Chapter 858 - 36: Endgame
Chapter 858: Chapter 36: Endgame
Dead silence.
In that space composed of pure knowledge and absolute truth, only dead silence flowed.
Lynch quietly floated, his gaze slowly moving away from the core light mass that revealed everything, towards the countless knowledge light masses around him representing all the answers of the world, now seemingly covered with a layer of cold irony. The shock and absurdity on his face gradually settled, transforming into a deep, unfathomable silence and understanding.
So that’s how it is.
The truth of this world turns out to be like this.
A designated “θ-7” observation experiment field. The total amount of energy and souls remained constant, like a closed sandbox.
The so-called pursuit of truth, the so-called transcendence of the mundane, in the face of this cruel “absolute truth,” is nothing more than a pre-set, cold experiment used to observe “internal competition models under limited resources.”
All ambitions, sacrifices, faith, love, and hatred, in the eyes of the lofty “observers,” might just be groups of continually fluctuating data.
It’s really… a bit unexpected.
Lynch whispered softly in his heart, his lips curling into a faint, indescribable smile—whether it was bitter or mocking was unclear. This truth did not crush him. Instead, it suddenly clarified many doubts in his heart, while also bringing a heavy understanding about the fate of countless beings across the entire plane.
“Huh… huh…”
An oppressive, air-leaking sound came from the side, interrupting Lynch’s thoughts. It was Erodion.
This former head judge of the Shadow Tower, once ambitious to become a new god and reshape order as the “Father God” of the Freemasonry Church, was now huddled there, hunched over, clinging desperately to his hair, unaware that his nails were digging into his scalp. He murmured repeatedly, using his whole body’s strength, his voice moving from initial disbelief to a collapsed scream:
“How could it be like this…”
“How could it be this way…”
“How is this possible!!!”
His screams were particularly piercing and desperate in this tranquil space of knowledge. In that voice, there was no longer the majesty of controlling everything, no longer the burning fervor of ambition, only the thoroughly cold despair and void after his faith system was uprooted and his lifelong pursuit proven to be a complete joke.
Lynch’s gaze fell on him, the coldness and killing intent from the earlier battle had already dissipated, replaced by a complex, almost compassionate sympathy.
For Erodion, this truth was indeed too cruel.
He betrayed his colleagues, overturned the order, established a massive church, viewing billions of believers as tools and fuel to achieve his ends, not hesitating to stir up a continent-wide war, his hands stained with blood, his soul sinking into darkness… Everything he did was to open the “Gate of Truth,” to achieve transcendence, to become a supreme existence.
Yet, the “absolute truth” behind the gate told him: What you pursue as “supreme” is nothing more than a potential outcome in an experiment report;
Your cherished “self-advancement,” its path has long been set to either kill other “experimental subjects” to rise; you considered yourself a player stepping outside the chessboard, when in reality you are still a behavior model being closely observed in this vast “observation experiment field”… a sample.
This truth, for Erodion, who regarded “truth” as the ultimate goal, was undoubtedly a destruction more complete than physical and spiritual annihilation. It nullified the meaning of his existence, erased the value of all his actions, and relegated him back to the original, pitiful experimental subject designation.
…
Light and shadow shifted, space replaced.
When Lynch’s vision cleared again, he had returned to the dim, spacious hall of the Justice Cathedral, still bearing traces of the previous intense battle. The Gate of Truth had vanished without a trace, only the yet-to-settle energy ripples in the air proving that the contact beyond dimension was not an illusion.
Right in front of him, on the cold ground in the center of the cathedral, Erodion was kneeling there.
No, perhaps “collapsed” would be a more fitting description. He could barely maintain a kneeling posture, his whole form hunched, arms weakly braced on the ground, and his hair bleakly white and dry like withered autumn grass.
His robe symbolizing the majesty of the “Father God” was tattered, revealing skin covered in wrinkles and age spots, shriveled like dried orange peel. The previously overwhelming and suffocating power of faith and the rule fluctuations had completely dissipated, leaving not even the slightest ripple behind.
His spiritual field was utterly collapsed, his soul like ash after burning out, only a weak warmth remaining, barely maintaining this rapidly decaying shell.
Just in the moments of returning from the Gate of Truth, he seemed to have aged several hundred years, from an ambitious, middle-aged wizard to an ancient elder near the end of life, able only to quietly await the final passing of life.
Footsteps echoed, and powerful auras poured in from various parts of the cathedral. Abbas, Gordon, Meiweisi, who were previously held back by the Undead and golems, along with Kong, Vanilla, Jeraf, Kalsa, Julia, and the Domain Wizards of Fran, even the Light Goddess Messiah, appeared in the cathedral, vaguely surrounding the central area.
Everyone’s gaze focused on Erodion, who was kneeling and unable to rise, with various expressions of anger, disdain, vigilance, and complex sighs.
“Erodion!” Witch Master Jeraf was the first to speak, his voice trembling with suppressed anger, “Look at what you have done! Blood flows like rivers in the Ancient Ruins because of you, Wizard Inheritance almost severed, billions of creatures reduced to your playthings and fuel! Your crimes are beyond description!”
Kalsa’s icy gaze was almost palpable: “For your own selfish desires, you trampled everything—this is the ’truth’ you pursued? Laughable, pathetic!”
Julia gently shook her head, her holy visage carrying sorrow and solemnity: “In the name of faith, you practice devouring. Your path has been filled with deceit and desecration from beginning to end.”
The Arcane Master Erwin from Fran spoke heavily: “Not only did you severely disrupt the stability of this region, the ritual you attempted also crossed the boundary of plane safety. Erodion, you must pay for everything you’ve done.”
The accusations fell like cold rain on that numbed husk. Erodion seemed to hear them, yet seemed not to, as he hung his head low, his murky eyes vacantly staring at the ground, with no reaction, as if his soul had long since died.
Just when everyone thought he had completely collapsed, silently awaiting the final judgment to fall—
“Teacher.”
A voice, calm, warm, and tinged with an imperceptible fatigue and relief, sounded from a dim corridor to the side.
Following the sound, they saw Bishop Leonard step out steadily. His bishop’s robe remained neat, but his expression lacked the usual solemnity and tension, replaced by a peace from understanding, and hidden sorrow.
He ignored the fierce presence of the powerful surrounding him, walked straight through the crowd, and reached Erodion’s side. First glancing at his breathless, decrepit teacher, profound pain flashed in his eyes. Then he performed an action that moved everyone—
He slowly, knelt beside Erodion.
Turning his head, he faced the formidable figures representing victory and justice, his gaze unperturbed, and said clearly:
“Ladies and gentlemen, all the responsibility, all the costs… my teacher, he understands now, and… can no longer pay.”
His gaze finally fell upon Lynch’s face, carrying a hint of plea, a hint of determination.
“Let us… leave with dignity in the end.”
With these words, he stopped looking at anyone, but turned to Erodion, extending his hand to gently support his trembling shoulders, using a volume only heard by the two, calling again, with no fanaticism, no fear, only the purest and final farewell from a disciple to his teacher:
“Teacher.”
The peak fosters false allegiance, dusk bears witness to the true believer.
Under the complex, astonished, or silent gazes of all, a layer of pure, warm white light suddenly emerged from Leonard’s body. This light wasn’t from any Divine Arts, but the brilliance condensed from burning his final life and soul origin, free of any impurities.
Like a fuse, this light tenderly enveloped Erodion’s withered form.
Erodion seemed to finally react, his hollow eyes very slowly turned to Leonard, cracked lips moved slightly, yet he made no sound.
But in that final gaze exchange, a hard-to-describe emotion seemed to flash briefly in the depths of his dead eyes.
The next moment, the white light on both of them suddenly grew brighter and softer, yet not dazzling. Like dawn, the light rose gradually, disassembling and dissolving their figures, turning them into the purest light particles.
No pain, no struggle, not even a trace of ash remained.
Within mere breaths, Erodion and Leonard, the duo once stirring great waves, vanished entirely amidst the warm and pure radiance in the cathedral’s center, as if they had never existed.
The light slowly faded, leaving only a clean, seemingly purified area on the cathedral floor, and the faded, ultimately peaceful resonance in the air.
A storm sweeping across the continent, a mad and obsessed ambition, a twisted and fallen path,
thus,
concluded.