Chapter 357: I Am Not Dust (Part 2)

  Inham didn't notice anything amiss about this "son." Although his powers of observation and perception were absolutely top-notch, he had already been through several great battles and confrontations. His energy and mental strength were nearly exhausted. Most critically, he never imagined that Stephen would dare to swap Javi for a replacement and find one so quickly.

  A fatal flaw is never in the body or in strength, but in the mind. Rodhart could feel that, psychologically, the relationship between him and this extraordinary man, who had always strategized and manipulated everything in his hands, was like that between an unsuspecting rabbit and a venomous snake lurking in the dark.

  And in terms of strength, Rodhart was not much weaker now.

  To avoid exposing any flaws, Stephen had indeed made some modifications to his body, at least to prevent Inham from realizing it was completely a Death Knight's body, for instance, giving it some "still alive" characteristics like a pulse. So, strictly speaking, he was now half-alive and half-dead, requiring not just Necromancy but also White Magic to be driven.

  When the white light from the scepter poured into his body, an immense life force filled every part of him. His body, already cleansed by White Magic, showed no rejection at all, completely embracing and absorbing this pure and vast power. Just like the previous Universal Redemption, this was also a magnificent and vast magic that surpassed human capability, but it was more refined and more primal. If Universal Redemption was a vast, misty sea, then this power from the scepter was the water condensed from that sea, directly nourishing and replenishing his completely withered body.

  This body was constructed from the strongest and most efficient parts of his own and that of the large man's body. Now, this immense and pure White Magic had completely fused it. Even without the more crucial replenishment of Necromancy, Rodhart was already certain that his combat strength was absolutely greater than when he was at his peak while still alive.

  Inham turned to leave, his unguarded back not far from him. At this distance, he could slice off all of a fly's legs with a single strike, and the fly could still fly on; he could also mince an elephant into pieces of meat. In such a situation, if he were to launch a sneak attack, he had at least an eighty percent chance of cutting this "father" in two from behind.

  A famous warrior-adventurer once said that if there's a sixty percent chance of success, one can go for it. This saying could absolutely be called the motto for all ambitious, fighting-spirited, and hot-blooded young men, and Rodhart was the epitome of such young men. With an eighty percent chance, it would be a once-and-for-all solution, with no more need to pretend or fear exposing any flaws.

  But in the end, he still did not make a move. The thought was just a flash in his mind. The imminent success did not affect his reason in the slightest. At this point, even a twenty percent risk was not worth taking. Letting Inham go would naturally make the situation on the square more chaotic, and his opportunities would be greater and more numerous.

  So when Inham disappeared, he took a slight detour and also ran towards the square.

  The battle on the square had already reached its end. Gru, who had fought his way out of the orc horde, had defeated the Paladin with a single strike and had the Pope and the others completely in his grasp. Oufu seemed to have already won. Others didn't notice, but Rodhart clearly saw Inham slowly chanting incantations among the crowd, preparing a grand spell.

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  Just as he had expected, this was indeed a better opportunity. Given Inham's methods, once this spell was unleashed, people like Gru and Lancelot, whom he was wary of and who could threaten him, would likely never be a threat again. But Rodhart no longer cared much about that. His attention was now completely drawn to something else.

  What attracted him was something inside the Grand Hall of Light. Although he wasn't sure what was there, he knew that what he wanted was there.

  At first, this fluctuation merely made his Death Knight's body feel an attraction. It wasn't until he got closer here, when every inch of his skin, his thoughts, and his soul felt this fluctuation, that he realized he had been guided by this feeling all along. From when he was still unable to move, his mind only repeating that belief over and over, he had already overlapped with another will that permeated the air of The Radiant Citadel. The most fundamental reason he didn't kill Inham and followed here was perhaps for this.

  This kind of pure feeling seemed quite incredible to a person like him, who was rational to the extreme. As he ran here, he constantly warned himself that this inexplicable feeling might not have any real meaning.

  The fluctuation itself wasn't actually strong, but the feeling it evoked in his heart was incomparably profound. It was like all innate instincts—eating when hungry, drinking when thirsty—originating from the deepest part of the soul, incomparably intense. His entire mind and spirit were completely attracted to this feeling, pulled and drawn together, coalescing into a single, simple, and intense desire: Go there. What you want is there. The thing that can satisfy all desires, all cravings.

  The immense Necromancy swept across the sky and earth, blanketing the square. Inham had finally made his move. At this moment, Rodhart also shattered a wall on one side of the great hall with his sword and slipped inside.

  There was no one left in the great hall. Without any effort, he followed the feeling and walked into a room. The corpse of an old man lay quietly on the bed. The thing emitting this fluctuation was a strange small pouch, tied to the waist of this old man's corpse. This thing, which gave him such an intense feeling, seemed to be unfelt and unvalued by others.

  He untied the pouch from the old man's body and slowly loosened the drawstring. His fingers were trembling. He himself couldn't believe that a person like him could still have such an excited moment. The fluctuation was so close, so dense, and its "scent" so intimate with him, as if it were obtained by cutting off a piece of his own soul, refining and amplifying it countless times. That was why it fit him so perfectly.

  Ambition, desire, conquest, hatred, darkness, death... and, eternity. Eternity. He could clearly feel the most subtle nuances of meaning within this aura. All of it was what he wanted, the very substance of his soul, the driving force of his life. This aura was like the warmest, softest, most delicate hand, reaching into the deepest, most private part of his soul, slowly stroking and kneading. His ambition, his desire, wanted to engorge with blood, to burst with vitality, to explode...

  The pouch was open, revealing the small, black sword hilt inside. Rodhart reached out and grasped it. He felt that he was not holding anything else, but his own heart, his own soul, and eternity itself.

  Countless images of people and events flashed rapidly through his mind: the local official from his hometown... the dead villagers... the prostitute in the imperial capital who leaked the secret... Duke Mrak, who once controlled almost the entire empire... Archbishop Ronis, whose ambitions were higher than the heavens... The final image settled on a pile of minced flesh and trash in the corner of the room. That was Javi, who once had immense ambitions and grand aspirations, who had excellent aptitude and excellent opportunities, but in the end could only replace him to become a pile of minced flesh.

  Dust. No matter how they were in life, they all failed in the end. They all became tools used by the strong, food that made the strong stronger, nothing more than a speck of dust in the vast world. And now, all of this was forever out of his reach. He was eternity. He was no longer dust, and could never be.

  He wanted to be excited, but couldn't be. The aura from this sword hilt instantly filled every minute part of his body, completely filling even his soul and will. Joy, anger, sorrow, happiness—all emotions silently perished, vanished forever, enveloped by this aura. Even the ambition and desire that had always driven him were the same. All the characteristics of a human's will were gone. If his own will had not been so similar to this aura, even his final reason and judgment would have completely disappeared.

  The newly reconstructed, perfect body was withering and shriveling like vegetable leaves under high heat. If this body were not a true living entity, if not for the immense White Magic from the scepter just moments before, his body would have been instantly engulfed and annihilated along with this aura. But with this buffer, his body began to slowly merge with the aura of the sword hilt. Finally, his body stopped withering. It became black, hard, and lifeless, just like the sword hilt. His will also completely submerged into this greater, darker, boundless darkness.

  So hungry. He thought, without joy or sorrow. He opened his eyes and saw a massive mass of flesh and blood floating before the great hall. He then took a breath, and this enormous mass of flesh, blood, and life, mixed with magical power, entered his body entirely.

  Walking out of the great hall, he looked down at the thousands of people visible below. He did not feel that sense of conquest, that thrill, he had once imagined—standing at the pinnacle, looking down on all living beings, feeling they were beneath his feet. He no longer had the capacity for any feeling. His eyes were completely empty and void, as if he were looking at a ground full of dust.