Chapter 109: Edgar's Request

The Demon Duke? What is that?

The unfamiliar term caused Amy, who was eavesdropping nearby, to furrow his brow. Semantically, it might refer to a special class among the higher demons known as "demons." But considering the solemn honorifics used by the ominous dark lords surrounding him, as well as the sudden change in expression on the faces of the High Priest of the Hephaestus Temple and Pandora, this term likely pointed to a formidable figure of great significance.

Yet, this was no reason for him to halt.

Greatness is one thing, but no matter how great, it cannot fill one’s stomach. No one can deny humanity’s right to struggle for survival. Regardless of how insignificant or humble one might be, when faced with the cruel choice between life and death, humanity has never lacked the courage to sacrifice. Moreover, it was not hard to infer from the conversation that this astonishingly powerful figure seemed unlikely to personally come to Hemptica—if that was the case, what was there to fear?

At least, the young man was fearless.

But fearlessness did not mean recklessness. His actions were extremely cautious—so much so that when a somewhat abrupt voice sounded near his ear, his instinct was not to engage in conversation but to stop walking, slow his breathing, halt the flow of his blood, and remain utterly still.

Only after three seconds did he realize something was amiss and took the initiative to ask, "Who are you?"

His tone was assertive, almost declarative.

Who else but the High Priest of Hephaestus Temple would contact him so covertly at a moment like this? After all, he was just an ordinary Radiant, perhaps the last watchman by name, which sounded somewhat impressive, but to these towering figures at the pinnacle, someone without real strength like him was merely an insect that could be crushed at will. Who would waste time and effort playing such a game?

Even though he had a vague idea of the answer, Amy Ulysses still asked the seemingly pointless question.

The reason was simple.

He wanted to know Edgar Golsworthy’s stance—at least his attitude toward him.

"I am Edgar Golsworthy, the High Priest of the Hephaestus Temple." Prepared in advance, the young man noticed the direction from which the voice came. To his surprise, the "voice" was not a mere sound but a whisper resonating deep within his soul. "As you see, I—no, Hemptica—needs your help."

"In that case," Amy’s heart was filled with questions, but he refrained from probing further, ignoring the details and stating simply and clearly, "What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing for now." Edgar’s voice was unnervingly calm, so calm it gave no hint of the cruel torment he was enduring. "I only want to warn you—do not approach—Pandora, that beautiful girl on me—is far stronger than you imagine."

That beautiful girl on me... such a description...

The young Radiant raised an eyebrow before replying, "Sorry, but I must decline."

Several seconds of silence followed.

Then, the whisper echoed again within his soul.

"Why?" the High Priest asked.

"There is no why," perhaps because the sacred one of Hemptica city had little contact with the outside world, the youth unexpectedly took the initiative in the conversation. "But if I must give a reason, there is only one: I do not believe you possess the means to turn the tide, nor do I think that by keeping silent I can help you turn desperation into victory—so please tell me, what is your plan?"

"Surprise or shock?" Edgar’s tone carried a subtle emotion difficult for a Radiant to comprehend. "Amy, you are even more remarkable than I imagined."

"Thank you for the compliment." The youth, unaware of the full context, could only respond thus.

"You are right. I do not possess the means to reverse the situation—as you can see, I am on the losing side, unable to mount an effective counterattack." The High Priest paused briefly. "But I am not the only one unable to change the situation. If I am not mistaken, you cannot break through this stalemate either. You are merely forcing yourself to do something futile."

Amy Ulysses said nothing. Indeed, he was simply relying on the seemingly infinite possibilities granted by the Death Omen, hoping to create a miracle.

"But I need to know the truth."

In the end, he could only say this.

"With your perspective, it may be hard to understand, but the little girl before you is no ordinary figure. She ranks among the nine lords of the Chaos Cult and is one of the strongest beings in the entire human world." Unexpectedly, Edgar offered an explanation, or at least what he considered one. "No matter how optimistic or broad-minded I am, I cannot yet conceive of any way for Hemptica alone to repel her."

"So—" he paused, "at best, what I seek is a legacy."

"A legacy?"

"Yes, the legacy of the flame." The High Priest’s voice was low and resolute. "Duke was wrong—dead wrong. The so-called Old Ones are just a ruse. The dark lords have no intention of awakening the great one slumbering in R’lyeh. What they want is simply to erase Hemptica from history."

After allowing the young man a few seconds to absorb this, Edgar continued, "Once the flame dies out, the imprisoned great one’s dream will engulf all of Hemptica, and the followers from the dark abyss will awaken again. If it comes to this, no matter how much we resist, our end is inevitable. All will meet an equal death."

"R’lyeh? Old Ones?" Though these terms were unfamiliar, Amy felt an almost absurd sense of familiarity, as if he had heard such strange names before or seen them in some book. Yet no matter how he searched, their origins eluded him. Now was not the time to dwell on such mysteries; far more urgent was Hemptica’s survival. "What exactly are they? Some kind of indescribable monsters?"

"This question cannot be answered in just a few words," the High Priest refrained from further explanation. "Listen, Amy, your life is precious. There is no need to take meaningless risks. All you need to do is stay where you are and do nothing. Leave the rest to me—leave it to me, an adult."

I am not a child.

The thought flickered through the young man’s mind, but he did not voice it.

After all, at such a critical moment, only those who never grow up would still act childish. A real man admits his shortcomings, remembers them deeply, turns regret into motivation, and overcomes them.

So, he remained silent—just silent.

"Anything else you want to say?" the voice in his mind asked.

"No." Although the young Radiant had many questions—for example, what exactly was this legacy, and what role he could play in the coming events—he asked none of them. "Nothing more."

"Then—"

The voice dragged out the words playfully, somewhat childlike.

"—prepare for a grand fireworks display!"

And so—

The world lost its light.

More precisely, the entire world as seen through Amy Ulysses’ eyes went dark. An unparalleled blaze of light and heat instantly seared his vision before the scorching flames engulfed everything. The resistance of his flesh and blood, bearing the Radiant’s bloodline, lasted only an insignificant fraction of a moment before being consumed by infinite heat. Centered on the Hephaestus Temple, everything within three thousand meters turned into lifeless white crystals. Plants, trees, even broken walls were utterly annihilated—every trace of existence vanished wherever the flames reached.

From a distance above Hemptica, one might see a conspicuous silver-white scar marring the city’s blueprint.

Yet, despite this, the enemy was not destroyed.

No—do not say destroyed—his clothes remained unharmed.

The little girl named Pandora had merely lifted her hand slightly, and the blinding light beyond imagination was effortlessly split in two. The land behind her, spanning several dozen square meters, remained relatively intact and stood tens of centimeters higher than the crystallized ground around it.

"Unbelievable," the red-eyed black-haired man behind her surveyed the hellish scene and muttered in amazement, "the power of the flame..."

Even the proud dark lords rarely faced the source of a city’s order directly.

"That was only a portion," Pandora frowned slightly, realizing her description may have been unclear. She stood on tiptoe and gestured a size no larger than a fingernail. "He probably borrowed only this much of the power."

"Next," the dark lord accompanying her, unable to fully grasp such overwhelming strength, did not dwell on the meaningless question and said, "our only task should be to put out the fire."

"No." The small girl shook her head. "It’s not over yet—he is not dead. On the contrary, he took someone with him."

"Someone?" The black-haired, red-eyed man raised his brow.

"Yes..." Pandora’s face showed rare confusion. After a pause of two or three seconds, she spoke again, "No, perhaps it was not even a person."