Long-distance communication had always been a major problem.
Concealing his identity, Anbaixiu had mailed a letter under a pseudonym to James Watson, and it had taken a full ten days to reach his hands.
The reply James Watson sent back had taken a circuitous route as well, taking eight days before reaching Anbaixiu.
When he finally received the letter, his first reaction was utter disdain for James Watson.
"Something as massive as the Dragon Tyrant Armament, and this pitiful scrap of intel is all you know? What a useless waste!"
Anbaixiu felt that if he were Ryan's Supreme Arbiter, he would know down to the last detail what the imperial capital's citizens were muttering in their dreams every night. Did this old man have no network of his own at all?
Whatever. Relying on this old codger was out of the question; he would have to find another way to dig up intelligence on the Dragon Tyrant Armament.
"Still, what's going on with this last line? Even if it's a slip of the pen, no one scribbles out an entire passage this long."
Anbaixiu inspected it closely. The line had been redacted with meticulous care, completely obliterating every single word that had been written.
Curiosity piqued, Anbaixiu wondered: could this sentence be some kind of cipher the old man left for him? Had he hidden crucial information out of fear that the letter might fall into someone else's hands?
Yet there was no magical seal on the ink—it was just smeared into a solid blotch. How was he supposed to decipher that?
After pondering for a moment, Anbaixiu left his laboratory with the letter in hand.
Crossing several streets, he arrived at the other side of the city.
Here stood a large building that had been converted into living quarters, where Catherine and the drow elves resided. There were no longer just twenty of them; Melina had later brought over another twenty drow elves, along with tens of millions of gold coins.
The gift was rather generous. Once again, Anbaixiu reaffirmed that the Rose of Decay was the best partner one could ask for—her generosity put him to shame. Had he known, he would have bargained a bit harder with Shar.
Now Catherine lived in this building with forty drow elves. The originally rugged, giant-style architecture had been revamped by the elves, making it look much more delicate. They had also planted an abundance of luminescent subterranean fungi, lending the building an ethereal, dreamlike air.
Whether high elves or drow elves, their aesthetic sensibilities were remarkably refined, far more pleasing to the eye than Anbaixiu's strictly utilitarian style.
Yet Anbaixiu had no appreciation for such luxurious reverie. Walking briskly upstairs, he wove through a group of drow elves, ignoring their reverent kowtows, and headed straight to the top floor.
This was Catherine's private room. At the moment, Catherine was hunched over a desk, scribbling furiously.
Anbaixiu had instructed her to record every movement of the drow elves, even supplying her with a large number of memory crystals for the purpose.
Catherine was likely so eager to do a thorough job that she had even resorted to using Detect Thoughts.
Catherine was, after all, a dual legend—aside from her ranger class, she was also a legendary wizard. Consequently, her success rate when casting Detect Thoughts was exceptionally high.
However, this dealt Catherine an even greater blow, for she discovered that the minds of these drow elves were truly filled with nothing but deceit and hatred. Regardless of whether their bodies were free or not, their thoughts revolved around how to murder her and escape this place. Beyond that, they only schemed about framing their companions to climb over their corpses and win Catherine's trust.
Such venomous thoughts utterly baffled Catherine. They were well-fed and well-clothed—where did all this hatred and malice come from?
She was beginning to understand why Anbaixiu had assigned her this task; her understanding of the drow was far too superficial. As a result, she threw herself into the work with even greater vigor, and the parchment rolls used to document the drow's behavior were already enough to pack half a bookshelf.
Hearing Anbaixiu arrive, Catherine raised her head.
It was the first time Anbaixiu had ever seen Catherine looking so disheveled. Her hair was a tangled mess from scratching it who knew how many times, and traces of ink smeared her hands and face.
Catherine asked in surprise, "Why are you here?"
Anbaixiu told her, "There's no need to push yourself so hard. The drow elves have been divided from the elven race for far too long. Bringing them back isn't something that can be achieved overnight. Don't drive yourself into a corner."
Catherine replied, "I know I don't know how to do anything else, so all I can do is follow your instructions. But if I can't even carry out a straightforward task properly, then it's no longer a matter of being insufficiently clever—it's a problem with my attitude. This is an oracle from the gods; I will give it everything I have."
Well then. A faithless individual like Anbaixiu could hardly comprehend the actions of the devout.
Anbaixiu gave up trying to persuade her and turned to Naomi, who was organizing drafts beside Catherine.
The little druid girl had originally lived in Anbaixiu's private demiplane. While the place was a bit cluttered, it was spacious enough, and Naomi quite enjoyed a solitary life free from contact with outsiders.
Later, seeing how stressed Catherine was, Anbaixiu had brought Naomi over to help.
"Naomi, I need your time dragon power." Anbaixiu produced James Watson's letter, handed it over, and continued, "Help me strip away the blotches on the last line so I can see what was written there."
Naomi took the letter. A translucent wisp of mist condensed at her fingertips, and she gently wiped it across the ink stain.
Soon, the ink receded bit by bit, revealing the original content beneath.
Controlling temporal power even before transforming into a time dragon—Naomi's rate of progress astonished Anbaixiu. But what shocked him even more was the text on the parchment.
"The Ryan Empire is mobilizing troops against the tieflings? Have these Ryan citizens gone mad?!"
The Ryan Empire had just fought two major wars—one in the desert and one in the mountains. Even though Ryan had scored sweeping victories in both, wars cost money. Provisions, equipment, logistics—all of these came at a tangible, hefty expense.
Because of Anbaixiu's intervention, the desert dwarves had gained ample time to retreat methodically, taking most of their wealth with them. Most of the desert cities seized by the Ryan military had already been cleaned out. Although Ryan had acquired a large population, the desert territories would have to be subsidized with imperial coin for a long time to come; self-sufficiency would take at least three to five years.
That was a bottomless financial pit. Meanwhile, on the orc front, troops had to guard day and night against orc counterattacks in an enduring state of war. That front continuously drained manpower and materiel, consuming immense amounts of money.
And now they were sending troops against the tieflings?
"No matter how wealthy Ryan is, they can't possibly squander money like this, can they? Aren't they afraid of domestic upheaval?"
Zealotry alone could not fill bellies. For the common folk, once hunger left them unable to even stand, how could they dedicate their all to the empire?
Anbaixiu didn't know Ryan's finances inside out, but after the elves sharply hiked export tariffs on magical materials, Ryan had inevitably taken a hit. Compounded by the expenditures of two wars, their economy couldn't possibly be in good shape.
They didn't have any internal unrest that urgently needed deflecting, so why insist on attacking the tieflings right now?
Catherine saw the sentence as well and said in bewilderment, "What reason does Ryan have to deploy troops against the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn? Over the years, the tieflings have only been increasing the number of Gates of Hell along the border; they haven't had any direct confrontations with Ryan. If Ryan wants to invade this kingdom, shouldn't they at least manufacture a pretext?"
Anbaixiu chuckled dryly. "Perhaps Ryan can't even be bothered to look for an excuse anymore. Ryan has fallen to such depths, yet an old fool like James Watson still dithers and wavers. A decaying relic incapable of carrying the greater situation, just as I thought."
Anbaixiu could roughly guess what James Watson had wrestled with; otherwise, he wouldn't have written the words only to smear them out. Just as Anbaixiu had remarked before, the old man lacked the vigor and drive of youth, incapable of breaking free from the shackles binding him. When facing the empire, he couldn't bring himself to violate his official duties; yet when looking to the future, he was riddled with anxiety, unable to stand firmly by the empire's stance. In short, he wanted only reform, not revolution.
Anbaixiu didn't expect the old man to play much of a role in Ryan's fracturing anyway. The true figurehead was still wandering the continent. When Alan returned to Ryan, that would likely be the moment the empire splintered.
However, Anbaixiu now had to intervene in the war between Ryan and the Unholy Hymn. This conflict was different from the previous ones—it was an irrational war launched by Ryan following the revival of the Dragon Tyrant Armament.
This war was likely initiated by the royal family. They had to be after something from the tieflings, or trying to accomplish a specific objective.
Anbaixiu estimated there was a ninety-percent chance it was tied to the Dragon Tyrant Armament. For that artifact to suddenly become usable, the Ryan royal family must have paid a steep price, and this invasion of the tieflings very likely correlated to the armament's deployment.
Anbaixiu couldn't let the Ryan royal family have their way. That artifact set was far more terrifying than ten Silvermoon Knights combined.
"What do you plan to do?" Catherine asked.
Anbaixiu shrugged. "Without any intelligence at hand, what can I possibly do?"
"Can't you perform divination?" Catherine asked.
"Of course I can, but I can't just divine out of thin air. I need at least some foundational intelligence and a clear direction first, or else the reading will only mislead my judgment."
As an experienced divination wizard, Anbaixiu had always adhered to one principle:
Divination could not be used to choose one's direction; rather, once a direction was chosen, divination was used to gather more intelligence.
Novice divination wizards might cast a divination every day to figure out whether to lounge at home or go on an adventure tomorrow. The result, more often than not, was an ambiguous omen followed by catastrophic misinterpretation, ultimately bringing disaster upon themselves.
The root cause was having zero plan for the future, knowing next to nothing, and delusional hope that fate would carry them through unscathed.
Anbaixiu had warned Harvey before not to leave everything to the roll of fate's dice; only when one had an objective did the power of destiny hold any meaning.
In a life devoid of personal goals, whether one was a legend or a deity, existence was hollow.
Regarding this war, Anbaixiu still knew far too little. Divining now would most likely yield some deceptive fragment, luring him to his own doom.
"Then how do you find information? Are you planning to go to the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn?"
Catherine didn't want Anbaixiu to leave. She had grown somewhat dependent on him; leaving her alone to handle these drow elves would probably spark chaos within a few days. Only with Anbaixiu present could she feel at ease.
Anbaixiu said, "No need. I'll write to a few old friends. Didn't I tell you? Over the years, the territory I spent the most time in was tiefling land."
When Anbaixiu had transmigrated, he arrived in the tieflings' Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn. It was just an unnamed hamlet, its residents split half between humans and tieflings, with a few other races thrown into the mix—a small village plagued by endless trouble.
It was also there that Anbaixiu had nearly lost his life right after transmigrating.
Transmigrating without a cheat was just that miserable; one had to rely entirely on oneself.
After scraping by for a few grueling days, Anbaixiu had finally met his teacher, Old Pete. At the time, Anbaixiu was being beaten half to death by villagers who mistook him for a thief, while Old Pete was a crippled old man who had been driven out of the village after accidentally blowing up his house with alchemy.
Sharing similar misery, the two had bonded and become master and apprentice.
Later on, Anbaixiu finally qualified as an alchemist and took Old Pete to live in a larger town. Later still, on his deathbed, Old Pete swindled Anbaixiu thoroughly, leaving him deeply in debt.
To dodge the debt, Anbaixiu fled again to another city, embarking on a vagabond life of constantly changing names and drifting from place to place.
Anbaixiu had spent most of his life in that kingdom, but in the end, he chose to leave.
It wasn't that the kingdom was bad, but that the first half of his life had left behind too many unpleasant memories—not to mention a list of enemies long enough to fill a book.
It was like playing a game where you couldn't reload a save: once you picked the wrong options, you had no choice but to push forward until the plot fell completely apart, leaving you with no recourse but to run to another city and start over, abandoning a colossal mess behind you.
"Still, after all these years, most of my enemies should be dead by now."
With that thought, Anbaixiu returned to his laboratory, pulled out a sheet of parchment, and prepared to write.
His quill hovered over the surface for a long time before he began to write: "My dear senior brother Vladimir, it has been far too long, and I miss you dearly. How have you been? Nearly two hundred years have passed since our last sparring match in divination..."
It was a lengthy letter. Anbaixiu spent an entire day writing it, revising it repeatedly until the final draft spanned over two thousand words.
After sealing the envelope, Anbaixiu summoned Harvey back, handed him the letter, and said, "Harvey, you must deliver this letter in person for me."
Harvey hastily agreed.
"Rest assured, Master. I will definitely deliver this letter directly into the hands of this... Mr. Vladimir."
Anbaixiu cautioned him, "When you meet him, do not call him Mr. Vladimir. Call him anything else, but never use that name. Otherwise, you're bound to suffer."
"Huh? Why is that?" Harvey asked.
"Back then, I made a bet with him. He lost, and he forfeited his name to me. So in this world, I am the only one permitted to speak his name."
"Uh... Master, is he an enemy of yours?"
"What enemy? He is my fellow disciple under the same school! Back then, he and I learned divination magic from the very same stone tablet. Isn't sparring between fellow disciples completely normal? Don't overthink it. He isn't the type to hold grudges, and he certainly won't take his anger out on you for no reason."
"Master, and you still claim he isn't an enemy?!"
Harvey was utterly speechless. Why was every task his master assigned so bizarre? If it wasn't fleeing with his phylactery, it was running a shop with false advertising. And now, he was being sent to deliver a letter to an enemy—no matter how he looked at it, he was being set up!
Chapter 299