A dull longsword and a heartbroken villager

"Have you ever regretted giving up your 'destiny'?" Mira suddenly asked.

“I’ve never regretted it,” Beatrix said, shrugging.

"Even if you die because of this, do you have no regrets?"

"No."

"Why?" Mira didn't think Betley was a man who didn't value life.

"Because in this way I can do what I should do, and I have accomplished what I was supposed to do."

“It’s just that we underestimated the so-called gods.” Betley looked up at the dense, dark leaves.

"Is there anything else you'd like to do?" Mira asked.

"Are all gravediggers so fond of asking questions?"

“Gravekeepers are a bunch of idle, boring guys,” Mira said nonchalantly.

“Revenge,” Beatrix answered Mira’s question.

“And take that homeless angel around a bit more... and give my sister one last look.” He added after a long pause.

"But I'm a scumbag, I have no right to say these things, and in the end I even made a child cry and caused his death." He then fell silent.

"The rest can only be left to others." He cared less about his own death than anyone else.

Mira simply watched without saying a word.

After a long while, she turned around slowly and took a few steps.

Mira noticed that Betty's eyes were starting to glaze over, and his consciousness was likely fading.

“Come with me, I’ll see you off on your final journey,” Mira said, her back to Betley.

“I think that for you, rather than being unable to find a way out for eternity like other dead people, it would be better to simply disappear.”

"You really know me."

“I just happen to know,” Mira replied.

Occasionally, the sounds of Betty and Mira talking could be heard from the eerie cemetery.

Then, not long after, it fell silent.

---

Afrena, who was flying through the sky holding a strange girl, suddenly paused.

After landing on a nearby rooftop, He casually put the unfamiliar girl down.

"..." Afrena stared in the direction she had come from for a long time without saying a word.

Betley is dead.

However, He never imagined that Beatrix would die, and didn't even realize it at first.

But facts speak louder than words: Beattie was dead.

That excessively powerful Black Iron race is dead.

It wasn't some special ability that made Avrena aware of this cruel truth; it was simply an accurate intuition.

Intuition is unreliable in the eyes of many, but for angels, it is often more accurate than what they see or hear.

He did not shed tears, for although he had spent a long time with Beatrix, Beatrix's death was not enough to make Him weep.

However... it left Him somewhat confused.

The question of where fallen angels should go and what to do had never crossed Aphrena's mind.

Because all He needed to do was follow Beatrix, without having to think about anything, not even hate His fallen self, or even ponder His own meaning.

But after Betley left, Afrena fell into a state of confusion for the first time.

He glanced at the girl, and paused, having originally intended to leave quietly.

In the end, they still took the girl away.

He didn't hate all cultists, at least not this girl.

What will He do after taking the girl away? We don't know.

“They didn’t even take me very far in the mortal world…and then they just left on their own.” Afrena, holding a girl she didn’t recognize, looked up at the sky and muttered to herself. After leaving the hall of the “Mathematical Society,” Bray didn’t head towards his own home, but went straight to Nicol Bolas’s residence.

Straight ahead, without hesitation, I walked towards that place.

"Creak—" As Bray stood in front of Nicol Bolas's house, the door opened silently by itself.

Even without Nick opening the door, this exquisite wooden door seemed to open on its own, as if it possessed a life of its own.

Normally, Bray might have stared at the door for a long time, but this time he didn't.

He glanced at the door and then stepped through the doorway.

“Nicholson Bolas,” Bray called out in a deep voice as he stood before the languid Ancestral Dragon.

“Ally, although you have been very impolite, I forgive you this time.” Nicol Bolas slowly raised his eyelids and put down the book beside him.

He stretched and yawned.

Nicol Bolas's leisurely demeanor stands in stark contrast to the sense of urgency facing the Middle Kingdom today.

It's very possible that if things had been a second slower, the outcome in the Central Plains would have been different.

But Nicolaes didn't seem to care much.

“The situation…” Bray began.

“I understand the whole situation.” Nicholas had already guessed the whole meaning of Bray’s sentence after he finished speaking.

"Silver seeds sprout up continuously, just like bamboo shoots after spring."

"Although I do not know the pattern of their appearance, it is meaningless to concern myself with such an overwhelming number."

"As of just now, about twenty towns and five or six cities in the central continent have been destroyed."

"I don't need to tell you how many have died," Nicol Bolas told Bray all the information, word by word.

Bray didn't even have to ask; Nicol Bolas told him everything he wanted to know.

“There were originally more than three hundred, but one hundred and eighty have been sent back so far. That human named Eric is quite capable.” Nicol Bolas was rather stingy with his praise for Eric.

If it weren't for that human's good fortune, the number of Silver Races in the Central Continent would be far greater than it is now.

It wasn't just a small area that was destroyed.

“Nicole Bolas, help me.” Bray met Nicholas’s eyes.

"You're really direct, ally."

"But if you make this request, I will naturally help you."

“In any case, we are all in the same boat,” said Nicholas, but he paused for a moment.

"However, my ally, you must understand one thing, and that is—"

Even if I help you deliver it to those silver-level beings.

"Even if you have the strength to kill those silver-level beings."

“But the rate at which silver-level creatures appear far exceeds the rate at which you can kill them,” Nicol Bolas said earnestly.

He had already figured out what Bray wanted to do; this adventurer only knew one thing: to swing his sword.

His purpose is easy to guess.

“…” Bray fell silent, not saying a word for a moment.

How many Silver-ranked individuals can Bray kill? It's really hard to say, because no one has yet determined the extent of his current strength.

However, it is simply a pipe dream for an individual to face so many silver coins.

“Besides, one of the five who uphold the precepts is already dead.” Nicolaes closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

Even the one who upheld the precepts and was protected by the will of the world had died.

This was unexpected by Nicol Bolas.

Although Nicol Bolas was unable to continue observing when Betley was being judged by the Golden Seed, he could roughly guess what happened by considering the context.

Nicol Bolas was beginning to doubt whether the Black Iron race could hold out.

“One of them died...?” Bray was taken aback for a moment, then fell into thought.

"Bettley?"

"If I remember correctly, it should be him."

“I see…” Bray’s tone was complicated.

He never thought that anyone around him would suddenly leave this world, not even once.

But he wasn't surprised.

Human life is as fragile as grass; everyone's life is the same, even Betley's is probably no exception.

Bray instinctively placed his hand on the scabbard, inadvertently recalling the scene of his encounter with Beatrix.

He didn't consciously try to recall Beatrix, but the moment he learned the truth, those memories flooded back.

"How did he die?"

“Killed by the gods.” Nicholas shook his head, his tone equally regretful.

As one of the strongest fighters of the Iron race, it was truly unfortunate that he was killed by the Gold race.

Who can escape the clutches of the gods? Nicolaes, for one, believed he could not.

"Is that so?"

"Fight to the death..." Bray murmured, his expression somewhat dazed.

In that instant, Bray wondered if he too might one day die inexplicably.

It probably will, it's likely.

To be honest, Bray didn't want an ending like "fighting to the death".

He didn't have that sense of honor to support him in doing so.

“So instead of doing such useless work, why not think about…” Nicol Bolas’s voice trailed off midway through his sentence.

No one interrupted Him; He simply stopped speaking.

“Are you serious?” Nicol Bolas asked, looking into Brana’s calm right eye.

“Seriously.” Bray nodded, his tone calm.

There was no sense of fearlessness in the face of death, nor could one sense what Bray was striving for.

It's always so calm, always like a stagnant pool.

But beneath the stagnant water, the scenery remains unknown to anyone.

“Even if you kill twenty, it won’t matter,” Nicol Bolas continued.

"At least fewer people will die, or rather... the process of everyone dying will be slower."

“That’s true…” Nicol Bolas scratched his messy blond hair.

“Please don’t let anyone die, because if another person who observes the precepts dies…” He hesitated, then stopped.

Bray simply nodded without replying.

“Little Nick, give him your full support. Don’t let him die somewhere else for no reason,” Nicol Bolas said irritably.

“Understood, great Lord Nicholas,” Little Nick replied respectfully, emerging from Nicholas’s shadow.

---

"Your death was truly worthless."

"I feel so too."

Do you think you will become a heroic spirit?

"I don't qualify."