In the Silvermoon High Court, the letter sent by Catherine reached the hands of the current Elven King.
After reading it carefully, the young Elven King sighed with mixed feelings. "That loathsome lich! He actually dumped a massive pile of work on Sister Catherine again! Venturing overseas all by himself—isn't he afraid of getting devoured by sea monsters?!"
A malicious thought arose, and the young Elven King suddenly felt a strong urge to lead an army overseas, corner the lich, and purify his soul. Yet the impulse vanished just as quickly. The two sides were currently in a cooperative relationship; no matter how deep the personal grudges ran, they could not be placed above the deities.
Meanwhile, in the Ryan Imperial Capital, news of the lich taking to the sea reached the young emperor.
At first, a merchant caravan had simply returned to port and passed through Ryan along the way, bringing reports of incessant conflicts abroad.
Then, through extensive inquiries and deductions by interested parties, all manner of evidence indicated that the number-one fugitive on the most-wanted list had gone out to sea, brewing some dark conspiracy upon the open waters.
Unlike the Silvermoon High Court, Ryan could not simply sit by and watch this lich stir up trouble once more.
To say nothing of how their religious doctrine forbade them from remaining indifferent to evil, Anbaixiu's banishment of the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn had directly caused Ryan's catastrophic defeat.
How could that Astral portal have coincidentally appeared right on the battlefield between the two armies? Anyone who understood spatial magic knew how astronomically small those odds were; only divination wizards were capable of such precise targeting.
Thus, fueled by both old grudges and new hatred, the empire decided with little deliberation to dispatch an elite force overseas to eliminate the lich.
Given that previous punitive expeditions had ended in failure, they dispatched the true Knights of Condemnation this time.
The youngsters who had gone to cause trouble for Anbaixiu before were merely rookies of the Knights of Condemnation; this order, specifically established to hunt down legendary liches, possessed a formidable number of legends.
On this occasion, five paladins and two clerics of light led the expedition—a full seven legends, determined to purify the lich once and for all.
***
After the Knights of Condemnation departed, the young emperor returned to the empty imperial palace.
The previous slaughter had left the entire palace hollow and deserted. Under the guidance of that Demonic Dragon Tyrant, the young emperor had recently begun learning spells. *Mage Hand* was the first cantrip he needed to master, so he had even dismissed the servants, relying on *Mage Hand* for everything he did.
He claimed, quite pleasantly, that as a sinner, he ought no longer indulge in luxury.
This behavior drew nods of approval from many; the young emperor's penance seemed genuinely sincere.
At that moment, the young emperor was manipulating a *Mage Hand* to brandish a sword. Yet intense concentration did nothing to steady it; the longsword trembled as though struck by an illusion spell.
Eventually, the *Mage Hand* dissipated. The young emperor could not help but curse, "Damn it, what is the point of practicing this?! Even if I train for a hundred years, it won't equal a ten-thousandth of the power over time!"
A low voice drifted from the Dragon Tyrant Armament. "My present self is far weaker than in the past. Even in my prime, I was still no match for Arthur Ryan. Do you wish to have your head chopped off just like me?"
"But I don't have an ounce of talent!" the young emperor muttered in despair.
How magnificent the power over time was! It was practically invincible. Why bother training in magic? It was completely useless.
Artross, however, would not indulge him. He spoke firmly, "If you lack talent, make up for it with diligence. You are to be Ryan's last emperor—an undying emperor. You have all the time in the world to practice. If a hundred years isn't enough, take two hundred; if two hundred fails, take five hundred. Someday, you will achieve mastery. When that time comes, you will no longer need to fear Arthur Ryan."
The young emperor replied with growing impatience, "Arthur Ryan is already dead!"
Artross grew even sterner. "Yet his heir has already appeared. Your Majesty, if you continue to slack off like this, you will die. Now you and I are one; I will not harm you. If you do not believe me, it will be too late when the blade is pressed against your throat."
The young emperor was startled and quickly asked, "Heir... do you mean Alan Watson?!"
Artross replied, "See? You thought of the name without my prompting. You can't possibly be ignorant of what Alan Watson has done, can you?"
The young emperor clenched his fists tight.
Alan Watson had done far too much. During that battle, it was this very rebel who had spouted treasonous talk, unsettling the morale of the Ryan army.
Later, he had jumped out to play the hero, slaying those dragons to cover the army's retreat. As a result, many people now believed Alan Watson had never committed treason at all. Some even suggested that such a talent ought to be summoned back promptly to serve Ryan.
After all, the feat of a single man holding off dozens of dragons was simply too shocking. Following the death of the Silvermoon Knight, the people of Ryan desperately needed an accomplished, mighty paladin to serve as their standard-bearer.
Back then, the young emperor had considered gritting his teeth and enduring it, knowing it was not the time for division.
Who could have foreseen that Alan Watson would refuse? He had sent over a lengthy report spanning tens of thousands of words, scathingly denouncing how the spread of extremist ideology in Ryan over the years had led the empire to betray the teachings of the Lord of the Dawn. It was no spur-of-the-moment outburst; the words were painstakingly detailed.
The report synthesized numerous real examples drawn from Alan's firsthand experiences, backed by solid evidence proving beyond doubt that Ryan was being corroded by extremist thought and stood on the brink of catastrophe. Alan demanded that the emperor immediately rectify the wrongs, restore proper faith, and punish the parasites who used extreme measures to seize power and profit.
And who was the greatest parasite of all if not the Ryan imperial house? Had the young emperor not acted ruthlessly enough, forcing the imperial house to 'atone with their deaths,' Alan's report might well have pushed Ryan into schism.
Even so, because of this 'radical' report, Alan was widely accused of harboring ulterior motives. Strip away the rhetoric, and wasn't he claiming that the current policies were wrong and needed someone else to rewrite them?
Whether faith was extreme or not fell under the jurisdiction of the Tribunal. Didn't Alan's report implicitly demand that his father be reinstated as Supreme Arbiter?
The newly appointed Supreme Arbiter had immediately voiced opposition, delivering an impassioned speech in court pointing out Alan's selfish intentions.
Bringing the predecessor back—would that not mean declaring his own performance a failure?
Sitting in that seat, power was entangled with far too many interests; even clerics devoted to the Lord of the Dawn had moments of spiritual confusion.
These endless, irreconcilable verbal wars played out repeatedly, sparking a debate at nearly every imperial court session.
The young emperor now utterly loathed Alan. What should have been an ideal situation—sacrificing his kin to win back the hearts of the people—had been left hanging in limbo by Alan's interference.
The young emperor said agitatedly, "Troublesome as Alan Watson may be, what makes you say he's Arthur Ryan's successor? After all these centuries, even if he raised that banner, no one would acknowledge it."
Artross sighed. "He has no need for others' acknowledgment. I can see it: Alan Watson is just like Arthur Ryan back then, and he will walk the exact same path. In the beginning, your Holy King was nothing more than a wandering paladin, possessing neither Alan Watson's deeds nor his distinguished lineage, yet in the end, he took my head.
"And what about you? Do you consider yourself a match for what I was back then?"
Artross's question reduced the young emperor to silence.
No matter how arrogant he was, he would never claim to be stronger than the Demonic Dragon Tyrant of old. He was utterly isolated now, able to trust only this set of Dragon Tyrant Armament, whereas the Demonic Dragon Tyrant had once commanded the backing of the entire dragon race.
At the thought, the young emperor seized the longsword with his *Mage Hand* again and resumed practicing with full concentration.
Artross felt a slight measure of relief. This boy truly was pathetic—weak-willed, fond of hollow glory, and cruelly merciless. Becoming emperor was pure luck for someone like him; governing this nation properly was all but impossible.
Even so, Artross had no true desire to see Ryan restored to glory.
It was simply that Ryan could not be allowed to collapse just yet. He needed more time.
*My kin, your king will return soon. Endure a little longer.* Artross's consciousness sank into the depths of the Dragon Tyrant Armament, where a heart pulsed slowly, like a distant star.
***
The news that Anbaixiu had gone to sea seemed to have sprouted wings, spreading far and wide in no time. Whether by design or chance, all manner of details could be heard from every corner.
It felt as though an invisible hand were continually orchestrating public opinion, carrying the news further and further.
On the island, Anbaixiu met his first wave of trouble. Amusingly, the first to come looking for a fight were not his enemies, but the Githyanki.
If one truly tallied their grievances, Anbaixiu had merely tapped into the power of the Dragon Tomb to wipe out a single detachment of Githyanki. Prior to that, there had been no conflict between them; Anbaixiu had even helped open the Astral portal.
He had not expected the Githyanki to be the first to arrive.
And judging by their appearance, they seemed rather battered.
The Githyanki army had once been full of high spirits, numbering a hundred thousand strong with dozens of red dragons.
Now, only twenty thousand Githyanki remained, cruising the surface of the sea mounted upon ixitxachitls, while a mere ten Astral red dragons lingered in the sky.
This had to be the handiwork of Gareth and the others. Over the past few days, Anbaixiu had forgotten to ask how their battle had turned out.
Seeing the Githyanki's disheveled state, Gareth had clearly succeeded in rescuing his father-in-law and taught these invaders a harsh lesson.
The distance between the two sides closed steadily. In a few more minutes, the Githyanki would be right before Anbaixiu.
The Rose of Decay, who had remained by Anbaixiu's side these past days, asked upon seeing the Githyanki approach, "Shall we wait for them to come to their deaths, or...?"
Anbaixiu smiled faintly. "No rush. I haven't had a proper chat with these Githyanki yet, have I? This is still our territory, and as hosts, we must show some courtesy first. If this bunch of Githyanki doesn't want to pay the toll, it won't be too late for us to teach them a proper lesson.
"Oh, right. To ensure we hold the moral high ground, remember to open the magic mirror so my friends can witness every detail of this battle."
Anbaixiu flew into the air, and before long, he saw the red dragons flapping their wings, soaring straight toward him.
Chapter 384