Samsara Paradise: Dream Weaver of Connections.

Edwin's smile froze.

It wasn't the kind of stiffness that comes from being exposed and then momentarily thrown off balance, but rather like a dam that had stood for over a hundred years finally beginning to crumble at the smallest crack.

He didn't speak immediately.

The fire in the fireplace still flickered, casting shifting shadows on his handsome face.

Those eyes looked at Lin Yi, initially scrutinizing him, then revealing an indescribable complexity, and finally, all pretense vanished from his face like the receding tide.

He laughed.

This laughter was completely different from the previous ones.

It wasn't gentleness, it wasn't helplessness, and it wasn't self-deprecation.

“Fools.” Edwin repeated the word, his voice low as if he were chewing on some bitter fruit. “Yes, I need fools. I need fools who feel pity for people who are chained up, fools who think they can change things with good intentions, fools who… are like me when I was young.”

As he spoke, his body began to change.

The first thing to show abnormality was his fingers.

The hands that were just turning the pages of the book with such grace a moment ago now seemed to have something wriggling beneath their skin.

The blood vessels bulged, turning an unnatural bluish-black color. The knuckles twisted outwards, and the nails fell off, replaced by some kind of keratinized claws.

The change spreads from the fingertips to the palms, and then to the wrists.

Then come the arms, shoulders, and torso.

Edwin's body was expanding.

He was originally sitting in a high-backed chair that fit him well, but now his body width was increasing at a visible rate.

The seams of the dark blue velvet coat ripped under the strain, and the white shirt tore into pieces, revealing the skin underneath—no, it wasn't skin anymore.

It was some kind of grayish-white, wrinkled, membranous tissue, with a layer of oily mucus seeping from its surface.

The chains began to vibrate violently.

The chains wrapped around his limbs, torso, and neck were now taut to their limit, their runes flashing wildly and emitting a blinding white light.

But Edwin's expansion did not stop.

His bones were cracking, and his muscle tissue bulged as if being inflated, only to collapse into another shape in the next second.

His head was the last to be changed.

His handsome face began to distort, his jaw protruded forward, his cheekbones collapsed inward, and his features slowly shifted across his face.

When the changes finally came to a halt, the high-backed chair had completely disappeared beneath that massive, irregular mass of flesh.

The pieces of meat occupied nearly a third of the palace's area.

Its shape is hard to describe, roughly oval, with its surface covered with bumps and depressions of varying sizes. It has an overall sickly grayish-white appearance, with vascular-like black lines spreading across it, like the cross-section of some kind of malignant tumor.

The most shocking thing was the faces on the surface of the meat.

They are embedded in the fleshy base; some are intact, some are only half left, and some are so twisted that they are unrecognizable.

Every face was moving—lips opening and closing, eyelids twitching, and faint, suppressed groans escaping from throats.

The sounds intertwined, like the wind from a distant hell.

Lin Yi did not retreat.

He remained seated in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the pained and contorted faces.

Edwin's voice came from somewhere deep within the chunk of flesh, several times lower than before, with a reverberation like swirling viscous fluid.

Lin Yi looked at the face closest to the surface of the meat chunk.

It was the face of a young man, probably in his early twenties, with short blond hair and blue eyes.

His lips kept moving, silently repeating a certain word.

Lin Yi recognized it as "Mother".

"These people," Lin Yi said, his voice still steady, "are they all participants you devoured?"

“Not just the participants.” Edwin’s voice held a twisted pride. “There were only twelve participants. The rest…”

The surface of the meat rippled, and several more faces emerged from the depths.

Among them were elderly women, young children, middle-aged warriors in armor, and young mothers holding babies.

“They were my people,” Edwin said. “They were my colleagues, my family.”

His tone paused for a moment on the word "family," before being overwhelmed by even stronger emotions.

"Aren't you curious?" the voice asked, "How did I end up like this?"

Lin Yi did not answer.

He simply looked at Edwin and continued to wait.

Waiting is the best response.

Edwin remained silent for a few seconds.

Those distorted faces opened their mouths simultaneously, and it was Edwin's own voice, fragmented into countless pieces, spitting out from each mouth.

"I was born in the most prosperous capital of the empire."

“My father was the Imperial Minister of Finance, and my mother was a princess from a collateral branch of the royal family.”

"I learned to read at three, could recite the entire canon at five, was sent to the cathedral as a preparatory monk at ten, became a full priest at fifteen, a bishop at twenty-five, a cardinal at thirty-five, and at forty-five—"

He paused.

"At the age of forty-five, I became the archbishop of the Imperial Church."

Some of those faces were smiling, some were crying, and some were expressionless.

"Second only to one person, above all others," Edwin said. "That 'one person' is the god I have served all my life."

Another face emerged from the surface of the meat.

It was the face of a middle-aged man, with a resolute expression, fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and a seven-tenths resemblance to Edwin in his features.

“This is my father,” Edwin said. “He died when I was forty-six. Before he died, he held my hand and said, ‘Edwin, Edwin, I haven’t seen you get married yet, and I haven’t held my grandchildren.’”

The lips of that face moved, but no sound came out.

“He died at the age of eighty-seven,” Edwin said. “That’s considered a long life for a mortal.”

For the first time, there was a hint of wavering in his voice.

"But when I watched him close his eyes, I wasn't thinking of sadness. What I was thinking was—"

Those faces all froze.

"I won't live to that age."

The air seemed to freeze.

Lin Yi looked at the middle-aged man's face, watching it, along with the other faces, be swallowed up again by the writhing flesh.

“From that day on,” Edwin’s voice became very soft, “I knew something was wrong inside me.”

He began to speak.

Those memories, suppressed for countless years, now poured out like a flood bursting its banks from every twisted mouth.

He recounted how he browsed the Vatican's forbidden book section late at night and discovered hidden notes left by former archbishops among scrolls of yellowed parchment.

Those notes recorded similar fears and similar struggles.

Some people tried alchemical elixirs of immortality, but ultimately died from internal organ failure.

Some people imprisoned young virgins, attempting to bathe in their blood to restore their youth, but were ultimately burned to death in the square by the angry mob.

Someone offered sacrifices to the devil, exchanging the souls of one hundred infants for thirty years of lifespan, but in the end, their souls were dragged into the abyss.

“None of them succeeded,” Edwin said. “They all died, earlier and more painfully than my father. Their notes were buried in dust, their names were erased from the canons. No one remembers that they were ever archbishops.”

He paused.

"But I don't care."

"They failed because their methods were wrong, because they weren't smart enough, because—because they weren't afraid of death enough."

Edwin spoke these words without sarcasm, simply stating them calmly.

He recounted how, during that year, he went through the notes of the former archbishops countless times, eliminating those obviously crazy methods and filtering out theoretically feasible paths.

Finally, he found it.

No, it's less about finding and more about discovering—discovering that those beings condemned as "evil gods" by the Imperial Cult were not inherently evil.

They simply lost.

"Do you know what that 'one true God' that we have served for thousands of years is?" Edwin asked.

Before Lin Yi could answer, he gave the answer himself:

"It was once just one of the evil gods."

"Three thousand years ago, there were thirty-seven sects on this continent, each worshipping a different god. They each had their own territory and followers, and they fought against each other, but none of them could swallow the others."

"Later, it found its archbishop at the time. It gave that archbishop a plan."

Drive away the wolves to devour the tiger.

They exploit the long-standing feuds and suspicions between different religious sects, create conflict, widen the rifts, and then add fuel to the fire at the opportune moment.

Within three years, thirty-seven religious sects were drawn into a century-long all-out war. A century later, the faith of thirty-six sects collapsed, their followers scattered, and their gods, having lost their source of power, were defeated one by one.

It is the only complete one.

“So it became the ‘one true god’,” Edwin said. “The other thirty-six became ‘evil gods’.”

"Not because it is more righteous, more merciful, or more deserving of the worshippers' kneeling. It's simply because—it won."

The faces on the surface of the meat chunks all let out low laughter, laughter that contained no joy, only endless irony.

Lin Yi listened quietly.

“So I made the same choice as it,” Edwin said. “I abandoned my faith in it and turned to the evil gods that it had defeated and were now lurking in the void.”

"Of course they welcome me."

"What a great honor it is for an imperial sect's archbishop to voluntarily turn his back on the thief and join their ranks."

He paused.

"What I give them is not just my faith."

"And the entire empire."

When Edwin turned seventy, the Empire held a grand birthday celebration for him.

The emperor himself was present, nobles gathered, and all the high-ranking officials of the Papacy were in attendance.

The celebration lasted for three days and three nights, and the gold consumed was enough to rebuild half of the capital.

No one knew that on the third night of the celebration, while everyone was immersed in feasting and dancing, Archbishop Edwin climbed the highest bell tower of the church alone.

He stood there all night.

No one knows what he's thinking.

The sun rose as usual the next morning.

But the empire never saw its sunset again.

Edwin initiated the sacrificial ceremony that had been prepared for ten years.

The ceremony covered the entire empire, radiating outwards from the capital.

Every town, every village, every household.

Three hundred and thirteen million believers.

Men, women, the elderly, and children.

The baby was still in swaddling clothes, and before it even had time to open its eyes, its soul was taken away by the sacrificial array.

Edwin stood atop the clock tower, watching countless slender, milky-white streams of light converge from all directions, like millions of threads weaving a giant net that covered the heavens and the earth.

The streams of light surged toward him and into him.

He felt his body expanding, sublimating, and transforming into a form that transcends the mundane.

The feeling was so wonderful that he almost forgot those faces.

He remembers.

Of course he remembers.

Under the oak tree at the Chancellor of the Exchequer's residence, where he used to climb as a child, the old butler knelt motionless, holding his granddaughter's body.

In the fountain pool in the central square, the water was dyed red, and the bodies of more than twenty children floated on the surface.

On the steps in front of the cathedral, His Majesty the Emperor—the old man he had known for fifty years—lay on his back, his eyes still open, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

But he didn't stop.

“Just a little bit more,” Edwin said. “Just a little bit more, and I could have completely shed that decaying body and become like them.”

Then, the "one true God" descended.

He was angry not because Edwin had betrayed the faith.

What truly angered Him was that Edwin had sacrificed the entire empire to His enemies.

For three thousand years, those evil gods have been suppressed at the edge of the void, their power gradually weakening, and they have never had a chance to counterattack.

Edwin's sacrifice was equivalent to providing them with 313 million servings of high-quality nutrients.

The power of those gods instantly returned to a level sufficient to tear apart the boundary barrier.

Even more fatally, Edwin's actions violated the pact signed by the gods three thousand years ago—that no god may enter the continent in their true form.

The moment the One True God stepped into the Empire's territory, the contract became completely invalid.

The gate that had waited for three thousand years at the edge of the void suddenly burst open.

Thirty-six gods, suppressed for three thousand years, descended upon this land that once belonged to them, filled with boundless hatred.

A battle of gods.

The mainland was reduced to ruins in seven days.

The empire collapsed.

Thirteen million souls have long since turned into nourishment, to be fought over and devoured by the gods.

Edwin, the instigator, was torn apart in the first wave of the gods' descent.

It was not by the one true God, nor by any vengeful evil god.

It was merely the aftermath of the battle.

Just like stepping on an ant doesn't require any special effort.

It vanished into ashes, leaving not even a complete skeleton behind.

Then, in the last moment before his consciousness completely faded away—

He heard a voice.

The voice had no source, no emotion, it simply asked calmly:

Are you willing to atone for your sins?

Edwin finished speaking.

A long silence fell over the palace.

The fire in the fireplace had gone out sometime ago, leaving only dark red embers.

The faces on the surface of the flesh were still writhing in pain and wailing silently, but Edwin's own voice had stopped.

Lin Yi looked at the huge, deformed mass of flesh, and at the hundreds of distorted faces embedded in it.

“You don’t want to,” he said.

This is not a question.

“I don’t want to.” Edwin’s voice came from deep within the flesh, lower and hoarser than before.

"I don't regret the deaths of those 313 million people," he said, emphasizing each word. "Even if I had to do it all over again, I would still make the same choice."

"The only difference is that I will not fail."

The chunks of meat began to writhe violently.

All those faces turned around and were pointed in Lin Yi's direction.

“What I need is not atonement,” Edwin said. “What I need is a new body, a soul strong enough, and an anchor that can carry me away from these damned chains.”

"That's why I've been here all these years."

"Wait for those idiots who think they can save me."

"If I devour you, perhaps—"

He didn't finish speaking.

Because Lin Yi smiled.

But the moment that smile appeared, Edwin's voice abruptly stopped.

“When did you start to have the illusion that you still have a choice?” Lin Yi asked.

He remained seated, relaxed, and spoke calmly.

But something emanated from him.

Just as shadows naturally exist where there is no light.

Edwin remained silent for a few seconds.

Then, the massive lump of flesh began to tremble.

It was not a tremor of anger, nor a tremor of fighting spirit.

It is fear.

What's that on you?

Edwin had just tried to sense Lin Yi, but the power of the abyss was beyond Edwin's comprehension.

In its understanding, gods were supreme, but when its divine power touched Lin Yi, it was horrified to find that the power within Lin Yi had completely devoured the divine power it had come to believe in.

For Edwin, Lin Yi's actions fundamentally shook his beliefs. In Edwin's view, the gods were supreme, even if they were currently only half-baked. (End of Chapter)