Regardless of race, the human nature of intelligent life bears striking similarities.
To put it simply, human nature is universal.
Under physical influences, certain races may appear more brutal, while others lean more extreme, yet the vast majority of individuals cannot escape the goal of self-satisfaction.
Nature dictates that one must find a path to self-fulfillment, lest one sink into an abyss of suffering.
It could be wealth, talent, or honor—anything one loves can bring a sense of satisfaction, while the inability to achieve it breeds frustration.
And once these elements stack up into a lifetime, most people develop the habit of looking back.
Whenever memories surface, one realizes that the roots of all happiness and misfortune lie at the very beginning.
Finding that beginning—whether to let go, seek revenge, or simply indulge in nostalgia—brings new insight to an individual, granting them the strength to press forward.
This was vital for the Rose of Decay.
Anbaixiu could not accurately determine her current state.
Inside the Synesthesia Dreamscape, she was vibrant, filled with all manner of emotions and sensations. Yet once she departed the dream, she would gradually relapse into numbness. Moreover, as the number of entries into the dreamscape mounted, the stimulation it provided seemed to weaken, and the speed at which she returned to that numb state only accelerated.
Anbaixiu was deeply worried, for his experiments had yet to produce any useful results.
Hastings had devoured a vast sum of soul coins, but his essence remained unaltered; he had merely grown somewhat stronger. Hares had a small fragment of his soul carved out and patched with a Simulated Soul, but so far, it showed no positive effects either.
If neither of these two approaches worked, Anbaixiu truly had no idea how to save the Rose of Decay.
Unless he directly altered her soul, forcibly engraving an obsession into it.
Or perhaps he could replicate her soul in its entirety to forge a new Simulated Soul.
Yet Anbaixiu understood all too well that neither method was salvation—it was murder.
The Rose of Decay resulting from that would no longer be herself, but merely a puppet crafted by Anbaixiu's hands. How would that differ from utter oblivion?
Naturally, if pushed to the absolute brink, Anbaixiu still had one last card to play.
He simply did not wish to resort to it unless left with no alternative, for the consequences would be catastrophic.
Ryan was the root of her misfortune. Anbaixiu could only attempt to have her personally bring an end to the Ryan imperial line, hoping it might spark a reaction in her soul.
There was no profit in it—he simply wanted to save the Rose of Decay.
Yet Anbaixiu could not even be bothered to voice this reason, knowing the old fellow James Watson was so blinded by prejudice that no explanation would ever convince him.
The conversation between the two naturally ended on a sour note, but Anbaixiu stood firm: Ryan had to hold the ceremony and invite the Rose of Decay.
Otherwise, he would personally lay Ryan to waste.
This was non-negotiable—not even if the Lord of the Dawn came in person.
James Watson was left with no choice. Ryan was in no position to negotiate terms with Anbaixiu. He could only swallow his pride and comply with the demands, digging up anyone still living who possessed even the faintest tie to the Ryan imperial bloodline.
Beyond these imperial kin, prominent figures from across Ryan were also required to travel to the imperial capital to take part in this farewell ceremony for the royal lineage. And this requirement was the most difficult of all.
Through an extended period of effort and Alan's personal campaigning, the people across Ryan had come to understand what path the future would take.
Sever the imperial succession and transition to a democratic federation, akin to the Emerald Dream Forest.
Ryan's former territory would be divided into forty-three administrative districts centered on its major cities, granting the federation forty-three seats, with affairs of state to be decided by the votes of these forty-three councilors.
Though the roster of councilors had not been finalized, it was nearly settled.
Most were the original rulers of the cities, a small portion were newly risen nobles, and the most troublesome faction consisted of rebels who had seized power through violent means.
Yet now was hardly the time to quibble over legitimacy. Alan's travels across the land were primarily focused on pacification. As long as these rebels held complete control of a city and had committed no egregious atrocities, Alan was willing to recognize their rule.
That, however, gave rise to a dilemma.
These councilors were all facing the redistribution of power. In the upcoming World Council, Ryan would undoubtedly have to pay reparations to other kingdoms. How much to pay, and who would foot the bill—none of this could be easily unraveled.
Resolving that issue alone was a monumental headache. Now, Anbaixiu was demanding that these newly minted councilors travel to the imperial capital to attend the ceremony. Anyone with the slightest ounce of suspicion would immediately think of the word "trap."
Were the people in the Ryan Imperial Capital trying to lure them into the city, only to coerce and bribe them into submission?
The veteran city lords were fine; they trusted the character of James Watson and Alan. But those who had risen through rebellion or grasped power through underhanded means would inevitably feel guilty and paranoid.
As to how to get these individuals to attend such a bizarre ceremony, James Watson had no confidence whatsoever.
Anbaixiu, on the other hand, did not care about the logistics. The Ryan Empire had to arrange it for him, or else he would unleash his fury.
The current Anbaixiu was no longer that minor lich who could be dealt with by dispatching a few members of the Knights of Condemnation. Not only was he a hero who had saved the world, but the forces under his command were colossal.
If he flew into a rage, Ryan would inevitably descend into chaos, plunging tens of millions into the flames of war and leaving countless dead in its wake.
Once Anbaixiu vanished from the magic mirror, James Watson knelt before the statue of the Lord of the Dawn with a brow deeply furrowed in grief, praying in agony: "My Lord, grant me the radiance of hope and guide my path forward. I am willing to sacrifice everything in exchange for Ryan's future, yet I truly know not what to do. Please, guide me."
James Watson prayed with devout sincerity, hoping to receive the deity's guidance.
He had done this for countless years, yet the Lord of the Dawn had never once granted a clear reply, nearly causing James Watson's faith to falter.
Now, however, the Lord of the Dawn seemed to have relaxed His demands.
As long as one prayed devoutly, a response was certain.
A faint radiance ignited, enveloping James Watson and soothing his anguished mind. A deep, majestic voice echoed in the depths of his soul, washing away his exhaustion.
Tears streamed down James Watson's face; hearing the deity's voice never failed to move him to his very core.
And this time, the Lord of the Dawn was no longer vague, delivering explicit instructions.
This farewell ceremony for the Ryan imperial lineage could be held in the name of the deity—a gesture of apology from the Lord of the Dawn to all living beings.
At the same time, the Lord of the Dawn already understood everything the lich desired, instructing James Watson to convey a single message: whatever Anbaixiu sought, it could be granted by Him.
Chapter 589