rainstorm.
The cascading water washed away the smoke and flames, as if to carry all traces of the battlefield to the endless distance, forever hiding the stories that happened here in a forbidden place where ordinary people cannot find them.
Mosen collapsed to the ground; the miracle vanished just as he thought he had accomplished the last meaningful thing in his life.
The only one left on the battlefield now is a pitiful old man whose knees and leg bones ache even from moving his legs.
In the distance, Taylor Franz, equally disheveled, glared at him. The shadow of the "Hound of Forge" lingered in the torrential rain, its burning pupils like will-o'-the-wisps, menacingly hovering over the despicable assassin's head. Only the angel in his magnificent robes remained relatively calm, strolling leisurely, sometimes picking up pebbles from the ground to play with, sometimes gazing at the gradually shrinking silhouette of the fleet in the distance.
Edmund Jason didn't care about Klein Moretti's death.
Even in His view, Mosen's actions could not be called betrayal, as the Archbishop of Storms had never uttered a word related to "cooperation" from the very beginning.
He kept making excuses, but even though Edmund's historical projection had not yet descended upon the tragically bereaved island beneath his feet, the "sage" was still able to reconstruct the truth from the information flow that pulsed with the surrounding air.
He understood Morson's choice, but He could not agree with it.
He knew all too well how stubborn these fanatics could be.
In the Fourth Age, most of His companions were such fanatics, as were His enemies.
Back then, the gods walked upon the earth, and believers below often received responses and witnessed miracles, naturally cultivating a faith far stronger than it is now.
People say that the Fourth Age was a time of depravity, chaos, blasphemy, and betrayal, but that's wrong.
In Edmund's view, the people of the Fourth Age were far more devout than any other age, not even the Kingdom of Heaven.
Perhaps the creator of the Kingdom of Heaven sought to establish an additional faith besides Him in order to oppose the original creator, and thus found the "mysterious god" as a second master.
He told people to maintain their ability to think independently, to liberate religion from the shackles of secular life, and that in addition to the lands of heaven and earth, the kingdoms of all sizes in the far reaches of the lands still preserved the social customs of the ancient gods.
Giants and dragons who choose to submit may remain in their original territories, but they will transform from tyrannical rulers into protectors subject to the constraints and supervision of the Kingdom of Heaven.
People mostly change their beliefs, but in real life, they still have more contact with the original owners of the land.
This is a confrontation with "God," an uncompromising stance against "tyrant" and "sun."
Edmund believed that only a philosophical perspective could explain the Creator's choices.
Just as only by setting aside the magnificent and splendid historical panorama of the Fourth Age, which belongs to great figures, angels, and angel kings, can we see the sincerity of faith.
Because wars were frequent and death was common, ordinary people who lacked the ability to protect themselves had to become devout and serve their gods and emperors wholeheartedly.
That's all... Edmund stared at the old man with cloudy eyes, then flipped his hand, solidifying the wind and rain into a blade.
"Before I die, I can grant you one request."
Mosen struggled to move his lower body, trying to prop himself up so that his gaze could meet that of the angel before him.
He recognized the flamboyantly dressed young man and resolved to demonstrate the dignity of a storm believer.
"I personally have no wishes."
"To die for the Lord's cause is the best reward for me."
"And what about Mr. Yu?"
Edmund ignored the fanatical pronouncements of Mosen Standard and glanced casually at the southwestern horizon.
The sky there returned to calm, the dark clouds were cut into pieces, and due to the spatial barrier, they could no longer be pieced together to form the majestic face of "Sea King".
Mosen fell silent for a while before speaking haltingly and in a less sharp tone.
You can't agree to that.
"How do you know I can't do it if you don't tell me?" Edmund raised an eyebrow.
"I would give my life to return the sealed artifact in my possession to Pasu Island..." Morgan said. "Could I use the value of my body and soul to ensure the safe departure of my colleagues and people on the island?"
"Do you think I can give you everything I can think of in exchange for you letting the church's property on this island go?"
Of course not… Edmund maintained his faint smile, remaining motionless.
Mosen sighed, and a few more of his sparse white hairs fell out.
"You won't agree to anything I ask for."
"No one will agree to a deal with someone who can't offer anything or provide an equivalent offer."
"Besides, this person is about to die, and his death means you no longer need to keep any agreements with him."
Having lost his youth and strength, Mosen seemed to have transformed back into an experienced and wise village elder, speaking simple truths in plain language.
Unfortunately, he was speaking with an older angel, a true "sage".
"Little guy, you don't need to use such clumsy tricks to provoke me. I'm not falling for it."
"Some principles are universal, regardless of time or place," Edmund crouched down, his eyes full of amusement. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth… You killed one of our important figures. According to the consistent logic of your Storm Church, isn't it right for us to launch a bloody, indiscriminate extermination campaign and wipe out the Rosed Islands with a devastating catastrophe?"
"I don't want to argue with you too much, because I really won't agree to your unreasonable demands."
"A relatively dignified death is, in my opinion, quite forgiving."
"Decent?" Mosen murmured, a bad feeling creeping over him.
He envisioned that the elusive, dark blue barrier would eventually disappear, and at that time, Trensust would have to worry about the existence of the "Scepter of Calamity" and rack his brains over the future ownership of the Rosed Islands.
Because of his status as a "tyrant," the Lord of Storms will not allow anyone to infringe upon His authority, nor will He let any thief who lays his hands on His property and territory go unpunished.
Today's mutual compromise and gestures of goodwill are intended to allow both sides to end the Rothschild farce with dignity, and to prepare for a larger, more decisive war in the future that will thoroughly wash away the shame and regrets of one side.
Edmund maintained his smile, stepping aside slightly to let another old friend, who had just finished his busy schedule and had some free time, answer.
Tristan, who was not yet comfortable using flame leaps to travel, brushed the dust off the outside of his coat and noticed Edmund, pausing for a moment in surprise.
Why are you here?
He opened his mouth, his feelings somewhat complicated.
Edmund and Friedrich Zarathustra were both rising stars of his time, but while his two friends had become angels, he was still wasting his life.
"It's just a historical projection," Edmund explained. "The Archbishop of the Storm killed Klein Moretti, and I promised to grant him one request, but only for a dignified death, which he doesn't seem to understand."
Klein Moretti is dead?
Upon hearing this news, Tristan was stunned for a moment before he realized what was happening.
According to the archives, Klein Moretti had already died once before, back in Tingen.
Those favored by the gods seem to enjoy the unique resurrection of "miracle workers," which may also be due to the ambiguous relationship between Klein Moretti's true identity and the "mysterious god," that is, his master, thus exempting him from the clutches of death.
Since Edmund could still discuss this matter with him in a relaxed tone, it meant that Klein Moretti's death was still not a big problem, and his rebirth was only a matter of time.
Tristan stroked his chin, giving the dejected Archbishop of Storms a cold look. With a slight flick of his wide sleeves, he revealed a figure hidden in a secret space within his coat.
This was a tall, robust middle-aged man with thick, dark blue hair, dressed in a storm priest's robe.
As in his lifetime, "Aquaman" Yann Courtman stood firm with a straight face, glancing at Mosen as if he were looking at a stranger.
Ignoring the astonished expressions of his colleagues, he bowed slightly to the angels and his master present, like a servant.
"To be honest, I was thinking about whether to hand over Yann Courtman as a way to give Mr. V and Klein Moretti an explanation."
"The miserable state of the colonists always shut up the natives of Rothschild, which can be considered a favor to Klein Moretti."
"That way, when I try to be promoted to angel in the future, he might say a good word for me."
Tristan's hands opened and closed, drawing on invisible spiritual threads, treating the once invincible "Aquaman" as a cheap toy.
He manipulated the living and dead body of Yann Courtman and spoke to Mosen.
"Decent...at least you still have a choice."
"The head of the colonial governor could barely be accounted for."
A deathly silence, as if plunged into an ice cave.
Even the "dogs of Fugen" could sense Mosen's impending collapse.
He wasn't experiencing fear or anything like that; he simply... suddenly realized that from the very beginning, the way these Ternsost people thought was completely different from theirs.
The angels and demigods of Trensust are more inclined to think like mortal politicians, but they also possess a madness that mortal politicians rarely have: a willingness to risk everything for the greater good and their beliefs.
Once they've made a decision, they don't consider the consequences. Just like now, they brazenly trample on the face of the Storm Church and the Kingdom of Rune, humiliating the dignity of their enemies without regard for the wrath of the "tyrant" and the royal family.
arrogant...
Only arrogance can encompass the thoughts and actions of the people of Ternsost; the followers of that fallen god who claimed to be the creator are all madmen.
These people are not knights who uphold etiquette and honor. In their mouths, dignity has become distorted. The restraint and mutual respect that make humanity a civilized race no longer exist.
Even in the decadent Fourth Age, nobles would not have been so open with their enemies, at least not in front of the common people.
When did natives become comparable to churches and kingdoms?
"You can kill me…" Mosen abandoned the illusion that should never have existed in the first place.
His cloudy eyes were bloodshot, making him look like a ferocious beast.
"Kill me!"
"You may cut off my head, but don't forget, my Lord, my people will never forgive you!"
"We will..."
A blade of wind gently grazed Mosen's neck. Yann Courtman's mastery of wind control far surpassed that of Mosen, who was more than twenty years his senior.
Tristan stared at the archbishop's head, its eyes wide open in death, and felt nothing but boredom.
He decided to stop looking and instead asked another question before Edmund left.
"What should be done about Klein Moretti's body?"
"Where did he and 'natural disaster' go?"
"Down there, in the sea." Edmund pointed to the ground and shrugged helplessly. "He'll probably rest for a while; he didn't look too well when I arrived."
"With the teacher's scepter around, we don't need to worry about his safety. Even if he's a 'tyrant,' he won't have time to distract us with the whole ocean of troubles. We're the ones who need to deal with the problems."
"Look around, he really left us a mess."
Yes, what a mess… Tristan couldn't help but feel a headache coming on.
Blue Mountain Island was almost split in two, and Bayam still had a lot of dangerous pollution, waiting for the demigods and special sealed artifacts to deal with it one by one. For a long time, the Rosed Islands would be unable to recover to the pre-war level.
The "City of Generosity" has become a remnant of the past, leaving only ruins behind.
...
who I am?
A thick gray fog enveloped the topmost point, and large amounts of bluish-black were forcibly stripped away, symbolizing the spiritual anchors of corruption assisting the master of the gray fog temple in resisting an even more ancient will.
They first expelled the pollution from the "Mother Tree of Desire," and then resolved most of the issues that came directly from the Source Castle itself. Only then could Klein gather his fragmented personality and emotions, sort out his thoughts, and answer the questions that troubled him.
I am Zhou Mingrui.
Klein, whose spirit body had been restored to its original state, opened his eyes and looked around, but could not find the figure of the "mysterious god" he was looking forward to.
He had already gained a preliminary understanding and mastery of the abilities of the "Trickster".
He was quite certain that he had become a demigod.
It seems I'm still alive... Klein sighed, got up from his seat, and wandered around in the gray fog.
I wonder how long this "mysterious" thing will last before letting me go down again, and what kind of mission I'll be given...
His gaze wandered through the depths of the gray fog, then suddenly stopped at a spot where the fog was thicker, and he suddenly remembered an "adventure" that he had almost forgotten.
He seemed to have discovered something like stairs in the gray fog.
As he expected, after waiting for a while, there were indeed six sections of steps resembling those belonging to giants, neatly arranged.
One step, two steps, three steps... He reached the end, leaped, and stepped on the clouds formed by the gray mist, and suddenly the view opened up before him.
A dark blue-green creation, resembling a door, stood before him, composed of numerous layers of light clusters and embracing, twisted insects.
The "cocoons" bound by black threads swayed with Klein's increasingly restless heartbeat.
They have yellow skin, white skin, and black skin; some are dressed smartly, some have beautiful features, and some seem to be descendants of countries that have passed away. They are not lifelike statues, but real, living people.
They closed their eyes, facing Klein, where history and the present overlapped with reality.
In a daze, Klein seemed to see three figures breaking free from the cage that bound them, one after the other—two men and one woman—each living an extraordinary life that was nothing short of miraculous in an era that did not belong to them.
He was all too familiar with the two faces of the man and the blurry woman.
It was Zhou Mingrui, and Huang Tao.
...
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Klein mechanically turned around.
Having removed his glasses, Zhou Mingrui, now thin and aloof, stood a few steps below him, looking up at him with an indifferent expression.
"haven't seen you for a long time."