Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

Lyle raised a question.

"As I understand it, concepts are not so easy to control. Once a concept is established and begins to operate, it is difficult for anyone to stop it. Even the one who formulated the concept will be driven or even controlled by this enhanced power. But there is no sense of constraint similar to 'justice' around Mr. Darkness. Concepts that do not exist in people's hearts do not exist."

Elian clasped her hands together, the light in them dimming into shadows. The Divergent controlled her power, as if through this she could observe the First Divergent.

"Perhaps His Majesty George's concept has always existed, but it has never been implemented. His laws have strict activation conditions."

Lyle thought of the Salvation Archives he had once visited, and he was struck by the title.

"The Salvation Society refers to Mr. Darkness as..."

"【Angel of Vengeance】".

Chapter 798 The Dark Uses of Revenge

"We experience negative emotional responses when we lose something, and the more we cherish something, the more painful it is to lose it. The squeezed heart will burst forth with more power, and the fire of revenge will burn fiercely. The Fire Angel absorbed this emotion, and from the darkness, he extracted the concept of 'revenge'."

Elian placed her hands flat on her lap and shifted her gaze from Lyle's face to the stained glass window.

"If you understand His Majesty Saint George's life, it's not hard to understand his mental state. He had a strange and obsessive protectiveness towards his legion. It wasn't all-encompassing protection, but rather guarding the line between life and death. The Fire Angels behaved eccentrically, extravagantly, and rebelliously. Yet, his legion never suffered any casualties. Perhaps it was this personality of being willing to strip away his own power to protect his subordinates that made His Majesty George abhor the pain of separation by death."

"The concept of [Revenge] has not been activated, so the conditions for its execution are quite clear. For Mr. Darkness, who has now lost almost everything, what is there that he has not lost?"

"The condition for activating [Revenge] is the death of a member under George Edmond's command."

"Every knight who falls drives the fallen angels even more mad."

"According to His Majesty Raymond's speculation, the effect of the [Revenge] concept is that with the death of personnel, the strength of the survivors will be greatly enhanced, especially their attack power. Lyle, His Majesty George's actions are not difficult to understand; the Literary Society should fall within the scope of his legion."

Lyle suddenly remembered how, every time the literary club clashed with Mr. Raymond, the affected acting of the fallen members always provoked Mr. Dark's childish reaction. As a result, his power was also molded into a theatrical effect. He could truly draw power from his fallen subordinates.

"So, Mr. Darkness invited me to join the literary society because he wanted to use me as a backup hidden energy source." How dark.

“No, that’s what normal people do. But His Majesty Saint George… Amen.” Elian clasped her hands together in devout repentance, and Lyle had already understood her meaning.

The absolute protectiveness of Mr. Darkness, the execution mechanism of the concept of "revenge," the thought process of the president of the literature club, Mr. Raymond's worries, the current situation of the awakening of the sleepers... all sorts of chaotic thoughts intertwined, yet Lyle managed to pull out clear clues from this tangled ball of yarn.

"A concept that will be executed as long as there are casualties, a concept that does not completely depend on the host..." Lyle opened his mouth wide and answered in unison with Elian.

He will begin his revenge with his own death.

"Mr. Darkness is preparing to sacrifice himself to strengthen the entire legion!"

Lyle inwardly cursed, instinctively wanting to deny his own words the very next second. Self-sacrifice? Was this even a human conceived of? He looked at Elian, hoping the nun would immediately refute his theory.

But Elian said quietly, "Sacrifice is one of the noblest virtues."

There's no mistake, the reason that broke Mr. Raymond's defenses was that his brother was once again courting death, not valuing his life, even though it was his own, and he was already dead, a second life.

Lyle felt guilty as he recalled his coldness toward Mr. Darkness.

"He lured you in like a shrewd businessman, not to get anything from you, but to take advantage of you and then share the spoils with you."

A strange feeling, another side of Mr. Darkness, linking virtue and the president of the literary society in everything, this combination rampaged through Lyle's mind, making his hair stand on end, and he continued to ask questions, supporting his thoughts with fragmented values.

"In that case, everything the literary society has done has a deeper meaning. Mr. Dark's attempt to rule over Andrei's various delusions is merely to expand the scope of the concept of 'revenge'."

This time, Elian gave Lyle the denial he wanted.

"No, that's not it. His Majesty George's chosen subordinates were not those included in the scope of the authorities. His Majesty George only cared about the Legion of the Inquisitors and the three Crusader leaders. He didn't have a good impression of the cardinals and the Pope. The brothers that His Majesty George cherished were chosen by himself, and we cannot judge the criteria for his selection."

"Gaining the favor of angels is no easy feat. Under normal circumstances..."

Her eyes held a hidden meaning; Lyle detected at least a mixture of jealousy and pity in them—such murky eyes.

Lyle turned his head and walked slowly toward the chapel door.

"I will help find Mr. Darkness's trail. Although his actions stem from curiosity, I cannot accept forced kindness."

Elian watched Lyle's departing figure, then turned back and began to pray again.

“His Holiness Raymond and the Literary Society are more anxious than we are, so you don’t need to worry too much about that. Lyle, the most important thing is you. Get ready, Holy Son. You are the result of the collaboration of many parties, and you are our trump card.”

Lyle sniffed and left the chapel. Without the holy light, the smell of blood on his robes became strong again.

Even if you say that, I don't know what else I can do.

We don't need to do anything; our ultimate victory is built from the small, everyday moments.

"A bad omen?"

Long time no see, Lyle.

"What does that mean?"

[What you sowed yesterday, you reap today. You've accomplished quite a lot, Lyle. The alliance of liches, the rise of dragons, and the companions we've gathered now—all are choices made from your own heart.]

"But all the research I've done is about improving people's quality of life."

It's okay, they're capable of fighting anyway.

Chapter 799 Above the Black Tide

Water mist drifted into the lush, dense forest. As dusk fell, a cold wind howled through the cave. The stalactite-covered walls had been man-made, and a path along the water led deep into the dark cave. The deeper one went, the heavier the humidity became, until finally, even every breath brought a suffocating sense of disorientation.

Deep within was a cult camp, where sinister cult members were worshipping their noble Lord. Tragically, this time, the Lord answered them.

Black liquid flowed from the eyes and mouth of the sacrifice, slowly dripping down, soon exceeding the total bodily fluids of a normal person. The cultists were shocked by the strange phenomenon before them, and those with some knowledge discovered an astonishingly concentrated magical power within the liquid. In an era suppressed by holy light, such a high concentration of magical power would have been impossible. They ecstatically rushed towards the black water, like fish returning to the ocean, intoxicated by the satisfying cleansing effect of the magic.

"This is a gift from God!"

"This magic, yes, it must come from the past, from the age of gods, before life was even enlightened."

They believe that a distant Lord has descended from the past and is about to pull the entire world back to the past. This ever-expanding black water is the expanding divine realm, the supreme paradise.

The magic, which had yielded no improvement despite constant practice, surged wildly within him, like a spring springing up inside. The cultist scooped up the black water and drank it down, greedily savoring every last bit of divine grace.

God accepted them.

The liquid gained consciousness, defying gravity as it climbed onto the bodies of the believers. Enveloped in the black water, the believers in prayer felt only immense happiness.

"My God! Tom, what a sight you look like!!!" The screams of terror interrupted the worshippers who were enjoying themselves. Tom, whose name was being called, opened his eyes.

He saw hell.

The black liquid clung to the cultist's skin, corroding his pelvis and turning him into a liquid. His muscles were exposed, and the blood-stained muscle fibers writhed like living things. His organs were enveloped in the liquid, as if soaked in viscous honey, and his heart pounded in his softened chest cavity.

He became part of the black water, his lips still unconsciously curving upwards, until his lips melted to reveal his teeth, his eyelids were removed, and his optic nerves hung alone over his eyeballs. Only at the very end did they see the truth.

They lived in this expanding tide, without pain, witnessing each other's horrific screams without causing a ripple. Their vocal cords were assimilated, unable to scream; their eyeballs were assimilated, plunging them into darkness; their spirits were assimilated, ceasing to think. They would not die, for they had become part of the Lord, gaining eternal life.

The Lord accepted everyone.

“This…this is not…the eternity I…wanted…”

The black tide continued to expand silently, engulfing the entire camp in a single color. Small animals, insects, plants, soil, and rocks all assimilated into that single color.

There is no evidence that they ever existed.

The divine realm of the slumbering one surged onto land; the black liquid was an extension of his will, it was alive, it was His outstretched body, and now, He was going to devour everything.

The jungles and valleys disappeared silently, and the first to be disturbed by the fleeing animals were the villages in the wilderness.

The hunters and butchers opened their gates and watched countless animals pass by, crossing under the drying racks, including ferocious beasts like jackals. Yet, they fled alongside the deer, far from their habitat.

The animals' unusual behavior was a sign of impending disaster. Villagers called upon family and friends, seeking security in each other's company, and turned to the elderly village chief for answers and comfort. A courageous farmer ventured out to investigate the ominous signs of impending doom, and there, unmasked black mud appeared, slowly and steadily covering everything on the ground with a thin black film.

Even the bravest among them dared not test the limits of this advance. When their gaze focused on the calm liquid, their souls were struck a heavy blow, witnessing something indescribable horror. Their minds were torn apart, a surge of urge to merge back into the black tide mingled with the primal instinct to flee in terror.

They fled back, like terrified animals, sweating profusely, their eyes darting around, their legs stiff as they ran. They ran to the village like madmen, and the village chief, touching their trembling bodies—trembling even more violently than he, an old and frail man—realized the gravity of the situation. He immediately ordered the entire village to drop everything and leave, organizing a group to run towards the nearest town for help.

Facing away from the direction of the spreading black tide, they strode forward, but after only a few steps, the scene before them was terrifying.

The Kuroshio Current doesn't come in one direction; it's alive, branching out to surround villages, turning human communities into isolated islands with nowhere to retreat.

The five men at the front instantly descended into madness, three of them stepping into the black mud as they ran. Their bodies, like melting candles, ignited the fear in people's hearts.

"No! Run!!!"

"Monster!!! Don't kill me!!!"

They wandered around like headless flies, and in the shoving, two more of them sank into the mud. Their distorted faces dissolved in the black tide, and they saw the surface of the liquid return to calm, like staring into a bottomless abyss.

"Quiet!! Climb to higher ground, quickly climb to the roof!!!"

The old village chief roared as he climbed onto the roof with the help of his wife and children. This was his home, the tallest building in town, with a thatched roof and a grid of wooden frames that could hold many people before it collapsed. Holding his five- or six-year-old granddaughter's hand, the old man stood on the roof, gazing around. The words of encouragement he had prepared were swallowed up by the endless black tide. He lost his words, and held his somewhat frightened granddaughter, speaking his heart.

"It will be alright, Leah, someone will come to rescue us."

Sobbing became the only sound under the sun, and this situation didn't last long before it got worse.

"The black thing is climbing up!!!"

Those who remained sober managed to control their crazed families, but soon they were forced to make a choice. The black mud spread, leaving less and less room to stand; those on the outskirts were swallowed up, and some of the bolder ones who tried to jump onto nearby rooftops fell to their deaths. Some kicked their wives off the building, others abandoned their children.

Above the abyss lies hell.

Soon, the decision was in the old man's hands. His son, exhausted from stopping the young men trying to seize the high ground, looked into his eyes and reached out his hand to the boy's broad back.

Someone was faster than him; his wife, Hannah, flew like a light bird to Rex, her son, kissed his cheek, and leaped down at Leah's scream.

Rex turned back, and the hunched old man's tears fell into his long, white beard. Hannah flew away, leaving behind a space that brought the father and son closer together.

"I'm so sorry, Father."

"No, I'm the one who should apologize."

He had no intention of letting them go.

Nasithan, the daughter of the timid herbalist, came to the old man and opened her arms, asking him for her daughter.

Mother and daughter shared the same beautiful green eyes; both were lovely, one big and one small. Nastan embraced Leah tightly and kissed her beloved husband at Rex's call. She returned to the old man, setting down her tearful granddaughter, who coughed and cried, but Nastan did not pat her back.

"Father..."

The call seemed to awaken the old man's former dignified demeanor; he straightened his back like a mighty warrior, and the nasal sound he uttered made Nasithan shrink back.

"Lia doesn't need to be returned to me. I don't like this little crybaby."

He walked down from the thatched roof with his head held high, as if stepping down from his throne. He didn't look at his son and daughter-in-law, and his little granddaughter's tear-blurred face clearly showed that she couldn't see her own reflection.