Chapter 301: The Puppeteer's Jest

  "But why did he take that path after all? What was he doing taking the sword hilt to Moriel? That path was one Archibald specially left for the acting Guild Master who had finished practicing the Meditations on Truth."

  "I don't know, and I can't be bothered to guess. I only know that the one who will lift The Black Star has truly appeared, and our road has finally come to an end. This is the fate of those of us who guard destiny. We can only watch, wait, and then accept our fate." Valthor answered lightly, his voice as dry as ever, without joy or sorrow. "That is why I wanted to come up here and take a look now."

  Stephen fell silent. The two Necromancers gazed together at The Black Star on the altar. The howling, fierce wind was as violent as ever, and the two old men stood like two statues at the pinnacle of this mountain of death.

  The Necromancer Guild was established by Archibald to guard this, and he also founded Necromancy based on the aura of this divine artifact. The Necromancer Guild, Necromancy, and the Necromancers—all exist because of this sword.

  "What Lord Archibald said... is it truly an irresistible fate?" After some time, Stephen spoke.

  Valthor's brow, which had few eyebrows left to begin with, furrowed. His gaze, which had been fixed on The Black Star, turned to look at Stephen. He said lightly, "You shouldn't be like Aiden and Nimbus, those foolish clowns who don't know their place. And you shouldn't have Sandro's impulsive and reckless personality. Can it be that even you cannot face fate head-on?"

  "It's not that I don't dare to face it. At our age and station, what is there left to fear?" Stephen said lightly. After being dazed for only a short moment, his eyes were still clear and agile. "It's just that I have my doubts."

  "Doubts?"

  Stephen did not answer aloud. Diya Valley was founded by him, Necromancy was invented by this magical genius, and everything about the Necromancers was created by him. For a Necromancer to doubt Archibald was as unthinkable as a person in the Church doubting the Lord in the heavens.

  But a believer is not necessarily pious, and piety is not necessarily sincere. Valthor understood that although Necromancers were clear and lofty, their minds were not so easily numbed by any belief or prophecy. He slowly said, "Even if you have doubts, it's useless. When he picked up the sword hilt and his aura merged with the one within it, the aura emanating from his body resonated with the brand of The Black Star within me. I almost couldn't resist the urge to kneel before him."

  "It was only then that I understood. Once he truly lifts The Black Star, whether we are willing or not, the brand of The Black Star left within our bodies will automatically make us submit to him, just as the Dread Knights I create are controlled by my will. When we became Necromancers, accepted the brand of The Black Star, and gained the right to reside in The Shadowspire Peaks and Diya Valley, we had long since accepted our own fate. This is a fact. You don't need to doubt it."

  "So that's how it is... So this submission is not a piece of advice or a rule, but an irresistible fact." Stephen gave a bitter smile, but then shook his head and continued. "But that's not what I'm doubting. I'm doubting Lord Archibald. Perhaps not everything is within Lord Archibald's expectations."

  "Oh? How so?"

  "At the very least, that path, which was supposed to be walked by the acting Guild Master, was taken by that kid. Lord Archibald did not anticipate this. Or perhaps, he didn't anticipate the appearance of this kid."

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  Valthor was silent for a moment, then nodded: "Lord Archibald is just a man, not a god. He had no reason to be able to predict everything five hundred years from now."

  "But it is precisely this unexpected kid who has lifted The Black Star... and walked a path that was not prepared for him..."

  Valthor did not speak nor show any reaction, quietly listening to Stephen's words.

  "Most importantly, I truly don't quite understand what Lord Archibald really wants. He left behind the Meditations on Truth, the Robe of the Lich Lord, and also prophesied that the one who pulls out The Black Star will become a Lich King... but he never seems to have said that he wanted the Necromancers to pull out The Black Star."

  "Being clear and lofty is originally about being without desire. A true Necromancer would not try to become some Lich King. Only idiots like Aiden, or madmen like Vedenina, would think of it. Although in the past five hundred years, there have been no shortage of such idiots and madmen, they all died in the end, barely managing to practice the Meditations on Truth." Valthor said lightly. He squinted his eyes, as if recalling something. He smiled. "Heh heh, decades ago, I almost went mad myself..."

  "Teacher, that path you guard, the one to Moriel, there is actually more than one way to see the Black Dragon. Almost every generation of acting Guild Master goes to inspect the seal. Why can an acting Guild Master who has mastered the Meditations on Truth take that path?"

  Valthor glanced at him and said lightly, "I didn't expect you to be such a restless one. Is it meaningful to delve so deeply into this?"

  "I'm just curious." Stephen gave a slight smile.

  "After a trip to the Far East, I find that you have some strange things in your head."

  Stephen still smiled, without speaking.

  "You won't have to be curious for much longer. That kid should have reached Moriel by now. What must happen, will happen. We just have to watch quietly."

  "Hmm... perhaps." Stephen nodded, looked at the sword body standing in the cluster of black mist, and said no more. After a long while, he turned and walked back the way he came.

  The steps made of countless obsidian, like a thin thread, stretched down the huge mountain from the peak to the foot. Stephen's strides were large, and he soon became a small, inconspicuous dot on this thin line.

  "The acting Guild Master of the Necromancer Guild broke the hilt of The Black Star? And he actually guided you to bring the hilt of The Black Star to me? What's wrong with Archibald's descendants? Five hundred years doesn't seem that long. Only the smartest and most talented people can enter the Necromancer Guild, and he said they would remain clear and lofty. What's wrong with all of them? To let the hilt fall into someone else's hands, what a disgrace." Moriel looked at Ethan, her smile like that of an adult seeing a child who doesn't know any better do something utterly ridiculous. Her laughter was as loud as if a hundred elephants were trumpeting at once, and Ethan almost couldn't resist covering his ears.

  He only felt dizzy, not just from the immense laughter. Moriel's reaction, the reason for her laughter, her words—all of it made the already confused Ethan even more lost in a fog.

  "A dragon's nature, and the grudge from Archibald's seal, so I will definitely accept The Black Star. Is that what they all think? Do they understand that thing, or do I? How much do they know about the matters between Archibald and me? They look upon him as an unreachable deity, why can't they imagine that he would also play some tricks?" A mocking quality began to creep into Moriel's laughter. Her sharp, majestic, and strange face moved close to Ethan's, and she asked, word by word, "And what about you? How much do you know? The great young man who wants to save the world and quell the conflicts."

  Ethan did not speak. He didn't know what to say; he didn't even know what he should be thinking. He felt that his head was in no better state than a ball of paste.

  Aunt El hadn't deceived him; it was just that Aunt El was wrong. Although he still didn't know what was really going on, he already knew that Moriel's was definitely not the end where he could solve everything as he had expected.

  All his efforts and hopes from the very beginning were but an illusion. Even the anger he felt when Lancelot took the sword hilt now seemed as ridiculous as a puppet show.

  "An interesting human, truly interesting. You self-righteous little insects..." Moriel was still laughing, and the huge sound waves emanated from her small body like an angry tide, striking Ethan's ears, rushing into his heart, and hitting against the psychological defenses he had been suppressing.

  "Laugh your damn head off, shut up." Ethan suddenly roared. His eyes were already bloodshot, staring fixedly at the red-haired woman before him. Extreme disappointment, confusion, and the feeling of being toyed with and despised were like basins of oil poured onto the anger he had been suppressing, finally causing it to erupt.

  Moriel did indeed shut up immediately. Her laughter stopped. Looking at Ethan, she asked, word by word, "If I don't shut up, what can you do about it?"

  Ethan was silent. He truly couldn't do anything.

  "Being able to walk here means you're not too stupid. You should be able to understand that when I said it's useless to kill you, it doesn't mean I can't kill you." There was still no killing intent on Moriel's body, just like when she killed those Minotaurs.

  Ethan took a deep breath, pressing back the anger that had just been vented, and said, "I only know that if I hadn't come, or if I had come but not acted, you would have been dead long ago."

  "You mean I should be grateful?" Moriel smiled, her smile returning to that kind that held not a shred of goodwill. "Imposing human morals and values on other creatures is the most self-righteous thing about humans."

  "Didn't you say you would thank me?" Ethan replied with difficulty.