Anbaixiu and Mister Misfortune, two old fellows centuries old, walked down the grand avenue.
Gazing at the immense statue in the distance, Mister Misfortune grew nostalgic. "Remember back then when I brought you to the royal capital? You were startled half to death by Arthur Ryan's statue and even swore to become a hero just like him."
Anbaixiu scratched his head, sounding somewhat sheepish. "Well, I just thought a few of the girls in the orchestra were pretty back then and wanted to catch their eye."
Mister Misfortune: "..."
Damn lich, smearing a stain of murky soot across their fond memories.
The two strolled past the immense plaza, where an orchestra of a hundred players was performing with full devotion.
Anbaixiu could sense that the surrounding air was somewhat peculiar, seemingly forming an invisible barrier of echoes ensuring that the music from the public performance reached everyone around with pristine clarity.
"The conductor is a mage," Anbaixiu remarked in surprise. "He's the one controlling the air walls around the area. I never noticed that back in the day."
"Back then, both of us were mere wizard apprentices. Your oath might have been fake, but mine was genuine. I truly wanted to save this country and cleanse my ancestors of their unclean name as usurpers."
Mister Misfortune felt a deep surge of emotion. Though he had looked upon this square, this statue, and heard these endless hymns for most of the latter half of his life, it was only the second time after all these centuries that he stood here alongside Anbaixiu.
The spirited youths of yesteryear had now become a lich and a white-haired elder.
Looking up at the statue of Arthur Ryan, Anbaixiu asked Mister Misfortune, "If I recall, your ancestor was one of the original thirteen Unholy Ones, and later gave up his seat, right?"
Mister Misfortune nodded. "Yes. Because my ancestor usurped the glory that rightfully belonged to the hero, he carried guilt in his heart for the rest of his days. The lifelong ideal of everyone in our family has been to atone for his mistake."
Anbaixiu asked quizzically, "Where was the mistake?"
Mister Misfortune froze for a moment, then replied, "None of the thirteen Unholy Ones contributed in the war against the Demonic Dragon. They were merely cowards who hid in the rear, yet in the end they gained dominion over the entire kingdom, while the hero's very bloodline was extinguished. How could that not be a mistake?"
Anbaixiu gave a light chuckle. "If I were a tiefling, would I want thirteen capable adults governing the realm in the form of a council, or would I want an arbitrary, dictatorial three-year-old child ruling over me just because his father was a hero?"
Mister Misfortune retorted, "A father's glory ought to bless his descendants. Otherwise, what is the point of striving so hard to win honor and fortune?"
"Keep your meaning within your family, then! Reward them with gold, reward them with territory, or even shower them with a few sets of artifacts—just don't hand over affairs of state as a trophy of glory. That hero indeed saved the world, but crowning his three-year-old child as king? Were they planning to let that toddler torment the very people who had just been saved all over again?"
Mister Misfortune snapped indignantly, "You—this is blasphemy! I never expected that after all these years, you haven't improved in the slightest—you've only grown worse! No wonder you ended up as a lich!"
Anbaixiu shook his head. "And that is precisely why we could never see eye to eye. Senior Brother, your true ambition was never to bring peace and welfare to the common folk; your ambition was to restore your family's glory. If slaughter were deemed an honor, you would carry it out without mercy."
Mister Misfortune scoffed, "What's the point of sophistry? Only deeds acclaimed and recognized by the majority count as glory. If everyone believed slaughter was just, you ought to ask why such a state of affairs came to pass in the first place. Twisting concepts to argue is utterly childish—neither of us is a child anymore!"
"Exactly. Only deeds acclaimed and recognized by the majority count as glory. So let me ask you: in this entire tiefling kingdom, how many people endorse the rule of the Council of Iniquity? And how many people truly believe that crowning a three-year-old child is more worthy of praise? We divination wizards are best at calculation—care to make a wager with me and calculate which side has more supporters?"
Mister Misfortune opened his mouth, suddenly at a loss for words.
"Vladimir, so-called noble glory is merely self-indulgent vanity for an exclusive little circle. Stop forcing everyone else to swallow it, would you? Over a millennium has passed; even if that hero left behind an unblemished reservoir of glory back then, it should have been completely depleted by now. In my eyes, thirteen sane adults stepping up to make decisions in place of a child was justice—it's just that now, those thirteen have fallen into depravity as well."
It was only to this old friend that Anbaixiu would speak so frankly; with anyone else, he would simply have nodded and said, "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."
After listening to Anbaixiu's words, Mister Misfortune fell silent for a long time before asking, "Then why are you helping me? Don't tell me it's because we're friends—I won't believe it for a second."
"Just consider it for the sake of these tens of millions of tieflings. As I said before, saving the world deserves a reward. I don't want to be the king of your tieflings; just pay me money."
Mister Misfortune looked at Anbaixiu, unable to glean any expression from the lich's face.
In the end, he could only sigh. "Then follow me. If we head over now, the timing will be just about right."
Following behind Mister Misfortune, Anbaixiu left Hymn Square and walked toward the largest structure in the city.
Ever since the royal line of the Unholy Hymn had died out completely, the original royal palace had been converted into the Council of Iniquity. Though the council comprised only thirteen members, the grounds were vast enough to house tens of thousands of people.
In name, the Unholy Ones were required to sever ties with their families and reside within this massive architectural complex. Domino Lawley, as one of the thirteen Unholy Ones, lived here on ordinary days.
There were still twenty minutes before her afternoon tea. Mister Misfortune picked up his pace, guiding Anbaixiu forward.
Just as before, not a single guard could see them. The infiltration went extraordinarily smoothly.
Anbaixiu grew increasingly envious of Mister Misfortune's abilities. Manipulating the threads of fate was completely different from playing with the Dice of Fate, and it appeared vastly more convenient. Unfortunately, Anbaixiu couldn't master it—it was not his path.
Perhaps Harvey could synthesize the strengths of both, though that would have to wait until he had grown for a few more years.
Passing through countless corridors and archways, the two finally arrived at an exquisite courtyard garden.
Domino Lawley was seated in the garden, quietly sipping black tea.
Anbaixiu appraised this legendary tiefling. By the standards of female tieflings, Domino Lawley appeared remarkably burly. Her height was likely close to two meters, and counting the horns on her head, she reached 2.2 meters.
She truly lived up to her past as a Hellrider; having marched into the Hells under Zariel's banner, one could never have returned without real skill.
Yet for a knight to switch paths mid-stride to become an alchemist, and even achieve accomplishments recognized by the City of Alchemy, this woman was no ordinary person. Calling her a genius was by no means an exaggeration.
Domino Lawley had cast aside her armor long ago, now wearing a custom evening gown that lent her tall, imposing frame a touch of allure. Combined with her attractive features, she was a woman of distinct charm—the finest of mature beauties.
However, one could tell at a glance that she regularly took youth potions. The wrinkles on her hands were numerous and distinct, while her face looked youthful—a classic sign that the effects of youth potions were beginning to wane.
Such potions produced resistance. Depending on individual constitution, the first bottle might restore fifty years of youth, the second might restore forty-nine for one person, while for another it might only restore thirty. Before Anbaixiu had transformed into a lich, he had to take a bottle of youth potion every year; the price tag of five hundred thousand gold coins a year had nearly driven him to utter ruin.
As drug resistance increased, the youth potion would often restore youth only partially. Domino Lawley's face looked very young, at most in her thirties, but the wrinkles on her hands looked at least fifty or sixty years old. This was the textbook consequence of drinking too many potions, leaving the medicinal efficacy unable to cover her hands.
Mister Misfortune said to Anbaixiu, "Don't get any closer. Domino Lawley and I are too deeply entangled. If we draw closer, the severed threads of fate will rapidly knit back together, and she'll discover us."
The two were currently about thirty meters from Domino Lawley. If they wanted to cast a spell, this distance was sufficient.
Yet Anbaixiu said to Mister Misfortune, "You just wait here."
"What are you planning to do?" Mister Misfortune said worriedly. Once the threads of fate reconnected, their invisibility would vanish. This was the royal capital of the Unholy Hymn, and he was a wanted fugitive. If they were discovered, it would be the end of them.
"Calm down. I'm going to have a chat with her—just not here."
Anbaixiu walked toward Domino Lawley alone, closing the distance step by step. Soon, the gap narrowed to twenty meters, ten meters... At this distance, the cloaking effect should have broken long ago, yet for some reason, Domino Lawley continued quietly enjoying her afternoon tea, completely unaware of Anbaixiu's presence.
Leira's True Mirage was a mighty spell capable of deceiving even deities. Hellriders and alchemists were hardly classes renowned for sharp perception, leaving her entirely incapable of sensing Anbaixiu.
Mister Misfortune watched helplessly as Anbaixiu summoned a whole flurry of the Dice of Fate and hurled them onto Domino Lawley.
Only divination wizards could see the Dice of Fate; an invisible, colorless strike of this sort didn't even stir the air.
Domino Lawley remained oblivious as the Dice of Fate struck all over her body.
Only then did Anbaixiu produce a small vial and sprinkle a pinch of grayish-black powder into Domino Lawley's cup.
Having finished all this, Anbaixiu returned to Mister Misfortune's side.
Mister Misfortune said agitatedly, "What did you do? You poisoned her?!"
Anbaixiu chuckled. "So worked up! And you claimed she wasn't your old flame?"
Mister Misfortune's weathered face flushed. He stammered, "I did not! There's nothing between us! She is one of the original thirteen Unholy Ones—she's over a thousand years older than me!"
"Understood. You have a thing for mature older women, don't you? Perfectly normal. I get it."
"You bastard, what did you actually do?! What destiny did your Dice of Fate weave for her?!"
Anbaixiu patted Mister Misfortune on the shoulder. "What's the rush? Just now, I merely caused the magical protective gear on her person to malfunction for a few seconds. Wear and tear on the magic circles, forgetting to recharge them—I triggered all those possibilities. After all, if I'm drugging her, what if she has detection gear on her?"
"What kind of drug did you slip her?!"
"Don't worry, it's just to let her have a good, deep sleep." Anbaixiu brought out the grayish-black powder and said to Mister Misfortune, "Come on, Vladimir, let's meet her in her dreams!"
Chapter 313