“The wound on your body... it's quite distinctive.” A voice echoed in the dark corridor. The speaker was slightly hunched, appearing somewhat weary, yet he exuded a sense of presence as heavy as a thousand pounds.
“I’m surprised to see you back alive. I was originally planning to go and examine your corpse. When I was young, my first job was actually working as a coroner,” the withered old man said with a mirthless smile.
“Forbidden blood magic. One strike... and it nearly killed me. In the end, that poison had almost no effect at all.” The wounded man removed his armor, which had been struck by a heavy slash. This piece of light armor was crafted from a god's breastbone, but it seemed unable to withstand the full force of that move. Beneath the cracks, a long, narrow wound marked the man’s right chest. Blood-red magic tore at his flesh, subjecting him to continuous torment.
“Truly overbearing... more powerful than anyone I’ve ever seen.” The withered old man ran his fingers over the wound. The scarlet power seemed less frantic now, gradually beginning to fade, as if the owner of this energy no longer intended to continue torturing the assassin.
“Powerful is only right... strength is an inevitability, while weakness is an original sin from which there is no escape,” the aged man remarked.
“But logically speaking, the poison should have had some effect... I suspect there might be another reason. Or perhaps she deliberately spared your life?” The man stroked his chin, appearing to be in a particularly good mood. “She is a clever person. She is an overbearing person. She is... heh.”
“She definitely doesn't hold a grudge against you. Whether you stay or seek your freedom, the choice is yours.” The aged man finally seemed to reach his destination. He let out a long sigh, as if he had enjoyed himself enough for now and was starting to feel the weight of his exhaustion.
“And you? You’ve decided to just give up like this?” the man asked as he redressed. The wound on his right chest was almost completely healed. “We’ve traveled such a long road with great difficulty. Are you truly willing to accept such an end to your lifelong wanderings?”
The wounded man, healing his injuries, leaned against the window. Following the faint light, he peered at the moonlight—serene yet seemingly tinged with a hint of clamor. For some reason, he found himself hating this quiet night where everything seemed to have stopped growing. It was as if no life could peacefully endure such a silent night.
“That’s right, I’ve come to terms with it. So this time, I only brought you and that traitor I’ve been watching for a long time.” The aged man stood before the window, staring directly at the moon. “If I didn’t do this, everything might truly reach its end in the end.”
“Who will strike the blow? Who dares to strike the blow?”
“Anyone but her.”
“Are you satisfied with this?”
“The slaying of a king must always end in blood.”
“They might be able to watch it happen, but I cannot...”
“Then blindfold yourself so you see nothing.”
“............”
...
“Ha, ha, ha-ha-ha!” Li Yue coughed up blood on the bed. A pale, ferocious smile stretched across her face. She dragged her mangled body—little more than a corpse now—across the floor toward the window, leaving a long trail of blood that flowed from her thighs down to her ankles.
She pushed the window open. The moon before her did not seem like the moon she once knew. It was incredibly dim, yet it resembled someone’s grin, split all the way to the ears, mocking this world where all things grew wildly only to be destroyed in an instant.
“I... I...” Li Yue raised a hand, examining it closely. She turned toward a full-length mirror nearby, which reflected her shattered, tottering form.
“Who am I... for what... am I?” She stared at herself in the mirror. Her physical form began to flicker continuously between her past and present selves. Li Yue frowned slightly. For a fleeting moment, she could almost see that cold, murderous version of herself standing right before her.
“No image from ten thousand years ago, eh? You ‘madness’ of the Old Days... it seems you still don't understand me well enough. The memories in their minds and souls have ultimately shattered to the point where even you cannot glimpse them.” Li Yue casually flicked a scarlet blood crystal, shattering the bronze mirror. As the shards scattered across the floor, Li Yue felt her own body and soul reaching the brink of collapse. She took a deep breath as the death abyss began to slowly envelop her from her feet upward.
One by one, the stars in the sky began to extinguish, as if they were merely fireflies used to decorate the boundless dark night, lit and snuffed out at a whim. The world was just that small; those glowing lights were nothing more than massive, dissipating magic crystals, saturated with the magical remains left behind by countless gods. It was just that no one possessed the power to ascend to such a high point in the highest heaven.
Once, the astral realm held gods and the Divine Realm where they resided. Now, these things only existed in fairy tales, used to coax restless children to sleep, allowing them to travel in their dreams to a star realm filled with art and beautiful imagination.
“The turning point of fate is not today.” Li Yue’s hand emerged from the death abyss. She pressed the silver pocket watch that Clo had hidden within her death abyss, and for a fleeting moment, the laws of the world fell under her control.
“Not today, my friends... not today.” Li Yue threw open the gates of the Underworld. The boundary between life and death was shattered in an instant. An invisible doorway seemed to manifest in the world—not in a conventional form, but as a concept. It could be the red curtain of a stage yet to open, a platter yet to be revealed, or the silent bottom of a lake...
The power of death descended upon the world for a heartbeat. This time, it was not a mere domain; it merged entirely with this world. This was what was known as “Witnessing Death.”
“Die...” Li Yue swung a heavy blow with her sword toward the moon. After the colors of the world vanished for a split second, the silver pocket watch began to tick once more. Color was restored to the world; the stripped-away sound, thought, life, and fate all returned simultaneously.
The only change was the moon in the sky—now split by a massive scarlet slash, it had lost its luster.
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