Chapter 776: Half-Mad

The Abyss’s sky went completely dark.

It was still daytime—more than that, it should’ve been the brightest noon—but when sunlight pierced those chaotic zones of spatial distortion, it had already lost most of its brilliance and heat. Then, after it crossed the endless yellow sand whipped up over this barren land, it became nothing more than a blurred wash of lamplight, as if shining through a sheet of paper.

The creatures of the Abyss had long since grown used to that hazy lamplight. Most of the demon beasts that lived here relied less on sight and more on other senses.

But now even they were thrown into confusion by this pitch-black daytime—darkness they had never seen before, darkness that was no weaker than night.

Because what blocked the light this time was another layer entirely—cold, metallic workmanship.

Chains.

Chains the color of dried blood, as if they’d been soaked in it for a thousand years.

Countless chains, packed so densely they blotted out the sky. They were arranged in neat ranks, interlocked into a vast underworld river meant to ferry the dead.

That river of chains stretched from the very top of Gutongs Castle all the way to the end of the sky, and then fanned outward—like a black waterfall spilling upside down from a galaxy.

And on the far side of that underworld river were the souls... freshly peeled away from dead flesh.

Those souls didn’t wail, because they were already used to this violent yanking. Death wasn’t an end for them. They knew that what waited at the end of those chains was the same deformed cycle that had never changed in a thousand years.

They just didn’t know that this time, there would be no cycle anymore.

"Even soul power on this scale can’t resurrect someone who’s truly dead. That’s just how this world’s rules are—once something is shattered, no matter how much effort you spend, it’s hard to make it whole again."

Meladomir paced forward, passing through the hundred statues until she reached the obsidian throne. She lifted her head, staring up at the thorn-crowned halo suspended above the feather-robed skeleton’s skull.

"Saving has always been ten thousand times harder than destroying. It was true a thousand years ago. And now... it’s still true."

"...What do you want to do?"

Shenyi’s voice was hoarse, like a rotting corpse speaking from inside a coffin.

"Do? Simple. I’m taking the Myriad-Age Cycle."

Meladomir said, "It’s been a thousand years. The Pollution on you has long since been stripped away. There’s no need for this cycle to exist anymore. So be happy, Shenyi. You’re about to witness the demonfolk’s final extinction—its last afterglow. From this point on, they’ll fade away together with that afterglow and disappear.

"But for the demonfolk, that kind of disappearance isn’t necessarily a bad thing. This isn’t the end of everything. It’s the beginning of something new."

"..."

"Not happy? That makes sense. You aren’t who you used to be. Now you’re a ‘ruler.’ Losing the slaves you’ve oppressed for a thousand years—of course you’d be unhappy."

Meladomir turned around and spoke lazily.

"But if you really still care about her—if you really want to inherit her will—then you should understand this is the right thing to do."

After saying that, Meladomir didn’t care whether Shenyi fell silent again. Her small figure drifted upward, and she reached out toward the crown above the skeleton’s head.

It wasn’t a crown at all.

It was only a ring wrapped in thorns.

It couldn’t represent the words Demon King. Even the so-called “king” was nothing but a profanation of this ancient relic, one soaked in salvation and sacrifice.

That profanation had followed it for a thousand years.

Now it was time to set it right.

"Hmm."

But just as Meladomir was about to touch the Myriad-Age Cycle, it suddenly shuddered, letting out a piercing hum.

Meladomir’s expression sank. Her outstretched hand was forced to stop in midair.

Because she’d been rejected.

And the reason for that rejection wasn’t the Myriad-Age Cycle itself...

It was its current controller.

"I can’t let you take it."

After a silence that went on far too long, Shenyi finally spoke.

His tone no longer held the earlier frenzy. It was very calm.

But when Meladomir turned to look at him again, she saw that those scarlet eyes—eyes muddied by a thousand years of age—were now filled with shadows that twitched in wild spasms.

Flickering candlelight cast a cold glimmer. Shenyi’s face was pale as paper. Deep in his pupils, those shadows jumped and danced, finally condensing into a resolve no one could understand.

After a blow that had nearly rewritten his entire understanding of the world, Shenyi had, in the end, still talked himself into it.

"Don’t think you can fool me, Meladomir."

A different kind of persuasion.

"You think you can use some cheap little trick to deceive me, make me abandon a thousand years of planning?"

The corners of Shenyi’s mouth pulled upward, bit by bit, dragging his shriveled cheeks and squeezing at the skin around his eyes.

One corner of his eye twitched, while the other eye bulged wide...

It was an extremely bizarre smile.

Bizarre enough to make your skin crawl—like a circus clown facing an empty audience, wearing ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) an eerie grin that didn’t even know who it was mocking.

"Meladomir, I won’t fall for your scheme, and I won’t be misled by you. Do you really think a few words from you can outweigh a full thousand years of me listening with my own ears?"

"You’ve gone mad, Shenyi."

"I’m not mad!"

Shenyi raised his voice. "I’m completely lucid—more lucid than I’ve ever been! The one who’s raving and babbling... is you!"

A deep gray curtain spread out in an instant, completely blocking Meladomir off.

The meaning was obvious: he hadn’t listened to a single word of her earnest advice.

No—maybe he had listened, but to a madman... Meladomir’s smooth logic and airtight evidence were the meaningless ravings.

"...Sigh."

Meladomir let out a soft sigh.

"So for someone who’s truly gone mad, words really are this pale and powerless. At a moment like this, it looks like nothing I say will matter. But—"

Her tone suddenly sharpened. Floating in midair, her pink pajamas swayed lightly. She wasn’t releasing any terrifying aura, yet it felt as if the smallness of that body itself was enough to crush you with incomparable pressure.

"Are you really going to fight me, Shenyi?"

Meladomir lifted her pale chin proudly, her amber eyes looking down at Shenyi from above. In her eyes, this old man who had ruled the demonfolk for a thousand years was still nothing more than a laughable “brat.”

She was Meladomir—this era’s one and only Origin-Rank Grand Archmage. For any powerhouse, even thinking about fighting her required immense courage and extremely cautious consideration.

"You want to fight me—the strongest person in the world right now—Shenyi, you little brat?!"

A tremendous roar spread outward. Under Meladomir’s pressure, every statue trembled. Even the obsidian throne began to shake faintly.

Even if you tied together the Life Church’s Judgment Archbishop from back then, the Salvation Society’s Second Seat, the Love God’s puppet, plus that brat... all of them together wouldn’t come close to how terrifying this pressure was—

Shenyi’s body stiffened, as if that dreadful presence had pinned him in place, unable to move.

And then, in the next moment, the deep gray curtain flickered—

Meladomir’s small floating body flickered too, and then her head...

Dropped clean off.

"Ah..."

Her head rolled across the floor in a few bounces, rolling until it stopped not far from Shenyi. Her hair plastered across her face, and she could only stare up at the pitch-black ceiling in helpless annoyance, muttering,

"So rude..."

The atmosphere froze for a moment. It seemed even the statues that had been trembling just a second ago were stunned by what had just happened.

In that silent stillness, Shenyi walked over to Meladomir’s head.

"As I thought."

He looked down at the severed head on the floor, expressionless.

"You’re nothing but a powerless projection."

"...When did you realize it?"

"The more someone is a leftover from a thousand years ago, the more we understand how terrifying you are. But fear doesn’t mean stupidity. I’ve lived a thousand years too—if I got fooled by a projection, that would be too humiliating." Shenyi said coldly.

At the entrance to this space, that corridor hiding countless terrifying shadows was still completely still.

Before, Shenyi had thought it was Meladomir’s strength that cowed those shadows. Now it seemed... it was simply because this powerless projection didn’t meet the conditions to stir them in the first place.

"I was too naive. But..."

Since her head couldn’t move for the moment, Meladomir could only roll her eyes. Fortunately, Shenyi was standing close enough that she could still see his ugly old face.

"Even as a projection, I’m flawless. Unless your magical attainments surpass mine, there should’ve been no way to see through it before you actually made a move... Shenyi, can you cast a Light spell?"

"...Why are you asking that?"

"Heh. Looks like after a thousand years, your magical attainments still aren’t as good as my stupid disciple’s. So here’s the question..."

Meladomir sounded genuinely puzzled.

"If you can’t even cast a Light spell, how exactly did you tell my projection was fake? At the very least, with just you yourself, there’s no way you could’ve done it."

"...Just like you—even as a projection, you’re still that sharp."

Shenyi’s tone turned strange. He let out a hoarse laugh.

"But for someone so sharp, you still can’t hear her voice. No wonder you’ve said so many stupid things."

"Her?"

Meladomir frowned. "Who?"

"Huh? We’ve been talking this long and you’re still asking something that stupid?"

Shenyi said in astonishment. "Of course it’s her. Of course it’s my king. The very king whose existence you tried to deny with your honeyed words!"

Shenyi tilted his ear as if listening, his face intoxicated. "Do you hear it? Her voice. She was crying before, then she got angry at your attempt to fool me, and right now—right now she’s the one secretly telling me you’re just a projection and not worth fearing at all!"

"..."

Shenyi faced the skeleton on the obsidian throne, as if he’d returned to the state he’d been in before Meladomir forced the truth out—feverish and devout.

But Meladomir didn’t look at the skeleton anymore.

She looked to Shenyi’s side.

There was nothing beside him.

And yet, reflected in Meladomir’s amber pupils, an insubstantial shadow suddenly appeared—hiding in the deepest part of Shenyi’s own shadow, whispering softly to him.

That shadow was immeasurably deep, like some kind of gathered liquid. And the moment Meladomir looked, she felt a gaze just as cold and indifferent looking back at her from within it.

"So that’s how it is..."

Meladomir murmured without expression.

Shenyi really had gone mad... but not so far gone.

At least some part of his ravings... were true.

He really was hearing a voice. Over the thousand years, that voice had been whispering beside his ear the entire time.

But it wasn’t coming from the “her” he meant to save, and it definitely wasn’t coming from that skeleton that had long since died completely.

It was something that, at some point—who knew when—had started hiding at his side.

Something.

"Looks like the preparations I made in advance were the right call. This was never going to end that easily."

"What nonsense are you babbling now—no wonder you can’t be respected anymore, Lady Meladomir."

Shenyi bent at the waist, deliberately looming over Meladomir’s head on the floor as he mocked,

"A powerless projection that even lost its head—you... no, you, what can you possibly do?"

"A projection can’t do much, that’s true."

Meladomir suddenly put on a saccharine, cutesy smile—sweetness turned up to the absolute maximum.

"So I went ahead and found someone who can beat you up in advance, okay~"

"Hm?"

Boom!

In the instant Shenyi blanked, a savage roar tore open the space above his head.

Shenyi lifted his head in a daze and saw a hideous, enormous crack slicing across both ends of his vision.

Light poured in, but it wasn’t warm sunlight.

It was a single golden vertical pupil, brighter than the sun itself, staring down at him through that rift with indifferent coldness.