Summer of Terra Year 1075, Outskirts of Kazdel.
The sound of rain pitter-pattered, drumming against the roof of the worn-out tent.
Lacey abruptly opened his eyes, a violent sense of vertigo causing him to instinctively reach out and clutch his forehead.
Before him lay a scene that was both strange and familiar.
The gray, overcast sky outside the tent, the muddy earth, and the empty wine bottle sitting on the stone block in front of him.
The rain was freezing. It slid down the tips of his hair and soaked his collar; that damp, cold sensation was so incredibly real.
It was as if that magnificent, decades-long imperial epic, that eternal war fought against "Nothingness" in the Barrens, had all been nothing more than an absurd dream catalyzed by alcohol.
Vina... Gertrude... Serafina...
One by one, vivid names and faces flashed through his heart.
Everything was still so clear in his mind.
He could even recall the faint fragrance in Vina's hair, could feel the slight coolness of Gertrude's fingertips when she handed him documents.
That was not a dream.
He had indeed lived a lifetime as a Caprinae in Leithanien, built an unprecedentedly great empire, and ultimately transformed himself into an eternal lighthouse to guard that world.
But now, he had returned to the mud of Kazdel.
A sense of loss surged like a tide, threatening to swallow his mind completely.
The empire he had dedicated his life to, the kin and loved ones he cherished, had all vanished like smoke with the end of the simulation.
He had saved a world, yet in the end, he could leave nothing behind.
Just then, a voice rang out in his mind.
[Simulation Ended, Settling...]
[Simulation Duration: 51 Years]
[Major Achievements: Established the Third Holy Leithanien Empire, ended the family feuds of Siracusa, promoted the industrial reform of Kazimierz, liberated the Infected of Ursus, forged the concept of the "Terra Community", resisted the Subspace Demon "Infinite Echoes Cresong", incarnated as a Conceptual Anchor to guard Terra's civilization...]
[Comprehensive Evaluation: S]
[Evaluation Summary: With a mortal body, you performed the deeds of a god; the concept of the "Terra Community" you forged surpassed the sum of the wills of the Witch King and Ursus in grandeur, becoming the sole line of defense against the ultimate threat; you are the undisputed Guardian of Civilization, the lighthouse that never extinguishes in the darkness, hope itself...]
[Distributing Rewards...]
[Congratulations Host. The traits "The Art of Language (Blue)", "Master of the Arts (Blue)", and "United We Stand (Gold)" have been permanently solidified and have become your inherent abilities.]
Lacey listened quietly to the System's settlement report.
An S-rank evaluation and the permanent solidification of all initial traits—this was undoubtedly a high-specification reward.
Yet, there was not a shred of joy in his heart, only a hollow melancholy.
He had saved a simulated world, but what he truly wanted to save was this devastated Kazdel before his eyes.
He slowly raised his head, the rainwater blurring his vision.
He remembered the invitation Theresis had extended before leaving, and he remembered Theresa's reform that sacrificed the root for the branches.
The siblings: one held a sharp sword but only knew how to swing it; the other harbored compassion but could not see the path beneath her feet.
Where exactly did the future of the Sarkaz lie?
Just as Lacey sank into deep thought, the space in front of him suddenly rippled.
Immediately after, a crown, pitch-black throughout, emerged from thin air.
It hovered quietly in mid-air.
Lacey's breathing stopped for an instant.
Then, the Black Crown slowly descended, landing upon his head.
In that split second, an unimaginable flood of information surged into his mind!
It was countless shattered images, the glory and fall of the ancient Sarkaz Royal Court, the oaths taken by successive Lords of Fiends upon their ascension, and their wails at the moment of death.
The first Sarkaz Lord of Fiends, the Exile...
The founder of the second Kazdel, Grod the "Mason"...
The chieftain of the Damazti Cluster, Bal'sasar the "Sun-Kindler", who succeeded the throne after killing Grod and burned down the Kazdel Grod had left behind...
Kollam, the "Teal Wrath"... The Great Withering... The Proclaimer... Ilesh...
Generation after generation of Sarkaz Lords of Fiends had strived for the rise of the Sarkaz, but often things went contrary to their wishes.
He saw the ancestors of the Sarkaz making contact with Originium for the first time; he saw how they utilized Originium Arts to build a massive kingdom, and how they were cursed because of this power, reduced to "devils" spat upon by all of Terra.
He saw the flames of civil war burning Kazdel to scorched earth time and time again; he saw countless compatriots dying amidst hunger, disease, and discrimination.
Endless knowledge, memories, emotions, responsibilities... frantically assaulted his consciousness.
He understood.
This Black Crown was not a symbol of power, but "Civilization's Continuance" itself.
It was the aggregate of the will of the Sarkaz race that had continued to this day, the incarnation of the obsessions of all departed Sarkaz heroic spirits and successive Lords of Fiends.
It had chosen him—a returning wanderer, a hero with a soul from another world who had bled for the Sarkaz, a guardian who had proved in the simulated world that he could carry the weight of a civilization.
From this moment on, he was no longer merely Lacey, one of the Seven Sarkaz Heroes.
He had become the new "Lord of Fiends".
This was no longer a simulation. There were no chances to start over.
The crown atop his head was ten thousand times heavier than the imperial crown he had forged in Leithanien.
What it carried was the final hope of a race on the verge of extinction.
Lacey slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the confusion and melancholy within them had faded.
Replacing them was a tranquil will.
He reached out, catching the cold rainwater, and then slowly clenched his fist.
"I am back," he whispered.
This time, the one he would save was his own home.
Is there really still hope?
After thinking for a long time, Lacey asked himself this.
What was the current situation of Kazdel?
Agriculture: None.
Industry: Hmm...
Military Industry: Passable. Basic Industry: None.
Finance: None.
Education: None.
Medical: None.
Economy: None.
Technology: None.
Diplomacy: None.
Military: This, they had. Top notch.
Lacey: "..."
Could Zhuge Liang save Kazdel if he were reborn?
Tired. Let it be destroyed.
The rain outside the tent gradually lessened, turning into a fine drizzle that draped a layer of gray gauze over the dilapidated outskirts of Kazdel.
Theresis returned.
He had already walked a long way off, but Lacey's final words, "I don't know," and the flame that had flashed in his eyes, made him feel that something was amiss.
As a close friend who had fought side by side with him for many years, he understood Lacey too well.
This man might get lost, but he would never run away.
Theresis returned because he wanted to ask for clarity, even if just to dispel the doubts in his heart.
However, when he approached the tent again, his footsteps came to an abrupt halt.
The atmosphere around them had changed.
Theresis's gaze crossed the curtain of rain, landing on the figure standing in front of the tent.
Lacey was still Lacey, dressed in plain traveler's clothes, his posture upright.
But on his head, there was something extra.
A black crown.
Theresis's pupils constricted.
He knew better than anyone what that Black Crown represented—the supreme authority of the Sarkaz, the "Civilization's Continuance", the proof of the true Lord of Fiends.
He had personally experienced the crown choosing both himself and Theresia at the same time; he knew deeply that the Lord of Fiends did not have to be only one person.
But he did not understand. Why, at this moment, would the crown appear on Lacey's head in such a sudden manner?
What about Theresia?
His sister, the current Lord of Fiends—what had happened to her?
Countless thoughts exploded in Theresis's mind. His battle-hardened nerves instantly pulled taut, and his right hand instinctively gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist.
This was not the posture one took when facing a friend, but the instinctive reaction when facing an unknown threat.
But he did not draw his sword immediately.
He forced himself to calm down, walking step by step until he was in front of Lacey, his gaze locked dead onto that Black Crown, and the eyes beneath it.
"Lacey, what is going on?" he asked.
Lacey turned around, looking calmly at his good friend.
"It chose me, Theresis," Lacey replied.
His voice seemed to carry a certain peculiar magic, soothing the other party's taut nerves.
[The Art of Language]
"The fate of Kazdel can no longer rely on the echoes of the past, nor can it pin its hopes solely on ethereal goodwill. It needs a new path."
"A new path?" Theresis's brows locked tight.
"What path? To replace Theresia and then sit upon that cursed throne?"
"Is this the answer you arrived at after traveling for a hundred years?"
There was disappointment in his words.
In his view, Lacey had been corroded by power and wanted to repeat the disastrous internal strife of past Lords of Fiends.
"Throne?" Lacey smiled.
"Theresis, my friend, do you think I would care about something like that?"
He took a step forward, almost nose-to-nose with Theresis.
The invisible pressure radiating from the Black Crown made even a veteran of the battlefield like Theresis feel a wave of suffocation.
"You only see the throne, but you do not see the countless withered bones of the Sarkaz beneath the throne."
"I traveled for a hundred years. What I saw was the iron hooves of Ursus, the witchcraft of Leithanien, the industry of Victoria, the technology of Columbia."
"They are all moving forward, Theresis, in their own ways."
"And what about us?"
"We Sarkaz, the oldest race in Terra, are still here, slaughtering each other for this reason or that."
He reached out and gently patted Theresis on the shoulder. The hand gripping the sword hilt loosened slightly at this action.
"You want a sharp sword that can cut down all enemies and guard Kazdel."
"So you established the Military Commission, you honed the army, you slept with your spear as your pillow."
"You did very well, truly."
There was sincere praise in Lacey's tone.
"But, Theresis, a sword without a sheath will only hurt others and oneself."
"A people without a soul, even if they possess the sharpest weapons, are just a mob that could be routed at any moment."
"Without a soul?" Theresis chewed on this word. He didn't quite understand.
"Yes." Lacey retracted his hand, turning to gaze at Kazdel, which was shrouded in rain and mist in the distance.
"It is to make every Sarkaz believe that we have a future; it is to let every child know what they are fighting for; it is to make the name 'Kazdel' no longer a synonym for devils."
"This is what I call the new path."
Theresis fell silent.
He had to admit that every word Lacey said struck the softest part of his heart, the part he was least willing to touch.
What exactly was the sharp sword he had spent his life forging meant to protect?
A ruined nation?
A numb populace?
Or that ethereal "dignity of the Sarkaz"?
He had always known where the problem lay, but he couldn't find the answer.
Theresia's answer was love and peace; he considered that naive.
And his own answer was war and conquest.
Now, Lacey, his good friend, seemed to offer a third answer.
"What... do you intend to do?" After a long while, Theresis finally spoke.
He had let go of his sword hilt.
"A meal must be eaten one bite at a time; a road must be walked one step at a time." Lacey did not answer directly. He looked at Theresis again, his eyes returning to their usual gentleness.
"I need some time, and I also need some helpers."
"I will not join the Military Commission. Its blade is too sharp; it is not suitable for grassroots work."
"Then you still want to work alone?" Theresis frowned.
"No." Lacey shook his head. "I just need to build a sheath that belongs to me. Once the sheath is built, naturally, I will need you, this sword."
"When that time comes, I hope we can fight side by side again, just like over a hundred years ago."
These words were watertight. They stated his stance, gave Theresis enough face, and even painted a promising picture of future cooperation.
Theresis could find no reason to refute him.
He looked at the Black Crown atop Lacey's head. That crown seemed to have merged with Lacey as one; it no longer appeared abrupt, but rather possessed a harmony of destined sovereignty.
"Good."
Theresis nodded, accepting this explanation.
"I don't care what method you use. As long as it is for Kazdel, I am willing to help you."
"If you walk down an evil path..."
"Then you can come and take my life at any time," Lacey finished the second half of the sentence for him, a relaxed smile on his face.
"You say that as if I could beat you." Theresis gave a helpless smile, and a harmonious atmosphere was restored between the two.
However, Theresis did not choose to stay long. He took a deep look at his friend, then turned and left.
This time, there was no hesitation in his steps.
He was going to confirm Theresia's condition, and at the same time, re-examine himself and the future direction of the entire Military Commission.
The rain, unbeknownst to them, had stopped.
The dark clouds on the horizon cracked open a seam, and a faint ray of sunlight pierced through, shining on Lacey's body and illuminating that pitch-black Lord of Fiends' crown.
Lacey let out a long sigh of relief.
Dealing with Theresis was more exhausting than fighting a vicious battle.
Just then, Lacey caught a glimpse of a figure out of the corner of his eye.
It was a female Sarkaz with red hair and red pupils, draped in a dark cloak.
She had appeared silently not far from the tent; only when she stopped moving did Lacey detect her.
Lacey's gaze focused.
The newcomer spoke to Lacey: "Lord Lacey. The leader of Babel, Her Highness Theresia, wishes to meet with you."
"Call me Uncle," Lacey said.
The newcomer's figure instantly stagnated, her calm expression failing to hold for a moment.
"Long time no see, Ascalon."
"I am back," Lacey said with a smile.
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