At the mention of the God of Death, a rare flicker of expression finally appeared on Jergal's calm face.
"The Elegy Poetry Society has existed for many years, but very few know of this. I imagine you heard it from the God of Alchemy. But you should also understand that the reason I never made it public was precisely because I did not want any of you to know."
Jergal's tone remained placid. This skeleton, who had lived for countless ages, had likely had most of his emotions worn away by time.
Anbaixiu also rather admired the President. Remaining an undead for so long while retaining the capacity for rational thought was harder than ascending to godhood.
"President, I'm very curious. Why not simply tell everyone about something so important? Every member of the Elegy Poetry Society is indeed an exceptional talent, but if some know while others don't, isn't that a bit unfair?"
In Anbaixiu's view, everyone would covet a divine portfolio like the God of Death. If it was an open competition for the post, it ought to be fair, just, and transparent.
If someone knew in advance and could perform ahead of time, the others would already be at half a disadvantage.
Jergal smiled and said, "If one does not know where the finish line lies, there is no possibility of running half the race in advance."
"Yet if they know it is a footrace, they can train their legs beforehand."
"And what if they don't even know what the contest is?"
Jergal's retort made Anbaixiu frown. What was this old fellow splitting hairs about? Who wouldn't know what the God of Death's portfolio entailed?
However, Anbaixiu hadn't come to argue. No matter the competition, arguing with the referee only earned you a red card.
"President, let's get back to the topic. As far as I know, the Elegy Poetry Society has been around longer than the entire history of Ryan, yet no new God of Death has been chosen to this day. Presumably there are special requirements. Since I now know of this, shouldn't I also be told the rules of the contest?"
Previously, Anbaixiu had felt that the portfolio of the God of Death would never fall to him.
But the situation was different now. Cyric had set his sights on him. If he could secure the portfolio of the God of Death, he wouldn't need to fear Cyric in the least. The moment the Prince of Lies poked his head out, Anbaixiu would slap his face off!
That fellow merely relied on hiding well; in reality, every single one of Cyric's enemies could beat him to a pulp in a one-on-one fight.
Anbaixiu waited for Jergal's response, but the President's answer caught him completely by surprise: "In truth, the method to become the God of Death is very simple. When the God of Death dies, whichever member of the Elegy Poetry Society still exists may succeed to the divine portfolio of the God of Death. A simple requirement, isn't it? You should understand now why I told no one—because this rule has nothing whatsoever to do with your efforts."
Anbaixiu would rather Jergal had simply refused to answer.
What kind of answer was this? What kind of rule was that?
Wait until the God of Death died, and then someone from the Elegy Poetry Society stepped up? Were these candidates, or just temp workers? Leaving aside how minuscule the odds of an accident befalling the God of Death were, there were so many members in the Elegy Poetry Society. When the position actually became vacant, who would take over?
Did they have to kill each other off first... Wait, mutual slaughter?
"President, the Necrotic Codex explicitly states that members are forbidden from harming one another."
Just as Anbaixiu said this, Jergal froze as if pinned in place, his expression distorting unnaturally.
The next second, the scene before Anbaixiu shattered like glass, dissolving into dust.
The tavern remained as it was, as though nothing had happened. Jergal still sat calmly opposite Anbaixiu, looking as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Anbaixiu froze for a moment, then heard Jergal say, "It is Cyric. You have fallen under his curse."
"Cyric? I haven't even met him—how could I be cursed?"
Anbaixiu was thoroughly shocked. Were deities this unreasonable? He had only just returned from the Lord of the Dawn, and Cyric was already making a move?
"Do not use mortal logic to fathom the actions of deities. Still, a god's curse leaves traces. That Cyric cursed you means he has at least seen you."
Jergal's words served as a wake-up call to Anbaixiu. The heavy black armor suddenly went dead still.
In that instant, Anbaixiu projected his consciousness across every magic mirror, quickly locking onto one of them.
In a picturesque place of clear streams and verdant hills, a pale elf held a palm-sized magic mirror, his fingers continuously tracing intricate runes across its surface.
The next second, the magic mirror detonated itself.
Sharp shards froze in midair before the pale elf, failing to harm even a single strand of his hair.
The pale elf dusted his hands, brushing away the debris, and muttered to himself, "Heh, discovered already? Sharp. A pity you have far too many magic mirrors."
Casually picking up another magic mirror, he found that it seemed broken, completely failing to activate.
The pale elf frowned. "Tsk, looks like this will take some time. No matter—time is on my side."
The pale elf produced a book on alchemy and began reading through it at blinding speed, murmuring as he skimmed: "The more of my lies you unravel, the weaker my power becomes. The weaker I am, the less the curse of madness affects me, and the clearer my mind grows. And the clearer my mind, the greater the power I can wield. Thus, the weaker I become, the stronger I am.
"It has truly been a long time since I encountered something so amusing. For a mere mortal to achieve this much... I don't mind playing this game with you."
Back at the tavern, Anbaixiu's consciousness returned to the armor. He said helplessly to Jergal, "Who would have thought Cyric was using magic mirrors to curse me? Doesn't Ao do anything about this?"
Jergal chuckled and replied, "While Ao restricts deities from meddling with mortals, he cannot forbid him from striking back when you are attempting to snatch his divine portfolio."
"That's not my fault! I never proactively tried to snatch it."
Anbaixiu shook his head, feeling utterly wronged.
He truly had never planned on stealing the Prince of Lies' portfolio, but divine portfolios were tied to concepts. When everyone believed alchemy was mighty, the God of Alchemy became a greater deity. When everyone came to believe that Anbaixiu was the true Prince of Lies, Cyric's portfolio was put in grave jeopardy.
What was even more absurd was that not only mortals thought so; many deities thought the same in their hearts!
No matter how capable Cyric was, how many gods had he managed to deceive? In the end, he had fooled himself into madness—what did that amount to?
Anbaixiu, on the other hand, had bundled and sold deities with a mortal body! That was the true Prince of Lies!
In any case, that was where things stood. Anbaixiu had somehow become the mortal enemy of the Prince of Lies. Had he not been in such a unique state, Cyric might have kicked down his front door already.
"President, let's return to the main topic. You see the trouble I'm in. I need to counter Cyric, but relying solely on this artifact spirit state isn't enough. If Cyric steels himself and uploads *The Cyrinishad* into the magic mirror system, I could be done for on the spot. Surely you wouldn't want to see a promising young talent of the Elegy Poetry Society like me turned into a fanatical worshiper of Cyric?"
Confronted by Anbaixiu's shameless display, even Jergal felt a touch of awkwardness. He couldn't help countering, "The moment you learned of *The Cyrinishad*, you asked Oghma for *The True Life of Cyric*. You've read it at least dozens of times by now. You are long since immune to that book's brainwashing."
Anbaixiu asked in surprise, "How did you know that?"
Jergal said nothing, too lazy to bother explaining that he was on quite good terms with Oghma.
And that was indeed the case. Once Anbaixiu realized the terrifying nature of *The Cyrinishad*, he had decisively borrowed *The True Life of Cyric*.
Given the God of Alchemy's relationship with Oghma, such a trivial favor was naturally easy.
Once he got his hands on *The True Life of Cyric*, Anbaixiu had read it thoroughly many times over. Not only that, he forwarded copies to those close to him, insisting they read it repeatedly as well.
If Cyric were still mad, this precaution would have been redundant, as Cyric already believed himself to be the supreme deity and would not bother using *The Cyrinishad* to brainwash anyone else. But now that Cyric seemed to be regaining his sanity, preparing for rainy days was essential. Jergal hadn't spoken with Anbaixiu many times, but he understood this "promising youth" all too well. There was no way Anbaixiu would make such an amateur mistake; crying poverty now was merely a bid to squeeze more benefits out of him.
Jergal asked resignedly, "What is it you actually want?"
"The divine portfolio of the God of Death, of course. If I become the God of Death, I'll slap Cyric to death with one hand!" Anbaixiu declared resolutely.
Over the millennia, Jergal had seen plenty of grifters, but a mortal who had already touched the threshold of godhood and remained this shameless was truly a rare sight.
Jergal shook his head. "Though Kelemvor intends to step down, you do not possess the qualifications to inherit the portfolio of the God of Death."
"Then what standard must be met to count as qualified? If I'm not fit, how about Rose? Or what about my bro Gareth? Aside from being henpecked, he has virtually no flaws."
In Anbaixiu's eyes, whichever of the two became the God of Death, benefits were guaranteed to flow his way. Naturally, he pushed for his own people.
Jergal did not answer his question, only continuing, "You care nothing for the portfolio of the God of Death; you care only for yourself. If you continue deflecting, our meeting today ends here."
Seeing Jergal preparing to rise and leave, Anbaixiu hurried to say, "President, even setting aside the God of Death, you at least have to let me know how to deal with Cyric, right? He can breach my system again at any moment, continuously concocting lies indistinguishable from reality. I can't count on noticing something amiss every single time."
This time, Anbaixiu wasn't exaggerating.
The magic mirrors were simply too widespread, with several versions of the crafting formula circulating. Getting his hands on them presented zero difficulty for Cyric.
In other words, a piece of Anbaixiu's "body" could be gripped in Cyric's grasp at any moment.
The illusory lies spun by Cyric could manifest anytime, anywhere. Just like moments ago: if Anbaixiu hadn't detected the logical flaw, he would have been thoroughly duped by Cyric's falsehood, concluding that "to become the God of Death, one must slaughter all the group members."
Such lies were almost impossible to guard against. Anbaixiu lacked the confidence to see through them every time, and failing just once would spell immense trouble.
Jergal knew Anbaixiu was speaking the truth this time. Yet he offered no clear guidance, asking instead, "Tell me your own plan first."
Given Anbaixiu's nature, crying hardship was always an act; he would never pin all his hopes on someone else.
Anbaixiu also knew Jergal was someone he couldn't deceive no matter what, so he confessed frankly: "The Lord of the Dawn suggested I contend with Cyric for the portfolio of the Prince of Lies, gradually nibbling away at his power to force him out for a final showdown. Then the Lord of the Dawn and other deities would strike together to eliminate Cyric.
"However, I don't find this plan very reliable. Cyric's madness stems from his own curse. The weaker his power, the clearer his mind. And a sane Cyric would never jump out to face the Lord of the Dawn's wrath. The final outcome would only be Cyric clutching his portfolio and hiding away until the end of time, while I, a mere mortal, wither away under the torment of fate."
Anbaixiu had never believed he had escaped fate. On the contrary, he was constantly provoking that goddess's bottom line. One day, either the Goddess of Fate would crush him underfoot, or he would break free of fate entirely and become a new deity.
And when that time came, he might not necessarily become the new Prince of Lies, allowing Cyric to neatly sidestep the trouble named Anbaixiu.
Yet that was the best-case scenario. In reality, the Prince of Lies would lurk in the shadows pulling strings, while the Goddess of Fate fanned the flames. A single misstep from Anbaixiu would shatter him to pieces and doom him forever.
"So my plan is much more radical than the Lord of the Dawn's. I want to kill Cyric as quickly as possible rather than merely force his hand. It's just that the plan is too insane; I worry it might trigger a disaster beyond containment." Anbaixiu's tone turned dead serious as he enunciated each word to Jergal: "President, if I spread *The Cyrinishad* far and wide and turn countless planes into Cyric's fanatic worshipers, will Ao step in to destroy him?"
When Jergal heard this plan, his soul, which had remained unrippled for tens of thousands of years, shuddered.
What an utterly mad plan! Back then, Cyric had wanted to do the exact same thing, but even he couldn't distribute *The Cyrinishad* in a short time, and the moment he made a move, the gods would inevitably unite to stop him.
Anbaixiu, however, was different. His magic mirrors were everywhere. If he uploaded *The Cyrinishad* to the magic mirror network, he could fetch Cyric hundreds of millions of fanatical followers in just a few days.
How vast a scope would that engulf? How many deities would it offend?
Just thinking about it filled Jergal with astonishment. Truly, the young were terrifying. Even at his maddest, Cyric hadn't been this terrifying.
Jergal shook his head. "Whether Ao would act, I do not know. But you would certainly be the first to be punished—Oghma would be the first not to spare you."
What Oghma, the Lord of Knowledge, hated most was destructive taboo lore of this sort. If Anbaixiu dared to openly disseminate *The Cyrinishad*, Oghma would deliver divine retribution immediately. It fell within his divine duties and was exempt from Ao's restrictions.
Don't think an artifact spirit body offered immunity; Oghma's divine power happened to perfectly counter beings like Anbaixiu, targeting not his physical form, but the knowledge he possessed.
The deprivation of knowledge was an attack Anbaixiu could not resist.
Anbaixiu would have all his knowledge stripped away by Oghma, reduced to a drooling idiot, and then sealed and tormented for eternity.
Anbaixiu scoffed disdainfully, "Tch, isn't that just helping him get revenge? Cyric has run rampant for so long precisely because the trouble he caused wasn't big enough for Ao to care. If things escalate to the absolute extreme, the Overgod will naturally intervene."
Jergal couldn't even be bothered to comment on such suicidal behavior. He shook his head. "You want the planes to plunge into another Time of Troubles. Put that thought out of your head immediately."
If Ao grew enraged, all deities would suffer, and Jergal might not escape unscathed either.
He was old and truly had no desire to experience a battle royale among the gods again.
Anbaixiu rubbed his chin. "So this card is actually quite the deterrent—I could use it to scare the gods. But forget it, the bomb is too big, threatens too many deities, and would backfire. *Sigh*, then I'll just have to try the Lord of the Dawn's suggestion and play the long game against Cyric."
"What do you intend to do?" Jergal asked.
"The opposite, of course: spread *The True Life of Cyric* to completely block Cyric's earlier schemes. At the same time, take advantage of my media dominance to let everyone know that the current Prince of Lies is useless, and only I, Ultraman Tiga, am the true Prince of Lies. And the biggest lie I've told recently is that I will end the Blood War—when in reality, that's merely a smokescreen, and the real conspiracy is far more terrifying..."
Jergal frowned as he listened. "What conspiracy?"
Anbaixiu shook his head. "Don't know. Haven't made it up yet. But that doesn't matter; others will invent hundreds of conspiracies for me, and a few of those will become increasingly refined, increasingly outrageous, until countless people firmly believe them."
"Yet you cannot deceive Cyric. He possesses the power to discern lies."
"That also doesn't matter. It isn't deities I need to deceive, but the mortals who can influence them. The more people who believe a lie, the greater the lie's power becomes. Furthermore, this lie ties into the First Layer of Hell and the endless Blood War. If Cyric doesn't find a way to expose my lie, he can truly only watch helplessly as his godhead shatters and all his power is stripped away by me."
This plan of Anbaixiu's was equally mad, but at least it didn't drag all the gods down to death with him.
Yet Jergal asked again, "Then what do you need me to do? You possess control over the magic mirrors; you can carry out this plan entirely on your own."
Anbaixiu smiled and said, "Relying solely on the magic mirrors spreading it like gossip isn't enough. I need a far more shocking delivery. President, given your relationship with the God of Death, could you help broker a collaboration for me? I know the God of Death has authority over the details of any individual's demise. I want to ask the God of Death to pass along a trade proposition.
"For every sinner on the verge of death and bound for Hell, if they can weave fragments of this lie into their dying words, I will grant them a redemption code for a soul coin. Once they arrive in Hell, they can use this code to exchange for one soul coin.
"You see, the God of Death doesn't need to act personally—merely inform every dying person of this deal. The dying can choose for themselves whether or not to accept it. This way, Kelemvor won't be put in an awkward position either, right?"
Jergal took back what he had just thought of Anbaixiu.
This plan was hardly any better than the first—it was equally mad to the extreme!
Chapter 597