first player

Chapter 1677 Final Chapter: Crossing the Shore [21]: "But he looked up and saw the moon."

Come, passing traveler, Your Excellency Su Ming'an.

Have you prepared the key and the holy sword? Have you prepared the necessary elements for "slaying the demon king" in the cat box?
The stage is ready, and I know you can do it.

Please place your hand in mine, and I invite you to join me in meeting the goddess…

……

A blond man with a beautifully sculpted chin rested on the fruitwood-colored base of a violin, playing the strings. His eyes were closed, and he wore a magnificent papal robe, the holy emblem embroidered with gold and silver threads shimmering with a sacred luster in the light.

Beneath the dazzling dome, beside him lay his brother's corpse.

The bow was held by slender fingers, placed on the strings, and the melody flowed out like a sigh.

It is Dvořák's "Songs My Mother Taught Me".

Su Ming'an's sensitive ears picked up the familiar melody, and he looked up at the radiant high platform.

Surrounded by 102 statues of holy angels, illuminated by shimmering stained-glass windows, the Pope, clad in a long robe, plays the harp. Sunlight is broken into countless dappled beams, like a sacred cage or a celebratory canopy, enveloping him. A beam of light shines through the stained-glass window depicting the "Lamb Sacrifice," casting a blood-red hue beside his pale cheek.

...Come, passing traveler, Your Excellency Su Ming'an.

The man's bloodshot eyes were half-closed, his long eyelashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, his eyes churning with a murky mix of lucidity and madness.

Su Ming'an walked forward, his fingers resting on the hilt of the holy sword.

...Have you prepared the key and the holy sword? Have you gathered all the necessary elements for 'slaying the Demon King' in the cat box?

Hui Chi slowly opened his eyes, his fingertips pressing and kneading the strings. The music was anything but gentle; it was more like a "son" rebelling against his "mother." The notes were sometimes low and sometimes high, carrying a morbid fervor and brightness.

The light and shadow on the stained-glass window shifted slightly with the sun, brushing past the corners of his slightly trembling mouth.

...The stage is ready.

Su Ming'an climbed the steps one by one.

The music echoed in the vast space, meeting the gaze of the one hundred and two silent holy angels. Like a pounding heartbeat, like the drumbeats of a countdown.

...I know you can do it.

The man played with increasing passion, his body swaying slightly to the rhythm, his golden hair brushing against his jeweled collar. In this moment, he was no longer the refined, well-read bishop, nor the ambitious madman.

It is merely a monologue of one person, a footnote to an era, and a musician in a grand conspiracy.

A most devout blasphemer, a most lucid fallen one, and a most gentle executioner.

...Please give me your hand.

The long, drawn-out notes were slowly drawn out, suspended in the dancing light.

Hui Chi remained in the finishing pose for a moment, then slowly lowered his bow and violin. He opened his eyes, the flames burning in his crimson pupils now a deep, unfathomable dark red. He turned his head slightly, his gaze falling on his younger brother Hui Bi's calm face, then slowly raised it to meet the traveler's eyes.

Dark pupils met its gaze in silence.

"May I give it to you?" the Pope asked with a smile.

"Of course," the traveler replied without hesitation.

The corners of the man's mouth curved into an indescribable smile.

An invitation, a declaration, a smile that heralds the opening of a new chapter.

He extended his hand.

"...I invite you to join me in meeting the 'Goddess'."

……

"Boom—!"

Like a sleeping behemoth turning over, the magnificent temple groaned under its own weight, its massive stone pillars trembled slightly, and fine dust fell from its dome.

Outside the hall, Lu Shu and the others, who were engaged in fierce combat, simultaneously felt their feet become unsteady, and their offensive stalled. They looked up in astonishment, simultaneously sensing the dramatic change in the world.

"What's going on?" Anjima Hanko gripped her magic wand tightly.

"What happened inside? Is Su Ming'an alright?" Xining stopped his roaring motorcycle and took off his helmet.

Should we go in?

"Lu Shu...Lu Shu has already rushed in!"

A dark shadow flashed, and a white-haired youth wielding a scythe smashed through the gate and rushed into the crumbling, magnificent temple. Tiny particles of light fell continuously, like a grand sunset.

Then, the sky "opened its eyes".

Everyone looked up at the sky in unison, sensing a fear and sense of desolation that were beyond their comprehension.

The golden giant eye, which looked down upon all living beings like a cold, indifferent sun, burst forth with a fiery crimson, like molten lava, spreading from the deepest part of the pupil and quickly engulfing the solemn, cold gold.

In just a few breaths, the Eye of the Sky transformed into two blazing crimson fireballs, filled with a furious rage of desecration, staring intently at the trembling temple below.

The temple seemed to be ignited by crimson eyes, and all the murals depicting the Radiant Mother Goddess underwent a bizarre transformation. The Mother Goddess's compassionate, downcast features appeared as if licked by flames, her facial features softening and turning a vivid crimson, like a lion gazing intently at its prey.

His appearance is being forcibly unified and anchored as the conceptual image of "red eyes and golden hair" instilled by Huichi over the long years.

Beneath the World Tree, Qianqin's longsword clattered to the ground. Her pupils contracted sharply as she stared at the two enormous, blood-red eyes in the sky. A chill ran from her tailbone to the top of her head—what had happened? What had happened at the temple?
“Klitschko…” Phoenix looked up at the sky, his voice almost hoarse, “His face… was…”

"A madman... He really dares to do this..." Amidst the shock, Phoenix felt a kind of horrified admiration. He suddenly burst into laughter, "Hahahaha... Dragging God down from his pedestal and putting on a 'face' and 'name' of his own making...!!"

"No...no!!!" an old nun screamed in anguish, "Blasphemy...this is blasphemy! Mother Goddess...your face..."

The young monks were stunned. They didn't understand what this meant, but they saw those red eyes, like those of the Pope, reflected on the Mother Goddess's face.

The maid, Meimei, stood at the back, carrying an incense burner. She blinked, puzzled, not understanding the significance of the scene before her. She subconsciously touched the candy in her pocket; after tonight, she would return home to bring her younger siblings some delicious candy from the palace…

An ordinary person, using the long years as leverage and collective faith as a fulcrum, boldly overturned the definition of gods in the world.

Inside, Hui Chi stood beneath the mural, bathed in natural light, dazzlingly radiant. His papal robe billowed in the wind, gradually transforming into a shimmering brilliance. The solemn lines softened, and the masculine cut subtly evolved into a more classical, dignified silhouette, reminiscent of a goddess from a mythological era.

Although the clothing was feminine, it did not look out of place on him, as if it did not have a purely gender definition.

No, it should be said that it was not the Radiant Mother Goddess behind him that was moving towards him, but rather the Radiant Mother Goddess mural behind him... that was gradually moving towards him.

He faced Su Ming'an, his figure appearing dazzling and slender.

“The concept is really interesting.” He shook Su Ming’an’s hand.

“In a world where everyone worships divine pronouncements, as long as someone holds the power to interpret them, no matter how they distort the will of the gods, everyone else will follow their interpretation.”

He opened his other hand, his palm seemingly holding a sinful red apple:

"The Lord of Dreams observes everything, but when His fabricated 'settings' are forgotten, His divine kingdom also ceases to exist."

"—[So, if I create an image that perfectly matches people's expectations of the Radiant Mother Goddess, and periodically deliver images and divine pronouncements to people to fulfill their wishes, can that be considered...]"

His pupils grew increasingly fervent.

"—【I have reshaped the concept of the Radiant Mother Goddess】?"

……

How much must humanity give up to truly pay homage to independence?

If a seed originates from a rose seed, can it only grow into a rose?

……

"Crackling and popping..."

Flames burned.

The red-haired photographer sat before the fire, watching the black box gradually turn to ash in the flames. The firelight reflected on her face as she quietly observed the dancing dust, like fireflies flying out the window.

She ultimately chose to burn the box, but only an empty one. She took out all the evidence of Hui Chi's crimes from the box and kept it on her person.

She knew she couldn't publicly declare the Radiant Mother Goddess an evil deity, so she left everything to Su Ming'an in the final battle of the gods, to Su Ming'an to handle. She couldn't declare the Mother Goddess's righteousness. Naturally, she gave up the path to godhood that was within her grasp.

She wasn't a pushover, nor did she pity the maid; she simply... didn't want to act rashly.

Leave it to the captain. He has the ability to distinguish right from wrong, and he will make the most effective decision for that boundless ideal.

She recalled doing something similar herself. To protect some war infiltrators, she was forced to burn their identification documents and even had to watch them being executed. As a journalist holding the pen and the truth, she could only remain silent, writing the opposite facts in her telegrams, portraying heroes as traitors and twisting sacrifices into deserved punishment.

Without realizing it, she learned to stop empathizing so deeply. But why did she feel so unbearable and painful when that intense and familiar emotion began to surge?

The pain carried the scent of ashes and dust, reminding her of the endless wars.

“So…” she murmured to herself, her voice hoarse, “…this is the price.”

Just once, and she was in so much pain. How many times has Su Ming'an experienced similar pain?

The firelight licked at the remaining corners of the box. Suddenly, Zhao Yuan paused, then gently pried it open with a fire poker. It revealed a letter with its edges charred and curled, stuck to a hidden compartment in the box, only now showing its corners.

She quickly rescued him, shook off the sparks, and saw that all she could see were Hui Chi's beautiful and ornate words; it seemed to be a fairy tale he had written.

Zhao Yuan couldn't compliment Hui Chi's taste at all; the previous cringe-worthy writing had already shocked her, but this seemed to be something else entirely.

She unfolded the yellowed letter and read it gently.

……

Once upon a time, there lived a stubborn farmer.

He had beautiful blond hair and ruby-like eyes.

He possessed an extraordinary air and refined manners, yet he lived in the most remote corner of Rovasa, cultivating a field and guarding a dilapidated little temple.

It turns out he was an immortal madman.

He actually intended to create the concept of the Radiant Mother Goddess in a world without any belief in her, no matter how many years it would take—to use the power of "one person" to make people believe in the existence of "one god."

He painted a simple emblem on the dilapidated wall: an eye surrounded by ears of wheat. Occasionally, a wandering traveler would pass by, and the farmer would give them food and water, pointing to the reddish-gold emblem and saying, "This is dedicated to a benevolent 'Guardian Eye,' who shelters the lost and brings peace."

At first, no one believed it. But day after day, the farmer helped people, bringing herbs, cultivating vegetable plots, and feeding the refugees… Gradually, people came to believe that such a god truly existed, which explained the man's piety.

The first convert was an old soldier who had lost everything; his name was Sinian. He knelt before the farmer.

"My lord... this 'god' you speak of, will he really... look after us scum?" the red-haired werewolf man asked, tears streaming down his face.

The farmer helped him up: "Of course, you will all rise up and become knights sooner or later."

A faint light appeared in the old soldier's cloudy eyes. He became the first "knight," even though he didn't even have a decent horse, only a sharpened wooden stick and a patched-up leather armor.

The farmer began consciously searching for abandoned children—orphans who had lost their parents, infants abandoned by their families, and teenagers struggling to survive like weeds in the slums… He brought them back as seeds for monks and nuns, personally teaching them to read, arithmetic, herbalism, history, and geography.

He embroidered a crimson gold emblem on the lapel of his brightest children, telling them, "This is the mark of the 'Guardian Eye.' Wearing it means you are willing to help others."

The children nodded, somewhat bewildered. They liked the blond gentleman who always brought food and stories.

Like dandelion seeds, the children grew up, went out to earn a living, marry, and spread their faith. Their beliefs were carried to nearby villages and towns.

The farmer's reach expanded. He was no longer confined to the small temple. He traveled the countryside, helping farmers cure crop diseases; he appeared in villages ravaged by plague, risking his life to control the epidemic; and, through his familiarity with the law, he mediated disputes between nobles and commoners.

After each "miracle," he would attribute his success to the "Guardian Eye's" response to the believer's sincerity.

[—He used human knowledge and abilities to fabricate a "god".]

This was an extremely slow and patient process, like water dripping on a stone. Ten years, twenty years, thirty years... the farmer's face remained young. He faced countless doubts and was secretly persecuted by the priests of the old gods. Some followers wavered and left, some carefully nurtured successors died young, and some strongholds were destroyed.

He had his arms cut off, his eyes gouged out, and was even burned at the stake, yet he possessed the immortal body blessed by the seventh seat, dying and rising again and again. Until people gradually came to believe that the Mother Goddess truly existed.

Gradually, the people who believed in the "Guardian Eye" spread throughout many provinces of Rovasa, forming a force that could not be ignored.

At this moment, the farmer made a crucial decision.

At a harvest celebration, he stood on a makeshift platform, with a massive crimson gold emblem behind him. Facing thousands of trusting eyes below, his voice resonated throughout the hall:

"The supreme being we worship, who gives us the courage to help one another, the wisdom to explore, and the hope for abundance... whose true name is not merely 'Guardian Eye'."

He paused, and silence enveloped the entire room.

"The will that has watched over Rovasa since time immemorial, hoping for harmony among all things and the flourishing of civilization..."

"Let grace become the strength of our hands, let divine pronouncements become the supreme source of goodness in our hearts..."

Its name is—

He opened his arms, his crimson eyes seemed to burn with divine light, and his voice was as loud as a bell, shaking heaven and earth:

["——Mother Goddess of Light, Krichens!"]

"Today, He will shine upon His children with the 'radiance' and 'love' that nurtures all things and enlightens them with wisdom!"

"Let us return to the form that Mother Goddess envisioned for Rovasa—a promised land where all things are animistic, all beings are equal, rights and responsibilities are fulfilled, and happiness is created through hands and wisdom!"

"From this day forward, let us, in the name of 'Radiance' and in the memory of our loving mother, spread the goodness and light that resides in our hearts to every corner of Rovasa!"

"Believe in Her existence—the Radiant Mother Goddess Kritsens!"

The overwhelming response engulfed the fields. Countless people were moved to tears; their long-held faith had acquired a glorious name.

The farmer stood atop the wave of cheers, his face calm, only his fingers clenched slightly within his sleeve.

The concept of the Radiant Mother Goddess has finally appeared before the entire world.

Unbeknownst to everyone, the farmer they considered the most devout, honest, and kindest was so devoted to worshipping the god in order to kill Him.

Only when He exists in people's eyes can He be killed.

From then on, the doctrine of "Radiant Mother Goddess" began to circulate in the world—a doctrine personally "rectified" by a farmer who had devoted decades of painstaking effort to its creation, growing from a few people to millions.

[A fictional god, recognized worldwide through the sincere faith and practice of countless people.]

[The concept of a "Radiant Mother Goddess," detached from the world, was forcibly dragged down and fell into this cat carrier.]

He is a "sinner."

As time passed and power became distorted, the original ideals of love and beauty were gradually replaced by the corrupt papacy and the ruling class. Faith became blind faith; humanity began to lose its reverence for science and instead fanatically pursued divinity, even resorting to inquisitions and burning witches at the stake. This was an unavoidable mistake, and the inevitable consequence of faith's ultimate development.

He was also a "saint."

[The one that brings the hope of "god-slaying," that pulls the lofty gods into the cat box, that creates the concept of "gods" with the power of "humans,"]

[—Saints and sinners.]

……

[The last day.]

The farmer sat at his desk, surrounded by books, writing a letter as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window.

[The suggestions for reinforcing the old church before the rainy season, the reply to the scholars in the border town, the greetings to several retired priests... each letter was carefully sealed and neatly stacked to one side.]

He summoned the palace stewards, presented them with a long list, and instructed them: "...These maids have served in the palace for five years and are diligent in their work. I have contacted the weaving workshops in the east of the city, the workshops of St. Marianne's Girls' Academy, and several reputable merchants. Please arrange apprenticeships for them according to their individual wishes and strengths. Tell them not to worry, I have already taken care of everything."

The deacon seemed to want to say something, his eyes filled with confusion; after all, this didn't seem like a trivial matter that the Pope would normally concern himself with.

But the farmer simply waved his hand: "Do as I say."

In the afternoon, the farmer contacted his hundreds of subordinates scattered throughout Rovasa, instructing them to lead everyone to a safe zone immediately after the ceremony began, without waiting for further instructions.

The subordinates seemed to sense something was amiss, until one of their trusted confidants, who had followed them for decades, slowly spoke:

"Take care, Your Majesty."

[Then, the unspoken farewells rang out one after another:]

【"Take care of yourself."】

"Take care, Your Majesty."

【"Take care of yourself……"】

The light from the magic circle gradually faded. The farmer sat alone in the quiet room, gently closing the atlas as if closing the book of his own life.

【afternoon.】

The farmer's brother knocked on the door and entered.

The two brothers exchanged no pleasantries. The younger brother placed a heavy document on the table—ironclad evidence of corruption and collusion with foreign powers among several powerful figures within the council.

"Is everything arranged?" the farmer asked.

"Hmm." The younger brother adjusted his glasses, his emerald eyes remaining calm. "After I 'die,' these things will spread like a plague. Enough to throw them into chaos for a while."

The two sat facing each other in silence for a while. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window, casting long shadows.

"A dagger," the younger brother reminded him.

The farmer took a dagger inlaid with a ruby ​​from a drawer.

The younger brother took the dagger, weighed it in his hand, and a teasing smile appeared on his lips: "Feels good. Thanks, brother. Please go easy on me later."

"I'm the one who should be saying thank you," the farmer said softly, looking up. "If only I were the one who was killed..."

"It's alright, it's all the same," the younger brother stopped the farmer's lament.

The younger brother carefully sheathed the dagger and turned to leave. He paused at the doorway, saying, "...put less sugar in your tea; you haven't been sleeping well lately."

[Click.]

The door closed gently.

【dusk.】

The man began tidying up his collection of books. He meticulously sorted through his notes and scattered manuscripts. Some were theological texts, some were historical documents, and others were his own creative manuscripts—manga about domineering CEOs, endless flow novels, political intrigue, sadomasochism… Each book showed signs of repeated revisions, as meticulous as if he were writing an academic paper.

[This is his way of learning from the Radiant Mother Goddess, standing from the perspective of a "controller," to determine the ultimate limits of his own persona.]

He packed up his treasured book collection, wrote down addresses such as universities, libraries, and welfare institutions across mainland China, and had his trusted confidants deliver them.

After nightfall, he returned to his room.

The hustle and bustle, the arrangements, had all faded away. He lit a brass lamp, took a small amount of Eastern black tea from a jar, and meticulously prepared it. Steam rose, and a rich aroma filled the air.

He took out a black box and placed the selected documents, secret orders, contracts, and edicts inside one by one. His movements were steady, his eyes calm, as if he were simply organizing ordinary files. Finally, he placed in a parchment filled with reflections on the "game."

He closed the box, making a soft "click" sound. He placed the box away, as if waiting for a scheduled visitor.

[An explorer, having completed all the planning he could, places himself as the final piece of the puzzle into this grand narrative.]

The night outside the window was thick and inky, the stars few and far between.

The man's silhouette, bent over his desk, was gently enveloped in the moonlight.

It's as if the sun will rise as usual tomorrow.

……

"Sixpence are everywhere."

"But when he looked up, he saw the moon."

[—The Moon and Sixpence]

……

"—Su Ming'an!"

The gate was burst open, and Lu Shu, covered in blood, rushed in. He carried heavy, black wings, held a scythe, and blood dripped down his cheeks and chest.

He saw the Son of God standing on the highest step, looking down at the Pope and plunging a dark gold quill into his chest.

The brushstrokes are sharp, like a blade.

The warm golden hue flows through your fingertips and palms, as if it can touch the burning passion in your heart.

The blond, slightly curly-haired man had his eyes half-closed. Bach's "Air on the G String" had stopped playing, the strings in his hands were hanging down, and a bead of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

This scene was daunting. However, his inner anxieties outweighed everything else, and Lü Shu strode forward, gripping his sickle tightly—

The divine child atop the steps looked over, his eyes shimmering with golden light:
“Lu Shu…I’m fine, please wait for me there.”

Su Ming'an was afraid that if Lü Shu came over, he would get involved.

Lu Shu stopped slowly after confirming that Su Ming'an was alright.

Its brilliance, like the sunlight and moonlight, illuminated the scattered diamonds on the ground, making them resemble sixpences worth a thousand pieces of gold.

"...Do you know? Su Wenjun has garnered far too much glory in this world." Hui Chi gazed at Su Ming'an, his golden hair gradually growing longer.

"I gave him a push to die, Qi Zhou gave him a push, many others in the shadows, and even the two demons who had always been with you gave him a push. In the end, you killed him, and he got what he wanted."

"He is radiance that makes the entire galaxy pale in comparison."

In the original, uncovered "correct" timeline, Su Wenjun rose from humble beginnings to become the ruler of the world, while Hui Chi was his shadow, overshadowed by his dazzling brilliance.

Hui Chi did not intentionally conceal his talents, but rather his inner desires and brilliance had no room to unfold under the theme of "Su Wenjun".

Until Su Wenjun got her wish and took her own life, ending her life in a resolute way.

—And then, a new script was born.

—A scenario centered on Hui Chi and Hui Bi, revolving around the belief in and manipulation of the "Radiant Mother Goddess." With the intervention of the Seventh Seat, the original timeline is overwritten. The two are positioned as the final villains, representing the conservative forces hindering Su Wenli, the orphaned son of the World Lord. However, Hui Chi, through her awakened will, sees through this scenario.

It does not rely on brute force and sacrifice, it does not require shouting, and it does not require millions of people fighting and bloodshed.

People are no longer puppets to be manipulated at will; they begin to struggle and try to take control of their own destiny.

He knew that Su Ming'an would definitely see through his plan, so he waited in the temple for this savior to arrive.

For a moment, many images came together, becoming cause and effect.

The absurd manuscript in the room...

The participation of the seventh seat...

Hui Bi willingly went to her death...

The countless lives offered as sacrifices in the square...

A holy sword forged from the hatred and prayers of millions, theoretically capable of "killing gods"...

The man's figure became bright and ethereal, as if it were about to merge with the crimson giant eye on the mural behind him.

The entire hall trembled, and Su Ming'an's palm burned with heat.

A deep voice came from within the surging crimson light.

Someone's illusory lips moved slightly, making a mouth shape.

At the center of the crimson giant eye, Hui Chi's illusory face vaguely appeared, and he slightly raised his head amidst the surging crimson light.

Separated by the barrier between illusion and reality, his gaze fell upon Su Ming'an's face.

Su Ming'an seemed to hear laughter.

It was the Pope's gentle yet hearty laughter.

After a long and unending quest for the Dao.

After a cold and tedious search for solutions.

I can almost imagine that a pure, genuine, and carefree smile finally appeared on that face.

"As the last villain below the level of gods, I should disappear..."

"If you truly break through all shackles and become the final hero..."

"If you have walked this long road, may you rest peacefully in the warm spring breeze..."

"If you venture into the depths of the galaxy, you will no longer be trapped in the mysteries of civilization..."

"When the time comes... please tell me yourself..."

"Buzz—!!!"

The mural instantly came to life! Its giant, crimson eyes widened to their limit!
As if she had been tricked, the Radiant Mother Goddess was furious and roaring!
The entire area between the thrones was completely transformed into an ocean of light, and the gods and angels on the murals shattered and peeled away, leaving only the crimson giant eyes occupying the entire field of vision.

In the sky, a giant eye spanning the heavens burst forth with a blinding light that illuminated the entire Rovasa, causing countless believers and living beings to tremble in its glow.

"Su Ming'an!" Lu Shu exclaimed in surprise.

"Be careful!" Su Ming'an shouted.

He gripped the holy sword in his hand tightly, as if it were yearning to drink blood.

The flowing golden-red light on the sword mirrored the brilliance of the crimson giant eye within the hall.

The mural was completely transformed into a blank space, leaving only the mottled background color of the wall, which turned into countless golden and crimson specks of light falling from the sky, like a grand, silent snowfall.

Standing in the heavy snow, Su Ming'an looked up.

He seemed to see a pair of beautiful, ruby-like eyes.

"Please tell me..."

All that remained in the man's eyes was a calm, resolute, and completely burned-out crimson-gold ember. He touched the grape blossom on his chest, and his figure vanished completely, like a crimson-eyed beast that had willingly walked into its cage.

That path offers no turning back. And he accepts it willingly.

……

"Do I really possess a golden apple floating on the ceiling?"

……

How much darkness must humanity embrace and how much filth must it immerse itself in before it can prove the independence of the soul, rather than merely a vain imitation of light?
—If a seed is forcibly grafted with the genes of poison ivy, will it eventually bloom into a fragrant rose or a venomous flower that digs a grave for the gods?

"Traveler,"

"...I hope you enjoy this story that my brother and I created together."

……

Su Ming'an raised his sword high, aiming at the mural and statue of the Radiant Mother Goddess, his palm burning hot.

In the instant his thoughts were stretched infinitely, all the speculations about Hui Chi that had troubled Su Ming'an collapsed like a sandcastle. They were all too "small," too "sandbox-like." They were all confined to the logic of "why would one person help or hinder another."

Players can flip over the game board.

……

"boom--!!!"

The holy sword fell!

The crimson giant eye shattered with a deafening roar, turning into dust that drifted across the sky.

"Zheng—!"

The light was cleaved in two, like Moses parting the sea. Where the sword's edge pointed, the crimson eyes on the mural let out a mournful cry.

"Snap! Snap-snap—!"

Su Ming'an gripped the sword hilt tightly and gritted his teeth.

A fine, terrifying cracking sound radiated outwards from the point where the sword struck!
Crimson pupils peeled away like shattered glass. The pale, convulsing hands turned to ashes, the countless eyes embedded in their palms exploding simultaneously, and golden hair scattered like embers after a fire had burned out!

"Boom—!!!"

A roar like a landslide came from all directions!
The massive, weight-bearing pillars groaned and twisted, and the murals and sculptures on the walls were not spared. The magnificent tapestries depicting the epic saga of the gods turned to drifting ashes. The sculptures of angels and saints, which had stood for millennia, snapped in half.

Outside the palace, in the square, people witnessed a scene they would never forget—

The Palace of the World Lord, symbolizing the supreme authority of the Radiant Mother Goddess on Earth, with its towering spires reaching into the clouds and its massive, mountain-like main hall, suddenly contracted inward.

The next moment, countless sword lights, interwoven with blazing white and dark gold, erupted from the palace like a volcano suppressed for millennia! They instantly pierced through the flying bricks and stones, illuminating the gloomy sky as if it were daytime!
The entire Rovasa seemed to tremble in the aftershocks of that sword strike.

Inside the chamber of the sanctuary, Su Ming'an remained in the downward-swinging sword stance. The turbulent energy currents pulled his hair back, revealing a smooth forehead and serene eyes. The holy sword was deeply embedded in the mural, its blade humming, as if in celebration or in mourning.

Through the crack, he saw the plaza swaying under the impact of energy, the panicked crowd, and the giant eye in the sky with its light flickering.

Behind him, Lu Shu spread out his tattered bat wings, shielding him from most of the collapsing and falling debris.

"call……"

In that instant, a broken, light grape blossom, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, quietly drifted down in front of me.

Its petals were glistening with dew.

Like a sixpence dropped under the moonlight.

……

"The afternoon sun is lovely...perfect for a nap..."

"Wenjun, I'll take a nap too. We should all rest..."

……

"Crackling and popping..."

As the flames burned to their last, Zhao Yuan fiddled with the wooden stick, ensuring the black box burned completely. She sat there, chin in hand, her mind a jumble of emotions, unsure whether she had done the right thing or the wrong thing.

I must really be an idiot.

Why not cherish the path to godhood that is so close at hand?

She fiddled with the shards of paper, preventing them from burning the precious books, when suddenly she blinked and noticed a folded newspaper under the porcelain cup. If the fire hadn't been so bright, illuminating the table, she wouldn't have noticed it at all.

"...Newspaper? Which day's?"

She pulled out the newspaper, brushed away the surface dust, and carefully unfolded it. A bold headline caught her eye: "Imperial Tutor Perishes, Emperor Ascends the Throne!"

She paused, glancing at the smaller print below the headline: "Pope Huichi is suspected of being corrupted by demonic energy, assassinating Imperial Tutor Huibi, plunging the Church and the Council into unprecedented internal strife..."

Below is a line of small pencil writing, the date clearly stated as tomorrow.

—This is a newspaper that has already been printed and is ready to be sent out tomorrow.

The report coldly described the events: Pope Heraclitus suddenly lost control yesterday in the congregation, killing Imperial Preceptor Heraclitus, who had come to discuss important matters. Currently, the Church leadership has intervened urgently, urging believers to remain calm…

This was undoubtedly prepared by Huichi himself.

The matter is now closed and settled, sealed away like dust in the wind.

"...Based on preliminary investigation and resonant testing of the sacred object, it can be basically confirmed that His Holiness the Pope was corrupted by demonic energy and his mind was clouded, thus committing this heartbreaking mistake. Further details are still under investigation."

Zhao Yuan's fingertips traced the cold ink words: "...Hui Chi was corrupted by demons, and thus killed the Imperial Tutor. He will be put on trial."

She read out the final conclusion in a low voice, her voice unusually hollow in the empty and silent library.

This is his story. In the history that most people will soon know and believe, he will be recorded as a pope corrupted by demonic forces, who betrayed his faith and murdered his loved ones.

All planning and all clear thinking were compressed.

Fight against the enemy, fight against fate, fight against the illusions of the world...

In the future, countless people will be shocked, angry, and sigh when they read this newspaper. They will discuss the Pope's depravity, marvel at the Imperial Tutor's loyalty, and use it as a topic of conversation during their leisure time.

"Crackling and popping..."

The flames burned, flickering in the ash heap like a dying heart.

His story was told in a newspaper.

An eternal struggle between two people.

……