Chapter 81: Cruelty, Malice, and Madness

The instant Gary Watts's soul manifested, Ambrose tossed aside his quill, swiftly layered several defensive spells onto himself, and prepared to dive out the window.

Gary Watts merely extended a finger and gave it the lightest tap. The window instantly turned to gold, fusing seamlessly with the surrounding wall. It would never open again.

Since escape was no longer an option, Ambrose decided not to bother. At worst, he would just reincarnate again. He remained where he was, calmly waiting for Black Rose to arrive.

Staring at the gilded window, Ambrose said with undisguised envy, "Turning stone into gold... a legendary boon like that really makes one jealous."

His jealousy was genuine. If he had possessed such a boon, he would not be living in perpetual poverty.

Gary Watts shook his head. "You misunderstand. My legendary boon is not transmutation. But this isn't the time for such discussions. We can sit down and talk properly later."

"You're not going to fight me?" Ambrose asked, surprised.

Garry Watts shook his head again, his voice calm. "I have no confidence in snatching this child away under the gaze of the undead queen."

No sooner had he spoken than did several hazy silhouettes appear beside Ambrose. Black Rose and her death knight guards emerged from concealment. They had entered the room under a Mass Greater Invisibility spell, intending to ambush the old man, only to have even their Greater Invisibility seen through.

Ambrose instantly relaxed. With Black Rose present, he had no reason to fear this decrepit old man in terms of raw combat power.

Gary Watts did not spare Ambrose's smug expression a glance. Instead, he turned to Naomi. "My child, let me tell you the truth. You are my great-granddaughter, and the only blood relative I have left in this world."

Naomi said nothing. She could not accept this so-called truth. All she wanted now was to flee this place. Whether this old man was the mysterious chairman, or even her kin, she didn't care.

Escape might be shameful, but for Naomi, it was the easiest option.

"As that shadow druid said, I have been conducting a great experiment. Yet for a long time, I was unable to make any further progress. Then, one day, my daughter died in an accident. I had been so absorbed in my research that our relationship was distant, but her death still plunged me into an indescribable grief.

"It was precisely that grief which pushed my soul into a special state. At that moment, I realized I had come closer to my goal.

"So I turned my attention to my granddaughter. I personally raised her, taught her, and forged a deep bond with her. When she died, my sorrow was magnified many times over. Afterward, my soul was elevated once more. That was when I knew I was on the right path."

Gary Watts spoke as though recounting someone else's story, paying no mind to Naomi in the process. "That was when I conceived a mad idea. If I severed all my blood ties, perhaps my soul could truly cast off its mortality and enter the realm of the divine.

"But the experiment had reached its final stage. I no longer had the time to raise you myself, so I ordered that you be sent to the shadow druids to be raised in my stead..."

Ambrose suddenly interrupted. "Not just raised. Shadow druids do not form attachments with their sacrifices, yet Naomi clearly had a warm childhood. When you made your deal with them, you never said she was a sacrifice. You told them to care for her properly, didn't you? You only revealed the truth recently."

Hearing this, Naomi looked up in confusion and cried out, "Why? Why go through all this trouble?!"

If she hadn't been treated with warmth as a child, she wouldn't be so utterly devastated now.

Ambrose snorted. "Because you weren't miserable enough, which means he wouldn't be upset enough.

"He said it himself: only overwhelming grief can stimulate his numbed soul. He didn't have time to bond with you. If you'd been treated coldly from the start, would you be heartbroken now? Would you despair? If even you wouldn't feel enough pain, how could this twisted old man feel true grief?

"He's using the most cruel and merciless method to scourge his own conscience, so he can finally discard what little humanity he has left."

Gary Watts did not refute this. Instead, he praised Ambrose. "Inviting you back then was the best decision I ever made. It is a pity you refused."

Naomi dispelled her panther form and collapsed helplessly to the floor. She had never imagined the truth could be so cruel—that such venomous evil could exist in the world, and that it belonged to her only living blood relative.

Ambrose sighed and cast another sleep spell on Naomi.

Otherwise, she would have lost her mind.

Watching Naomi sink into slumber, Ambrose said to Gary Watts, "Back then, I was still human. I didn't fit in with lunatics like you. But I have a question. Is the sublimation of the soul really that simple? One miscalculation and the experiment will surely fail. If she dies and you still don't reach godhood, wouldn't all of this be for nothing? Don't tell me you've calculated everything. When it comes to the soul, I'm more of an expert than you."

Gary Watts replied calmly, "This is the truth of my legendary boon. I can guarantee even the slightest possibility of success in an alchemical experiment, eliminating all experimental error. The conditions are harsh, but if everything had proceeded according to my plan, the ritual spell would have succeeded without fail. Unfortunately, you disrupted that plan."

"Heh. If you hadn't tried to drag me down with you, I wouldn't have bothered to interfere. Since you schemed against me, don't blame me for striking back. But now you've appeared in person, seemingly without any intention of fighting. Are you here to propose that we cooperate?"

Gary Watts nodded. "How much do you understand about this ritual?"

"I know that even if you succeed, you won't become a god. You'll become an artifact, one capable of casting Wish. That's no different from suicide," Ambrose said flatly.

"That is enough," Gary Watts said. "Wish is a spell only gods can wield freely. I do not care whether my consciousness disappears. As long as I ascend to divinity, that alone will be sufficient."

"Why?" Ambrose asked in genuine confusion. "What's the point?"

To lose oneself entirely and become a tool for others to wield... How would that be any better than remaining mortal?

"Alchemy is a wondrous discipline," Gary Watts said, a flicker of emotion finally surfacing on his face. "The moment I first synthesized a potion, I was completely captivated. Once you step onto this path, there is no turning back. I only wish to press forward all the way to the pinnacle. As for the method or the form in which I arrive there, I don't care one whit."

Ambrose sneered. "And the God of Alchemy just lets you lunatics run wild? Doesn't he ever strike you down with divine punishment like before to stop you from blaspheming?"

Gary Watts shook his head. "Divine punishment? Do you truly believe his curse was meant to punish us? You are mistaken. It was meant to push us further.

"The God of Alchemy is not a god of faith, no more than the God of Justice is. Anyone who practices justice empowers the God of Justice, even if they have never heard Tyr's name. Likewise, every time an alchemist creates a new formula, the God of Alchemy grows stronger. As long as someone advances alchemy, his power will continue to grow.

"He does not need belief. He needs mortals like us—those willing to abandon everything for alchemy. He does not care whether we blaspheme him, because even blasphemy leaves behind achievements that drive the world forward. Through them, he may ascend to an even greater form.

"He is the most selfish of all alchemists. He suppressed and pressured us so that brighter sparks of wisdom may be forced into existence. In the years since I lifted his divine curse, alchemy has progressed far further than in the previous few centuries combined.

"He has never favored us. He only takes from us. So if there exists a way to become a god, and I have the power to achieve it, why should I not?"

Ambrose waved his hand to cut him off. He had no interest in listening to such blasphemous rambling. All madmen had logic of their own; whether it was self-consistent or not was irrelevant. Only fools would believe them.

"Enough. Let's talk business. What's your proposal?"

"Help me complete the ritual," Gary Watts said. "I will become an artifact capable of casting Wish, and you will control that artifact. A win-win situation."

"Flynn won't agree," Ambrose replied. "Your lackeys put too much effort into this to have no wishes of their own."

"It doesn't matter. They can be sacrificed as well. I am their chairman. As long as I bring the child back, they won't suspect a thing. When the time comes, you can launch a surprise attack. With the power of the undead queen, turning them into sacrifices will be trivial."

He spoke of an appallingly vicious plan, one that did not even spare his own people, with perfect composure.

Even Ambrose and Black Rose felt a chill. This old man was more ruthless than the undead themselves. Not only had he discarded emotion, he had abandoned order as well. He was utterly chaotic evil, willing to do anything to reach his goal.

"Well?" Gary Watts urged. "This is purely a profitable venture for you. You have no reason to refuse. My time is running out. If the ritual does not begin soon, everything will lose its meaning."

Logically, Ambrose wanted to agree. From a purely rational standpoint, there was no downside, only maximum benefit and minimum risk.

Even so, a strange unease gnawed at him.

The prophecy had yet to be fulfilled.

Naomi was meant to be murdered in the Hall of Wisdom, not sent into the sewers as a sacrifice. Yet here she was, alive and well. That meant that whether Ambrose accepted or refused, events would not unfold according to Gary Watts's plan.

So where would things go wrong? Agreeing now should eliminate all risk vectors, but why did he still feel so uneasy?

Could Naomi have escaped?

No—that mode of thinking was pointless. If Naomi was fated to die in the Hall of Wisdom, the cause was irrelevant. What Ambrose needed to understand was this: after the ritual had been disrupted, why would he still appear in the sewers and take charge of the ceremony himself?

Clearly, in the prophecy, Ambrose had chosen not to cooperate. That refusal must have triggered the chain of changes that followed, culminating in the destruction of Alkhemia, which rose into the sky as a city of ruins.

Something was missing. Some critical variable had been overlooked.

Ambrose's soulfire flickered violently. He shut out all external stimuli and devoted every ounce of his spiritual power to thinking as he wove together every clue he possessed.

One powerful external force was missing, something strong enough to disrupt events even if he cooperated with Gary Watts. But who could it be?

Suddenly, a name surfaced in his mind. James Watson.

Ambrose stiffened and asked sharply, "Where are the paladins of the Lyon Empire? And where is their High Inquisitor, James Watson?"