**Chapter 1234: The Death of Aziz**
After Aziz called out his name, there was no response from within the carriage. A dreadful silence descended like a cold night, immersing him in icy water. Aziz’s heart suddenly jolted. An unfounded fear and unease washed over him—like swallowing a humming echo, or a blade of ice lightly scraping his heart and liver. The golden plate on his head hummed, urging him to leave; the rose beads on his neck grew warm and sticky, like skin touching sweaty flesh; the buckle on his belt sprang open on its own, and the feathers on his shoes trembled—he could teleport away with a mere clack of his heels.
However, Aziz steeled his heart, ignoring all these ill omens. No one who sought comfort could escape their destiny. The more dangerous the place, the more opportunities it held. Aziz’s life thus far had repeatedly proven this truth. He was not content with reaching this point; he wanted to advance further. If that was the case…
“…Aziz.”
An aged voice, filled with complex emotions, called out. Aziz looked up. The carriage door opened, and an ancient, white-robed Ritualist stood at the entrance, gazing down at him. Through the gaps of the carriage, it appeared to hold a palace within its small confines. This was a miracle—a miracle of the Savior! Yet, compared to the turmoil in his heart, Aziz barely observed the face and attire of the Purified Faction Ritualist. These soft-hearted “white robes” could achieve nothing. Aziz disdained to observe him, yet he could feel the complex, gloomy hatred emanating from him. He likely killed one of his teachers or sacrificed one of his senior disciples in the past, Aziz mused. He even inwardly mocked the man’s cowardice—there were more than a dozen people who hated him as much, perhaps more, yet they were unwilling to shed their white robes, symbols of the Purified Faction Ritualist, for greater power… If so, their lives would end here.
As a Transcendent, they lacked the resolve to abandon everything. How could they walk the path of transcendence? Relying solely on the “method of the weak defeating the strong” was tantamount to admitting they were always the weak. It was just luck that he allied himself with the Savior before Aziz did—if it were him, he would have used the Savior’s authority to strike with a dagger at this very moment! But it was a pity…
Aziz already possessed the ability to reflect curses and ritual spells. If the other party dared to attack him, he could merely reflect their curse back, killing them without lifting a finger. Afterward, he could feign innocence and infiltrate their ranks…
“Aziz.”
Seeing that Aziz’s gaze had passed over him without effect, old Ibn’s eyes suddenly widened, his hunched back straightened, and his voice lost its complexity and hesitation: “Do you still remember who I am?”
Aziz looked over with some impatience and a hint of confusion, scrutinizing old Ibn carefully. He looked somewhat familiar; he must have met him somewhere. But he couldn’t recall immediately. Aziz said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “Perhaps one of my enemies. It’s only natural… loners are always at odds with the world, and many people are my enemies. This kind of baseless hostility is not the first time I’ve endured it.”
“…Aziz.”
Old Ibn called his name a third time. His voice deepened, sinking into his throat like a wolf’s growl: “I am Ibn.”
“…Which Ibn?”
Aziz asked, somewhat perplexed. The name Ibn meant “son of,” so Aziz’s question also carried the meaning of “son of whom?” and was even a half-curse.
“Abu al-Abbas Ibn Helchin bin Abdul.” Ibn slowly spoke his full name: “Your uncle. Your uncle who was driven away decades ago.”
This was also the first time Eivass had heard Ibn speak his full name. As expected… Normally, Ibn indicated a father’s name. But here was an exception—”Ibn Helchin” meant “son of Helchin.” At the end of the Second Flood War, the Lords had tried to purge their slave followers who had attempted betrayal, initiating a great massacre. It was Helchin who had stopped them then. With his exceptional violence, he had killed many, including several Lords… But it was only after that that Anxi solidified, ceasing to be radical and changing. “Son of Helchin” meant “bravery that resists fate.” If analyzed literally, it also implied hidden meanings like “sympathy for slaves” and “the great deed of slaughtering Lords.” For this reason, when Helchin appeared in a name, people typically chose to omit the word “Helchin” to avoid bringing disaster upon themselves.
About three to four seconds later, Aziz suddenly looked enlightened. He finally remembered this person—mainly because he had killed too many people in his life and couldn’t remember who he had offended. He couldn’t even clearly recall why his uncle hated him. After all, it had been decades ago, and he hadn’t cared much about it.
“I was foolish back then, Uncle,” Aziz said with sincere apology. “I have completely repented. I will accept you, and I will bring those who follow me to accept you as well. The me of the past is not the me of today—I kowtow to you. If you are still not appeased, you can torment me. I am willing to endure it with you. If you are not appeased after a year, torment me for a year; if you are not appeased in a lifetime, torment me for a lifetime.”
His words, though seemingly sincere, subtly set a trap for the other party. The Savior in “Anxi” was a compassionate being who liberated people from hunger and thirst. If the other party displayed too much darkness and cruelty, it would, in turn, make Aziz’s sincerity shine brighter—didn’t those Avalonians preach the spirit of “penitents”? His submission would become part of the other party’s achievements and great deeds, satisfying their vanity. He even hinted that he was willing to endure torment, so there was no need to kill him; moreover, many people followed him, and he was willing to become their strength… thereby greatly reducing the other party’s killing intent.
This seemed to be successful—Ibn turned back, as if to seek instructions from the important figure behind the curtain. That person spoke, slowly asking, “Have you been to Avalon? What do you think of Avalon?”
“Indeed!” Aziz replied without hesitation. “It is a land in slow decay, like a peach pit discarded by the roadside before it is fully eaten. Though it may hold some sweetness, it will ultimately wither in the endless yellow sand.”
“How many people have you killed in Avalon?” the voice asked again.
“Oh, many. Including quite a few important figures, even members of the Royal Family,” Aziz said with pride. “The people of Avalon are not skilled in rituals and curses, much like a horse that cannot jump over a cheval de frise. They can resist many spells but cannot withstand curses, like leeches cannot withstand salt—this shows that the people of Avalon are meant to be our slaves!”
“Do you remember every person you have killed?” the voice asked once more.
“…Forgive my bluntness, great Savior. That is asking a bit too much.” Aziz was not lying, but he was deflecting, his words revealing unconcealed jealousy and hatred. “The people there are lazy, decadent, and foolish, yet they occupy fertile land and clear springs. Looking around, I believe everyone deserves to die, and I wouldn’t bother remembering their names and faces—rather than work, I’d call it a sacred mission…”
The next moment, the dragon beast suddenly went berserk! It let out a fierce roar, its scythe-like claws lashing out at Aziz. A halo suddenly lit up on Aziz’s belt, deflecting the Indigo King’s fierce assault with a clang; then, the golden coin on his head also dimmed. A powerful curse struck his mind, and the defensive spiritual lights emanating from his equipment extinguished one by one. Aziz scrambled to his feet, preparing to teleport away. But at that moment, a dagger pierced him from behind.
…Why did the other defenses not trigger?! They should work against anyone’s attack—
Aziz, enduring the pain, turned back in shock, only to find another “Aziz” behind him! No wonder his equipment hadn’t reacted… it was his “own self” attacking him! It was pitch-black, shrouded in shadow, yet faintly discernible as an identical face to his own. Its eyes were scarlet, and it grinned, revealing a malicious smile. And behind it, an extremely strange and terrifying shadow was cast—its shadow condensed into a black crow. The giant crow-like shadow on the ground, with the same scarlet pupils as the figure, gazed at him coldly. He felt increasing pain in his lower back and tried to touch his shoes to escape—but that “Aziz” seemed to know him inside out and cast a leg-binding curse at him—the equipment that could reflect malevolent curses was now inexplicably ineffective, his legs bound together by immense force, unable to move a muscle.
It leaned close to his ear and whispered a secret that only Aziz knew—”You killed Aziz to take his place… then I will kill Aziz to take his place.” Saying this, the Fallen Shadow·Aziz bared an ugly smile and pressed its face against his: “This is also a ritual… it’s fair, isn’t it?” It toyed with the dagger in its hand. Aziz suddenly realized that it was the very dagger he had used when he killed the real “Aziz” for the first time.
“You bastard…” In the dizziness of blood loss and paralysis, Aziz realized for the first time… that he had such a disgusting smile when he laughed. He was utterly unable to cast spells; the dagger he had long abandoned in the yellow sand seemed to have bound him into a helpless child. Just like the real “Aziz.” He experienced what that child must have felt at the time. Like being claimed by belated vengeful spirits.
“…Why?” Aziz suddenly turned his head to look at the carriage, finally realizing who had killed him. Only the Savior could have done this! But he didn’t even know why he was dying—such intense grievance, pain, and suffocation coiled around his heart. He could accept death… or rather, he had long been prepared for it. Whether it was revenge, retribution, or the displeasure of a superior, it was all merely “failure.” The victor takes all, and the loser suffers; this was deserved. But he absolutely refused to die in such a confused and laughable manner… it would make all the resolutions and sacrifices of his past life a joke. Why? Where had he spoken wrong? Where had it gone wrong?
“Why…?” Aziz asked unwillingly. The Fallen Shadow had already merged with half of his body; half of his face had melted like liquid, as if corroded by strong acid. But Eivass was resolute in not answering his question. “Why…” His consciousness gradually faded, but his twisted soul had no chance to enter the Origin River—instead, it was dissolved and assimilated by the Fallen Shadow. His corpse let out a hysterical shriek in intense distortion, his mortal body gradually transforming into a demon. The next moment, the created Fallen Shadow, which had replicated his abilities and memories, was also melted by that power.
“M-Master, I am your Power… I am your subordinate…” It cried out in terror. “I can fully become your power… Please… don’t—” Half of its face was Aziz, and half was a not-yet-formed demon.
“It’s disgusting to keep,” Eivass finally spoke, softly replying, “So no more.” He toyed with Viness’s card in his hand, sitting expressionlessly behind the table. The Night Demon materialized beside Eivass, embracing him and offering silent comfort. The next instant, Fallen Shadow·Aziz also dissolved with a scream.
“The sin of greed, the sin of envy… profound sins, enough to become an Upper Demon.” Viness slowly looked at the filth in Aziz’s soul, then at Eivass. “Master, what kind of demon do you want him to become?”
“No need… just a Mirror Demon.” After a moment of silence, Eivass slowly said, “Perhaps a lifetime imprisonment in a mirror where he can see no one… for someone who always stares so intently at others’ lives, this would be a fitting punishment.”
