Fusheng Xuanhuang Immortal Lord."
"Fusheng Xuanhuang Tianjun."
"The God of Blessing and Prosperity Xuanhuang."
"Fusheng Xuanhuang Tianzun."
...
Rolling waves surged with spirit and light, the greyish-white tides rippled with vibrant colors, and as the figure of the "chosen one" became clear amidst the crimson, the magnificent palace of miracles came to life.
It trembled slightly.
He rejoiced and cheered.
Looking forward to the future, and grateful for the predetermined fate.
In Klein's naked-eye observation, the usually almost still crimson stars began to move, the mysterious constellations changed, and illusory yet real circles combined and arranged in the cavity of the dome, slowly but steadily forming a simple pentagram shape, which corresponded exactly to the distance between the limbs and head of the doll he was holding.
The "victims" have been summoned.
It follows the source of power, and the life that ended more than a hundred years ago rises again, resonating with the ubiquitous gray fog, transforming from an individual into a part of something larger.
Klein held the doll in his hands, no longer sensing any pollution within it.
His bewildered and enlightened thoughts cut off his ramblings. He watched as the crimson mist was squeezed out of the puppet by absolute spiritual power, and the sealed object in his hand transformed from a useful weapon into an activator of authority.
The illusory black threads slowly unfurled, reaching a scale far greater than ever before.
This is the "Trickster"... Klein roughly understands.
Just as his ability to amplify his inherent power can be amplified by coming to the gray fog, carrying sealed artifacts of the corresponding path can also achieve a similar effect.
This is quite a novel discovery.
Through the personhood of the "suffering one," Klein experienced divinity for the first time.
It was not the torment of being corrupted and tainted by divinity as before, but the real satisfaction of having divinity in one's own hands, and the illusory arrogance of being above all else.
His gaze inevitably carried a hint of disdain and indifference as he looked down upon the mortal world through the "spider web" woven from black silk threads, his perspective as divine as that of a god, encompassing the entire Rothschild Islands.
The followers of the "Mother Tree of Desire" hid in the neglected drainage system of Bayam, while the officials of the governor's mansion were anxious and helpless. The followers of the storm prayed in fear, begging for the mercy of the "tyrant" and hoping for the salvation of the angels.
In contrast to them were ordinary Ruen people who had only a superficial understanding of the situation.
These "first-class citizens," accustomed to being colonizers, rulers, and dominators, lost far too much property in the riots, and some even lost their families.
They vented their anger on the indigenous people who failed to escape and fled to the other side of Blue Mountain Island, to the land controlled by the resistance.
Whipping and cursing were not enough to vent their anger, so oppression turned into pure slaughter.
Firearms vented their anger in place of their owners; cheap bullets reaped precious lives; blood stained the clean floors of the Rune people and also clouded their clear, beautiful blue or green eyes.
Even the "Sea God" followers who finally seized the banner of "justice" were not much better off. Klein sympathized with them, but stripped away that fragile layer of mortal empathy, all he witnessed, experienced, and witnessed was the bloody and barbaric revenge of the same kind.
This is certainly justifiable; it is a right that the Rothschilds have earned through nearly two centuries of suffering. No one can deprive them of their "justice," just as "God" never refuses acts of violence that He permits.
Wait, why did I think of "God"... Klein suddenly woke up.
Although he didn't understand why the "God" on Earth would enter his consciousness at this moment, he almost subconsciously released his hands from holding the "victim" and hurriedly threw the precious seal away, as if it were a hot iron.
In an instant, Klein regained consciousness.
He fell back to the mortal realm, no longer subject to the boring manipulation of those who ruled over everything, and suddenly shuddered.
The gray fog was quiet, as if nothing had happened.
Less than an hour after the gathering ended, in his haste, he forgot to dissipate the materialized Russell's diary. The reflections of his predecessors on divinity and their self-analysis lay on his desk, silently warning of the arduous path to hell ahead.
The "Black Emperor" card was on the other side, turned over at some point. Rosell, wearing a crown, lay flat on the mottled table, yet seemed to stand on a high platform, scrutinizing from a great distance.
Klein felt as if he had been placed on a torture device called a throne, forced to accept a fate that was not his.
He rubbed his brow, sighed silently, and remained silent for a long while.
"I know you're here."
The sound echoed in the hall, but no one responded.
So Klein asked again.
Tell me, what is the final ending?
Squeak, squeak...
The doll, heartlessly abandoned by its owner, wobbled on the floor like a toddler learning to walk, and slowly climbed onto the long table.
Its broken, old exterior cracked open, revealing a smiling face, spewing out cold, emotionless words.
"It is liberation."
"It is also a torment."
"What is liberation, and what is torture?" Klein continued to press, losing all restraint and becoming more agitated than ever before, slamming his fist onto the table. "Tell me, 'mystery'!"
He'd had enough, enough of the meaningless life in this other world, and enough of the deception by the "mysterious god."
Going home seemed hopeless to him; faced with this rotten world, he had long wanted to give up.
When confronted with questions, the doll was unable to provide an answer immediately.
The "person" behind it fell silent, as if deep in thought.
A moment later, as the gray fog surged again almost imperceptibly, the doll raised its round head and spoke in its still cold tone.
"You can choose to give up."
This time it's sincere.
"give up?"
Klein's face was mocking, his lips curled up, his eyes narrowed as if he were about to cry, and half of his face twitched slightly.
The grotesque scenes he had just witnessed through his divine vision flashed rapidly through Klein's mind, making him feel nauseous.
He forced himself to sit up and looked down at the still-visible aerial view. He discovered an area sandwiched between the spirit world and reality that he couldn't see clearly even with the aid of divinity.
That place holds the "natural disaster," which is also the source of this farce.
"I see."
The fleeting outburst did nothing to alleviate the situation; Klein gave up at the very beginning of his attempt to force Klein's hand.
Perhaps it's just his personality, or perhaps he realized his own powerlessness.
He picked up the doll on the table that had turned back into an inanimate object a second ago, and stared blankly into his dull eyes.
...
In the abstract realm where concepts are inverted and distorted, the emperor, favored by depravity and death, passed through without a trace, completely disappearing from sight.
The "victims" crawled on the emperor's shoulders, clinging to the sharp edges of his armor, guiding him in the right direction.
Tristan Eugen's coordinates of the spirit world were very precise. Klein didn't need any extra guesses or estimations. With the help of the "victims" and a few simple divinations, he found the entrance to the "Calamity" mausoleum.
To be honest, even if the coordinates were a bit blurry, Klein believed he wouldn't spend much more time on it.
After all, this towering storm was far too exaggerated, even for the spirit world, which was rife with strange occurrences.
The outer wall of the "tower" was formed by rapidly spinning particles carried by lightning and storms. Giant spirit creatures resembling jellyfish wandered around the storm, and tentacles extending from their ethereal bodies covered every corner around the mausoleum.
These ancient guardians prey on any creature or inanimate object that tries to approach the tomb, and each possesses a spirituality no less than that of the "victims".
Their leader was a sea serpent, the very one depicted on the Rothschild totem.
However, as the body decayed, the soul mutated, and the originally abnormally long body split at the seven-inch mark, growing an extra head and tentacles.
These creatures noticed the approaching "Black Emperor".
Despite his imposing presence as emperor, he raised his head, ready to fight, but then strangely bent down.
Klein was slightly taken aback. He looked back with a sense of foresight and saw that a large area of gray and white had soaked into the surrounding spirit world environment. Black hounds with burning eyes stood ready, and the leading giant beast lowered its head and circled around him like a ceremonial guard.
The guards tactfully made way, bowing their heads as well, while Klein showed neither interest nor inclination to express any emotion of admiration.
He nodded indifferently, patted the trembling, cowering "victim" on his shoulder, and spoke in a commanding tone.
"Help me open the entrance."
Of course, the "victim" couldn't do this; its primitive mind could only helplessly exude fear. In the end, it was the leader of the "Hounds of Fortune" who went to communicate with the guards and brought back the answer.
"Your Highness, there is no strictly corresponding entrance here. You do not need any credentials; your will is the only key."
Heh... Klein's stiff face beneath his black visor curled into a smile.
He released his resistance, and with the contact of the spiritual wall, he was captured by the storm and plunged into the midst of the raging lightning and gale along with the "victim".
The air became thick and heavy, revealing the true face of the chalky ruins.
At the center of the half-collapsed ruins, a huge pillar engraved with patterns and symbols stretches upwards, traversing the boundless spiritual realm and forcibly anchoring the concept of direction in this space.
At the foot of the pillar, the crumbling throne barely retained its outline, and a man sat on it, responding to the believers with a dazed look.
Every prayer He answers will unleash calamity, reap countless lives, and propel the spread of death, though He Himself is unaware of it.
Klein stood on the outermost edge of the ruins, instinctively taking a step, hoping to stop that childlike, innocent yet absolutely cruel act.
Then, the road collapsed beneath his feet.
Before Klein could react, he had already fallen into the abyss and was continuing to fall.
Everything around them began to distort and undergo strange changes.
The man on the throne noticed what was happening and curiously cast his gaze. His sea-blue eyes happened to meet Klein's, triggering a kind of "chemical reaction".
The world is regressing, and the "victim" has disappeared from Klein's shoulder at some point, captivated by a massive illusion.
For a moment, he seemed to have returned to the hazy state he was in before he came into this world.
However, this time it's not a perspective that transcends everything and is independent of time, but rather a first-person perspective that is immersive and full of experience.
Klein arrived in a strange wilderness and saw large groups of people, people with black threads on their heads moving in unison.
Without a doubt, these people are secret partners.
Black threads floated in the air, obscuring the sun and the azure sky, yet were crammed into the palm of one's hand.
Klein looked down; it was his palm.
The memories remaining within the puppets reveal that these puppets were his followers in life.
They were deprived of their lives by the god they believed in and transformed into useful tools.
They did it willingly.
why not?
The ancient gods had their own kind, and humans, regardless of which race ruled them, could only exist as slaves.
While the "God of Miracles" may bless his followers, even when he occasionally goes mad and accidentally kills one or two unlucky souls, these followers, who are like stray dogs, find him utterly endearing.
He established the Promised Land for believers time and time again, but more so in accordance with the instincts of mythical creatures and the influence left on Him by a certain original "tyrant".
Then, time and again, I witnessed the destruction of cities born of miracles.
The "God of Miracles" is immortal; He doesn't care about the destruction of His creations, but His mortal followers are too weak.
After yet another destruction, His followers knelt before Him, begging the God to take away their only precious, and perhaps cheap, possession—life.
The believers, unwilling to continue living in a hopeless world, despaired after witnessing miracles slip through their fingers.
Their last remaining attachment was gratitude to the "God of Miracles," so they hoped that while being freed, they could offer their final tribute to the god who had protected them.
The wish-granting machine with a flawed personality did just that.
The believers knelt in prayer calmly, and when they looked up again, their eyes had all turned black.
Even without the constant chatter, time continued on, and the "god of miracles" didn't seem to notice anything amiss.
But a question began to loom over His mind, casting a shadow over His already mad and confused thoughts.
Meaning, my meaning.
Filled with doubt, He challenged the embodiment of death—Gregor.
With doubt in his heart, he adopted an ordinary child.
With doubts in his mind, he tried to contact his nominal blood relatives.
To resolve the doubts, He made a choice.
The man who never told His name to Him in the end chose the Creator and, as His shadow, always accompanied the sun, serving as a minister who held the seal of office for the monarch, witnessing the rise of a true miracle.
During this process, several more shadows appeared around Him.
The rapidly flowing memories gradually slowed down before Klein's eyes. It wasn't that the flow of time had reached its limit, but rather that the concrete images began to fragment, with only blurry, photographic scenes flashing by, replacing the continuous film.
She was a wolf-like child who always followed him, a young warrior who said one thing but meant another, a blood relative's widow who was disheartened but regained her motivation, a wild girl who boldly confessed her feelings to him, and a considerate junior who always kept a low profile...
He was a missed heir, a subordinate who died unjustly, and a friend who fell into a sea of blood...
They are the family members I worry about the most...
His black robe looked much simpler than before, not as clean as it used to be, with the edges covered in sand and dirt, and even his favorite ornaments were dull and lifeless.
The child watched Him from the corner, his face gloomy, stubbornly refusing to give Him a single smile.
Just like that day, the priests of the temple followed closely behind Sasriel, watching Him as He was about to step onto the battlefield, reciting hymns of praise.
"Those who love me in this world do everything they can to hold me back."
Klein struggled to breathe as he tried to regain his senses and break free from the illusion.
"But you are different; your love is greater than theirs,"
The child in the corner reached out his hand, doing everything he could to stop Klein's suicidal act.
The spirit screamed, the enemy no longer concealed himself, and the moment "Angel of Time" Amon appeared, the half-awake Klein recognized Him.
Even though this was their first real meeting.
The divine child seemed to be saying something—perhaps a word of advice, or perhaps a rebuke—but Klein couldn't hear it clearly.
"You are willing to give me my freedom."
Following the instinct etched into his soul, Klein firmly refused. The Storm Wall responded to him, and the seven lights of the spirit world converged on the mausoleum, repelling the "theft" that the "Angel of Time" was about to establish. A higher authority denied Amon's status.
Klein screamed instinctively, cold sweat dripping down his face.
He opened his eyes abruptly. The "victim" lay at his feet, and the mausoleum was not as large as he had imagined. There were only a few steps between him and the man on the throne.
Amon stood to the side, his expression indescribable.
The "Angel of Time" cruelly averted its gaze. The divine child's subconscious action led Klein to misunderstand, and he too followed the steps to look up at the throne above.
It was a divine body that was both perfect and flawed, one he had seen before.
Klein Moretti… Zhou Mingrui desperately tried to deceive himself, but the truth was there and wouldn't change because of anyone.
He gazed at the true face revealed through the cracks and shattering of the handsome mask of "Natural Disaster," and let out a desperate, piercing cry.
...
That's his face; the one on the throne is Zhou Mingrui.