Chapter 384: Your Majesty, You Have Won—But at What Cost?

"Communicator!!!"

The Emperor's voice surged toward Zhou Yun amid billions of others, like a faint whisper caught in an eternal night wind,

a sense of desperate exertion radiated from that voice, as if a schizophrenic patient were straining to seize control of his own body,

"Communicator! Eat! Eat! Eat!"

"Get out! Get out! Get out—no! Save!"

"Blue Lynx Cat!"

"Brother Zhou Yun!"

"Saint Doraemon!"

Thousands of faces flashed before Zhou Yun's eyes, yet finally he understood the meaning behind the words,

Dialogue, Item, Communicator.

Zhou Yun's fingers reached into the fourth-dimensional pocket—

a piercing scream erupted from the corpse's mouth, its intense psychic shock relentlessly scouring the entire Throne Hall,

the scream of a dying being crashed into Zhou Yun, followed by a primal, merciless, bone-chilling force,

this force continuously washed over Zhou Yun's flesh, bone, and blood, even seeking to pierce into the depths of his soul, as if trying to halt his actions,

it was He himself who wanted Zhou Yun to act—yet now He opposed him, as if countless wills, inclinations, and desires within Him fought for dominance,

yet this self-contradictory behavior did not deter Zhou Yun's actions,

the immortality granted by the Siegfried Potion still held, and Zhou Yun calmly withdrew from the fourth-dimensional pocket a soft, gray-black dumpling,

【Item Name: Translation Konjac】

【Origin: 22nd Century Earth—Future Department Store】

【Production Date: 261. 3】

【Function: A uniquely flavored konjac dumpling; consuming it enables flawless communication with speakers of any language (including but not limited to foreign tongues, alien languages, parallel-world languages, or any form of speech). The effect also applies directly to written text, allowing comprehension of any script—even illegible or incomprehensible writing.】

Translation Konjac, an item that translates all forms of language, enabling seamless communication,

Zhou Yun thought of speaking with the Emperor, then swallowed the Translation Konjac in one gulp.

The Translation Konjac slid down his throat; his throat twitched slightly, and his eyes reflected the Emperor's face,

ten thousand faces, ten thousand scenes, ten thousand impressions,

too many, too bright, too cluttered, too false, too real,

he saw a Krieg gas-masked Astropath soldier, artillery bursting in the gray trenches, tearing his body into fragments,

he was the Emperor.

he saw a poor farmer, driven to rebellion by the exploitation of knight-lords, crushed to dust beneath the knight-lord's rising castle,

he was the Emperor.

he saw a devout follower of the Ecclesiarchy, who spent generations over a thousand years on a pilgrimage, only to be slain by pirates' blades mere steps from the Sol System,

he was the Emperor.

he also saw Lag, barely clinging to life in the hive-city of Asford, dying in a medical chamber on Baal, finally granted the death he craved,

he too was the Emperor.

We are all the Emperor; humanity is the Emperor; the Emperor is humanity,

an entire species stood before Zhou Yun—from the first Homo sapiens whose mind sparked with wisdom, to the last human dying at the edge of the cosmos—

one species stood here, their wills fused as one, they were all the Emperor, the Emperor was them, souls intertwined, born as one, forged into a golden throne.

"Do not save us," one Emperor/human accused Zhou Yun.

"Let us die," another Emperor/human pleaded.

"Stop giving Your Majesty false hope," a third Emperor/human sorrowfully told Zhou Yun.

"We're done! Let's all die! "Fucking blow up with Chaos!" "Let us rise! Let us rise!"

Chaotic voices surged toward Zhou Yun; these Emperor/humans all accused him, venting their rage,

they burned with a fierce desire for self-destruction—both living and dead, all yearned for annihilation,

they wished to rise from the Golden Throne, become the Dark King, and bring destined death to the entire galaxy, plunging xenos, Chaos, and all within the galaxy into silence.

This world held too much pain, sorrow, and cruelty; it would be better if it ended now,

they had been tormented by this world in the most vicious ways, and in return cursed it with the most vicious words,

such voices dominated the Emperor/humans.

"No, there is still hope."

"Save us, please!"

"Brother Zhou Yun, look here."

"My lord, is my daughter Leina well? May she and all humanity find happiness."

"Is Cadia still standing? Even if fallen, we shall hold fast."

"The Great Crusade never ends; expansion and discovery go hand in hand."

"Hope remains."

Some voices still carried hope and longing; though few, they still pointed Zhou Yun's way,

his gaze followed those voices of hope, toward one among the Emperor/humans,

the first, the most important,

Zhou Yun saw a vision:

reddish-brown bricks stacked into a small house beneath swaying date palms, rough clay jars leaning against the wall, facing a winding river gleaming with bronze sheen,

among the reeds by the river, Zhou Yun glimpsed a boy with brown skin,

the boy stood barefoot on muddy brown earth beside a wooden workbench,

tied to the riverbank beside him was a wooden boat, like a coffin, holding the corpse of a silver-haired boy wearing a laurel crown—his face both youthful and ancient.

On the left side of the boy's workbench lay a skull covered in clay, its eyes inlaid with shells, its face sculpted from clay,

beside the clay skull were several small game pieces; too far to see clearly, Zhou Yun could barely make out their shapes,

one was a strong-armed Iron General, but its head was missing,

one was a hooded, ragged Assassin, blindfolded by his own hands, as if enamored with blindness,

two more pieces lay obscured by other objects on the bench, their forms indistinct.

At that moment, the brown-haired boy turned slightly, as if sensing Zhou Yun's gaze.

As the boy moved, Zhou Yun saw another game piece before him,

larger, stronger—a nimble centaur, bow drawn as if preparing for an expedition,

but a shard of stone like a dagger was lodged in the centaur's chest, its body shattered into four pieces,

the brown-haired boy was trying desperately to repair the centaur.

". uang Lao. Erm." Zhou Yun hesitated: "Huang Xiao Han?"

"You've finally come here."

the brown-haired boy said softly, his voice clear as the first strike of humanity's first bronze tool,

"Do you know how astonished I was when I found you in the traces of fate?"

"A product of children's comics, a cheerful tale, a hopeful fantasy of the future, an animation, a fairy tale, a manga—yet here you stand, real before me."

"I hurriedly obscured your fate from the gaze of the Chaos Gods, buried all knowledge of Doraemon within the mists of history, protected your essence from their awareness, and watched you come this far."

"Friend, what are you then?"

"A time-traveler? A representative of 22nd-century humanity? A mere warp-born artifact?"

He stepped through the reeds, approaching Zhou Yun, allowing Zhou Yun to see his face clearly,

black-brown hair fell over a body molded like red clay, bare-chested, his muscles painted with primitive designs,

blue-green lines formed strange patterns—eagles to skulls, sacrifice to death, all encompassed,

atop these tattoos, the boy wore a lapis lazuli pendant, within which flickered the faint image of a woman, as if recording a love story of only tragedy and carnage.

The Central Asian boy tilted his head toward Zhou Yun, a laurel crown of golden leaves adorning his hair,

Zhou Yun could not find words to describe that face,

he was childish, like a shepherd boy of a newborn civilization,

he was mature, like an emperor of a star-spanning species,

to call him ordinary would be wrong,

to call him beautiful was true—he was beautiful enough to be called lovely, yet not beautiful enough to be a god,

he was simply an excellent child, an excellent human, a perfect template of the human species.

Zhou Yun stared at that face, silent for a long while, then slowly opened his mouth:

"No wonder your ass itches—who else's would?"

Silence fell beside the River Sakaria; the reeds trembled gently.

"Hahahaha"

Was it Zhou Yun's imagination? He thought he heard laughter,

laughter that seemed to come from the mouth of the silver-haired, laurel-crowned corpse lying in the boat.

Hearing Zhou Yun's words and the faint laughter, the brown-haired boy's already dark skin darkened further,

he lifted his head, fixing Zhou Yun with a deathly stare.

Zhou Yun, pinned by that gaze, felt his bones chill—he feared he would die under the brown-haired boy's stare alone.

Moreover, whether it was an illusion or not, the brown-haired boy seemed slightly stiff, rigid, as if lacking in humanity.

"His spirit is shattered—talk to him, stir him." A faint voice arose, as if coming from the corpse of the silver-haired boy lying on the wooden boat.

Stir him? Zhou Yun blinked, pondered for a moment, then spoke:

"Your Majesty, you're staring at me so intently—it's making me uncomfortable. By the way, Your Majesty, I have a question for you."

"You've won. Humanity has survived. Then, Your Majesty, what was the cost?"

"Was all of this truly worth it?"

"I fuck*Mesopotamian curse*Babylonian curse*Egyptian 19th Dynasty curse*Macedonian curse*Mauryan curse*Roman curse*Frankish curse*"

(End of Chapter)