The moment Elvira’s aura completely dissipated in Jiang Ming’s arms, the world stopped.
The howling sea wind froze in mid-air, the splashing waves crystallized into sculptures, and even the teardrops at the corners of Lillian’s eyes and the trembling of Elvia’s fingertips were stilled in the amber of time.
Sound was stripped away, and colors faded into gray and white. Only the four people at the center—or rather, three people, a gradually cooling body, and the Argo—retained their original colors, existing like an isolated island within this absolute stillness.
Suddenly, light and shadow began to twist.
Ripples appeared in the space above the deck. Two figures emerged elegantly from the cracks between reality and illusion, as if they had been there all along, only choosing to be seen now.
On the left was Lilith. Her deep crimson dress looked like congealed blood, hanging motionless. She remained seated, though beneath her was not a sofa but a throne woven from starlight and shadows that had appeared out of thin air.
Her empty crimson eyes quietly gazed down at Jiang Ming as he tightly held Elvira. There was no emotion in her stare.
On the right was Beelzebub. She hung in mid-air with her legs crossed, her elbows resting on invisible armrests and her chin propped in her palm. Her face, identical to Lillian’s, brimmed with unabashed, childish excitement and curiosity. Her scarlet pupils glowed brightly as she scanned Jiang Ming and the deceased Elvira in his arms, as if enjoying a drama that had finally reached its climax.
“Ah la~” Beelzebub spoke first. Her voice was crisp, breaking the absolute silence and bringing with it a suffocating pressure. “How touching, truly touching. The light that mortals emit when facing destiny… no matter how many times I see it, it is always so… dazzling, yet so brief.”
Jiang Ming slowly raised his head. The tear marks on his face were not yet dry, but his gaze was like fire encased in ice.
“It was you,” his voice was hoarse, sounding terrifyingly calm. “All of it.”
Lilith nodded slightly, her movements elegant. “A wager, a stage,” she said, her voice like the quiet deep sea. “And you, Jiang Ming, are our chosen protagonist, the final… candidate.”
“From tampering with dreams and pulling you into the barrier, to arranging events and giving you the Horn, even tacitly allowing you to summon the undead…” Beelzebub counted on her fingers, grinning. “It was all for this moment. We wanted to see how you would choose in a desperate situation, and what kind of human radiance would bloom~ Of course, Miss Elvira’s acceleration was just a little catalyst.”
The muscles in Jiang Ming’s arms tightened, his knuckles turning white.
He understood everything.
If Elvira had chosen to become a new Angel, Lilith would have a new King. If Elvira refused, they would use Elvira’s death to tempt him into becoming her King.
Angels were always like this. They won and won again.
“So,” Jiang Ming’s voice squeezed through his gritted teeth, “what do you see now?”
“We see an excellent nursery,” Lilith said slowly. “Resilience, intelligence, the power to find a way out within the rules, and the ability to ignite others even in despair… You possess the potential to be a King, Jiang Ming. Not a King of mortals, but one who can walk between reality and illusion, unifying a portion of the rules…”
She paused before uttering the term.
“Our King.”
Jiang Ming’s pupils contracted sharply.
“Become my King,” Lilith’s voice carried an unprecedented allure, ethereal and directly striking the soul. “You will no longer be an observed pawn, but one of the players. You will possess vision and power beyond mortal things, and you will be able to protect everything you want to protect… including reversing this ending that you cannot accept.”
Her gaze fell meaningfully on Elvira’s lifeless face.
“As long as you nod, acknowledge my path, and accept my coronation…” Lilith held out her hand, palm up, as if holding an invisible crown. “Elvira can return. In a more perfect, more eternal form. Your story can have a… happy sequel that satisfies your heart.”
Beelzebub leaned in closer, her scarlet eyes full of excitement for the show. “Choose, Jiang Ming! Will you sink into endless regret while holding a cold corpse, or embrace power and win everything? It’s a very simple choice, isn’t it? It’s rare for an Angel to be this generous!”
At this moment, she seemed to have completely stopped caring about her wager with Lilith.
The massive temptation, like a whisper from the Abyss, coupled with the cold touch of Elvira, eroded Jiang Ming’s sanity. ‘Resurrect her… bring her back…’ This thought possessed a light bright enough to swallow everything.
Jiang Ming’s arms trembled as he held Elvira. He looked down at her face, which looked as though she were peacefully asleep, and the stubborn curve of her lips. He remembered her seriousness when she handed him her diary, her silent yet reliable back during battle, and the fleeting softness in her crimson eyes—a softness she herself hadn’t noticed—whenever she looked at him.
He wanted her back. He wanted it desperately.
But…
He snapped his head up, the fragility and struggle in his eyes torn apart by a near-violent clarity.
He looked at Lilith, then at Beelzebub, and suddenly began to laugh. The laughter was dry, carrying a decisiveness that severed everything.
“Angels… they win and win again, don’t they?” he said slowly. “Setting up wagers, arranging fate, and finally throwing out bait that cannot be refused… You calculated everything. You calculated humanity, and you calculated emotions.”
“But,” he shifted his tone, his voice suddenly rising, “you miscalculated one thing.”
“Human will might be small, it might make mistakes, and it might be jerked around by you…”
He gently laid Elvira down, letting her rest flat on the deck with incredible tenderness. Then, he stood up and faced the two Angels. His figure seemed exceptionally thin in the frozen time and space, yet he stood as straight as a solitary peak.
“But human will should never, and will never, yield to the Angel’s Gift!”
He refused. He was decisive, leaving no room for negotiation.
For the first time, the expression on Lilith’s face truly froze. A ripple of emotion flashed deep within her empty crimson eyes.
Beelzebub lowered the hand propping up her chin. Her scarlet pupils widened, overflowing with curiosity and excitement. “Eh—?! You refused? You actually refused? Even though you wanted her back so much…”
Jiang Ming did not look at them again.
He turned around and knelt beside Elvira once more, but his gaze was no longer just sorrowful. It was churning with a near-insane determination and… a sudden flash of realization.
He remembered the Wishing Voucher Elvia had received at the Amusement Park.
Elvia had never used it.
Jiang Ming reached out and pulled it from Elvia’s pocket. A card with shimmering edges appeared between his fingertips.
Lilith’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. She recognized that card. It was a part of her game—a test, a trap, or an insignificant gift.
She didn’t understand what meaning it had for Jiang Ming to bring it out now.
The Philosopher’s Stone required an Exchange; it required a price so vast it was unimaginable. Elvira’s soul was dissipating, returning to the foundations of the world. To pull back a soul that had firmly chosen self-destruction against the current and re-anchor it into a whole body… the cost, even for the current Jiang Ming, should have been unbearable.
“You want to use that?” Lilith’s voice remained ethereal. “Jiang Ming, you must know that to resurrect Elvira—especially in her original, human form that rejected sublimation—the price you need to pay likely far exceeds everything you currently possess.”
“Your soul? All your memories? Or… your status and power as the Lord Protector that you haven’t fully reclaimed? Even then, it might not be enough.”
Jiang Ming gripped the warm card and did not answer. He only looked down, staring deeply into Elvira’s pale but peaceful face. Then, he performed an action that made both Angels, and even this frozen space-time, hold their breath.
He raised his other hand and pressed it against his chest.
There was no radiant light, no earth-shattering pressure. But in the next moment, a crown made of dark gold, constructed from countless thorn-like twisted runes and cold metal, was slowly pulled out from the depths of his soul—or rather, from that forgotten yet gradually awakening glorious history.
The Crown of the School of Myriad Constructs.
The Crown of Creation.
The supreme object symbolizing the Authority of Construction and Definition. it was proof of his time as Lord Protector Jiang Ming—sweeping across the lands, venturing deep into the Inner World, and strangling the Ash Angel. It was the core source of his power and the symbol of his status as a member of the Crowned Ones. It floated quietly above Jiang Ming’s palm, every spike flowing with the light of obscure rules, as if a gentle touch could define the life or death of a concept or rewrite the reality of an entire region.
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