chsdbacks Page 617
Page 617
"Ambition swells under repression, conflict brews amidst resource scarcity, and the thirst for power and a new order breeds in the cracks of the old framework... War is the inevitable consequence of entropy increase, the end point of intertwined desires. Regardless of whether there are mysterious leaks or not, regardless of whether Albion awakens, the total war within human civilization, between humans and other species, and even between other species... is already on the countdown."
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze landing precisely on Matou Ike's eye socket, which burned with a deep blue flame, seemingly containing an endless storm:
"I was merely... adding fuel to the fire."
“And,” Hartres’s voice was low and almost seductive, “wouldn’t doing this also help you compete for… ‘that position’?”
King of Lostbelts!
This word, like an invisible hammer, slammed heavily into Matouchi's mind!
On his blood-stained face, the lines taut with pain and rage froze instantly, and the light from his azure demonic eyes, sharp as knives, was fixed on Hartres's calm yet chilling face.
silence.
Only the deafening roar of Albion crashing into the gates of the Fairy Realm, like the breaking of a planet's skeleton, reverberated in my ears.
The scorching heat of the bloody mud, the scraping of spatial fragments, the tearing pain in my eye sockets... all the sensory impacts were overwhelmed by the icy storm at the core of my mind at this moment.
He stared silently at the man before him.
What he said... was indeed correct.
Hartres's actions were a catalyst, an amplifier, and a forced fast-forward button for destruction!
The power that was forced upon him by Command Spells and sacrificed Iskandar's divinity, ultimately solidifying into the foundation of the temple known as "Albion," originates at its core from the purest Spirit Origin realm imprinted in human history by the Conqueror Iskandar—
war!
conquer!
This power did not disappear with the dissolution of Iskandar.
It was like the most virulent virus, injected into the "heart" of Albion, this behemoth of a planet.
And as the behemoth awakens and becomes active, it spreads like an invisible plague through its revitalized bronze veins, through the resonance of the earth's veins, and through the global panic and chaos caused by mysterious leaks!
It's accelerating!
It accelerates the growth of suspicion and distrust!
It accelerates the expansion of ambition and greed!
Accelerating the outbreak of conflict and the spiral of hatred!
This will accelerate the dragging of the world into the abyss of a total war that "was bound to happen," but may still be decades or even centuries in the making!
What Hartles did was to use this invisible crowbar, forged from the power of "conquest," to forcibly pry open the last shackle of Pandora's box!
"It makes ambitious people even more ambitious, and schemers even more greedy..." Matou Ike coldly repeated Heartless's logic, a deep blue light surging in his eyes, "Like raising a venomous insect..."
Raising Gu!
This ancient and cruel metaphor is so precise it's chilling!
Countless highly venomous insects are thrown into a sealed container, where they fight, devour, and evolve among themselves... In the end, only the strongest, most venomous, and most adaptable Gu King can survive and reign supreme!
And isn't Earth at this moment, within the mysteriously leaked chaotic furnace, and amidst the flames of war catalyzed by the power of "conquest," precisely such a gigantic, bloody cauldron?!
Is the Clock Tower attempting to rebuild a new order from ruins? Does the Holy Church want to expand its authority over the purification of faith?
Are local magic organizations trying to seize resources and status?
Even someone like Matou Ike, would want to seize the crown of "King of Lostbelts"?
Everyone! All beings with power and ambition, regardless of their stance or purpose, have been forcibly pushed into this enormous Gu cauldron by Hartres!
"Only the final Gu King..." Matou Ike's voice was low and cold, carrying a sense of having seen through fate, "is qualified to decide the direction of this Lostbelt."
His azure demonic eyes seemed to pierce through the barriers of space and time:
He could "see" the Dead Apostles lurking in the shadows, their ancient covenant stirring.
They yearn to resurrect The Dark Six—the legendary first-in-line Twenty-Seven Ancestors—whose power and status are their ultimate trump card in the struggle for the title of Gu King!
He could "see" the "super-specification concept weaponry" deep within the clock tower, exuding an aura of the end—
A terrifying creation powered by Albion's remains and the Meastia strain is greedily absorbing the energy of the Grand Decision, becoming a destructive hammer in the hands of the Law and Politics Department in its struggle for supremacy!
He could "see" that in XZ, far away on the roof of the world, in the depths of that secret realm covered by eternal permafrost and ancient seals, there existed a calamity called Wuzhiqi, a symbol of floods and riots, suppressed for countless years. Its dormant will was being stirred by the global upheavals in the ley lines and the spread of the power of war...
Awaken! Its massive arm, capable of stirring up storms, will surely reach for the throne of the Gu King!
And there's more...
Their gaze has undoubtedly been drawn to the battlefield of the Gu King, which has been prematurely ignited by Hartres's fire and will determine the future of the world!
Hartres, this man stripped of time, is not a chess player.
He is the ruthless emcee who overturns the chessboard, ignites the battlefield, and declares that only one victor can leave the arena!
"..." Matou Ike remained silent.
The azure flames burning in his eyes reflected the terrifying sight of Albion's massive dragon body crashing into the gates of the Fairy Realm for the last and most resolute time.
Chapter 647 The Tragedy of Hartres (4k)
Albion also has day and night.
More precisely, the first layer buried deep within its massive structure—the perpetually mining city—also has a distinction between day and night.
Of course, that was just an artificial halo covering the dome mimicking the cycle of celestial phenomena.
The cold yet efficient Bureau of Skeleton Dissection even submitted a pale data report on this, exploring how to precisely control this false light to maximize the efficiency of exploiting the laborers who writhe among the mines and skeletons.
At this moment, it is the artificial "night" simulated by this artificial sky.
Far from the hustle and bustle of the city's machinery, on a desolate hill at the edge of the mining layer, a figure stands like a tombstone.
Hartres.
Just now, using Command Seals as shackles, he forcibly maintained the magical path that should have been severed, issuing the final and most blasphemous command—
Before completely burying the god who was willing to die, he extracted the last of its divine radiance, stripping it away and extracting the "imposter" that was the core of its existence.
At this moment, the imposter, like the most loyal puppet, silently supported him.
Hartres leaned his weight on the shoulders of that inhuman creature and slowly straightened up.
His movements carried a sense of weakness from surviving a disaster, yet they also revealed a chilling precision and composure.
He raised his hand and, almost ritualistically, placed his forearm, covered in the expensive suit fabric, against his left chest.
Beneath the suit lies the place where the heart should be beating.
Then, a whisper, like the whimper of an undercurrent beneath the ice, mixed with the scent of sulfur and dust, spread through the false night:
"Turn over, my heart."
Incantations are laws.
The moment the words fell, the space itself emitted a silent shriek.
There was no dazzling light, no violent explosion, only an absolute, suffocating sense of "being erased".
Hartres and the imposters he relied on collapsed and dissolved in an instant, like pencil marks erased by an invisible eraser, disappearing completely from the spot.
They used the "crack" that Hartres had sealed inside his body, replacing his flesh and blood heart—
That forbidden gate, leading to another world and disregarding spatial distance, completed this final, silent instantaneous teleportation.
That was the heart stolen by the fairy.
It was stolen by a fairy through a mischievous disappearance, the deepest curse and gift left behind by an unfortunate soul after its complete vanishing from the human world.
It is not a product of magic, but rather a creation comparable to magic, forged by chance in the crucible of fate through the distorted laws of the fairy kingdom and the irreversibility of divine disappearance itself.
In the same spot, only the slightly cold wind carrying the smell of slag from the low hills and the cold, false "starlight" cast by the canopy of the distant mining city remained.
It was as if those two figures, along with that incantation that reversed life and death, had never existed.
"Is this... okay?"
The imposter's voice was deep and had an inhuman quality, but it was not entirely devoid of warmth.
She put down the man she was carrying on her back—Hartles.
The movements seemed swift and even somewhat rough as if executing a command, but when he leaned against the edge of the cold rock, the supporting hand revealed a strange, almost cautious tenderness.
Hartres is in extremely poor condition.
His breathing was as faint as a candle flickering in the wind. Each inhale seemed to exhaust all his strength, and each exhale carried the signs of life slipping away, as if it would cease completely at any moment.
On the verge of death, he slightly opened his heavy eyelids.
In the distance, there are cold, dense artificial light spots cast by the canopy of a mining city.
They are not stars, but against the backdrop of this artificial "night," they form an inverted, false Milky Way spread across the earth.
"gorgeous……"
A weak smile slowly spread across Hartles' pale lips.
His smile, contrasting with his bloodless face, appeared exceptionally pure, carrying an almost transparent, weary satisfaction that seemed to originate from the depths of his soul.
This artificial starry sky, due to the isolation provided by the dome, actually amplifies the strange beauty of this "earth-turning" effect.
“Kuro…he loved this scenery when he was alive,”
Hartres's voice was weak, like a sigh, each word seemingly squeezed out with difficulty from the depths of his heart.
"But... at the same time... he also longed for the real sky."
His words carried a distant reminiscence, as if piercing through time, gazing upon that long-vanished figure.
“…Ah,” he let out a soft sigh, tinged with a bitter self-mockery.
"So, he must have been extremely happy when he first arrived in London."
Hartress's gaze seemed to pierce through the illusory starlight before him, landing on the old shadow of the foggy city that had long since collapsed in the catastrophe. "Although... he probably never imagined that he would meet the dean of students there..."
Hartres paused, seemingly finding the irony of this fate too absurd and heavy.
"...It was him."
He seemed to find the idea utterly ridiculous, and his back, pressed against the cold rock, trembled slightly and silently.