Chapter 162: The Tragic Beauty That Blooms in Destruction: The Weak Have No Right to Govern

Tenku Soryu was deeply curious about Ye Xuan—so curious, to the extreme—and this curiosity stemmed from the power Ye Xuan possessed.

In a certain sense, she was no different from Aisude from Zhan Chi Hong: she believed in the law of the jungle and regarded combat as the highest pleasure.

To her, the strong were both prey and peaks she longed to conquer.

Precisely because of this, she first actively engaged with Daxia’s anime and tokusatsu—the very source of Ye Xuan’s power.

She had no interest in Armor Warriors; their ideals of justice and light were too familiar to her. The same applied to Kamen Rider: though their slogan “Fight for Human Freedom” rang loud, what had they truly changed beyond eliminating evil?

But Fox Spirit Matchmaker was different: the tragic, reincarnated love bonds, the vows made beneath the Ku Qing Tree, the centuries-long entanglement between Tu Shan Honghong and Dongfang Chuji.

These stories stirred in her a rare sensation of “romance”—especially that heart-wrenching, bittersweet suffering, perfectly aligned with her aesthetic.

Like Aisude, who finally embraced Tazmi as he froze to death.

Tenku Soryu’s mind conjured the image: “the one she loved lying in a pool of blood, trembling fingertips at the brink of death, shattered tears in their final gaze, and a smile frozen on their lips—painful yet blissful.” Her face flushed unnaturally; her breath quickened.

That Jizhi emotional explosion, that tragic beauty blooming in destruction—that was the “love” she yearned for.

“You look exactly like a yandere right now.”

Kagura Shizui’s cold voice suddenly sounded; she stood at the door, brow slightly furrowed, unable to comprehend why Tenku Soryu wore such an expression.

“Perhaps I am, then.”

Tenku Soryu’s expression gradually softened, replaced by a bright smile—as if her earlier lapse had never occurred.

She lightly tapped the screen, freezing the frame on the moment Ye Xuan unleashed Ryūjin Jakka:

“What do those old men up top expect us to do with these videos?”

“Find a way to counter Ye Xuan?”

“Leaving aside the celestial relics from Daxia’s works that Ye Xuan wields—don’t they already understand Ryūjin Jakka?”

“One strike, and what happened before will happen again.”

Tenku Soryu tilted her head, her smile laced with mockery.

As for what she meant by “what happened before,” Kagura Shizui naturally knew—she shook her head slightly and said:

“Those words aren’t suitable to say in front of them.”

“I know that.”

Tenku Soryu waved her hand carelessly, stretching languidly; her thin uniform accentuated her flawless curves—the slender, powerful waist, long legs, and the faintly visible collarbone lines with every movement.

“At this point, the most wary are still the nations of humanity itself—how tragic.”

“Mutant creatures are increasing in number and strength, yet those old men’s minds remain stuck in the past—still immersed in power games, savoring their final decadence.”

“The only commendable thing is that they’ve granted us authority to form supernatural squads.”

“But this is likely only because they know deep down—weaklings have no right to govern the strong.”

Tenku Soryu suddenly smiled—a chillingly beautiful smile, radiant yet edged like a blade, like a blooming datura: gorgeous and deadly.

“They’re merely wary of a being that should naturally inspire wariness.”

“Those who’ve done wrong always see ghosts in the shadows.”

Kagura Shizui said calmly.

“That cuts straight to the point.”

Tenku Soryu laughed softly, understanding exactly what Kagura Shizui meant.

“I’m truly looking forward to that day.”

Lighthouse, conference room.

“Daxia already has over twenty known holders of celestial relics!”

“Most are Devil Fruit users, yet even among the most numerous Devil Fruits, we haven’t found a single user here!”

“Two fifth-rank! One fourth-rank! Five third-rank! These are only the numbers we know—no one knows how far Daxia has advanced in the supernatural field.”

At the conference table, a middle-aged man in a suit slammed his fist on the table and rose, striding to the projection and jabbing his finger at the markers of various nations.

“It’s not just Daxia—every nation in the world is pushing forward as hard as they can in this era.”

“Sakura Nation already has two celestial relic holders; one of them is even more terrifying than the holder of another anime archetype!”

“In Bear Nation, someone has lifted Mjölnir and become the new Thor—likely fifth-rank in power!”

“The Stone Sword of the British Isles hasn’t been drawn yet, but judging from Bear Nation’s example, it may not take long!”

“And in Gaul, the Joan of Arc lineage!”

He turned to survey the room, his voice barely squeezing through clenched teeth:

“And what about us? As the world’s strongest nation, we have not a single celestial relic holder!”

“Not one!”

“Shouldn’t we feel shame? Shouldn’t we reflect?!”

The conference room fell silent; the air seemed frozen.

Suddenly, a young man in the corner timidly raised his hand:

“Actually, there is one—the one who obtained the Mark III armor.”

“Don’t mention the celestial relics that were surrendered!”

The middle-aged officer cut in sharply, his tone cold.

The room sank back into silence.

Precisely because of this, no one dared reveal their identity as a celestial relic holder—what if they too were “voluntarily” handed over?

Although an announcement later promised full support for any celestial relic holder, unless the relic was unremovable, wouldn’t these relics soon change hands anyway?

It wasn’t just celestial relics.

Among the early power users who publicly revealed their abilities online, many had vanished.

And why they vanished—everyone knew the truth.

Under these circumstances, even if power users were no longer needed, how could those strong, talented ones dare to show themselves?

“Right now, the only way to reverse this is to regain the people’s trust—in the Lighthouse.”

The middle-aged officer’s voice grew low, heavy with earnest pleading; he scanned the room, his gaze piercing through the walls, reaching toward the entire nation.

“We must tell them the Lighthouse is at its most desperate hour—we need every person’s strength; we must make the people understand that the Lighthouse now needs heroes.”

“We must tell those awakened with power that this nation needs them to step forward—to protect this land, to protect all they cherish!”

(End of Chapter)