anbaixiu had displayed was already close to divine. Against an adversary versed in divination, the vast majority of plots and schemes were meaningless. The only way to deal with such an opponent was an open conspiracy. The elven race's power vastly exceeded that of a single legendary lich and was greater than that of the desert dwarves fighting on two fronts; this was their greatest trump card. Previously, the elves had seemed conservative in warfare only because lives were too precious to squander. Now that more than half their population suffered from mana addiction and had to be spent on the battlefield anyway, the combat strength the elves could unleash without regard for casualties would force even the Ryan Empire to steer clear of their spearhead. This was their ultimate trump card. As long as the elves pressed forward honorably and crushed their opposition in open confrontation, victory in the war was certain. The old king earnestly counseled Catherine, "Your Majesty, throughout the negotiations, we must firmly project this stance. We will win this war; no matter who the enemy is, the outcome will be the same. Only by grounding ourselves in this reality can the negotiations possibly work in our favor." Catherine nodded. She understood the elves' advantages, but she said with equal concern, "Yet we cannot disregard the lich's input. The goal of our negotiation this time is to rescue Cicero and the others." The old king was deeply worried by Catherine's words. This care was the pillar that sustained Catherine, but it would also serve as the enemy's greatest leverage. Once a weakness was seized upon, one would be at a disadvantage in negotiations. He could only count it a blessing that the lich hadn't uncovered the elves' greatest secret, or these negotiations would be even more impossible to conduct. Catherine seemed to realize her stance was compromised as well, so she could only say to the old king, "We still know far too little about that lich. We need more intelligence." The old king nodded. "I know. That is why I found a human. He was once a member of the Alchemists' Council and dealt with that lich on many occasions. Perhaps we can extract some intelligence from him." Catherine's eyes lit up, and she promptly said, "Then please, invite him in at once." Before long, a solemn Gustavo Fring appeared in the Elven Queen's palace. Compared to before, the legendary alchemist looked in rather better spirits. Though he remained stern and unsmiling, his gaze had grown clearer, shorn of the immense pressure he once carried. Although the ultimate goal of the City of Alchemy had failed, Gustavo Fring had also cast off a crushing burden. A legendary alchemist, as long as he did not burden himself with undue pressure, could live quite comfortably. After the City of Alchemy was destroyed, he had traveled to the Silvermoon High Court. In this world, only the Silvermoon High Court could satisfy his needs for alchemical research. What he hadn't expected was that upon arriving, he would run into all sorts of mishaps, leaving him utterly trapped within the High Court. Being granted an audience with the Elven Queen, Gustavo Fring hoped to seize this opportunity to regain his freedom. Yet the moment he laid eyes on Catherine, even an old man like Gustavo Fring was lost in a daze for a long time. The Elven Queen's beauty was stunning even by elven standards, let alone to a human. She was like a living aura of charm; anyone with slightly weaker willpower would drop to their knees on the spot, pledging fealty to the queen and becoming her loyal follower until death. Catherine was long accustomed to this and waited patiently for Gustavo Fring to regain his senses. Gustavo Fring was entranced for a full dozen seconds before coming to his senses, hurriedly lowering his head, not daring to look at the Elven Queen again. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. It was a breach of etiquette on my part." "Pay it no mind, Master Fring." Catherine did not care about such details in the slightest, cutting to the chase with a touch of urgency. "I hear you have crossed paths with that lich. I would like to inquire about him. If you are willing to assist, the elven race will remember your kindness." Gustavo Fring replied, "I cannot claim to be particularly well-acquainted with that lich. I merely had a few academic debates with him. His attainments in alchemy are extraordinarily high. Our guildmaster invited him to join the Alchemists' Council multiple times, but he always refused..." Gustavo Fring embellished many details of his interactions with Anbaixiu since making his acquaintance. Rather than deliberately belittling Anbaixiu, he subtly praised him as a genius among geniuses. After all, he had been thoroughly defeated by Anbaixiu from head to toe. Only the more formidable his opponent seemed would his own failure appear less shameful. It wasn't that he, Gustavo Fring, lacked ability, but that he had encountered a true genius seen once in a millennium; his loss was entirely justified. Catherine knew none of this. She only knew that Gustavo Fring had been forced into exile because of this lich. Though she didn't know the exact details, Gustavo Fring clearly bore a deep grudge against him. For an enemy to speak of him with such unsparing praise only made the lich seem all the more formidable than she had imagined. As the conversation went on, Catherine inquired further, "Then so far as you know, does this lich have any obvious weaknesses? Any hobbies, or perhaps an obsession?" Liches all had obsessions of their own—this was common knowledge. When an obsession was involved, a lich's reason would plummet or vanish entirely. This was what Catherine wanted to know most; possessing this information would give her the upper hand in negotiations. Gustavo Fring answered without hesitation, "Gold coins! Without a doubt, his obsession is wealth! He pursues money and riches fanatically. If you offer him enough gold coins, you could even get him to surrender his phylactery." Catherine asked in astonishment, "Is it that simple?" Just money? The elves had plenty of that. If all it took to rescue their people was paying a ransom, it would be far too simple.