The Elder lost.

From the moment he feared death and sought the power of the Night Race... no, further back than that, back on the battlefield a century ago, when he first encountered the Night King, he had already lost.

How strange.

Through these long years, the countless memories in the Elder's mind have long yellowed and blurred; those matters that were once incredibly important to him, he can barely remember now.

The faces of comrades, the voice of a lover, the breeze of the Wind Source Highlands, even the scent of fine wine... things once so familiar are now so foreign to him.

Everything is unclear, except the wager with the Night King, which remains incredibly vivid, immune to the ravages of time, retaining its original form.

A hundred-year bet, culminating in such an outcome.

The Elder laughed hoarsely; looking back, the Elder felt as if he was observing the life of another person.

The Blood of the Regent King has been destroyed, and the "Dawn Oath" is nothing more than a copied Book of Rubbing, as for himself... Fuen has now arrived on the battlefield, and the Elder has no hope of defeating Fuen.

His body is old and collapsing, with the backlash of the oath invading his body, even if the Elder could muster his remaining strength for a fierce assault, he still stands no chance against Fuen, he doesn't even believe he can harm Fuen.

It's said that Fuen has long possessed the power of "Ascension," stepping onto that glorious tier.

For so many years, Fuen has lingered before the sacred door, reluctant to enter; no one knows what Fuen is thinking, but what's known is that behind Fuen's casual demeanor and calm smile, he grows increasingly enigmatic, even the Elders find it hard to fathom his thoughts.

Between the Elder and Fuen lies an insurmountable era gap.

The Alchemy Matrix borne by Fuen is the most powerful and advanced in the Clarks family in recent times, second only to Palmer, while the Elder's Alchemy Matrix is an ancient relic from a hundred years ago.

Even though both are Defenders, the advancement or antiquity of their Alchemy Matrix profoundly affects the strength of their powers.

In the Extraordinary World, sometimes the older one is, the weaker they are, for today's Condensers have already begun to use advanced steel and gunpowder, while the ancient Undead still wield those ornate but impractical Etiquette Swords.

"If the Ralph of a hundred years ago saw the Ralph of today, he would surely be disappointed."

Ralph muttered to himself.

Suddenly, Ralph laughed, slowly clenching his fists.

Although he is clearly on the road to ruin, Ralph suddenly feels an indescribable ease, as if all the shackles binding his body have disappeared.

Indeed, this Ralph has nothing left to lose.

Nothing to care for, nothing to lose.

Ralph's connection to this world is completely severed, isolated within this era that doesn't belong to him, like a ghost that should have died but couldn't.

His eyes filled with the glow of Ether, Ralph roars as he unleashes all his power, instantly reaching the peak concentration of Ether, materializing in the air, the storm conjures thunder, calling forth a dense lightning storm.

The heavy wind pressure indiscriminately covers the entire area, tilting and raising ruins collapse flatly in an instant, air rapidly evacuates, all living things fall into a vacuum of suffocation.

Ralph feels the power flowing turbulently within his body, in a daze, he feels young again, although this youthful moment is fleeting, he savors the brief freedom.

The roaring wind repeatedly slices through all reachable substances, shredding them into fragmented dust, swept away by the wind.

Derby half-kneels on the ground, as the pressure gradually increases, he is firmly pinned to the ground, chaotic Wind Blades cut through his body, carving out ghastly wounds.

Ralph went mad; realizing immortality was hopeless, he launched a final frenzy, attacking everyone indiscriminately.

This time Ralph gave his all.

"I had hoped to resolve this matter more gracefully, considering you are one of the Elders."

Even amidst the clamorous wind, Fuen's voice clearly reached Ralph's ears; soon after, he saw a lightning-like sword gleam pulling across.

Whether wind or huge waves, both are cleaved under this lethal edge.

Ralph could not discern the trajectory of Fuen's attack, nor even detect Fuen's figure; as he felt the intense pain in his chest, the bloodstained Blade had already pierced through his body.

Immediately, the storm scatters, along with the compressed clouds upon the night sky, breaking apart, revealing the splendid array of stars.

"It's so beautiful..."

Ralph looked up, suddenly realizing that he hadn't gazed at the stars like this for a long time.

This beautiful world always makes one reluctant to leave.

Fuen drew his blade, with raging Ether clinging to the cold metal, as the Wind Blade spread and slaughtered from the wound.

Ralph's gaze gradually became hollow, even the Etheralized organs were completely shattered and obliterated by this strike.

Fuen left Ralph with a whole corpse. It was his final mercy for Ralph.

With Ralph's death, the night's conflict came to an end.

Fuen gazed at Ralph's corpse, wiped the blood off the blade, and sighed softly.

No one dared to disturb Fuen's sadness, everyone remained silent, and in the absolute silence, Derby's eyes were full of fear.

Fuen's strength far exceeded Derby's imagination. Derby knew Ralph was not a match for Fuen, but he couldn't have imagined Ralph would be killed in just a moment.

Derby began to doubt the information in his mind. Was Fuen really just a Defender?

The more Derby benefited from immortality, the more he feared death. Silently, he got up, and his pitch-black robe began to writhe and gradually covered his body.

The robe spread black ink, slowly blanketing Derby's body, just as he was about to blend completely with the darkness, a heavy blow struck his head, clearly deforming it a bit.

The impact brought unbearable pain and dizzying awareness. Derby stumbled, interrupting the robe's assimilation into darkness.

"Bastard!"

Derby cursed, raising his blood-stained hand, as Blood Boiling surged, exploding a hot flame from his palm.

The bright flames couldn't stop the opponent's advance, as a blurred shadow charged out from the flames, Bologue swung his hammer again, breaking Derby's remaining arm.

The roaring Wind Gun propelled the Silver Sword, precisely piercing Derby's thigh and pinning it into the ground beneath him.

With reddened eyes, Derby tried to counterattack, when Palmer fired more Wind Guns, but the subsequent attacks all missed Derby, with the deadly Blade pinning around him.

Palmer stubbornly raised his hand, a Silver Sword hovering beside him, its sword body trembled along with Palmer's arm, until Palmer could no longer hold on, and collapsed.

Bologue stepped forward, delivering a direct kick to Derby's chest, causing his body to fall uncontrollably backward as the Silver Sword piercing his thigh pulled and sliced through his body, producing relentless screams.

Derby could no longer stand, the Silverware burned his flesh, bringing uncontrollable pain, causing even tears to flow.

Bologue wasn't as merciful as Fuen.

He rode on top of Derby, covered in blood, wielding the Iron Hammer with one hand, repeatedly beating Derby.

Initially, Derby could still rely on Blood Boiling, igniting flames to strike Bologue, but after a brief pause, Bologue moved again, like a cold machine.

The Iron Hammer had a layer of silver plating, rising and falling, breaking bones, crushing the body, each contact with the body similar to a branding iron, producing a burning smoke.

Bologue pounded everything until flesh and blood were blurred, until Derby couldn't even scream, lying immobile like he was dead.

Unrelenting, Bologue swung a few more strikes at Derby's head, ensuring he couldn't temporarily come back, or was entirely dead, Bologue then tossed the Iron Hammer aside, rolling off Derby, and lay on the ruins, gazing at the brilliant stars.

Bologue was so tired, it seemed as if closing his eyes would lead to death, advancing to the next resurrection.

Turning his head, Bologue saw Vasilina carefully cradled Palmer, the two were so intimate, like the Holy Mother in a painting holding her child, Aimou struggled to crawl out from the ruins, covered in dents and scratches, even the glow of one eye dimmed, like a broken machine.

Then Bologue saw Fuen walking towards him...

"I guess Palmer might wonder if this is a vacation... or overtime..."

As Bologue pondered Palmer's possible thoughts, this question flashed through his mind, and Bologue drifted into slumber.

The noisy ruin returned to silence.

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