Chapter 330: The World Is Already Dead
"Actually, the situation isn't quite as simple as I made it out to be."
After a while spent quietly admiring the sea-view above, Sigurd casually summoned a stove, boiling water, tea set, and some snacks into the center of the altar.
Fu Hua naturally took her place beside him and began rinsing the teaware. Her movements were fluid and practiced, and the serene ispellcaster of her steeping tea made her seem like a figure from a delicate, ancient painting.
The austere, distant air around Sigurd faded somewhat. With a more relaxed, homely ease, he continued to explain at his own pace:
"The survival of a world bubble is indeed directly linked to the Anchor who fuses with the world core. But in a true emergency, that fusion can technically be undone. It's just that the risks involved are… considerable."
"That said, once a connection to an Imaginary Tree branch is established, the world bubble stops passively losing its sustaining elements and begins actively drawing them in instead. Bit by bit, it'll stabilize."
Shhh…
As the hot water poured gently into the pot, a few strands of Fu Hua's long hair slipped over her cheek, swaying slightly with her movements—quiet, gentle, and beautiful.
She didn't look up, but spoke clearly and calmly:
"In other words, even in the worst-case scenario—the Anchor dying—the world bubble doesn't necessarily collapse."
"And once the Anchor is in place, the bubble's lifespan begins to extend. Even if your civilization loses the war and falls from the Imaginary Tree, this world still benefits in a limited way."
"So overall, the risks aren't quite as dire as you initially said, and the rewards aren't as black-and-white as 'eternal survival or absolute ruin.' There's a high probability of some benefit regardless, yes?"
"More or less."
"Then why paint it in such extremes when you spoke to Kongming? Were you forcing them to make a choice under pressure?"
Fu Hua held the freshly steeped tea with both hands and offered it to Sigurd. She finally looked up, a soft and elegant smile gracing her lips.
Sigurd accepted the cup and took a light sip. After a brief pause, he answered thoughtfully:
"No matter the fine print, this is still a decision that gambles with the fate of a world. Life or death hangs in the balance."
|They must approach it with full awareness of the weight of that choice—with the resolve to stake everything on it. I merely laid the risk out in the harshest terms possible."
"If they, if this world, cannot muster the resolve to risk everything for the future—then why should we be the ones to carry the burden for them? I wanted to make it crystal clear that if they choose, they bear the consequences."
"Even in the worst case, they mustn't blame the Anchor. You and I already carry the responsibility for our own world."
"If we also take on another unrelated world's fate… tell me, Fu Hua—how is that fair to us?"
"…But it's still a world we're talking about."
"So what?" Sigurd's voice remained calm and even.
"If taking responsibility for a world that's not our own means adding guilt and emotional burden, I'd rather walk away entirely."
"Fu Hua, you and I have no obligation to be tentative in the war our civilization is about to face, just because of this world's fate."
"They choose, they bear the outcome. We only offer the opportunity. Keep that boundary clear."
He spoke with a clarity that silenced the room again.
Fu Hua poured tea into her own cup, then nodded slowly.
"I understand what you mean now. You're drawing a clear line of responsibility."
"We're only giving them a chance—nothing more. The final outcome isn't ours to bear."
"As cruel as that sounds… this isn't our world. And with the war ahead being what it is, we simply don't have the strength to carry any more weight."
"Exactly. If they choose to create an Anchor—and if that Anchor happens to be you—then I want you to remember this:
This isn't your responsibility. Don't add this world's burden onto your back."
Fu Hua lifted her cup and gave him an exasperated smile.
"So after all that, you're worried about me? Afraid I'll get crushed by guilt?"
She shook her head in disbelief—half amused, half touched.
But beneath the humor, Sigurd's concern warmed her heart.
How to describe it... it felt like the man before her had just placed her feelings above an entire world.
For Fu Hua, this was something she had never once experienced in all her long years—as a girl.
She raised her teacup and sipped slowly, using the motion to hide the sudden warmth blooming across her cheeks.
Smack!
A sharp sound broke the tranquility—Senti slapped her hand down on the table, puffing her cheeks and leaning her face between the two seated figures.
"Hey! Where's my tea?! Did you two just forget about me!?"
Fu Hua froze mid-sip, caught red-handed.
"Ah… um, sorry, really—right away…"
She forced an awkward smile and quickly poured tea for the long-ignored Senti.
"Hmph! You really forgot me! Old Timer, I'm mad at you now!"
"Senti, wait, let me explain…"
Fu Hua scrambled to placate her, but no matter how she wracked her brain, she couldn't seem to find anything nice enough to say. After a lot of stammering, her efforts proved mostly ineffective.
Meanwhile, Sigurd simply sat back and watched the scene unfold, fanning himself idly as he took another sip of tea.
"Mmm. Good tea," he remarked lightly, a rare flicker of amusement surfacing in the depths of his tranquil, pond-like eyes.
. . . . . . . . . .
Imperial Capital. Nightfall. Stars ablaze across the sky.
"Lady Kongming, all the spellcasters you requested have been deployed as instructed. So… what exactly do you plan to do?"
On a tall tower within the palace—built specifically for astrology and magical rites—Durandal stood beside Zhuge Kongming on the ceremonial platform, clearly confused.
The evening wind stirred the bright yellow cloak draped over her shoulders, its embroidered red dragon patterns whispering of her new and elevated status.
"Your Majesty, there's no need to call me Lady anymore. You're the highest authority now."
"…I'm not used to it yet. But you've served as a pillar of the nation—such respect is well deserved. Please don't mind me."
"Besides, I only took the throne because I had no other choice. If I prove unfit for the position, I'll step down when the time comes."
"We'll discuss that later. For now, let me thank Your Majesty for your trust."
"To deploy so many spellcasters at my command—few emperors would dare take such a risk. After all, what if I was secretly trying to curse the monarch and steal the nation's fate?"
"You jest. We didn't interact much during the late emperor's reign, but I've always known you were a woman of great wisdom. And during your cooperation with my father, I saw firsthand your insight and ability. So if you insist on divining this fate so urgently, I believe you must have a reason."
Durandal spoke with upright dignity, her gaze steady and unwavering as she looked to Zhuge Kongming—without the slightest trace of doubt.
Wait, you're wondering who her "father" is?
Why, it's none other than His Majesty Sigurd, of course.
And why does she call him "father"?
Well, that's simple. Sigurd seized the throne from Kongming's family because no one could stop him. Once the central systems recognized his rule, the old regime's political structure was entirely replaced. Thus, Sigurd's emperorship was fully legitimized.
But Durandal didn't have the means to stage such a coup herself. So when she inherited Sigurd's throne, she had to do so in accordance with the lineage of his "imperial household."
In short: by succeeding Sigurd, Durandal was, by the customs of this feudal society, considered Sigurd's daughter.
Of course, if you want to go by age or family role, you could call her his imperial younger sister or imperial sibling.
But in order to emphasize Sigurd's supreme majesty, Durandal—quite dutifully—lowered her seniority and respectfully refers to him as Father.
Feudal royal lineage logic—it's a thing around here. Best just roll with it.
Back on Zhuge Kongming's side—
She felt nothing but gratitude for Durandal's earnest sincerity. Once again, she silently praised Sigurd's discernment.
Indeed, within the entire Empire, there was no one more trustworthy, more straightforward, more worthy of loyalty than Durandal. With her on the throne, the hearts of the people would remain steady and united.
"The appointed time has come! With the power of the court at my command, and the heavens aligned—Zhoutian Yan Formation, arise!"
As the moon reached its zenith in the clear, cloudless night sky, Zhuge Kongming swept her spare feather fan through the air.
A mighty gust erupted from flat ground, igniting a vast and complex formation inscribed beneath her feet. With her other hand, she pressed gently into the air above the array and slowly closed her eyes.
"Hm?"
Standing just beyond the formation, Durandal suddenly furrowed her brows.
Her martial senses had detected it—a vast, heavy, ancient aura, incomprehensibly grand in scale.
At the same time, Zhuge Kongming's complexion rapidly turned pale.
The hand pressing down on the array began to tremble uncontrollably.
It was then that Rita appeared silently, and Kiana—munching on a stick of candied hawthorn—walked up beside her. Both stood behind Durandal, wordlessly, waiting for the result.
"Pfft—!"
After what felt like an eternity—but was only a short while—Kongming suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood.
She staggered backward, then collapsed, her body limp and drained of all strength.
"Kongming!" ×3
Three voices cried out in unison.
And of the three, it was Durandal—swiftest in martial prowess—who dashed into the array first and caught the frail young girl in her arms.
Seeing the expressions of worry and alarm on the other two's faces, Zhuge Kongming let out a bitter, wry laugh, her lips bloodstained and trembling.
"Ha… Just as I thought. It's all true."
"What exactly did you see?"
Durandal asked, her tone tight with urgency.
Zhuge Kongming gave a faint, sorrowful sigh. Her trembling hand slowly raised the feather fan, pointing weakly at the moon high in the sky.
"The stars are fake… Even that blazing sun is a lie. The farthest place we can reach… is only as far as the moon itself. We've been trapped—sealed—in this narrow little heaven and earth…"
"The vast lands, the Nine Realms, the myriad races and peoples… All just illusions. Dreams within a dream…"
"…The world—is already dead."
The final five words dropped like a guillotine blade.
With her declaration complete, Zhuge Kongming's consciousness snapped.
Her spiritual will utterly exhausted, she fainted in Durandal's arms.
The three standing there, witnessing the blood at the corner of her mouth and the deathly pallor of her face—fell into total silence.
The night wind continued to blow gently.
But now, all three of them… felt cold.
Bone-deep, soul-chilling cold.
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