Chapter 811
The Path of the Serpent Wrapped Around the Heart
The motivation driving Red Phase Pomanach’s usurpation was not madness, capriciousness, power, or desire… but his love for Star Antimony.
He loved Star Antimony more than anyone else.
However, his love was for the original Star Antimony, a love “engraved” like a boat carving a mark on a recently moved boat.
That was not because of love either, but because of his hatred for Basir ascending to the Dream Realm alone, abandoning him;
Perhaps not because of hate, but because of disappointment in Valentin I’s inability to live up to expectations;
Or perhaps not because of disappointment, but because of fond memories of the pure struggle before the founding of the nation;
But ultimately, that was not because of memories but because of [Love].
Because of the madness and selfishness of the Path of Love—
“No wonder,” Alistair suddenly laughed, “I sensed a hint of decay from you before, just like the bottle of wine you preserved.
“At first, I thought it was an illusion. After all, you’ve lived for so long… people always want to reminisce about the past.”
“… Hmph.”
Pomanach’s expression suddenly turned grim.
He guessed what “Viscountess Beyad” wanted to say, but he neither interrupted nor denied it.
Alistair looked at his face, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned: “As expected, you’ve guessed it yourself…
“—Your Path has already deviated, heading down the path of [Error].”
That was the path above the Origin River of [Error]… the Twilight Path symbolizing eternity and stagnation.
The concepts of “engraving” and “reminiscence” belonged to the Amber Heavenly Envoy. When Amber rarely responded to prayers, the Amber Heavenly Envoy was the representative of the Twilight Path.
The “old man smell” emanating from Red Phase was not an illusion—just as rotting flesh emits a stench and attracts flies. Extraordinary individuals on the Path of Love, once they “twilight,” would become this deranged.
“Perhaps.”
Pomanach’s words gradually sharpened, no longer as polite as before: “This is also my own choice.”
Perhaps it was because he had said all he wanted to say—as the creator of Star Antimony’s most prosperous era, he disdained the Star Antimony people of this era. Like a paranoid old man, he arrogantly believed that “young people understand nothing” and “this era is rotten.”
He even looked down on those direct descendants he had transformed into Children of the Moon. Pomanach believed they did not understand him at all and were not worthy of understanding him.
But at the same time, he had an urgent desire to converse with others—no one could share the pressure in his heart, even if it were just as an unresponding sounding board.
He so desperately narrated his plight, like an old player in a defunct online game, alone and melancholy looking at the dense gray avatars in the guild.
He could only sneer at the scattered foolish questions from newcomers in the world channel—those were questions he had enthusiastically repeated countless times before, and now he had no interest in typing even a single character. After all, they would leave soon, and no one would accompany him. They didn’t understand the lively joy he felt when he was pioneering back then, “the game wasn’t like this at all back then.”
And now, Viscountess Beyad, his peer from the Imperial era and a Child of the Moon, whose status back then was even higher than his, was naturally worthy of the role of “listener.”
It was as if Pomanach, who was on the verge of quitting the game, suddenly discovered that an old guild veteran from back then had logged back in!
—Viscountess Beyad, last online one day ago.
Pomanach would naturally be overjoyed and stay online all day, wanting to seize the moment when she logged in to chat thoroughly about the past and reminisce about the flowing years together.
Now, he had said all that he needed to say, and he had reminisced about all that he needed to.
Confirming that the irretrievable past was indeed irretrievable… thus, Pomanach had completely let go.
“If this is truly your own choice, why are you in so much pain and so lost?”
“Beyad” crossed her legs, swirled her wine glass, her words as sharp as a knife: “Or rather, do you truly, deep down, acknowledge Basir’s ideals?
“The Path of Star Antimony, born from drawing experience from an unequal empire, has brought even more inequality. Have you never questioned this path itself?
“The Path of Star Antimony allows the capable to rise—but who determines the capable? The Monarch? Experts? Or just the Path Level? Does one become stronger by walking one level deeper on the Path? Is it because someone is stuck at a certain Energy Level that they are not working hard enough, or were born deficient, or are inferior?”
“—Otherwise?”
Pomanach retorted: “Isn’t the Beyad Group also like this? The fittest survive, nature is like this. Being able to provide a relatively fairer arena has eliminated the vast majority of unfairness.”
“But the ‘unfairness’ you’ve eliminated is the greatest ‘unfairness’ itself,” Alistair countered without hesitation: “Is a person’s talent only in one direction? Is their personal success determined solely by their effort and talent? Luck, opportunity, choices, perseverance, and放弃, personal performance, social support… are all these factors to be ignored?
“In the Path of Star Antimony, so-called ‘successes’ always compare upwards, and ‘failures’ completely lose their dignity. People do not openly pity the weak, because they are merely ‘eliminated,’ the gold refined from sand. People will believe their failure is due to either stupidity or laziness… Weakness becomes the original sin at this moment.
“Prince Xiardo, as an Alchemist, is already quite talented. Reaching the Third Tier at this age, it’s only a matter of time before he understands the Path of Balance more deeply and enters the Fourth Tier.
“Albert is undoubtedly a genius, but he himself feels pressure from the immense expectations society places on him. To gain recognition within such a social system, he must constantly become stronger—any personal achievement outside of his main profession will not be recognized by society and will only be considered a waste of time.
“To outsiders, they are already quite successful people, truly significant figures. Yet they are still subjected to the expectations of others, tormented by the public gaze… because they are once again in a new evaluation system, fighting with new powerhouses. This cycle repeats endlessly, without peace, without end. Like an Ouroboros biting its own tail, with no end.
“And once they fall, their past glory will turn into sharp blades. People will desperately want to trample those who have fallen from high places, as if to prove that they too are failures. Their own failures might then be forgiven.
“Conversely, if a person becomes a powerhouse within this system, they will naturally believe that they deserve everything they receive. They rightfully and naturally should enjoy all of this, because they are the embodiment of perfection, superior to failures in personality, essence, talent, and effort… And everyone beneath their feet is a relative failure.
“—Just like you.”
Alistair said word by word: “This is a disease, the ‘Serpent Wrapped Around the Heart’ syndrome—the Ouroboros of the Transcendent Path has bewitched you. Leading you onto a paradoxical road with no head and no tail, a road that can never reach its destination.”
It was a form like a Mobius strip.
Originally, Alistair believed that Star Antimony should, on the whole, adhere to the principle of the Path of Balance.
The Royal Alchemical Association, the Demonic Scholars Association, the Spirit Tower, the Red Fortress… various forces gathered here, maintaining a dangerous balance. The emergence of any one faction would be suppressed by the others. Thus, they spiraled upwards through this infinite oscillation.
But now, Alistair realized deeply—all of this was merely a pretense.
The essence of the Path of Star Antimony was meritocracy, and the Alchemists revered the Transcendent Path.
The only difference was that the Demonic Scholars of the Academy followed the Fallen Heavenly Envoy, while the Alchemists followed the Ring Heavenly Envoy.
As the original creator of Alchemy, the Ring Heavenly Envoy did indeed have the potential to be followed by Alchemists.
“Basir… Valentin I,” Alistair looked at the grim-faced Pomanach and asked, “He is an Apostle of the Ring Heavenly Envoy, isn’t he?”
“So what?”
Pomanach defended him, as if defending himself: “From stagnant dead water, even a circulating river is progress!”
“—Is that progress, or is it ‘transcendence’?”
Alistair continued to interrogate Pomanach.
Finally, Pomanach seemed unable to contain himself.
“Heh… Isn’t the Beyad Consortium also the same?”
Pomanach counterattacked: “You are a family of Ritualists serving the Father Serpent, yet you married into a Witch family—who didn’t know back then that you responded to the embrace of the Shadow Heavenly Envoy?”
Here it comes.
Alistair’s heart stirred, realizing Pomanach was somewhat losing his composure.
So she pretended to be unhappy, frowning deeply, and weakly defended herself, trying to extract more secrets: “Curses and rituals… are inseparable. As techniques of the Transcendent Path, what’s the difference?”
“Heh heh… The difference? Aren’t the curse techniques of the Transcendent Path precisely what your Beyad Family passed down? You felt the power of rituals was too gentle, wanting the Transcendent Path at all costs, drawing on the talents and techniques of the whole world, including curses, deception, and potions—even betraying the Transcendent Path itself.
“It was precisely with these techniques that the Beyad Consortium was able to reach the pinnacle of the Empire in just twenty years. Every cent of your family’s wealth is stained with blood and curses!
“If we are stained by the Transcendent Path, you have never escaped it.”
Pomanach’s fingers tapped hard on the armrest, causing it to creak and crack.
He frowned slightly, appearing somewhat anxious and annoyed.
Gazing at the silent Viscountess Beyad, Pomanach questioned repeatedly: “Did you really go to Primordial? I think you went to the Ancient Kingdom of Anxi to study. You were never this malicious before, your words are like sharp knives.
“I know you went to Avalon after you returned—what, checking if the curses you sold back then are still maintained? I heard you fell in love with that Eivass from the Moriarty Family… this is probably also the deceptive love that witches are skilled at!
“The Curse of Forgetfulness that entwined the Moriarty Family was inflicted by your mother! To complete this curse, you still retain the payment that the first Moriarty pledged to you, right? Now seven generations have passed, and the curse should have expired—but do you really intend to return the deposit to them?”
Seeing that Beyad remained silent, Pomanach snorted, as if feeling a sense of triumph from his verbal victory: “You may have forgotten, but I haven’t—
“The Clarent sword of Modred of the past, it’s with you, isn’t it? But have you returned it to Eivass? I don’t think… you have, have you?”
“Enough.”
Alistair took a deep breath, feeling satisfied.
“—It is indeed enough,” Pomanach replied in a low voice, his brow furrowed, “I’ve talked enough with you.
“I am disappointed, Viscountess Beyad. I thought we were the same kind of people…”
In the depths of his eyes, a dark red glow, bloodthirsty and filled with killing intent, flickered.
(End of Chapter)
