The Holy Light cascading down from the high heavens and the roar deep beneath the earth were intangible things, yet they seemed to collide in physical reality. The two violently clashed at ground level, giving rise to countless explosions out of thin air.
The earth shattered; houses and buildings crumbled into ruins.
Both sides locked in combat were swallowed by the unrelenting explosions, yet the paladins fared much better than the undead. Because James Watson's Divine Intervention was primarily cast to aid his own, more than half of the Lord of the Dawn's power was bestowed upon the paladins to bolster their defenses and heal their wounds.
Paladins who were already dead could not be resurrected, but anyone with a breath remaining was pulled back from the brink.
Not only that, they were blessed with a powerful surge of Holy Light, leaving them utterly unscathed amid the violent detonations.
Even James Watson was cleansed of his body's undead transformation, gaining long-lasting immunity to the curse.
As for the undead, save for Gareth and the Rose of Decay, they were virtually annihilated.
A mighty deity was simply that unreasonable—casting a single glance was enough to reverse the tides of war.
This was also why the Rose of Decay had never considered using a Wish against the Ryan Empire; it was completely impossible to succeed.
This battle was lost. The regrouped paladins combined with the Supreme Arbiter held power that exceeded Gareth and the Rose of Decay together.
The Rose of Decay specialized in necromancy. Without an army to tie down the enemy, and with her Death Gaze cut off by the Lord of the Dawn, her combat efficacy was drastically diminished. Gareth might still have been able to fight, but the Rose of Decay knew her close friend had been monitoring the battlefield from the skies all along. That young lady of the bone dragon clan would never permit her husband to throw his life away.
Her hatred for Ryan was her personal vendetta. Having Gareth help had already pushed the limit; the dragon race would not allow their son-in-law to risk his life against James Watson, and even the bone dragon young lady had no intention of joining the fray.
Though she had failed to kill James Watson, Gareth's surprise assault had forced the paladins to pay a bitter price, whereas all the Rose of Decay had lost were a dozen or so Death Knights and some golem puppets that hadn't belonged to her in the first place.
It was time to retreat.
Though the Rose of Decay harbored bone-deep hatred toward the Ryan Empire, finishing this bout had somewhat restored her sanity. She decisively gave a signal. High above, a patch of dark clouds abruptly materialized and expanded furiously, instantly swallowing both the Rose of Decay and Gareth.
By the time James Watson gathered his Holy Light to disperse the dark clouds, everything within had vanished without a trace.
"Another legendary undead?! What on earth is happening in this City of Alchemy?"
James Watson's face turned green with fury. The battle appeared to be a victory, but in truth, it was a defeat.
The undead had all fled, yet the paladins could not pull back. The mutation wracking the City of Alchemy was far from over; violent tremors continued, and more than half the city lay in ruins.
Countless residents of the City of Alchemy were buried beneath the rubble, their agonized cries echoing endlessly.
Gritting his teeth, James Watson had no choice but to bark orders: "All paladins, rescue our fellow kin where possible and evacuate the City of Alchemy!"
Though the religious fanatics of the Ryan Empire were profoundly xenophobic, they strictly adhered to the tenets of the Lord of the Dawn. In times of suffering, they never neglected to aid the weak. Even if that mercy extended only to humans, it was worthy of the titles holy and radiant.
Cloaked in Holy Light, the paladins split into several squads and rescued every human nearby.
The blessings granted by the Lord of the Dawn now served as crucial aids in saving lives. They possessed immense strength, were virtually indestructible, could heal injuries, and could soothe terrified hearts.
Nothing reassured the victims more than an Aura of Vitality, and no evacuation was swifter than atop a celestial warhorse. Tons of debris were tossed aside with casual ease, and a dozen or so refugees hoisted onto a warhorse could be ferried to safety in mere tens of seconds, their wounds mending along the way until their mobility returned.
Humans felt boundless gratitude toward the paladins, but the other races could only curse their mothers. Those racist zealots wouldn't spare them a single glance.
Never mind a glance—if an orc lay in the road, they might very well be trampled by a celestial warhorse.
Of course it wasn't intentional, but neither would they go out of their way to avoid them. To the people of Ryan, other races were like weeds by the roadside: if trampled, so be it.
Yet no matter how hard they tried, this meager rescue was a drop in the bucket for the entire City of Alchemy. The shaking persisted, and more and more fissures tore through the surface.
Moreover, the City of Alchemy seemed to be propped up by an uncanny force, slowly rising into the air.
Floating aloft, James Watson could see it clearly: the ground across the entire City of Alchemy had risen several meters, entering a conspicuous state of levitation. The city seemed destined to take to the skies.
James Watson could only issue another order: "Make haste! Ten minutes remaining, and then everyone evacuates!"
With that, he flew down to the ground, scooped up several wounded humans, and rushed them outside the city. Command was no longer needed; he, too, had to contribute what he could.
***
At this very moment, down in the sewers, Anbaixiu stood at the core of the Wish ritual, looking on coldly as the ritual magic circle spun. A skeleton possessed no facial expression, but his tightly clenched hands betrayed his tension and indignation.
Things weren't supposed to turn out like this. Bullshit prophecy!
This all traced back to more than half an hour ago. The soul surgery had succeeded in the end. Though it had exhausted every last Die of Fate Anbaixiu had saved up, Gary Watts's soul had finally achieved the "divine" realm he envisioned.
It was a soul completely devoid of human form—a monster woven from thousands of filament-like tentacles.
Yet Gary Watts felt thoroughly satisfied with himself. He led Anbaixiu to the core of the ritual magic circle, and then, before the stunned gazes of Fring and Dippel, merged directly into his own physical body.
When the tentacled monstrosity entered human flesh, the body naturally began to mutate as well.
Originally wrapped in black threads, the hunched body had struck the posture of martyrdom. Now, flesh and bone sloughed away, transforming toward the monstrosity's form until it became a twisted aberration where tentacles joined with black threads, crowned at the center by a solitary cyclopean eye.
"What have you done?!" His mind pushed to the brink of collapse, Dippel summoned his personal ride. The towering golem puppet charged toward Anbaixiu, looking ready to crush every bone in his body.
Yet Anbaixiu showed no trace of panic. He simply said, "I solved your greatest problem. None of you need to be sacrificed now. Furthermore, don't even think about touching a finger to me. You'll regret it."
How could Dippel believe Anbaixiu's words? The golem puppet raised its arm, cannon barrels already glowing red. Yet right before it could fire, the puppet's arm suddenly burst apart, blowing Dippel off his feet.
Stricken with grief and shock, Dippel couldn't understand how his painstakingly crafted golem puppet could suddenly explode.
"The power of prophecy again? No, that's not it!"
Dippel turned his head toward the guild master turned tentacled monstrosity. Sure enough, the giant eye at the center was staring straight at him, speaking in a majestic voice:
"Stand down, Dippel. I have ascended to godhood. Everything proceeds according to plan."
As soon as the tentacled monstrosity spoke, Dippel watched his golem puppet crumble piece by piece into components. He tried to invoke his restorative power to reassemble it, only to find it utterly ineffective, because the golem puppet was no longer an integrated whole. From the unseen void, the power of fundamental law had decomposed it into mere parts—just parts.
Dippel's ability allowed him to repair his constructs, but the definition of "construct" had now been stripped away from this object, relabeled strictly as disparate parts. If he wanted to trigger his repair ability, he would have to reassemble them by hand first.
"Guild Master, have you lost your mind?! Look at what you've become! Why are you helping this lich?!" Dippel roared in fury.
The tentacled guild master replied, "Because I entered into an agreement with him: he assists my ascension to godhood, and I grant his wish."
"If you have already become a god, why do you still need to honor the agreement?! Guild Master, you and I are on the same side! Doesn't the chance to make a wish belong to us alchemists?!" Dippel cried in agitation.
Dippel thought the transformed guild master would offer an explanation, but to his surprise, the tentacled guild master merely replied with chilling indifference: "Indeed. I have ascended to godhood, so if I wish to honor a promise, I honor it; if I wish to break it, I break it. Puny creature, do not presume to fathom a god with your mortal mind."
Arms crossed, Anbaixiu watched the drama unfold at his leisure.
The reason Gary Watts sided with him was simple: he had tampered with the soul.
Every Simulated Soul Anbaixiu created, regardless of its function or its strength, shared a single core setting: absolute obedience to Anbaixiu's commands.
Only a fool wouldn't leave a backdoor in a program of their own design.
The same applied to remodeling Gary Watts's soul, though Anbaixiu had been upfront in his discussions with Watts, laying out exactly what modifications he would make. After all, Watts's soul was powerful; without his cooperation, Anbaixiu couldn't have pulled it off at all.
The old man, obsessed with godhood, hadn't refused Anbaixiu. However, the requirements for soul sublimation were exceedingly strict. Just as humanity was an impediment to Watts's ascension, so too was the backdoor Anbaixiu designed.
It was that feeling of "worldly attachments preventing transcendence"—pining for blood relatives or kneeling before a lich like Anbaixiu produced the exact same hindering effect.
Thus, settling for second best, Gary Watts would not become Anbaixiu's slave; rather, in the vast majority of situations, he would simply take Anbaixiu's side.
And now, having thoroughly fused with the Wish ritual, Gary Watts's power brushed against the threshold of divinity. He could alter relevant laws, wiping out the concept of "construct" from the golem puppet with a single thought and rendering Dippel's ability utterly useless.
While Dippel wailed in despair, Anbaixiu turned toward the silent Gustavo Fring and asked, "Fring, my old friend, what do you think?"
Gustavo Fring showed neither rage nor madness. Instead, he seemed almost relieved as he said to Anbaixiu, "We lost. I envisioned countless ways we might fail, but I never expected to lose to you."
"Come now. When we debated all those years ago, weren't you slightly superior? Let me take a win back—"
Gustavo Fring let out a bitter laugh and said, "I concede defeat. Let me go. I hope we will meet again after you ascend to godhood."
The great alchemist produced a magic scroll and summoned an enormous spatial portal, then stepped through without looking back, vanishing completely into the depths of the sewers.
Anbaixiu did not stop him. Gustavo Fring was different from Dippel; he did not specialize in magical constructology. His alchemy was far more esoteric and destructive. If he wanted to leave, letting him leave was best; fighting to the death served neither of them any good.
Dippel was neutralized, and Gustavo Fring had departed. There shouldn't be anyone left to stand in his way now.
Anbaixiu looked toward the tentacled guild master and said, "I am going to begin making my wish."
Yet just as Anbaixiu thought everything was ready, an eerie clapping sound echoed. A young alchemist appeared before Anbaixiu—none other than Gold Coin, who had previously been treated as a sacrifice.
"As expected of you, Anbaixiu. You are as clever as ever, always the one who laughs last."
Hearing someone utter his true name, Anbaixiu felt his soul tremble. Over these past several centuries, Anbaixiu had used numerous aliases: Ultraman Tiga, Elden Lord, Arthas, Dragonborn... so many he couldn't even count them.
Only a scant few knew his true name, Anbaixiu. And... every last one of them should have been dead.
Anbaixiu looked at the young alchemist and asked with utmost wariness, "Which old friend are you, playing tricks on me like this?"
Gold Coin smiled, his appearance beginning to shift drastically. From a handsome, youthful blond boy, he withered into a blind, white-haired old man with wrinkled skin, missing an arm, crippled, frail, and looking as though he had barely a few years left to live.
Distant memories resurfaced—from the time when he had first transmigrated here, memories he thought he had long forgotten, yet remained etched into the depths of his being.
Anbaixiu's voice trembled. "Y-you are..."
At last, Anbaixiu squeezed a sentence through his teeth:
"Long time no see, Teacher."
Chapter 85