Pillar of Yita

”Scepter?”

Fang Hong’s mind flashed with a spark, and he subconsciously glanced at the scepter in his hand. Because it was inconvenient to put away, he had always been holding it.

At the moment, the scepter in his hand hadn’t changed at all, but on the nearby Light Page, those two lines of text were always in his sight, particularly eye-catching:

’Regret is like poison, gnawing at the heart—’

”Regret is like poison, gnawing at the heart...” Fang Hong murmured in his heart, ”Regret is like poison... Regret...”

Suddenly, he remembered.

Wasn’t this the greatest obsession of that Praetor from Dolifen—revenge.

Luen Linxiu told him that acknowledgment was the key to entering this Phantom Realm.

But how had he and Hilveld entered this Phantom Realm?

Perhaps it was because of his connection with Hudi that the girl named Hes had acknowledged him, allowing him into this final Phantom Realm.

But now, perhaps he should add that Praetor from Dolifen to the list.

Fang Hong silently looked at the scepter in his hand, his heart not too surprised.

The boundless hatred had ensnared Count Grossel’s soul within this Phantom Realm that had lingered for thirty years, making the old man’s vain Phantom persistently haunt the City Hall.

And as long as the hatred didn’t dissipate, the Phantom Realm would exist forever.

These were the three relics of Dolifen—

Fang Hong had already faintly thought of the answer.

Dragon’s Golden Eyes might have controlled the Undead within the city.

It even allowed its own Strength tendrils to reach beyond Dolifen, extending the power of the Undead into the real world.

It had even already obtained the all-important Fairy Holy Sword, the shadow of Galapea—the illusory Blade of Victory, and had found the method to destroy it.

It deceived cleverly, a step ahead of everyone else.

And had laid myriad traps, with the Dragonfire Guild in front and Dragon Worshippers behind.

But unfortunately—

Fang Hong looked at the scepter in his hand, feeling as if a sense of enlightenment had dawned upon him. He raised his head, gazing at the smoky night sky above the city of Dolifen.

It seemed like there, in that place—were a pair of eyes—perhaps not just one pair, but countless gazes silently watching over this city, everything within this Phantom Realm.

Those who believed they would be successful, were doomed to fail.

Conspiracies may succeed temporarily, but in the end, they will only end up implicating themselves.

Because the answer had already been written down, it was actually here all along.

Just waiting for the right moment—

Those were the Undead of Dolifen.

Tens of thousands of souls, countless despairs and obsessions, and what was it beyond three relics? Those were countless repeated scenarios, numerous people struggling and perishing within the sea of fire.

So those were pairs of angry and resolute hands reaching out from the depths of the Abyss, seizing everything and everyone trying to flee from their sins, rendering them powerless to escape.

The Dragon Worshippers, together with Nikopolas, had crafted this disaster with their own hands.

How could those who suffered at their hands easily forgive the culprits?

It’s rather ironic—

The very power they sought to use would inevitably turn against them, filling the last shovel of dirt atop their graves. Fang Hong lifted the Scepter of Authority, having already prepared the epitaphs for these people in his heart.

As long as the Phantom Realm never perishes.

These people would never be able to escape from it all.

However, Fang Hong was even more curious about who constructed this Phantom Realm; it certainly couldn’t have been the Undead of Dolifen.

Because a cycle from which one side could not escape even through death would forever bind the other within this Phantom Realm, it was almost as malicious as a Curse.

So who restricted the power of Dragon’s Golden Eyes, forcing her to rely on the power of the Undead and the strength of outsiders to escape this labyrinth?

Who, exactly, was the shadow of Nikopolas at Grey Oak Square?

Fang Hong felt he was getting closer and closer to the truth, raising the Scepter of Authority calmly as he gazed at Manlo Huolite in the center of the square.

Ever since he had entered this Phantom Realm, he had felt never quite as composed as he was at this moment, because now—

he had truly seen the outcome of this Combat—

’Regret is like poison, gnawing at the heart—’ Now he understood.

Then, what was to have dominion over thousands of armies?

Fang Hong thought it was necessary to give the people before him a lesson.

Since Declan sought revenge through his hands, then now, he might as well take up the role of Lord Earl of the Grossel Family.

He looked at them and spoke calmly, ”My not being dead seems to have surprised you, Manlo.”

This remark first made Luen Linxiu hesitate, turning back to give him a surprised look, perhaps not expecting him to adapt to the role so quickly.

”Pretending to be something you’re not.”

Miss Maid glanced at him, evaluating accurately and fairly.

Hilveld, on the other hand, stood behind with a smile, holding her box and painting, the very picture of an artistic Noble young lady.

But no one was more surprised than Manlo.

The latter’s pointed beard even quivered with anger: ”You couldn’t possibly be alive; I personally made sure... No, could it be a Substitute, you had perceived something!?”

Fang Hong (Declan) wasn’t dead.

This fact appeared to have greatly frustrated him; the former probably was quite pleased with his plan, but in the midst of his triumph, someone had slapped him across the face.

It was approximately that feeling.

Embarrassed and annoyed.

”Not only am I not dead, but I also bring you some bad news,” said Fang Hong, finding it quite interesting: ”Look at the mess you’ve created in Dolifen; I think you haven’t forgotten who is the real Praetor here?”