Chapter 342: The Mission
In the end, the one chosen as the anchor was Sigurd.
It wasn't difficult to understand why.
Senti's personality leaned toward reckless fearlessness—in other words, she was a little insane. She rarely grasped the line between boldness and self-destruction, and could easily throw herself headlong into danger. Her strength was undeniable, but the risks were even greater.
As for Fu Hua, being bound together with Senti, she naturally wasn't a viable option either.
That left Sigurd. Choosing him brought the most reassurance. His methods and abilities could all be summed up in one word—reliable.
"Since the anchor has been decided, the next step is to dismantle this wishing device and rebuild it into a usable prototype. Zhuge Kongming, I'll need you to arrange another great formation. Your sect's divination arts are remnants of ancient technology. If used properly, they'll smooth my work. Considering how most of your diviners burned themselves out when you forced predictions of spatial data, Fu Hua can assist you."
Seated upon the imperial throne, Sigurd rested a glowing sphere of white light on one palm, one leg crossed over the other. His tone was calm, neither harsh nor demanding, and yet it commanded respect that left no room for dissent.
"Yes!" ×2
Zhuge Kongming pressed her hands together and bowed deeply, her childish face solemn. She then glanced toward Fu Hua, who had echoed the reply.
Standing beside the throne, Fu Hua gave Sigurd a respectful bow before lifting her gaze to Zhuge Kongming with a soft smile. Her eyes, as clear as starlight, shone with quiet warmth that instilled calm and reassurance without a word.
As for why Sigurd—who had never left the undersea altar—was so well informed about the state of Emberya's diviners, no one questioned it. His Majesty Sigurd was omnipotent. That was all they needed to know.
Sigurd gave a slight nod, his glacial blue eyes shifting toward Rita and Kiana.
"You two. One will sort through cultural records not yet catalogued in the Imperial Archive. The other will collect secret martial arts and arcane methods from every sect."
"Yes!" ×2
Both answered at once. Though neither understood how such tasks would aid in reshaping an anchor prototype, they didn't question it. This was well beyond their grasp; their duty was to obey.
At last, Sigurd's gaze fell on Durandal.
"And as for you…"
Durandal lowered her head, hands folded in front, awaiting her assignment with utmost deference.
Sigurd closed his right hand, and the wishing device vanished. His voice was almost absentminded as he spoke.
"Do whatever it is you normally do. You're not needed here."
"???"
"You're the emperor. Shouldn't you be handling state affairs?"
"State matters are managed by the Central Nexus and the officials beneath it. In the short term, nothing will go wrong. Compared to that, what Father Emperor is doing now is far more important. Still, should you require me, I ask you to command me without hesitation."
"The key lies in technical work. Your role is limited. So the best way you can help is by not interfering. …Also, could you stop calling me Father Emperor?"
Sigurd leaned forward slightly, the coldness fading from his eyes, replaced by something more like weary exasperation.
The rulers and ministers of Emberya were all stubborn in their own ways. But Durandal was the most unyielding of them all, especially when it came to rules and propriety. She was inflexible to the extreme. Yet her attitude remained humble throughout, so earnest that it was hard to truly get angry with her.
"Then… Lord Father?"
"…"
"Father Above?"
"…"
"Fa… Fa… Father…"
From careful trials to stammering hesitation, she cycled through possibilities, her expression still as severe as always, but her eyes flickering guiltily as if she knew none of them would satisfy him.
In the end, it all circled back to that same troublesome word—father.
Sigurd couldn't be bothered to argue any further. He waved his hand dismissively.
"Fine. Call me whatever you want. You're dismissed."
"Yes, Father Emperor!"
Durandal answered crisply, relief clear in her tone.
Just as the group was about to withdraw, a small pale hand suddenly lifted into the air from below.
Sigurd lifted his eyes—it was the Second Prince, Kiana.
Her bright sapphire eyes blinked innocently, lips soft and pink, curved in an impossibly adorable, curious expression.
"What is it?"
"Well… now that all the serious stuff is done, I just have to ask. That girl I saw earlier—the one who looks just like me—who is she?"
At this, even Durandal, Zhuge Kongming, and Rita pricked up their ears.
On one hand, it was indeed a mysterious question. On the other, it was the first time they had seen Sigurd—who had always been utterly impervious to their charm—caught up in anything remotely resembling romantic matters. Of course, they wanted to dig deeper.
"In our world, she is Kiana Kaslana. Your… counterpart. The Imaginary Tree has infinite branches and leaves, which means infinite possibilities. Many worlds often echo each other, giving birth to individuals that are extremely similar, sometimes to the point of being indistinguishable. Such a connection… is called an alternate-world counterpart."
"Oh, I see…"
Kiana stroked her chin, nodding sagely as if she truly understood.
Sigurd stared at her in silence, then asked flatly,
"You didn't understand a word of that, did you."
It was phrased like a question, but the certainty in his tone left no room for doubt.
Because his Kiana, when faced with complicated concepts, would always pretend to understand even when she hadn't a clue—wearing the exact same expression.
Kiana flushed, flustered, waving her hands as if to cover it up.
"I–I mean— that's not important! Anyway— that girl, she's Your Majesty's concubine?"
"Fiancée."
Sigurd corrected her. After all, they hadn't officially held a wedding yet. For a girl, lacking such a ceremony might feel incomplete, so it was something he intended to treat with proper weight.
What he didn't say aloud, however, was that she was only "one of his fiancées."
There was also Bronya—their relationship was already set in stone. And then there was young Sin Mal, who, barring surprises, would not be apart from him either.
But that raised another problem: should he hold one grand wedding to marry all three at once, or three separate ceremonies one after the other?
One wedding might feel disrespectful, leaving the brides feeling their moment wasn't whole. Separate weddings would allow each of them to have a complete ceremony… but then came the matter of order. Whoever went last might feel slighted, and jealousy could spark quarrels—or worse. Forcing the choice would only breed disappointment.
Sigurd's mind drifted, analyzing the issue with frightening seriousness.
Perhaps Quantum Wedding Technology, erasing chronological order via entanglement.
Or a Split-Consciousness Wedding, holding three simultaneous ceremonies across three world bubbles, his mind divided in three.
Or even a Black Hole Wedding, twisting time so that no concept of "before" or "after" could exist.
Yes. Expecting a hyper-logical engineer's brain to veer into romance was futile. For Sigurd, it was only ever about solving the problem.
"So that means… His Majesty likes my type, huh?"
Kiana's eyes sparkled as she said it, her voice brimming with triumph. She even threw smug glances at the others, as if to say—See? My charm is unmatched. Learn from me!
"(*￣︿￣)!!!" ×3
Three different expressions answered her: some were pure irritation, others dark with silent resentment—but none of them voiced it aloud.
Kiana puffed her chest proudly, her slender waist swaying with a smug rhythm, before suggesting with mock brilliance:
"Since we look the same anyway, why not let me serve in your chambers? I wouldn't mind. Tonight, we could fulfill our duties of love. Then, before long, I might even bear the empire a new heir. Perfect plan, right?"
"Pfft—!"
Fu Hua couldn't hold back a laugh, covering her mouth with her sleeve.
Sigurd shot her a glance.
Startled, the once-stoic immortal immediately straightened her back, restoring her solemn, proper demeanor.
"Haah—"
Sigurd let out a faint, weary sigh. When he looked down again, what greeted him in the eyes of the four below was… expectation and encouragement.
Boom!
The next second, a thunderous crash rang out as one ruler and three retainers were blasted clean out of the hall by an overwhelming force, sent flying far, far into the distance.
Then Sigurd shifted his gaze sideways, looking at Fu Hua.
She waved her hand with a soft smile, her eyes curved into gentle crescents.
"No need to worry about me. I'll walk myself. I'll leave Senti in your care for now."
With that, her steps as light as drifting lotus petals, Fu Hua gracefully exited the hall.
The numbers inside dropped sharply. Silence instantly descended upon the chamber—
So much so that a certain not-very-loud sound suddenly became very obvious.
"Huuu… huuuh… huuuuuh…"
Senti was, without a doubt, fast asleep. Right there on a floor-couch beside the throne, wrapped in a thin white blanket, drooling without shame.
"Stupid Old Timer… candied hawthorns… eat my sword, you bastard Sigurd… huuuhhh—"
Sigurd narrowed his eyes, then raised a foot and—
Bam!
The girl, blanket and all, was sent flying. She smacked against a column more than ten meters away, stuck there for half a second, and then slid down with a thud.
"Owwwww!!"
"Who hit me? Stand up and fight me!"
"Tired of living, huh—? Oh, Sigurd, good evening!"
Senti's curses cut off the instant her gaze landed on Sigurd's dead-fish eyes, instantly flipping into polite greetings instead.
She had no idea what had just happened, how long she had been asleep, or where the Old Timer had gone—but one thing she did know was: don't provoke Sigurd.
Rubbing her now-bright-red nose, she naturally chose to obey her survival instincts.
"These next two days, you're following me as my assistant. I tell you to do something, you do it."
"Why should I—uh, I mean, don't I still have a lot of tasks to do?"
Senti hurriedly pulled out a ridiculously long task list, half of it still unchecked. She forced a smile, but the twitch at her temple gave her away.
Sigurd gave the list a single glance. Flames erupted across the paper right there in Senti's hand, reducing it to ash in moments.
"You don't have any tasks now."
"Eh—?! Then— what about my portraits and recordings…?"
"Already destroyed."
"Really?! Oh thank goodness—thank you, Sigurd!!"
Clapping her hands to shake off the ashes, Senti beamed happily.
As long as they were destroyed, her image was safe, her dignity as an immortal preserved!
Scratching the back of her head with a goofy grin, she suddenly found Sigurd much more tolerable. Sure, he was a blockheaded brute of a man—but at least he handled things cleanly and decisively.
(Of course, she conveniently forgot that the only reason such embarrassing portraits and recordings existed in the first place… was because Sigurd had tricked her into them.)
"No need to thank me. Just do your work properly."
Sigurd spoke with the natural tone of a benefactor bestowing favor.
Senti thumped her chest with a wide, bright grin.
"No problem! Repaying kindness is the basic virtue of an immortal—leave it to me!"
<+>
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