Chapter 85: A Long-Awaited Reunion

Holy light poured down from the high heavens, while a roar surged up from the depths of the earth. Both were formless, yet their collision was surely real. Countless explosions erupted out of nothing.

The earth shattered. Buildings collapsed into ruins.

Both the undead and the paladins were swallowed up by the explosions, though the latter fared far better. James Watson's Divine Intervention had channeled the power of the Lord of Dawn into reinforcing the paladins' defenses and healing their wounds.

Those paladins who had already fallen could not be resurrected, but anyone still clinging to life was pulled back from the brink of death.

Not only that, they were suffused with overwhelming holy power, enabling them to emerge from the violent blasts without a scratch.

Even James Watson himself was freed from Black Rose's curse, and would remain immune to it for some time.

As for the undead, aside from Gareth and Black Rose, they were almost entirely wiped out.

Such was the tyranny of divinity: a single glance was enough to overturn the entire battlefield.

That was precisely why Black Rose had never considered using Wish against the Lyon Empire. It would have been absolutely futile.

The battle was lost. Now that the paladins had regrouped and united under their High Inquisitor, their combined strength now surpassed that of Gareth and Black Rose together.

Black Rose specialized in necromancy. Without an army to occupy the enemy, and with her Death Gaze sealed by the Lord of Dawn, her combat power was crippled. Gareth might still have been capable of fighting on, but Black Rose knew that her closest companion was watching the battlefield from the skies. Alabastra would never allow her husband to risk his life.

Black Rose's hatred for Lyon was a personal vendetta. Asking Gareth for help was already the limit of what was reasonable. The dragon clan would not permit their son-in-law to fight James Watson to the death, and even Alabastra herself had no intention of entering the fray.

Though they had failed to kill James Watson, Gareth's sudden strike had exacted a terrible price from the paladins. As for Black Rose, her losses amounted to little more than a dozen death knights and some magical automata that had never truly belonged to her.

It was time to retreat.

Despite her bone-deep hatred of the Lyon Empire, Black Rose had regained a measure of reason after this battle. Without hesitation, she sent out a signal. High above, a mass of dark clouds appeared abruptly and began to expand at a frantic pace, engulfing both her and Gareth in an instant.

By the time James Watson gathered his holy power and dispersed the clouds, everything within them was gone.

"There was another legendary-rank undead? What in the world is going on in Alkhemia?!"

James Watson's face turned green with fury. Though this battle seemed to have ended in their victory, it was a loss in truth.

The undead had escaped, yet the paladins could not withdraw. The upheaval in Alkhemia was far from over. Violent shockwaves continued unabated, and more than half the city lay in ruins.

Countless residents of Alkhemia were buried beneath the debris, their screams ringing out without end.

Gritting his teeth, James Watson issued an order: "Paladins, rescue as many humans as you can and evacuate from Alkhemia!"

The zealots of the Lyon Empire were infamous for racial discrimination, yet they adhered strictly to the doctrines of the Lord of Dawn. In times of suffering, they were bound to aid the weak. Even if that aid was limited to humans alone, they were renowned for what they did.

Bathed in holy light, the paladins split into multiple squads and pulled every nearby human out of the wreckage all around them.

The blessings bestowed by the Lord of Dawn were crucial for the rescue operation. Thus blessed, the paladins possessed tremendous strength. They were indefatigable. They could heal wounds and soothe terrified hearts.

Nothing reassured the victims more than an aura of vitality, and nothing offered swifter escape than a celestial warhorse. Tons of rubble were tossed aside with ease. A dozen survivors could be lifted onto a horse's back and carried to safety in mere seconds, their strength returning and their injuries easing along the way.

The humans were filled with gratitude toward the paladins. Other races, however, could only curse under their breath. The zealots didn't so much as spare them a glance.

In fact, if an orc had been lying on the road, there was a good chance a celestial warhorse would trample right over him.

Not deliberately, perhaps, but the paladins wouldn't have made any effort to avoid it either. Non-humans were like ants; their deaths and suffering meant little to the paladins.

Yet no matter how hard the paladins worked, their rescue efforts were a drop in the ocean compared to the scale of Alkhemia's disaster. The shaking continued. Cracks spread ever wider across the ground.

Worse still, the city itself seemed to be slowly rising upward from the ground, buoyed by some unknown force.

Floating in midair, James Watson could clearly see that Alkhemia had risen several meters aboveground. The city looked as though it might take flight at any moment.

Uncertain of what would happen next, James Watson issued another command: "Ten more minutes. Then we'll withdraw fully."

He descended to the ground himself, grabbing injured humans and carrying them out of the city. There was no need for further coordination now. He would do his part as well.

At that very moment, deep within the sewers, Ambrose stood at the heart of the Wish ritual, watching it operate with cold detachment. A skull could hardly show emotion, yet his tightly clenched hands betrayed his tension and unwillingness to accept what had happened.

This wasn't how things were supposed to unfold. Damn the prophecy!

Half an hour earlier, his soul-alteration surgery on Gary Watts had finally succeeded. Though it had consumed every stored die of fate Ambrose possessed, Gary Watts's soul had at last reached what he believed to be a "divine" state.

It had become a soul that had entirely lost its humanoid form, a monster woven from countless filament-like tendrils.

But Gary Watts was very pleased. He brought Ambrose to the core of the ritual array and, under the stunned gazes of Flynn and Dippel, returned to his physical body.

The tentacled aberration caused its physical shell to mutate as well.

Gary Watts' contorted body, wrapped in black threads and posed like a suffering martyr, was stripped of its flesh and bone alike. In the end, the tendrils and black strands intertwined to form a single, twisted eye at the center of the resulting amorphous mass.

"What have you done?!"

On the brink of mental collapse, Dippel summoned his personal mount. The towering golem charged at Ambrose, as if to crush every bone in his body.

Ambrose, however, showed no trace of panic. He merely said, "I solved your biggest problem. None of you need to sacrifice yourself anymore. And don't think of laying a hand on me. You'll regret it."

Dippel refused to believe him. The golem raised its arm, the cannon barrel glowing red-hot. But just as it was about to fire, the arm suddenly exploded, blasting Dippel himself backward.

Heartbroken and shocked, Dipper stared in disbelief. How could the golem he had painstakingly crafted explode on its own?

"The power of prophecy again? No, it can't be!"

He turned his head toward the chairman, who had become a tentacled monster. As expected, its massive central eye was fixed upon him.

A commanding voice rang out, "Dippel, stand down. I have ascended to godhood. Everything will proceed according to the original plan."

Dippel watched his golem crumble piece by piece into scattered components. He tried to invoke his legendary boon to reassemble it, but it didn't work. The golem was no longer whole. By some unseen law, it had been reduced to mere parts, nothing more.

Dippel's power allowed him to repair his constructs, but the chairman had damaged the golem so completely that it no longer qualified as one. What remained were just components. To use his ability again, he would first have to rebuild it from scratch.

"Chairman, have you gone mad? Look at what you've become! Why are you helping this lich?!" Dippel shouted in fury.

The tentacled chairman replied calmly, "Because I made a pact with him. He helped me ascend to godhood, and I will grant his wish."

"You've already become a god! Why honor the agreement? Chairman, we're on the same side! Shouldn't the right to make a wish belong to us alchemists?!" Dippel cried out.

Dippel had expected a proper explanation. Instead, the chairman answered coldly, "It is precisely because I am now a god that I can honor—and break—promises at will. Do not presume to judge a god with mortal reasoning."

Arms folded, Ambrose watched the scene unfold with leisurely amusement.

The reason Gary Watts was on his side was simple: Ambrose had tampered with his soul.

Every artificial soul Ambrose created, regardless of function or strength, contained one core setting: absolute obedience to Ambrose's commands.

Only a fool would design a program without a backdoor.

He had done the same when modifying Gary Watts's soul. The difference was that Ambrose had been frank about it and had openly discussed the alterations beforehand. Gary Watts's soul was powerful; without his cooperation, Ambrose could not have succeeded.

The old man, obsessed with becoming a god, did not refuse. Yet the requirements for spiritual ascension were simply too strict. Humanity itself was an obstacle to divinity for Gary Watts, and Ambrose's backdoor would be no different.

That lingering sense of attachment, whether to blood relatives or to Ambrose,would serve to prevent his transcendence.

So Ambrose had to compromise. Gary Watts would not become his slave, but he would stand on Ambrose's side under the vast majority of circumstances.

Now that he had fully fused with the Wish ritual, Gary Watts was at the threshold of godhood. He could alter natural law at will. With a single thought, he had erased the concept of "construct" from the golem, rendering Dippel's abilities completely useless.

As Dippel wailed in despair, Ambrose turned to the silent Gustavo Flynn and asked, "Flynn, my old friend, what do you think of the situation?"

Contrary to expectations, Gustavo Flynn seemed relieved. "We've lost. I imagined countless ways this could end in failure. I just never thought it would be because of you."

"Don't say that. You had the edge in our debate years ago. Let me win once, too."

Gustavo Flynn smiled bitterly. "I concede. Let me leave. Perhaps we'll meet again after you ascend."

The great alchemist produced a scroll, summoned a massive spatial gate, and walked into it without looking back, vanishing from the sewers forever.

Ambrose did not stop him. Gustavo Flynn was unlike Dippel. His field of alchemy was more obscure but far more destructive. Letting him go was the wiser choice. A fight to the death would benefit neither of them.

With Dippel finished and Gustavo Flynn departed, there was no one left to interfere with the plan.

Ambrose turned to the tentacled chairman. "I'm ready to make my wish."

Just as Ambrose believed everything was finally in place, strange applause echoed through the chamber. A young alchemist appeared before him, the very one who had previously volunteered as a sacrifice, Coin.

"As expected of you, Ambrose. You're as clever as ever. Always the one who laughs last."

Hearing his name spoken aloud made Ambrose's soul tremble. Over the centuries, he had used countless aliases: Megaman Tiga, the Elden Lord, Arthas, Dragonborn... There were far too many for him to remember them all.

But barely anyone knew his true name, Ambrose. And those who did... should all have been dead.

Staring at the young alchemist, Ambrose asked cautiously, "Just who are you, to joke with me like this?"

Coin smiled as his appearance began to shift. The handsome blond youth transformed into a blind old man with white hair and wrinkled skin. Missing an arm, he was crippled and frail, and it looked as though he had only a few years left to live.

Ancient memories resurfaced, memories from just after his transmigration, thought long forgotten yet etched impossibly deep within his soul.

Ambrose's voice trembled. "You... You are..."

At last, he forced the words out through clenched teeth. "It's been a long time, Master."