"This makes no sense. You said devils must forge a contract. For such a staggering price, they'd have to put up an equivalent stake! What stake did Tiamat offer?"
Mister Misfortune sounded panicked, grasping desperately at any straw of hope.
Anbaixiu explained, "If they manage to defend these Gates of Hell, anyone carrying the bloodline of the Unholy Ones will earn the chance to bond with a red dragon."
The Goddess of Evil Dragons had long been regarded as the progenitor of the chromatic dragons. Though the truth of that claim remained open to debate, she certainly held dominion over vast numbers of them.
Rumor had it that Tiamat possessed a formidable force of dragon knights that campaigned on her behalf across countless planes, though in all his years of adventuring, Anbaixiu had never once laid eyes on them.
Still unwilling to let it go, Mister Misfortune pressed on, "Even if Tiamat paid a price, why should everyone bearing the bloodline of the Unholy Ones be condemned to Hell? Many of them branched off long ago and severed all ties with their original families!"
Anbaixiu said with a weary sigh, "Vladimir, stop lying to yourself. You know full well that it is precisely because of that unholy bloodline that they were able to flourish across this kingdom, rising to become figures of power in every territory. Deep down, they take pride in that bloodline, embrace their ties to the Unholy Ones, and willingly submit to their rule.
"It's just like this realm. No matter how you look at it, the thirteen Unholy Ones are its true rulers. They naturally hold the authority to sell out the entire kingdom—let alone their own descendants."
Mister Misfortune clenched his fists, pacing back and forth incessantly before suddenly speaking up again. "We can still turn this around, can't we? The devils only stipulated that the Gates of Hell must not be destroyed. The future we saw was merely their disappearance! Disappearance doesn't necessarily mean destruction, right? We still have a chance, don't we?"
Anbaixiu looked silently at his senior apprentice brother. Only after a long pause did he say, "Mm. You're right."
Seemingly deaf to Anbaixiu's words, Mister Misfortune continued muttering to himself, "There has to be a chance. There has to be a way. We can use spatial magic to relocate the Gates of Hell elsewhere, and then prepare to face Ryan's army. As long as we put our minds to it, we can definitely—"
Anbaixiu fell silent, letting Mister Misfortune ramble on in search of a "solution."
After babbling for quite some time, Mister Misfortune finally trailed off. Slumping powerlessly into his chair, he looked at Anbaixiu in despair. "There's no hope left, is there?"
Anbaixiu nodded. "You can't play word games with devils. Who knows how many contracts Tiamat has signed over the eons? She would never leave us a loophole like that. Protecting the Gates of Hell means ensuring they function properly. Relocating them, concealing them—all of it constitutes a breach of contract and accomplishes nothing.
"Vladimir, you have to make a choice. If you choose to walk away, then leave with me. This kingdom is destined to fall into Hell. But if you insist on seeing this through, you'll need to figure out some other way to repel Ryan's invasion. You won't be able to rely on the army of the Unholy Hymn. Once all the nobles vanish, the entire kingdom will collapse in an instant."
Despicable though the nobility was, they had controlled all of the kingdom's resources for centuries. The military commanders were all aristocrats; virtually no commoner had ever risen to high office.
If all those leaders were to vanish, the tieflings might rejoice for a few fleeting seconds before plunging straight into chaos.
Scrambles for resources, grabs for power, old grudges flaring up... Everything would erupt at once. The kingdom would unravel in no time at all, unless an extraordinary hero emerged—someone with both the status and the capability to stabilize the realm swiftly.
Yet even if Arthur Ryan were reborn, it would likely take him over a year to bring stability back to the kingdom.
And even assuming Mister Misfortune possessed half of Arthur Ryan's capability, time was not on his side.
Ryan was already poised at the border. Who was going to give him a year?
If Ryan's paladin legions charged into a chaotic Unholy Hymn, they could overrun the entire territory in less than two months. How could Mister Misfortune alone withstand Ryan's armies? Throwing Anbaixiu into the mix wouldn't help either; it would be pure suicide.
This was not a duel between legends, where Anbaixiu could keep his distance and kite his opponent. This was total war aimed at annihilating a nation. The legion magic wielded by Ryan's forces could strike targets kilometers away; the moment Anbaixiu showed his face, he would be vaporized.
An army could only be countered by another army. When the power of mortals converged, it was formidable enough to slay gods.
Furthermore, Anbaixiu had a hunch that Tiamat was not merely after the souls of these tieflings; she likely had follow-up schemes in store, though there was simply no way to know for sure.
Anbaixiu was already preparing to depart. The Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn was a dead end. Better to extricate himself as quickly as possible—perhaps even taking advantage of the turmoil to loot the kingdom's vaults on his way out.
Mister Misfortune had previously been overwhelmed by emotion, clinging to wishful thinking. Now that he had calmed down, he too saw the grim future ahead.
The kingdom's downfall was all but set in stone. Mister Misfortune was like an insect caught in a spider's web: the more he struggled, the more hopeless his plight became. He would be far better off pulling back before he became completely entangled.
Anbaixiu did not press him. Instead, he simply left a magic mirror for Mister Misfortune.
"I'm leaving this with you. If you need me, reach out."
With those parting words, Anbaixiu turned and left.
Even though this kingdom was doomed, Anbaixiu decided to lend a hand one last time.
Hadn't Ryan's Liuyan City remained peaceful so far? He might as well go stoke a fire there, which might at least sap some of Ryan's strength when the invasion began.
Mister Misfortune watched Anbaixiu depart, then cast his gaze over his surroundings.
This Red River Town was a place where he had once lived, yet over the past few centuries, it had grown so alien to him—just like his homeland.
When had the Unholy Hymn begun hurtling toward this crisis of collapse? Clearly, he had done quite well over these past few centuries, and the kingdom had been flourishing day by day.
Could it be that, from the very beginning, all that prosperity had merely been a black shroud concealing a conspiracy?
Why hadn't he noticed it sooner? Why, as a divination wizard, had he failed to foresee even this much?
*Could it be that I have truly been abandoned by the Goddess of Fate?*
The thought crept into Mister Misfortune's mind, only for a sudden shiver to run through him.
*No, Arthas was right. I relied far too heavily on the power of fate. Even though I have advanced further along this path than he has, I have lost the critical thinking that a person should possess. Had I not relied on the power of fate, I would have caught the clues long ago. I was the one who blinded my own eyes!*
Mister Misfortune was suddenly gripped by deep regret. If only he hadn't quarreled with that infuriating bastard back then and had instead accompanied him on adventures across the continent, would he now be able to save his homeland in this hour of need?
Mister Misfortune rose to his feet and clenched his fists. "Hopeless though it may be, I cannot give up just yet. There must still be something I can do!"
Chapter 321