In the end, Jergal did not agree to Anbaixiu's request, but neither did he explicitly refuse, merely stating that he needed to go back and discuss the matter with Kelemvor, the God of Death.
It seemed Anbaixiu's ideas were still too bold; an old traditionalist like Jergal simply could not accept them right away.
Which was a bit of a pity. Anbaixiu's plan really needed the help of the God of Death to take effect quickly; otherwise, he would have to rely on the magic mirrors to let things ferment slowly.
Still, it wasn't a huge problem. Kelemvor and Cyric were enemies after all, and Anbaixiu believed this God of Death would be very keen to take down his old nemesis before retiring.
The meeting wasn't entirely without gain, either. Jergal had crafted a new Necrotic Codex on the spot and handed it to Anbaixiu, proving he hadn't been kicked out of the Elegy Poetry Society. And after Jergal left, the Poet strolled over while fingering his wine glass and said to Anbaixiu, "You still want to be the God of Death? Want to know what Jergal's actual standards are?"
Anbaixiu said in confusion, "Senior, you know? And you're willing to tell me?"
The Poet smiled and said, "Only if you're mentally prepared—because you don't qualify at all. That's the only reason I'm telling you."
"Doesn't matter to me. The mantle of Death would just be an unexpected bonus; missing out is no big deal."
This was genuine on Anbaixiu's part. Given his past behavior, Jergal would have to have been brainwashed into an idiot by The Cyrinishad to let him become the God of Death. Wasn't he afraid Anbaixiu would sell Resurrection spells for two hundred gold coins a pop?
Even the Poet was slightly surprised. He hadn't expected Anbaixiu to be so open-minded. Pouring him a drink, the Poet said, "Actually, I just don't want you clinging to false hopes and wasting your time. Besides, from the looks of it, you're planning to keep stirring up trouble. Every time, you're dancing on the edge of the gods' blades; one misstep and you're dead. I don't want you banking your final trump card on the divine portfolio of Death, only to find you can't be saved when the time comes."
"I understand. A toast to you!"
Anbaixiu truly felt the Poet treated him very well. All along, the Poet had given him plenty of help, while he had given little in return.
"Good, as long as you know where you stand. The reason Jergal chose undead as candidates in the first place was that most previous Gods of Death were living mortals."
Anbaixiu asked puzzledly, "Is there a problem with a living person becoming the God of Death? The power of a divine portfolio should transcend race."
"It's not an issue of insufficient power. The portfolio of Death is plenty powerful; even if an ant became the God of Death, it wouldn't make much difference. The problem is that the power of Death is too vast. In theory, every soul that dies must pass through the God of Death's judgment. Going to Hell, ascending to a divine realm, or being sent to the Wall of the Faithless—it's all up to the God of Death.
"It is an immensely important, yet immensely tedious job. If mortals serve as the God of Death for too long, either ambition festers and improper desires gradually take root, leading them to wield that power recklessly, or else sheer boredom sets in—do repetitive work long enough, and anyone will want to quit.
"Cyric was like that, Kelemvor is like that, and even Jergal himself stepped down back then because he grew sick of the God of Death's duties. Otherwise, the mantle of Death would never have changed hands."
The Poet's explanation caught Anbaixiu off guard. So that was the story behind the succession of the God of Death.
Even Jergal couldn't stomach millions of years of mind-numbing boredom, so he found replacements while serving as the safeguard himself, swapping them out whenever someone did a terrible job.
A grand divine portfolio of Death, managed like the CEO of a corporation—replaced at the drop of a hat.
"Then what about the undead? What advantage do undead have?" Anbaixiu asked.
The Poet explained, "Sapient undead usually have only a single obsession. So long as they sustain that obsession, they can live on steadily forever. Look at the members of the Elegy Poetry Society: even among the undead, they are peculiar outliers. As long as their obsession exists, their behavior and temperament remain constant. Emotional stability—that is what a God of Death needs most."
Anbaixiu had an epiphany. No wonder the chat group members were all atypical undead, each more bizarre than the last. But thinking carefully, everyone's obsession was pretty easy to keep under control.
Back then, Anbaixiu just needed enough money. Gareth and his wife were even simpler: just let them live together and nothing would ever go wrong. Aige merely wanted to resurrect her father, which wouldn't conflict with the duties of the God of Death either.
Aside from the Rose of Decay's fierce insistence on destroying Ryan, everyone else's obsessions were quite easy to satisfy... Oh, looking at it that way, Heji Stone was purely there to make up the numbers. That vampire had no fixed obsession; he was just like a mortal, lacking none of the usual desires.
What a calculated scheme! Truly brilliant.
No wonder the Poet said Anbaixiu was no longer qualified. He had regained all mortal desires and was no longer a lich who cared only for gold.
Anbaixiu continued asking, "Then with so many candidates, how will the selection be made?"
The Poet chuckled and said, "While undead are relatively stable, an obsession is a weakness. The God of Death cannot have such an obvious weakness, or enemies will exploit it too easily. Therefore, Jergal hopes to find an undead who can transcend their own desires. Achieve that, and they can inherit the mantle of Death seamlessly."
Anbaixiu frowned. "Such a vague standard? What counts as 'transcending'?"
The Poet shook his head. "Hard to say. In any case, the final interpretation rests with Jergal."
"Tsk, playing that game again."
Anbaixiu hated so-called "spiritual disposition requirements" most of all. He could accept the intricate formulas of alchemy—temperatures, proportions, techniques—because they were clear and traceable. Such logical rules could be studied, mastered, and strived toward. Only this vague notion of 'mindset' sounded utterly mystical and unreasonable.
Anbaixiu disliked unreasonable things. Or rather, he detested anything like fate—inexplicable and devoid of logic.
"Haha, I knew you wouldn't qualify, which is why I told you. But don't go telling anyone else, or Jergal will give me grief." The Poet downed his drink and added, "I hear your magic mirror has plenty of users and lots of functions, but it seems to be missing a feature for listening to music."
Seeing the Poet's knowing smirk, Anbaixiu caught on instantly.
Recalling the Poet's earth-shattering singing, Anbaixiu had wanted to refuse, but on second thought, he still owed the man a concert. Besides, the Poet's music often worked miracles in critical moments.
"Fine. I'll design a music feature for you right away. And not just for you—I'll make it free for all bards to use. They can upload their songs at will and let more people hear them. Senior, you could even establish a cross-planar Bards' Association and serve as the president. How about that?"
Anbaixiu's pie-in-the-sky proposal delighted the Poet, who immediately dragged him into discussing how to set up this Bards' Association and what rules it should have. Anbaixiu was glad to help, and after pitching a flurry of ideas, most of the charter was drafted.
Anbaixiu didn't need to worry about a lack of participation; no bard would turn down an audience.
Today, the number of magic mirrors in circulation exceeded fifty million—a terrifying figure.
Apart from deities governing knowledge like Oghma, probably no god could broadcast information to tens of millions of individuals at once. What bard could refuse fifty million listeners? Gaining even a modicum of fame would bring both renown and wealth.
The Poet took the matter deeply to heart. Once he figured out how to register an account, he promptly drove every patron out of the tavern, claiming he had to go recruit his friends into the association.
Watching the tavern guests who dared to be angry but didn't dare speak, Anbaixiu finally had an answer to his previous doubt. They really hadn't been kidnapped. Otherwise, why bother kicking them out? Could such a godforsaken place really have this many customers? Realizing for the first time that there were aspects of doing business he didn't understand, Anbaixiu shook his head and departed.
Whether things would pan out with the God of Death remained uncertain, so Anbaixiu couldn't put all his eggs in one basket.
Fabricating lies to hoodwink the world required further study, and next was the Council of Nations. However, with the Lord of the Dawn presiding, Anbaixiu guessed the conference would turn from Ryan's public apology into an opportunity for Ryan to flex its muscles, making its restless neighbors tuck away their petty ambitions.
Anbaixiu couldn't be bothered to attend such a meeting. Under the watchful gaze of the Lord of the Dawn, pulling off any little tricks would be difficult, so he might as well not go.
Anbaixiu opened the brand-new Necrotic Codex and sent a new message.
[Ultraman Tiga: Friends, I, Ultraman, have returned!]
A moment later, a flood of messages lit up the chat group.
[Crown of the Headless Horseman: Death above! Brother, you returned from Hell?! When did this happen?!]
[Pale Little Skeleton: I knew he wouldn't die that easily. But what really happened with you? I heard you made quite a stir in Hell.]
[Dislikes Humans: Aren't you all going too far?! You all ignored me when I sent messages earlier! The moment he shows up, you start spamming the chat!]
[Crown of the Headless Horseman: Shove off, dwarf! We're celebrating Brother Tiga's return. What's it to you?!]
[Dislikes Humans: Gareth, starting today, our friendship is over!]
[Crown of the Headless Horseman: Then next month's dragon blood is off.]
[Dislikes Humans: This severance of ties will last for twenty-nine days!]
...
After a chaotic flurry of chatter, everyone finally understood Anbaixiu's current state.
Anbaixiu had become the artifact spirit of the magic mirror. Though the situation caught them off guard, it was nothing unpalatable to the undead; after all, every one of their bodies was bizarre in its own way.
After catching up with his friends, Anbaixiu was just about to ask how Aige's apotheosis plan was coming along when she sent him a private message first.
[Mute: Please come to my place. There is an urgent matter to discuss. It's best not to tell Rose for now.]
Anbaixiu replied in confusion: [What could be so secret that even Rose can't be told?]
[Mute: Just come over first. It can't be explained in a few words, but this matter is extremely important.]
Anbaixiu had never seen Aige so solemn. It seemed whatever they needed to discuss was far more serious than he had imagined. But what could make Aige, who was on the verge of becoming a deity, take things so seriously?
Without hesitation, Anbaixiu appeared in the deep sea in the blink of an eye.
Wherever there was a magic mirror, Anbaixiu could appear instantly—faster than teleportation.
It was just that the rollout of magic mirrors on the seabed was somewhat inefficient. The God of Alchemy had not yet had time to develop high-pressure- and corrosion-resistant underwater versions, so the deep-sea mirrors currently in use were too expensive for ordinary people to afford.
For Aige, however, as an overlord of the sea, such a cost was negligible.
The magic mirror Anbaixiu appeared from was placed inside the cabin of Aige's true vessel. The ghost ship looked largely the same as before on the outside, but Anbaixiu could sense lively dark magic coursing everywhere throughout the vessel, just like the magic once found in the Dragon Tomb.
This was dark magic that had already undergone deification, very fitting for Aige's identity as the Goddess of Freedom.
Once she completed her ascension, this magic would be fully converted into Aige's divine power.
Anbaixiu didn't know much about divine ranks yet, but he figured the faith provided by those kuo-toa would be enough to make Aige an intermediate deity—certainly no weaker than that lunatic goddess.
Aige's soul form manifested before Anbaixiu. She looked roughly the same as before, only imbued with a sacred nobility that clearly set her apart from mortals.
Yet upon seeing Anbaixiu, a smile surfaced on Aige's face.
She said with a smile, "It seems you truly resolved the trouble in Hell completely. As expected of you—even the devils of Hell couldn't stop you."
Even though she was on the verge of ascending to godhood, Aige still treated Anbaixiu with immense respect. She knew this mortal before her was greater than many gods; all he lacked was an opportune spark to attain divinity.
"No need for pleasantries between us. What mysterious, momentous matter do you need my advice on?" Anbaixiu asked.
Aige nodded. There truly was no need for formalities between them, so she spoke frankly: "Catherine came by and conveyed the intentions of the Elven Gods."
"Wait!" Anbaixiu exclaimed in shock. "Catherine? Isn't she about to ascend herself? Why would she come looking for you?! Have the Elven Gods set their sights on your portfolio of Freedom?!"
Anbaixiu was genuinely shocked. Although Aige had prepared for her apotheosis for a long time and could create her own divine realm the moment she ascended—entering it in an instant for protection—the Elven Gods were no ordinary faction. Who knew whether an arrow from Corellon could pierce Aige in that split second?
A careful estimate gave it a very high chance of success. Such was the might of the Elven God-King. No one doubted whether his bow could hit its mark; it was purely a question of whether he willed it.
Aige shook her head. "Rest assured, the elves didn't come with malice. But their proposal took me completely by surprise, which is why I must hear your thoughts."
Anbaixiu furrowed his brows. "What on earth do those bean sprouts want?"
Aige said, "The Elven Gods want me, Catherine, and Leira, the Lady of Mists, to merge our divine portfolios and become a triune goddess."
Anbaixiu's eyes went wide. What kind of absurd proposal was that?
A triune goddess? Did that mean merging three deities into one?
And how had Leira gotten dragged into this?
"Wait, why are you hesitating? Your goal is to resurrect your father. If you're merged, can you still remain yourself?" Anbaixiu asked.
Aige could only explain, "No, a so-called triune deity isn't a true merger. There are precedents for this among the Elven Gods. It's merely a fusion of portfolio powers. In truth, the three of us would just share power, able to combine into a new form to wield our portfolios at critical moments. But in reality, we would remain independent individuals, and none of us would influence the others' minds."
Anbaixiu roughly understood. That was indeed an old elven tradition.
Still, why would the elves make such a proposal?
Anbaixiu pondered for a long time before asking, "Could Corellon be trying to ally with Silvanus?"
Chapter 598