Epilogue: Dust of History

  Chapter 356: I Am Not Dust (Part 1)

  The vast world, the teeming masses. If you lack the strength to stand at the pinnacle of the world, or at least among its upper echelons, then you are insignificant, humble, and unworthy of mention.

  No matter how beautiful the emotions, how grand the dreams, or how profound the meaning of life, no matter their great value, they are all meaningless when compared to an existence that is stronger and loftier than you. Just like the countless insects eaten by birds every day, or the countless poultry eaten by men, in this world you are like a speck of dust, negligible. Needless to say, no one will remember you. You will not hold a place in people's memories, their emotions, or their life's goals. Even while alive, you are drowned out by countless peers, waiting to be silently devoured by a power greater than your own. Then, the world continues to turn, no different with you or without you.

  Rodhart could no longer clearly remember where or when this belief originated. Perhaps it was after coming to the imperial capital and following Duke Mrak, being influenced by what he saw and heard. Perhaps it was after that incident in his hometown. Or maybe it was even earlier, an innate instinct that had lurked in the depths of his soul since childhood. His childhood dream of becoming a hero and upholding justice perhaps also stemmed from this instinct. As time went on and he experienced more, this belief only grew stronger, until he fused all his emotions and soul into it.

  It wasn't that he hadn't experienced friendship or love. In fact, he had struggled many times, and on several occasions, had almost given up on this ideal. Occasionally, when he reflected quietly, the status and prospects he possessed at his age were already what countless people dreamed of. But these thoughts were fleeting. In the end, the power of that belief made him abandon everything else.

  But the world does not change for your desires just because they are strong, nor for your beliefs just because they are persistent. He failed. Although he was unreconciled and unwilling to give up, even after losing love, friendship, and his future, he bet his life to make a final struggle and effort when he finally encountered the Necromancer in The Shadowspire Peaks. In a trance, it seemed he saw the door from his dreams finally crack open for his efforts and his beliefs.

  But the result that awaited him was to become someone else's experimental material. Trash. An object. Dust. Worse than an insect. This was the reality before him. He wanted to go mad, but couldn't. He wanted to die, but he no longer knew if he could even be considered alive.

  When the Archangel's Decapitating Greatsword split his body in two, the surging White Magic not only dispelled the Necromantic power within his body but also washed away the seal Valthor had placed in his mind completely. Valthor had not had time to erase his memories and thoughts before giving him to Ethan, because this Necromantic seal was complex and subtle, and no one but Valthor himself could break it. But the magic contained in the Archangel's sword was the condensed thought-power of The Radiant Citadel over hundreds of years, something that had long since transcended the realm of human capability. And so, he awoke.

  He was awake, but there was not a trace of strength left in his body. He just lay there quietly, like a pile of trash. Several priests had come to check on him, flipping him over like a slab of pork, inspecting and commenting, before finally moving him here. Listening to Inham and Stephen discussing how to use him as material.

  He could only listen. He couldn't even move his eyes. But he was no longer too agitated. No matter who it is, under such long-term mental torture where one cannot escape, go mad, or die, if one's will is not incredibly strong, one can only become incredibly numb.

  "If I have another chance, if I have another chance, if I have another chance, give me one more chance, one chance if you give me a chance, one chance, one chance, if I..." For dozens of days, his intermittent thoughts were all composed of this repeated phrase. Although he knew such a chance was truly impossible, he had nothing but this constant repetition. Even he himself seemed like a monster constructed from this illusory thought.

  But just like when the Archangel appeared that day, when the immense White Magic rippled through the air once more, he suddenly felt that he could move. The ubiquitous power of Universal Redemption that filled The Radiant Citadel also poured into his body. Although of a completely different nature from Necromancy, this vast and pure magical energy was still enough to allow him to move his body slightly.

  Only slightly, after all. This body was created with Necromancy, so at most, he could manage small movements like lifting a hand. But this was enough, because at that moment, he heard that Necromancer say a sentence to himself.

  Whether it was the voice, full of dreams, as he listened to the elders tell heroic tales in his childhood; the words Ethan spoke when he found him in the Bracada inn; the voice, redolent with power, as he accepted the duke's appointment in the imperial capital of Ainfast; or the moans of the queen beneath his body... none of the pleasant sounds he had heard in his entire life were as moving, as pleasant to the heart, or as stirring to the soul as that one murmur from the gaunt Necromancer.

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  "There is a way." Rodhart used all the strength he could muster to poke his fingers into his own throat, tearing off a piece of flesh and holding it across his throat, then spoke. Although his strength was weak, he could control every muscle and every inch of this body with a precision more subtle than an insect's movements. The vocal cords were not a very complex organ, and with his control over his own body, making one was not difficult.

  "Who?" Stephen jumped as if he had been stabbed when he heard the voice.

  "It's me," Rodhart replied in a very awkward voice.

  "You?" Stephen frowned, looking at the half-"person" on the ground. He understood what was going on after a closer look. "Valthor actually made you into a Death Knight without cleaning out your head properly... For Universal Redemption to be able to move you, you're lucky..." His eyes narrowed slightly. This was clearly someone who knew too much, but also someone who might be useful. "What did you just say?"

  "I said, I have a way," Rodhart said in his temporarily created, extremely strange voice. "I have a way to make him your loyal subordinate..."

  "What way is that?"

  Stephen was quite interested in this half-Death Knight that still possessed its own thoughts. Although Universal Redemption had begun, he didn't mind waiting a little longer. "But my time is limited. You have one minute."

  "It's simple. Let me become him. Not use me for his parts, but give his parts to me. Give me his face. I'll be your subordinate."

  "Fifty seconds," Stephen said flatly.

  "You can just say that during the procedure, you suddenly discovered a way to heal the damage to his mind and went ahead and treated him. This Universal Redemption magic is not something one sees often. As long as you find a suitable excuse, you can say you damaged the memory part during the treatment. If I'm careful, he'll never find out. Besides, neither I nor the other Death Knight have vocal cords, so we can't speak. This makes the chance of exposing the flaw even smaller."

  Stephen's eyes flickered with surprise, and he nodded. He had to admit it was somewhat interesting. Although the risk was small, it wasn't non-existent. "Thirty seconds."

  "You can place a magical rune in my head. That way, you can be completely sure I won't betray you."

  Stephen's eyes not only lit up but also narrowed slightly, with a hint of a smile in them. He carefully scrutinized Rodhart's scarred, patchwork face, thought for a moment, and said, "Ten seconds."

  Rodhart paused, then continued in a deep voice, "You should also be able to see what kind of person Inham really is. This man is too dangerous. If you could have someone lurking by his side, someone he would never suspect, and completely grasp all his movements, perhaps you could use this to control him. Isn't that worth a bet from you?"

  This time, Stephen didn't continue the countdown. He just said, "You don't need to explain the stakes. I know them better than you. But do you know what I'm concerned about?"

  "I don't know."

  "It's you I'm wary of," Stephen said with a cold smile. "Someone who could be used by Valthor and remade into a Dread Knight. The firmness of will and the ruthlessness of character are that of a monster far beyond ordinary people. And for such a monster to also have a mind like yours, to be able to persuade me so calmly when you're about to be dismembered for parts—this depth of character and this calmness of mind are no less than Inham's."

  "I just don't want to die. No matter who it is, if they're left piled up like trash for so many days, all feeling becomes numb," Rodhart replied flatly. He did not show a fawning or pleading expression or tone. Only fools would be moved by such things, and only fools would think pleading would be useful. It would only invite contempt and scorn. He had said all he could. The rest was up to the other to judge, and from the looks of it, this Necromancer should have already decided what to do.

  "But a madman you can control is much better than one you can't. At least I know what you want." Stephen placed his hand on Rodhart's forehead. "Consider it a success. I intend to cooperate with you."

  "You won't regret it." A fractured smile finally appeared on Rodhart's patched-together face. Even with his willpower and shrewdness, he couldn't suppress his excitement. He knew very clearly that even as this Necromancer's servant, his subordinate, everything he could gain in the future would be far more than everything he had before. He could clearly sense the things lurking deep within the heart of this seemingly aloof old man.

  And this identity of "servant" and "subordinate" was only temporary. Rodhart was firmly convinced of this.

  "As you wish, I will plant a magic seal in your head. This is a trick I learned from the Far East. Even if Magnus and Sandro joined forces, they couldn't remove it. With just a thought, I can instantly erase your consciousness, turning you into a true undead. As for Inham, I don't need to teach you; you should know better than I how to deal with him. When you have fully integrated into the role of his son, I will tell you what to do next."

  Stephen's hand cut the skin on Rodhart's forehead. Like a master craftsman, he found a gap in his skull with a single slice and flipped the bone open with his fingernail. Feeling the Necromancer's fingers moving inside his cranial cavity, the sensation was for Rodhart no less exhilarating than the first time he had touched a young woman's breast.

  Everything that followed went smoothly. Stephen swapped his scarred face with Javi's, carefully adjusting all the features of the skull, and the rest of the modifications were easy.

  When he finally lay on the bed with Javi's face, the real Javi had already taken on his appearance and, along with the dismembered Sylka, become a pile of trash placed in the corner.

  After the magic of Universal Redemption dissipated, all his strength disappeared with it, but the turbulent waves in his heart only grew larger and fiercer.

  "Don't worry. Your new 'father' will find a way to get enough magical power for you to move. Your internal organs are still those of a Death Knight. You can replenish your magical power by eating human flesh in the future. Although you've lost many of the pleasures of being human, it's much better than being a pile of trash, isn't it?"

  More than that. As long as he could ascend to that highest peak, what did it matter if he was human or not?

  Although Rodhart could not move, speak, or even change his expression, he didn't mind. He knew his life had started anew, and with such a body, and such a father. Of course, the most important thing next was how to deal with this old man and the seal he had placed. He had plenty of time and spirit.

  But he never expected that this problem would be resolved so quickly. Hearing Stephen's final roar, he was lucky that he couldn't move then, not even having the strength to change his expression, otherwise, he was afraid he would have laughed out loud with joy.

  Pretending to be an amnesiac Javi would not have been too difficult for the current Rodhart, but now, he no longer needed to pretend.