The tumultuous battlefield fell into an eerie silence with the appearance of the Elder. Derby's eyes sparkled with hope, Palmer and Vasilina's gaze appeared somewhat blank, as if unable to believe the scene before them.

Bologue faced this situation with a deep sigh, remembering the words Fuen once said to him, which were originally told to Fuen by Serey.

The shell is eternal, but the inner soul is decayed beyond repair.

Bologue believed that the Elder before him was once a loyal human ally, brave in battle, fighting on the front lines against death, scorning all acts of cowardice.

Unfortunately, humans are fickle. As the years pass, while the Elder's shell does not die, his heart and soul continuously wither and decay.

The Elder no longer has the same nobility as when he was young nor the firm belief in the so-called iron laws. With the approach of the Death God, his once great courage has been worn away, leaving only the survival instinct born from life, that desire to resist death.

To survive, the Elder is willing to pay any price, even to live like a worm, offering up his own soul, becoming the very form he once despised most, and he responds gladly.

"So... it's like this."

No one explained the events of this night, but the appearance of the Elder itself was an answer, a disappointing and sad answer.

Palmer repeatedly took deep breaths, trying to control his emotions. Despite Palmer's carefree nature, deep down, he is still proud of the honor of the Clarks family.

Betrayal is always more hateful than a strong enemy.

"Don't hold back, Bologue," Palmer tightened his grip on the Silver Sword, eyes filled with raging fire, "He left the Wind Cellar, broke the oath, he is no longer one of the Clarks."

Palmer was decisive and resolute, refusing to listen to the Elder's explanation.

Derby revealed a fanatical smile, "We still won."

The Elder understood Derby's meaning, he raised his dry hand, lifting a heavy tome, the ancient cover inscribed with "Dawn Oath".

"The other Elders are resting, during this period, I am on night watch..."

The Elder's voice was hoarse and dull, he loathed his current voice, whenever he closed his eyes, he could still recall his youthful self and that imposing tone, rather than now, where speaking a few more words felt like he would cough to death.

Many high-tier Condensers of the Clarks family would eventually sleep within the Wind Cellar, relying on the high concentration of Ether environment, along with their own Etherealization, as Elders and witnesses of history, avoiding the scythe of the Death God.

The Elders aren't always awake; only during major decision events are they collectively awakened. In usual circumstances, during each period, only one Elder remains awake, serving as the spokesperson to communicate with the outside world.

No one expected the Clarks family's defeat would come from its indestructible interior. The Elder moved with ease; he did not attract anyone's attention, took out "Dawn Oath" from the dust-covered bookshelf, then boldly walked out of the Wind Cellar.

Everything was so simple, hardly considered a conspiracy or trick.

"When did it start? Why?"

At this moment, Vasilina stepped out, questioning the Elder. She grew up in the Wind Source Highlands, aside from the different surname, she felt she was completely part of the Clarks family.

She couldn't understand the developments of this event, Vasilina never imagined the holy Elder would be the first to corrupt.

The Elder did not respond; he has lived through long years, many things he no longer cared about, whether his own honor or the ideas he pursued.

But Vasilina's words could not help but trigger the Elder's memories, buried deep within his memory, changing his life one night.

It was the beginning of the Dawn War, before Serey's betrayal had started, the Night Race and secret societies were constantly disputing in the shadows.

The Elder was then only a Negative Power User; after a chaotic night of battle, he sustained serious injuries, falling on the cusp of dawn.

He had been defeated, there's no explanation for it, that night he faced an unstoppable enemy.

Golden light spilled at the horizon's end, facing that pure light, the Night Race followed the night and departed, the Elder lay on the ground, hearing the approaching sound of hooves, and the low hum of armor clashing due to movement.

The Elder saw that proud figure, clad in all black armor, face hidden behind a cold iron face, he lowered his head, gazing at him.

The Elder felt he was about to die, as a Negative Power User he wouldn't let himself survive.

Indeed, the proud figure lifted the equally black blade, the cold sword tip hovered over the Elder's head.

The Elder knew what he was about to face; he was terrified, but for the sake of honor in his heart, he still mustered the courage to face the sword tip, refusing to let himself close his eyes.

Vaguely, the Elder heard bursts of laughter, the proud figure stood over him.

"Aren't you afraid of death?"

"I'm not afraid."

The Elder answered firmly, and as he spoke these words, he bade farewell to life with an unparalleled serenity in his heart.

The proud man was silent for a moment before speaking again, "No, you fear death, I can see it in your eyes."

"No..."

"No need to rush to explain," the proud man said, "I am too familiar with that look in your eyes. You use so-called honor as an excuse, forcing yourself to accept death... You are not brave; it is merely an escape."

The Elder glared angrily at the proud man and cursed, "If you intend to humiliate me..."

"I don't mean to humiliate you, just stating a fact."

The proud man interrupted the Elder again, then slowly raised the pitch-black blade.

"Care for a wager?"

"Bet... on what?"

"Bet on whether you fear death."

The Elder did not understand the words of the proud man at that time; he only saw a drop of fresh blood dripping from the sword's tip.

The Elder forced his eyes open, determined to face death. That drop of blood fell into his eye, staining his vision red, seeping into his soul, leaving a seed of corruption.

Looking back now, the Elder always felt that the proud man foresaw the end of this war, and thus made such a choice.

In the end, the proud man simply left, leaving the Elder to his fate on the battlefield. Later, the Elder learned that that night he had encountered a hunting party of the Night King's guard.

The Night King himself was patrolling his territory.

"Time mercilessly crushes all illusory things and cruelly tears open many lies."

The Elder whispered as he broke free from his memories.

At this moment, he not only felt that the Night King had already seen the end of the Dawn War but also foresaw his own end a hundred years later.

So the Night King made such a wager with him, the Elder smiled self-deprecatingly. At this point, he had no choice but to acknowledge the greatness of the Night King; he was willing to lose this bet.

"Why? Why..."

The Elder gradually stood upright, his spine drawing tall and straight, towering and steadfast.

"I also want to ask why. Why, when we possess such immense power, must we hide in the shadows and hand over this world to those laughable mortals?"

Under the golden mask, the Elder's eyes were bloodshot, like those of the Night Race.

"Why, when we bear the honor, can we not enjoy immortality? Why must we linger in those dark corners, suffering eternal loneliness for this ridiculous ideal?"

The Elder's voice was twisted and hoarse, accompanied by a mad narrative, and his own ether intensity was gradually rising, in an instant reaching the Tier of the Negative Power User, yet this was not his limit.

"I've had enough of these damn days."

The Elder despised his duties, despised his former self who laughably regarded honor and duty as everything.

"No matter what you say, you have broken the oath, haven't you?"

Palmer growled, the Elder's betrayal far more infuriating than the attacks by the Night Race. Raising his hand, he released the Wind Gun, the fast-moving airflow rushing towards the Elder, and at the moment it was about to touch the Elder, the airflow dispersed into a gentle breeze.

The Elder was well acquainted with Palmer's Secret Energy, for it was the same Secret Energy he bore.

"An oath, is it?"

The Elder raised his withered palm, and faint chains appeared, binding his body.

From the moment the Elder stepped into the Wind Cellar, donned the Red Robe, and wore the Golden Mask, he, like the other Elders, signed an oath to dedicate the rest of his life to the Clarks.

Fortunately, this oath was not as strict as the 'Dawn Oath'; for the Clarks, it was more like a sacred ritual.

"Such things as oaths... are no longer important."

The Elder spoke as he shattered the chains, enduring the backlash of the oath, with blood seeping from the corner of his mouth while his power soared to the highest point, regaining that formidable strength of yesteryears and feeling the true freedom.

A sudden breeze arose, coming forth from the centennial past, traversing the annals of history, charging boldly into the night, unstoppable.

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