It had not only witnessed the death of the Lord of the Flameless, but even when the Lord of the Flameless fell into chaos and darkness, observed by the eyes from the far reaches of space and time, Aoluxiya had seen it, too.
For this reason, Aoluxiya was very wary of Angel because Angel was the one who summoned that Phantom Shadow. And just a shadow had annihilated the Lord of the Flameless in an instant.
“Lord…”
“Agree to the shopkeeper’s conditions. My body died before my soul was extracted. So, it doesn’t matter whether I have it or not,” Aoluxiya said after a long silence, “Moreover, that shell has actually been a constraint to me. Using that body, no matter where I went, I could never escape His… shadow. I don’t want to repeat the same mistakes, so perhaps it’s best this way.”
Hearing Aoluxiya speak thus, Greerwu finally nodded his head.
Angel did not know whether Aoluxiya was sincere or just putting on an act, but that did not matter. The important thing was that the matter was resolved.
Greerwu retrieved the “Eyes of Light” and turned to Angel, saying one word: Thank you.
Angel nodded indifferently, his gaze turning toward Popota—it was time to deal with his situation.
Just as Angel was about to approach Popota, the voice of Aoluxiya came from the Eyes of Light once again.
“When I first saw the shopkeeper in Lassudral, I had a premonition. I never believe in coincidences; I thought you would play a role in that drama in Lassudral. I even suspected that your role was indispensable, and with Fafnir by your side, it was possible that your role might lead to my downfall.”
“However, what I didn’t expect was that your stage wasn’t in that dissolving city of doom.”
“I do not know the ultimate outcome of this stage, but I do know that, at least in my life, you have played the role of my redeemer.”
“Regardless, thank you.”
Angel paused for a moment, as Aoluxiya’s words made him recall his experiences over this period. Eventually, in his mind, a picture came to rest.
It was a painting called “Night.”
Author: Mirafer. Feng.
Angel turned his head, his eyes shimmering with inscrutable light, “The stage has its limits, and the drama has its script; you and I, indeed, are both just characters.”
After speaking, Angel did not wait for Aoluxiya’s response and walked toward Popota.
Popota lay in a crater hundreds of meters away. Angel could smell a foul stench that not even the rain could wash away before he got close.
Angel stood at the edge of the pit, looking down at the heap of rotten flesh.
To be precise, among that rotten flesh oozing with putrid green liquid, there remained an oddly twisted humanoid figure—that was Popota.
Under the indiscriminate healing of True Spirit Force, Popota had survived the destruction of his physical body.
However, all the things that did not belong to him had been expelled, leaving only an emaciated figure, a barely-fleshed skeletal form.
While the situation looked dire, Angel could tell that there was a flicker of life within Popota, which at least was better than being completely dead.
“Popota,” Angel called out softly.
…
Popota felt incredibly weak.
The oppressive force of the Abyssal Will made him unable to move, while the relentless rain washed over his filthy body. Inside his Mind Space, the Magical Core was cracked, all its energy drained away.
Popota gave a bitter smile.
The power he had felt before was like a vacuous dream that lasted for days.
And upon awakening, the cruel reality confronted him.