"The battle is truly fierce."

Crown Prince Mistofen of the Empire gazed at the smoke-covered battlefield and couldn't help but sigh.

Is it because they are favored by the Philosopher King? The strength of these few people far exceeds their imagination.

The area between the combatants has been annihilated into a vacuum zone, and the powerful collisions seem to have generated a kind of singularity, causing severe damage to the entire space.

Fortunately, this is the Inherent Time Domain, where the self-repair ability and strength of space are far stronger than the Layer Abyss's fragile physical attributes. Coupled with their prior preparation, there were essentially no problems.

As long as the Empire is willing, in their Inherent Time Domain, outsiders can't even kill an ant.

If this were the outside... such an offensive could flatten an entire stellar system, wouldn't it?

"That strike fused a lot of Arcane Energy, not merely the power of the Councilor... truly interesting."

Clearly a councilor, yet he betrayed his origin, voluntarily selling a vast amount of information—no, rather than selling, he deliberately came to deliver intelligence.

Then he walked the Pathway of the Destroyer, yet used and dominated Arcane Energy effortlessly.

He doesn't seem like an incarnation or a growth-armored vanguard either, communicating with those Descenders without obstruction—he is simply one of the Descenders.

"It seems that the talents of these Descenders need to be reassessed."

Narrative Civilization previously did not pay much attention to the players' existence.

Although, due to Li Aozi's layout, a large number of players borrowed Baizhu Star early on to contact Valkyrie Fortress, the largest mercenary platform in Layer Abyss, and showcase their skills, the world players connected with was not taken seriously by Narrative Civilization.

After all, players at the moment are merely PMC military contractors in the Third World, whereas Narrative Civilization consists of well-established Heavenly Soldiers and Generals' regular army.

The most brutal battlefield in recent years is undoubtedly the Galaxy Eye Meat Grinder, yet for Narrative Civilization, the Galaxy Eye is just a tablecloth that can be dismissed with a blink, requiring no manpower grinding.

They have numerous non-war tools that can achieve the effect: mathematical rules, constant modifiers, mass subconscious hypnosis, soul seals, mental plagues...

No matter how dazzling the players' achievements are, in the eyes of Narrative Civilization, it's merely small-time.

You say your body is immortal, but our Narrative Citizens have fifteen free revivals, seemingly not much different.

You say you grow rapidly, but Narrative Civilization has perfected extreme education and cultivation, directing mass talent production, even nurturing a drunkard like Qinlan Jiuge into a Kappa (10)-level powerhouse for the Empire.

You say your numbers are vast—do you wish to compete in population with Narrative Civilization?

But now, Leoz and others are fiercely confronting Underwater Abyss Bureau Director Qinlan Jiuge, truly refreshing Narrative Civilization's perceptions.

"Perhaps these Descenders are not only for cannon fodder use."

"Their talents may not be inferior to our Narrative Citizens, and their numbers aren't small; they encompass various races without requiring domestication."

"However, compared to these Descenders, that 'Blacksmith' named Leoz is even more noteworthy..."

Mistofen contemplated in his heart.

These few Descenders should be considered top-tier strength in their group, whether it's the Elemental Caster meticulously deploying elements and refreshing spell slots or the 'Soul Capturer' superbly controlling the field—these are battle-hardened individuals, absolutely trained amidst piles of corpses.

But, no matter how one looks at it, the most eye-catching is that 'Blacksmith'.

"Leoz... what an unimaginative name, as if too lazy to even act, really unwilling to reveal his identity, or is it just opportunism, betting on both sides?"

Mistofen was quite interested in this 'Blacksmith'.

However, unfortunately, no matter how much he wanted to keep the opponent, the Philosopher King's orders were more important; he could only let them leave.

This final strike was their evidence presented to the Empire's high echelons, proving they weren't mere terrorists but rather talents worthy of investment.

In fact, this further corroborated the Philosopher King's correct judgment, akin to reciprocation.

Speaking of which, hasn't Qinlan Jiuge made any movements all this time?

Mistofen glanced at the center of the impact, the core position that was gradually surrounded by a dense plasma ocean following the explosion, almost imperceptible to any changes.

Is it still in battle, or has Director Qinlan Jiuge already taken control?

If it's truly the latter, then they can only find an opportunity to let them go.

According to the e Philosopher King's deduction, only when this group reaches the Border Abyss can they bring effective returns to the Empire.

Time passed by the minute, yet the plasma ocean showed no signs of weakening, the thick primordial matter aura around didn't dissipate, seemingly indicating that Qinlan Jiuge and the group of insurgents were locked in a fierce battle.

...?

Mistofen lightly tapped the tabletop and spoke:

"King, set up the four-dimensional network; I want to apply to view the timeline."

"Permission granted."

The Philosopher King gently raised a finger, seeming to select something in the air, suddenly dragging and choosing a distinct ray of light.

"Time for 30 seconds; drag it yourself. The light threads will link you and me. Be careful not to let go; otherwise, you'll remain turning at the time fork."

"Understood."

Mistofen raised his hand, catching the light thread that had somehow arrived in front of him, his eyes quickly becoming deep and hollow.

First screening, singularity zero, no change.

Noticed unusual fluctuations, one minute fifty seconds ago—identified as a normal phenomenon.

Second screening, singularity five, no change.

Observed four node fluctuations, six minutes seven seconds ago, twelve minutes ago, twenty-six seconds ago—excluded.

Performed model filtering, removed passive interference items...

Third screening begins.

"—Got it!"

Thirteen minutes and twenty-one seconds ago, at this time point, an anomaly occurred.

Mistofen rapidly dived into his subconscious, directly arriving at this time, magnified the space location, switched the perspective, and step by step directed his consciousness into the plasma ocean.

Almost there, the surrounding space noise points are numerous, the dimension shows discontinuous stacking traces; it's evident someone edited at the four-dimensional level.

Mistofen calmed down; this clearly wasn't the work of Kappa or Zeta.

Able to enter the higher-dimensional realm without anyone noticing, even bypassing the Philosopher King's surveillance, and directly editing the three-dimensional space.

This is not something a Mortal can achieve, nor can ordinary Ascenders or common Omegas.

To achieve this...

Mistofen's heart grew heavier, as he continued to plunge into the timeline, heedless of his own safety.

Just as he was about to enter the plasma ocean, the surrounding world suddenly darkened.

"What's going on?"

He looked down at his left hand—clutching tightly at the golden thread in his palm, which was now rapidly fading into darkness.

"The Philosopher King's thread of light, unexpectedly being eroded..."

Mistofen was horrified, but having come this far, he had no other choice.

The only path now was to continue forward along the set trajectory, reach the edited time segment, and from there reconnect with the Empire.

This was the only way to leave.

With his mind made up, Mistofen took step after step forward.

Strictly speaking, the world before him was not completely dark; he could faintly hear many strange sounds.

The rotation of celestial bodies, the conversations of men and women, the songs of merfolk, the howling cold winds atop snow-capped mountains...

Finally, these sounds became clearer, and he was drawing ever closer to that missing time segment.

He stepped his left foot forward, suddenly finding himself on a muddy land, the cold and damp environment vastly different from the eternally springlike Red Mist Star.

"Here..."

Mistofen's eyes widened in shock as he gazed at the world before him.

............

Outside the Empire enforcement team perimeter, the various armed units immediately fell into tense formations.

As soon as Mistofen stepped into the timeline, these enforcement units were met by a group of bizarre individuals.

"Who are you?"

The temporary commander cautiously observed the unexpected guests, who appeared to be of the Cosmic Human Race, yet inexplicably exuded an indescribable sense of discord.

At first glance, they seemed to be living people, yet they appeared strangely odd.

Their skin was fair and their gazes were clear, but their movements were as stiff as plants.

The man leading them wore a straw hat and had a towel around his neck, resembling an old farmer, while others looked like firefighters, lawyers, or reporters, a grand total of about two hundred people.

In response to the Empire official's questioning, the lead farmer illogically said:

"Senator Leoz, we've been waiting for you for a long time."

The Empire official furrowed his brow, displeased, and shouted:

"Who exactly are you? This is an enforcement site, unauthorized personnel should not approach."

"I'm not talking to you, sir."

The old farmer removed his hat, revealing a simple and honest face, and smiled:

"I'm just a farmer, a land tiller, looking for a Blacksmith to come into the city and have some fun."

In the next moment, the entire Empire shook violently, and a suffocating despair and oppression surged through the world.

"Forged nine times—not, this aura—"

The Empire official's face turned ashen:

"Final—Reforging?!"

..................

A bitter wind blew past his forehead, tossing Leoz's disheveled hair.

"Here..."

The familiar cold touched his fingertips, and Leoz sheathed his Blade, standing amidst the snow.

A steam train wheezed by beside him, as a newspaper boy with a face full of frostbite shouted loudly:

"Extra! Extra! Victor Duchy and Falysia Kingdom announce a trade agreement, a new grain export law is forthcoming!"

"Falysia... such a familiar name?"

"A'zhen?"

Hearing someone call him, Leoz turned his head, only to see a white puffball rolling towards him, which up close, he recognized as Lanan.

"Yueyue? How did you become like this?"

"Ah, this."

Clad in a luxurious moon-white gown, Lanan looked like a little princess, her hair soaked with snow, with a cluster of unknown purple flowers tucked into her forehead. She lifted the hem of her gown and spun around, her feet sinking into the soft snow, making a rustling sound.

"I don't know either why, but after coming here, I suddenly found myself in this attire."

Lanan said, tilting her head to look at Leoz, and said:

"A'zhen, you've also changed."

"Really?"

Leoz raised his hand, using the Blacksmith's power to refine mercury, forming a Mirror before him:

"Hmm? This appearance..."

The mirror did not show the conscripted body of Isaac Maxim, but rather a tall, cold-faced, gold-haired Samurai with deep blue eyes, a Blade at his waist.

He had seen this appearance before.

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