Tiamat hadn't expected Anbaixiu to ask about the Goddess of Fate. She pondered for a moment before answering, "I assume you aren't asking about the twin goddesses, the Goddess of Luck and the Maid of Misfortune. You wish to know the story of their predecessor, Tyche, the Goddess of Opportunity?"
Anbaixiu shook his head. "I have heard her story many times. Mortal scholars say Lady Tyche was corrupted by the God of Corrosion and turned into a monster, only to be slain by Selûne, splitting into the twin sisters: the Goddess of Luck and the Maid of Misfortune.
"Yet if a goddess in control of fate could be harmed by a thorny rose, was Tyche truly fate itself?"
Divination wizards were rare, but none had ever abandoned the pursuit of the true essence of fate.
Naturally, Anbaixiu had heard of the twin goddesses of luck and misfortune, including their origins and legends.
Rumor had it that whenever a figure of great influence was born, the two goddesses would appear.
Tymora, the Goddess of Luck, would produce a gold coin bearing her own visage and play a coin-toss game with Beshaba, the Maid of Misfortune.
If the Maid of Misfortune guessed heads or tails correctly, the newborn would be cursed by her; otherwise, the child would receive the blessing of the Goddess of Luck.
Only for a rare few true legendary heroes would the coin land on its edge. That signified that neither goddess could meddle in their life, and that they held their own destiny in their hands.
This story sounded fantastical, yet precisely because it was so widely known, every divination wizard understood that these two goddesses could not represent true fate.
Perhaps they were merely higher echelons of the divination wizard class.
Beyond legend stood these two goddesses.
Yet they were definitely not fate itself.
The workings of all things in the world, the synthesis of all past and future, could not be reduced merely to fortune and misfortune.
To a stone, there was no luck or misfortune, but that did not mean the stone had no destiny of its own.
The same applied to heroes. If one could slip from the grasp of destiny so casually, then no such concept should exist in this world at all; everything would be murky chaos, and foretelling the future would be an utter impossibility.
Therefore, reasoning in reverse led to one conclusion:
As long as the accuracy of foretelling the future had never been broken, it meant that incomprehensible fate certainly existed. If all that had been written could not be altered, then there had to be boundless power upholding this rule.
If the Goddess of Luck and the Maid of Misfortune were not fate itself, what about their predecessor?
Lady Tyche, who supposedly died from the corruption of a cursed rose?
That was far too absurd. A pitfall that even a novice divination wizard wouldn't stumble into—how could a goddess of fate adorn her brow with an avatar of corruption and remain oblivious until Selûne purified her?
The story was simply too foolish, resembling nothing more than a fable concocted by mortal minds.
To get to the bottom of this, Anbaixiu had specifically consulted deities he knew.
The God of Alchemy was young and couldn't possibly know the truth; the Lord of the Dawn fell into awkward silence, as rumor had it Lady Tyche was once his lover; Oghma expressed no desire to answer the question; Jergal stated he never concerned himself with fate; Talos said he vaguely recalled hearing something, but wasn't familiar... Anbaixiu had thought his connections in divine circles were reasonably broad, yet asking around hadn't yielded a single real answer.
Splendid. It suited the enigma of fate perfectly.
This only reinforced Anbaixiu's conviction: Lady Tyche was not fate itself either.
Could one infer from this that a god of fate did not exist at all, being merely an imaginary scapegoat invented by divination wizards whenever misfortune befell them?
Anbaixiu considered this seriously, ultimately rejecting such a defeatist theory.
The reason was simple: he himself was unique.
If every divination wizard had a coin tossed at their birth, then when old fellows like Mister Misfortune and Selwyn were born, the Maid of Misfortune must have won. And when Harvey was born, the Goddess of Luck was probably the victor.
What about Anbaixiu?
The answer was that when he was born, the two goddesses never played their coin-toss game.
Anbaixiu was a transmigrator, and he had transmigrated with his physical body intact.
At the beginning, he had even fantasized that Ao himself had summoned him, making him the chosen follower of the Overgod—a true child of destiny.
A century after transmigrating, he abandoned that idle fantasy.
Apart from Ao, were there other deities capable of pulling someone from another world?
The answer was yes, and quite a few.
Across boundless planes, not even Oghma knew everything. Thus, Anbaixiu's situation as a transmigrator was not entirely unprecedented—until Anbaixiu came into contact with fate.
By now, the gods had all heard his name.
Yet even now, Anbaixiu still could not glimpse the true face of fate.
It was impossible that no deity knew of fate's existence. Even Jergal seemed unwilling to discuss the topic, which made Anbaixiu feel increasingly that something was amiss.
Ever since Paluriel's taunts, Anbaixiu had sensed that something was off. There had to be a crucial link that could explain all his experiences to date and reveal where the Goddess of Fate truly was.
Yet even Tiamat, the Dragon Queen, couldn't offer any useful information. Did he truly need to seek out the goddesses of luck and misfortune for a chat?
As a devil archduke, Anbaixiu possessed the stature to extend an invitation to both goddesses, but he always felt that was the wrong direction.
Assuming that the present luck and misfortune were merely smoke screens deployed by the true Goddess of Fate, why charge headlong into their trap?
The true key still lay with himself. For now, Anbaixiu could only assume it was the Goddess of Fate who had brought him over. But to what end?
Seeing Anbaixiu's troubled look, Tiamat felt a surge of gloating amusement. So this fellow had his moments of torment too; had she known earlier, she would have rubbed salt into the wound.
However, Tiamat hadn't come to discuss faith with Anbaixiu. She cared far more about his plan.
"Cyric has already contacted those Abyssal demons, but he hasn't told me how he plans to lure you into the Abyss. You aren't a fool; you wouldn't go there in person."
Anbaixiu nodded. "Indeed. Therefore, Cyric must want to seize leverage over me, securing terms I cannot refuse to force me into entering the Abyss in person."
"Is that another bait you've dangled?" Tiamat asked.
"Not bait—a game of wits," Anbaixiu said solemnly. "Cyric is no fool. He will understand my intention. I am using my own vulnerability to tempt him into acting personally. He can gamble against me: will he be hooked by me, or will he devour my bait and force me into the Abyss?"
Tiamat countered, "What if he refuses to gamble? Regardless of what bait you toss out, he can simply egg on those mindless demons to make the move. Cyric loves lies that leave him detached from the fallout. Whether exposed or not, it won't trace back to him."
Yet Anbaixiu said with confidence, "True. Nowadays I call him a troll who harms others for amusement without benefiting himself. But bait is only useful while it's alive, isn't it? Those frenzied demons would only crush the bait to pulp, rendering it utterly useless in the end."
Tiamat looked baffled, sensing that Anbaixiu still kept many secrets from her. No matter how she looked at it, this plan sounded crude. Sending the thing he cared about most into danger for a mere possibility? It sounded thoroughly irrational.
Tiamat would bet two of her dragon heads that this damned Deceiver had some hidden scheme waiting for Cyric to crash right into.
Yet Tiamat did not press further. Just as Anbaixiu had said, she never intended to get too deeply involved. Having secured a ringside seat for the spectacle was enough; delving any further might turn her into part of the bait.
Tiamat rose and turned to leave, but gave a parting reminder: "Since you are already prepared, I won't stand on ceremony with you either. Our cooperation ends here. If Cyric truly finds an opportunity, I will lend a hand without hesitation. I trust you can understand that?"
"Of course I do, because I would do the same. Lady Dragon Queen, you should know that if you fail to kill me, your name will be added back onto my list of vengeance."
Tiamat chuckled. "As if you ever took it off. I never once believed you could let bygones be bygones. By the way, pass a word to Zariel: if Mount Celestia is barred to her, she is welcome in my domain. The dragons will reserve a place for her."
"Poaching already? Zariel has only just agreed to work for me," Anbaixiu said with a chuckle.
Tiamat said nothing more, dissolving completely into a burst of flame.
The instant Tiamat vanished, Anbaixiu's smile faded.
The heavy Necrotic Codex appeared in his hands. With a flick of his fingers, he swiftly left a line of text in the group chat: "Friends, preparations on my end are complete. Proceed according to plan."
Usually, whenever Anbaixiu sent a message, someone would reply immediately.
This time, however, the Necrotic Codex remained silent for a long while.
Anbaixiu did not wait for a response. He closed the Necrotic Codex and shut his eyes.
His massive form seemed to settle into quietude, blending seamlessly into the Grand Archives. Anbaixiu's consciousness immersed itself within the magic mirror, focusing entirely on the undead army poised to march out.
Ange Watson had dumped a mountain of demands on him, behaving less like a subordinate and more like a demanding client. Yet Anbaixiu had indulged him, taking the time to discuss unit optimizations with Ange Watson in detail.
Anbaixiu possessed memories from his past life. Although he only knew what certain things were without fully understanding the underlying science, merely describing a form or configuration was enough to inspire Ange Watson. That military genius quickly drew analogies and developed new concepts.
Anbaixiu had spent considerable resources accelerating time to assemble this undead army.
As for their actual combat effectiveness, only real battle would test it.
Undead required no military drills or political commissars for ideological work; at a single command, they would march to the battlefield. They were the ultimate weapons of war.
A colossal planar conduit opened before the Blood River Fortress. Through the magic mirrors, Ange Watson methodically issued commands, and the vanguard force led by Death Knights surged into it.
Hundreds of large magic mirrors combined into a multi-angled surveillance array, presenting every detail of the battlefield before Ange Watson.
On the other side of the spatial portal lay the chaotic reaches deep within the River of Blood—a bizarre world formed of countless spatial shards interconnected by web-like pathways.
Most demons had no idea which road led to the infernal River of Blood either; they simply followed the hordes, relying on their sheer numbers to find a way forward through sheer overflow.
After traversing the spatial portal, this undead force—composed primarily of Death Knights—emerged onto an expanse of blackened, rotting grassland, a landscape of some unknown layer of the Abyss. The moment their boots touched the ground, countless threadworm-like monsters burrowed up from beneath, attempting to crawl onto the skeletal steeds and feast on whatever flesh remained.
Yet as the Death Knights unfurled their fear auras, these tooth-lined threadworms convulsed and writhed across the ground.
As necrotic energy rippled outward, the dangerous little vermin began dying in droves.
While Abyssal creatures were hazardous, undead were hardly gentle either; dark magic was lethal poison to all living things.
The reason this region had been chosen as the prime beachhead was precisely because this rotting grassland was infested with such demonic parasites. Ordinary devils would have to expend vast amounts of magic to clear them, making movement exceedingly difficult.
The dark magic of the undead, however, perfectly countered these frail pests. Wherever the iron hooves of the Death Knights trampled, carpets of dead threadworms were left behind.
"Deploy reconnaissance units. Scout all nearby demon settlements and wipe them out completely..."
At Ange Watson's order, several peculiar undead that had advanced alongside the Death Knights took heavy strides forward, fanning out in a wide arc.
These giant undead were bizarrely constructed: possessing only six thick, stumpy legs and an upper body resembling a hive or egg cluster.
They had neither arms nor mouths, functioning purely as mobile flesh platforms designed to transport these massive hives onto the battlefield.
Once the six giant hives had spread to a sufficient distance, their thick legs drove deep into the earth. Every aperture across the hives opened automatically, and in an instant, countless black shapes burst forth.
These dark shapes were strange flying insects about the size of a human palm. Their bodies were streamlined, yet possessed swollen abdomens and tiny pairs of wings that looked entirely unsuited for flight.
However, once launched from the hives, high-velocity jets of air began spewing from their rears, sending them rocketing in all directions at tremendous speed like miniature jet aircraft.
This was a new variety of undead integrating miniature jet engine technology—a synthesis of alchemy and necromancy. The cost was steep, but the results were spectacular.
Each hive housed over ten thousand such insects; six hives meant more than sixty thousand. Only ten thousand had been released in this initial wave, yet they blotted out the sun like an ominous dark cloud, presenting a terrifying sight.
These insects flew at blistering speeds, approaching the speed of sound at their peak—vastly exceeding the limits of the Fly spell. Moreover, their maximum operational range spanned a full hundred and twenty kilometers.
Of course, "maximum range" meant they would not return.
These bugs served as both scouts and suicide drones, much like the deep-sea minion forces of the past. They automatically locked onto living entities, dove toward them, and self-detonated. To demons, necrotic toxin was equally lethal.
For once, Ange Watson was fighting an unprecedentedly affluent campaign, meaning he had no need to pinch pennies with his forces.
All reconnaissance insects were dispatched at maximum range to carry out suicide strikes against every demon within a hundred and twenty kilometers. And as these insects perished, the hives registered each loss, pinpointing the direction and distance of every death.
Through the quantity and coordinates of these insect casualties, Ange Watson could map out the distribution of demons across the area.
Soon, dozens of different points—large and small—were marked on the map, representing locations where clusters of reconnaissance insects had died.
With a cold sneer, Ange Watson directed detachments of Death Knights toward these sites to mop up the remaining demons.
Ange Watson had no fear that the Death Knights would be overwhelmed, for leading the charge in person was none other than the daughter of the devil archduke at his side—Melina.
Clad in heavy armor, Melina rode at the forefront. This time, she did not yell in excitement as she usually did, nor did she summon the sussur tree to project an antimagic barrier.
She charged in silence, effortlessly tearing apart any demon blocking her path.
Even without exerting much effort, anyone familiar with Melina could perceive that she was far more formidable than before.
Truly, Hell had a way of tempering a soul. In such a short span, this Death Knight seemed completely transformed.
Anbaixiu did not interfere with the command. Professional matters were best left to professionals. Ange Watson's military command abilities outclassed his own by miles; he was certainly not about to micromanage with brainless orders like telling Death Knights to shift fifty meters sideways.
Anbaixiu kept his eyes fixed solely on the figure charging at the van.
This was the bait he had cast out.
Now, he only had to wait for Cyric to bite.
Chapter 626