Chapter 514: The World Goes On

Thunder rolled endlessly overhead; below, flowers bloomed in glorious profusion across the ground.

The Arena of Storms had once been built purely to please Thanos, where the giants would fight one another until death claimed them, until they vanished from the material plane entirely.

But now, an enormous gravestone stood at the very heart of the arena, pinning down the massive silver dragon beneath it. Flowers carpeted the ground all around it, enchanted blooms that would never wilt, so long as even a single visitor still came to pay their respects.

The great Holy King, Arthur Lyon, had sacrificed himself, driving his divine power straight through the time dragon's body and annihilating his soul entirely.

And yet the time dragon's corpse never decayed. Instead, it flickered ceaselessly, leaping back and forth across different points in time.

This was the true measure of a time dragon's power. Even with Atros's soul utterly destroyed, his body still retained immense residual power over time, every single cell instinctively bending time around itself, endlessly trying to heal its own wounds.

Back when Arthur Lyon had first crafted his artifact from the Dragon Tyrant's corpse, a large part of his reasoning had been fear that the dragon might one day return to life.

Even flesh chopped into pieces and burned to ash wasn't truly safe, because that same pile of ash could, in the very next instant, flicker back to life all on its own.

But this time, Lyon's people no longer had any right to decide what became of this even more powerful time dragon's remains.

The chaos the Draconic Armaments had unleashed had, in the end, only been resolved because their own founding ancestor sacrificed himself to fix it. Once this news spread, the people of Lyon, from one end of the nation to the other, were consumed by an overwhelming shame. A wave of suicides swept through the country in its wake.

Even knowing suicide would send them straight to Hell, plenty of Lyon's citizens chose to do so without hesitation.

The foolishness of later generations had forced their Holy King to sacrifice himself a second time. Only Hell's own tortures, it seemed, could ever atone for guilt this deep.

Allen rushed back to Lyon immediately after the funeral. He alone had any hope of stabilizing the country in the absence of a royal family that had utterly lost the people's trust.

The orc horde had been fully mobilized and ready to strike, but the Orc King's death threw their own kingdom into chaos as well. They found themselves torn between crowning a new king first or striking while Lyon remained in disarray—and since no one within the kingdom was willing to defer to anyone else, the deliberation collapsed into open brawling. By the time it was settled, they'd missed their last window to attack entirely.

With food supplies running dangerously low, they could no longer sustain a full military campaign. The war between the two nations sputtered out into an anticlimactic end.

In the end, after extensive deliberation, the other kingdoms agreed not to dissect or otherwise dispose of the dragon's corpse. Instead, they invested enormous manpower and resources into building a monument directly over the remains, one that recorded, in full and exacting detail, the entire course of the dragon-slaying battle so that future generations could come and pay tribute.

Beyond serving as a memorial, this monument also functioned as a massive sealing circle.

At its core stood another time dragon: Naomi, who was forced to remain there for an extended period, using her own power to absorb and neutralize the residual temporal energy still lingering within the dragon's corpse.

The process would likely take an extraordinarily long time, but Naomi herself had volunteered for the task. The druids simply assumed the young woman was one of Sylvanas's most devoted followers, willing to sacrifice her own life for the sake of the world peace.

Only Catherine understood the truth: that Naomi meant to absorb the dragon's residual power in the hope of eventually reviving her own master.

In the aftermath of the battle, plenty had already tried using Resurrection.

For sufficiently high-level priests, a complete corpse, freshly dead, could still be brought back through resurrection magic so long as the soul hadn't yet fallen into some Lord of Hell's hands. Powerful enough spells like Perfect Resurrection or Wish could even contest a Lord of Hell's claim directly.

Unfortunately, neither of the two fallen heroes could be reached through any of these methods.

Arthur Lyon had been struck down by Aion himself, his heroic spirit utterly obliterated. There was no soul left to be restored, nor even a body to work with. As for the other hero, the lich... In principle, his phylactery should have been able to revive him, even after he reverted to human form.

But Ambrose's death hadn't been a simple matter of old age or a fatal fall. The true cause had been the dragonblood curse the dying dragon cast upon him in his final moments.

The last person to have suffered under that same curse had been the original Arthur Lyon himself—and his soul, too, had ultimately been utterly destroyed.

Ambrose's fate had been no different. His soul had already shattered completely before his body ever struck the ground. The dragon's curse had transformed centuries of Ambrose's own most painful memories into something like a pack of ravening beasts, tearing his soul apart and devouring it whole. Every expert who investigated the matter afterward agreed that his soul was completely gone.

Perhaps only Aion himself, or a potent time reversal, could ever bring him back now.

However many people had once ground their teeth in hatred of this lich while he still lived, in the wake of this battle, every one of them bowed their heads before his monument, praising the greatness of his sacrifice.

And yet, no sooner had they turned away from the memorial than these same people began quietly scheming over how best to divide up the vast fortune this lich lord had left behind.

Everyone had already witnessed firsthand the business Ambrose had built on Coin Island. Rather than "making gold," it was more like "breeding gold."

In a remarkably short span of time, the lich had built an entire commercial empire, and his sudden death had done surprisingly little to damage it. The only real casualty was his cheap, efficient undead labor force.

But since no kingdom would be going to war again anytime soon, that particular business wouldn't have a market anytime soon.

The real money lay in logistics and shipping, alchemical manufacturing, and the various regional specialty goods the lich had monopolized across the continent.

The elven magical materials, spices and high-end equipment from the former Unholy Kingdom, and so on—every one of these deals had been personally negotiated by the lich while he was still alive.

Whoever managed to seize control of these supply chains would effectively own a goose that laid golden eggs.

Some still hesitated, mindful of the fact that this lich had just sacrificed himself for the entire world. Others had already moved straight into outright, shameless plunder.

On Coin Island, which had now been converted entirely into an alchemical manufacturing facility, Harvey glared thunderously at the figure before him: the new President of the Alchemists' Guild, Gustavo Flynn. He hadn't come bearing the profit-sharing payment that was due, but rather an entirely new revenue-split contract.

A quick glance was all it took for Harvey to see the split ratios had been completely rewritten. Where their master should have retained the majority of the profits, this new contract redirected essentially all of it straight into the Alchemists' Guild's own pocket.

Harvey seized the new contract and demanded, "Master Flynn, is this truly the Alchemists' Guild's final decision?"

Gustavo Flynn regarded Harvey with an expression utterly devoid of emotion. That stern, humorless dark face alone bore down on the young man with tremendous pressure. Rumor had it more than one alchemist had literally died of fright under Gustavo Flynn's gaze alone.

Harvey felt a flicker of unease himself, but with his master gone, the former bookkeeper had found himself thrust into the role of principal negotiator across a great many of Ambrose's business dealings. He had no choice now but to grit his teeth and face down this greedy alchemist directly.

"Master Flynn, you know exactly what this contract represents. You would be swallowing my master's entire business whole."

"Your master swallowed plenty of other people's businesses while he was alive too. He started wars, trafficked weapons, counterfeited potions, and so on. The world is cruel, Harvey, and it doesn't change just because your master has become a hero in death. You've followed that lich long enough. Surely you understand how this world actually works by now?"

Harvey let out a cold laugh. "Lecturing a diviner about how the world works, Master Flynn? What you're describing is nothing more than the unwritten rules of the marketplace."

Gustavo Flynn's expression didn't so much as flicker. "What we're discussing right now is simply business. Let's be blunt about it. If you had even half your master's ability, I wouldn't have needed to come here myself. Harvey, it's time you got properly reacquainted with this world. The strong devour the weak. Out of respect for your master, I'm willing to leave you a small cut, but only if you understand exactly where you stand."

Harvey rose to his feet, furious. "The dragon-alchemy trade runs entirely through the supply channels my master controlled. Without the raw materials, you people can't accomplish a thing. What exactly gives you the confidence to rewrite this contract?"

"Do you honestly believe the world simply stopped turning during the time your master's been gone? We've already sent people overseas to negotiate directly with the dragons. You people promised the dragons access to the continent's food and luxury goods. But your master's gone now. Do you really think someone of your caliber can satisfy dragons that greedy?"

Harvey hadn't expected the Alchemists' Guild to move this fast. They'd already sent envoys overseas to negotiate with the dragons directly? How had he not heard a single word of this?

"You're free to refuse this new contract, of course. But do you actually have any way to hold onto your master's business? Do you intend to go to war with the entire Alchemists' Guild? Do you honestly think you're the lich who could bring down gods with nothing but his own tongue?"

Gustavo Flynn didn't underestimate Harvey out of contempt. The boy was, by all accounts, genuinely gifted. Rumor held that he was most likely to become the next legendary diviner, after Ambrose himself.

But so much in this world came down to comparisons.

During his master's heyday, Ambrose had stomped every genius across the entire world flat beneath his feet. Measured against that standard, Harvey fell painfully short. He was nowhere sufficient to make the truly ambitious back down.

Gustavo Flynn very much hoped Harvey would come to terms with reality. He'd even prefer to have Harvey working directly for him—it would make absorbing the remainder of Ambrose's business empire so much simpler.

Gustavo Flynn could see plainly that Harvey was already wavering. His inner resolve simply wasn't strong enough yet; he wasn't quite qualified to inherit that lich's legacy.

Gustavo Flynn also felt no small relief that Ambrose happened to be a lich, rather than a human noble backed by some sprawling family dynasty. Otherwise, prying his assets loose would have been considerably harder.

Just as Gustavo Flynn pressed forward, believing he was about to force Harvey into submission, the young man suddenly let every trace of emotion drain from his expression, seized the parchment bearing the new contract, and tore it apart with a single, violent motion.

Fragments scattered across the floor. Harvey said to Gustavo Flynn, perfectly calm, "You're right. I fall far short of my master. I can't hold onto his business. But you won't be taking it from me either, Master Flynn. I may not have a talent for business, but I do have a talent for something else entirely.

"If you insist on going through with this shameless act, then I promise you this: every single member of the Alchemists' Guild will suffer misfortune for the next hundred years, decade after decade. You'll accomplish nothing. You'll be plagued by one disaster after another. This world will come to despise every last one of you. That's what I'm capable of doing. I'll sacrifice everything I have and offer it up to fate itself, in exchange for your Alchemists' Guild's utter ruin."

Gustavo Flynn's brow furrowed, but he didn't take the threat seriously in the slightest.

Diviners were troublesome, certainly, but Harvey was still nothing more than a boy who'd only just stepped out of his apprenticeship. A threat like that was nothing but bluster, empty words with no real substance behind them.

But just as Gustavo Flynn opened his mouth to press the pressure further, he felt his own body suddenly stiffen.

The air around them seemed to turn bitterly cold all at once. Gustavo Flynn could actually see his own breath fogging into pale white mist.

A figure in deep crimson materialized before the two of them, regal and breathtakingly beautiful. The mere sight of her sent Gustavo Flynn's very soul trembling.

What was she doing here?!

Harvey, on the other hand, let out a cry of pure delight.

"Lady Rose! What brings you here?"

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