Chapter 648: The Great Artist Colin

Deep within the royal prison, the air reeked of thick blood, and screams rose and fell in succession; even the rats hiding in the shadows trembled, too afraid to gnash their teeth.

Flickering torchlight cast twisted shadows on the walls, while the clanking of chains filled the entire dark space.

This was the interrogation chamber.

At the center of the chamber stood a massive machine forged from granite and black iron, which the prison guards called the "Flesh Grinder," said to have been personally invented by Lord Cassius.

Clearly, they knew nothing.

Lord Malus had already used it to kill countless Lein people; Cassius merely reaped the benefits, his only innovation being to bring it out into the open and stop pretending.

At this very moment, the execution machine was in operation.

Gears ground together with a grating, teeth-scratching sound, like an insatiable beast chewing its dinner.

"Fuck… why the hell?! What's missing?! Holy water isn't supposed to look like this! Damn it!"

Cassius glared fiercely at the drainage channel beneath the machine, his voice sharpening with frantic agitation. His hands still wore pristine white gloves, but the calm composure once etched on his face had vanished, replaced by madness.

Only dark red blood and greasy yellow fat oozed from the slot, filling his nostrils with a nauseating stench.

No matter how he filtered it, he saw no trace of holy water.

There was no doubt—

These commoners' souls were too filthy.

"This isn't what His Majesty demands! Worthless! A pack of worthless trash."

Cassius whirled around and kicked the guard operating the machine.

The guard screamed and rolled far away, yet crawled on his hands and knees to kneel, trembling like a leaf. Even with several broken ribs, he dared not glance at the "Death Bell" standing in the interrogation chamber.

Goblins before a demon were much the same—the only difference being the demon had grown bored and Landewan the goblins, while Cassius had only just begun.

"Heh…"

A weak, mocking laugh suddenly echoed from above the machine's feed chute.

It was a rebel, already reduced to a mutilated wreck, his lower body fixed within the grinder's crushing trough; the sound of shattering bones echoed every few seconds.

Any ordinary man would have died from the pain long ago.

Perhaps it was a final surge of life, or perhaps he'd lost all sensation—he remained conscious, lifting his blood-caked face.

His eyes held no fear, only contempt, as if he meant to devour Cassius alive.

"Is that… all you've got? The king's lapdog."

Cassius, consumed by madness, sneered—then a bloody spit landed squarely on his spotless leather shoe.

His face darkened visibly, like stepping on a farting beetle by accident.

Yet the rebel still laughed.

"Your master's thirsty… why don't you feed him your own blood? Too dirty? Hah…"

Deathly silence surrounded them, broken only by the bold, echoing laughter.

The guards standing nearby had long been terrified; now they held their breath.

Even the elite Gravekeepers in the corner involuntarily swallowed, their faces taut…

They had underestimated the rebels' hatred for the royal house.

And they had underestimated Cassius's madness.

That contemptuous gaze was like a rusted pitchfork, driving deep into Cassius's already crumbling sanity.

"Shut up! You sewer rat! Maggot of the gutter! What soul rank do you have to dare speak to me?"

The mask of elegance shattered completely, revealing a twisted, monstrous face.

He lunged forward—so fast no one could follow—and his right hand clamped around the traitor's throat, blood seeping between his fingers.

No interrogation.

Because it was unnecessary.

He simply squeezed—like crushing an ant—and snapped the fragile neck as easily as breaking a feather.

Crack—

A sharp snap. The mocking laughter ceased. The rebel's head slumped sideways, but his eyes remained open.

Waiting—

If I'm reborn, I'll come for you again.

Perhaps his hatred was too raw; his soul did not become a wraith, depriving the priests preparing his rites of a chance to perform.

Fear is faith. Hatred is too.

Deep, unforgettable hatred, in some sense, could replace Saint Xis, forcing his soul into a bottle beside his enemy's.

Even if his memories scattered with the soul essence returning to the hive, even if he forgot who he hated, that fierce obsession would remain embedded in the soul-matter for a long time.

That was the karmic force even gods feared—yet the ignorant, fearless transcenders were unafraid.

The man was dead.

Cassius's fear did not fade; it grew like weeds, gnawing at the last fragments of his sanity.

He released his grip, pulled out a dark gold pocket watch from his coat with nervous haste, glanced at the time—but his pupils didn't focus on the irrelevant hands.

Soon.

He could feel it—his nightmare was drawing near.

Scouts outside the city brought confirmed news: Knight of Radiance Hagemore had gone completely mad. The man no longer settled for sheltering useless beggars—he had drawn his sword and led the main force of the knightly order to breach Roland County's outer defenses, marching toward the city.

He ignored the king's orders and absurdly saw himself as the corrupt minister who had deceived the monarch.

Saint Xis above, what merit did Cassius have to deceive the king? Even Lord Malus merely wrapped his hands around the king's wrists.

Which of his actions hadn't been tacitly approved by Hagemore's elder brother?

And Hagemore was a true demigod, the strongest blade of the Devalu family—even the Campbell champion lost to him in martial prowess!

That lion-like man was the natural enemy of every sewer rat—and also the enemy of loyalists.

If he could not prove his worth, the king would abandon him—and Cassius would become the first scapegoat thrown to the mob to quell their fury.

The truth was this cruel.

Once blame was dumped onto a gambler who lost his bet, whether copper coins or bread, they became yesterday's problems.

And those rebels swayed by Edward would soon fracture, their internal rage having been sated.

Cassius knew clearly: his only chance to survive was to extract "holy water" from these "human juices."

But the problem lay right here.

"Where the hell is it going wrong!"

Staring at the still-turning grinder, Cassius tore at his perfectly combed hair, muttering incoherently in madness.

"I followed Malus's technique… why am I only getting rotting flesh? Where are the souls? Where the hell did those damned souls go?"

Those standing around dared not speak.

Even the "priests" who aided him trembled, unable to offer any explanation.

They were only meant to guide souls—they had no idea what a soul even was. Saint Xis did not permit his followers to study such heresies; dissecting souls was blasphemy, and even dissecting flesh was forbidden by the Church of Saint Clement.

But for the past century, the Church's influence had waned, and it could no longer control these blasphemous fools.

Poor Cassius did not know that the Malus loyalists who had confidently taught him the "holy water method" had merely lied to him, spinning a plausible-sounding fraud to grant him a quick death.

Not even those closest to him—

Not even Malus himself had ever truly understood the core techniques of the Scholars' League. He had merely copied experimental logs from peripheral researchers.

The king sat in his own dry well, hearing only echoes from within. And as the one who "tended" the king's well, Cassius too sat alone in his own dry well.

"What a… clumsy imitation."

As Cassius sank into a pit of impotent rage, a soft laugh echoed from the shadows.

The laugh was clear and elegant, ringing through the blood-slick dungeon, jarringly out of place.

"Who?!"

Cassius spun around.

In the unlit corner of the interrogation chamber, a figure had appeared—unseen until now.

A young man in a deep blue robe, its surface embroidered with intricate silver runes that shimmered faintly in the dim torchlight.

He stood with hands behind his back, refined and composed, gazing at the hellish scene before him without a flicker of discomfort—only the cold arrogance of a superior.

"Whoa—"

The Gravekeepers and guards snapped to attention, drawing weapons and surrounding the man. He didn't even glance at them, as if their weapons were toys.

In truth, they were.

Only when mortals formed legion-level forces could they truly threaten a higher transcender.

Cassius narrowed his eyes, raised his right hand, and signaled his men to lower their weapons.

As a peak Purple Crystal-tier powerhouse, he had sensed nothing of this man's presence. That meant the stranger was either stronger than him—or carried a secret artifact he didn't understand.

And that robe… seemed to belong to the Scholars' League.

Cassius took a deep breath, trying to reclaim some of the Gravekeeper Chief's dignity.

"When did you enter?"

The young mage calmly adjusted his wrinkled cuff, speaking in a measured tone.

"I've been here all along, Lord Cassius."

Cassius narrowed his eyes, studying the man, then suddenly smiled.

He sensed a familiar aura—identical to the one always clinging to Malus's side: Professor Edgar Kaufman.

Now Malus was gone, and Edgar had vanished too; they must have been buried together.

Cassius's smile stirred a flicker of annoyance in the young mage. Though he didn't know what this uncouth monkey was thinking, it was surely something disrespectful.

But—

A monkey's attitude didn't matter anyway.

Lord Amon needed a reliable man to replace Edgar Kaufmann, the traitor who had been toppled. If he could successfully complete the Roland City project, he would become the next shadow beneath Lord Amon's cloak, rising above all other mages.

"Cut the pretense, Lord Cassius."

Seeing Cassius Chichiweikaikou, the young mage broke the silence himself, speaking with unmasked arrogance.

"My name is Eddy, from the Northern Wastes. You may not know us, but we've been watching you all along. Even before your former superior, Malus, was still alive, we were already 'old friends.'"

Hearing the man reveal his identity, Cassius's smile finally showed a hint of surprise—though the false sincerity still made one nauseous.

"So you're friends from the North! Welcome! What wind brought you here?"

He dramatically opened his arms, as if greeting a long-lost friend, stepping forward with exaggerated warmth, babbling incessantly.

"I knew it… that traitor Malus left a backup plan! You're the real manual for this machine! Quick, teach me! Where did I go wrong? Why does it only squeeze out blood, but never the soul inside?"

Faced with this near-delirious enthusiasm, Eddy made no reply. Instead, he furrowed his brow and stepped back, avoiding the thick stench of blood.

His gaze was like that of a civilized man with matches in his pocket, watching a primitive tribe laboriously drilling wood for fire with stones.

"Manual?"

Eddy swept his eyes dismissively over the still groaning giant mill, a sneer curling his lips.

"Lord Cassius, your misunderstanding of magic runs deep. Do you think the soul is like red wine in your cellar? Permit me to say plainly—the gap between us isn't merely a manual, but an entire Northern Wastes. What you've built? Even a half-drunk alchemist would laugh at it, let alone dare touch a sacred soul."

Cassius's smile stiffened for an instant, but he quickly ignored the insult. As long as he got what he wanted, such mockery meant nothing.

"Then what should I do?"

Cassius stepped forward again, his voice growing more frantic, like a beast cornered against a wall. "If you help me produce holy water, I'll pay any price! Gold? Titles? Or people? Ah—aren't you after manpower? All the prisoners here are yours!"

At these words, the already trembling jailers instantly held their breath.

Even the gravekeeper elites lurking in the shadows, and even the seemingly uninvolved priests, wore unmistakable fear on their faces.

Saint Xisi above—

They knew their boss too well.

Though Cassius likely meant "those locked in cages," if this noble mage lord truly demanded their lives—or those of their wives and children—Lord Bellringer wouldn't so much as flinch.

Everyone was a pawn on the scale.

He had gone completely mad.

Watching this swarm of ants cowering in fear, Eddy merely shook his head in boredom.

But just in case, he calmly raised his hand, tracing a single finger through the air and slicing open a faint blue rift.

Hum—

An invisible ripple instantly spread, enveloping him and Cassius, cutting off the increasingly noisy panting.

Cassius frowned slightly, then smiled again. Soundproofing ward.

Magic really was a useful thing.

No wonder the Empire sent them off to the Land of Knights to study powerful but useless holy powers, while they shut themselves in to study magic.

With no outside ears, Eddy spoke slowly, cutting straight to the point.

"Your desperate hunger for holy water is simply to please that aging mad king, to preserve your shaky position and control over secular power. Second, you crave this power to break through your bottleneck and become a true Qiangzhe, no longer trembling like a dog before the Radiant Knight approaching… Am I right?"

Cassius stared at Eddy and sneered.

"I won't deny it. In this chaotic world, who doesn't want to stand above all others? Aren't you the same?"

"Of course. Like you, I too wish to become such a great being."

Eddy nodded, and on his refined face appeared a sly, enigmatic smile—like a serpent flicking its tongue.

"But permit me to say plainly—your methods are far too roundabout."

Cassius frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Literally."

Ignoring Cassius's frown, Eddy continued calmly.

"We can fulfill both your goals. Why place your hopes on a dying old madman? Don't you want… to become the god who controls everything yourself?"

"We can even skip the 'holy water' step—make the supreme king himself your possession."

Cassius gasped, staring in disbelief at this madman, unable to believe he had uttered such blasphemy.

But quickly, his shock melted into an uncontrollable greed.

Make the king… my possession?

It sounded like placing the crown upon one's own head. Yes, it was insane—but didn't he have no other choice?

If he didn't gamble now, he would soon die as a traitor, becoming a medal on the chest of the Radiant Knight Hagemore.

"What do you want?"

Seeing the fish finally bite, Eddy nodded with satisfaction.

"Simple. Roland City."

Ignoring the sharply contracting pupils, his gaze passed through the transparent ward, resting on the oblivious ants who had just dug their own graves, and he whispered the answer like a devil's murmur.

"We need a fire—a blaze ten times fiercer than the 'Great Winter Fire,' one that swallows all, turns the people's faith into fuel, and from its ashes gives birth to a new god."

"And you… are the god we have chosen."

…

The deep autumn of Lei Ming City was always accompanied by endless rain; the storms upstream on the Benliu River seemed unrelated to this place.

Rain dripped steadily from the manor's eaves, tapping a rhythmic pattering on the marble steps. The fox-eared maid yawned, lulled to sleep by the sound of rain, a trail of drool glistening at her lips—she was dreaming of delicious food.

Life in the human world is truly nice—

Though the Demon Capital isn't bad either.

Nearby, in the study, the revered Demon King sat at his desk, having not left his room in the past week.

But this didn't mean he was idle.

On one hand, he needed to consolidate his power through meditation and reading magical texts; on the other, he had to study the notes seized from Malus.

This man had stolen a great deal from the Soul School, and the Soul School, eager to cultivate their puppet, had turned a blind eye… Now all of it had become the Demon King's spoils.

Luo Yan was deeply interested in research on soul essence and spirit essence—not to extract holy water, but to understand what reincarnation truly meant.

Or, more philosophically: where does a person go after death?

This mattered for his reconstruction of the Underworld, and for how he could use limited resources to patch up the leaky beehive beneath his feet.

It was one of many side paths on his road to godhood.

After all, if everyone around him were first-time reincarnated "weeds," proudly wearing ignorance, fearlessness, lack of virtue, and heartlessness like medals, that would be far from ideal for a future god.

The planet Kaxing was the precedent for the Os Continent.

Of course, beyond these distant matters, Luo Yan also pondered practical concerns.

For instance, as the first president of the upcoming Mage Guild, he had devoted considerable thought to its organizational structure and interior design.

Moreover, because of this, Eileen had found an excuse to stay overnight, claiming she was assisting with the guild's preparations.

Relations between humans and Hell had never been so "harmonious."

Even Duke Campbell not only tolerated it, but specifically asked Colin to take good care of his sister, not to leave any regrets, and so on…

Though Luo Yan always felt that the earnest "take care" carried other meanings.

Including the auntly smile of Lady Antoinette when she left—hidden beneath it were other expectations… or perhaps mere curiosity about how things would unfold.

To be honest, Luo Yan had no intention of thinking about these matters yet.

On one hand, the "mask" he wore on his face had become hard to remove; on the other, the atmosphere at Colin Manor had grown strangely "odd."

Mia and Vivian had brought the Demon Capital's corrupt Fengqi here, occasionally blowing air at each other.

On this point, Miss Padric was truly not clever—why provoke a child whose mind hadn't matured?

With a creature like Vivian, the fiercer the punishment, the more she thrived.

Conversely, if you ignored her for a while, she'd grow restless, crawling through shadows.

Speaking of which, Nan Fu deserves praise—he was the most well-behaved, now clearly transformed into a bright-eyed college student.

He spent his days either reading alone in the corner, or reading picture books to Miss Lino when she occasionally visited.

Or, being ridden like a horse by that human.

Sometimes Luo Yan thought the demons' subjugation by humans stemmed partly from their constant infighting.

But then again, wasn't the Holy City the same?

Though he had merely passed through briefly, dropping a few chess pieces before leaving, the hidden currents beneath its calm surface were plainly visible.

Tang Tais and Tichi often wrote to him, telling him what new scandals had erupted in the Holy City's upper society.

Blaming everything on infighting was too hasty. The truth was simple: the balance between Empire and Hell existed only because both sides had found their comfortable zones.

Of course, these grand themes were too distant for the revered Councilor Luo Yan—he cared only for those around him.

As for Hell, or the Empire—leave those concerns to those with nothing better to do.

Recently, for instance, he had been particularly attentive to the atmosphere within Colin Manor.

Mia's inexplicable jealousy toward Vivian was forgivable—madness is contagious, and succubi were inherently sensitive.

What truly unsettled him was that even his own cat had started arching its tail; its once loyal, gentle eyes now slowly glowed with budding ambition.

The reason? The demons were simply too weak. From a demon's perspective, of course, "My sword is still sharp."

Of course, Luo Yan didn't just pick on others—he also practiced self-reflection daily.

Ultimately, it was because "Rok Sai ·Colin" had a terrible character design—I devoured my own son.

"Lord Demon King, are you reflecting on your own flaws?" A voice, seemingly cautious, echoed deep within Luo Yan's mind.

Luo Yan, of course, shot back without mercy.

"You shut up, Youyou."

Ah—

That's the taste.

Hearing this familiar morning greeting, Youyou sighed contentedly, flipped over in midair like a whale swimming on its back, and drifted away.

Luo Yan rubbed his slightly sore brow, forcibly pulling his thoughts away from those chaotic trivialities and refocusing on the long table before him.

There sat a model of a city taking shape, about one meter in length and width.

He had painstakingly assembled this miniature Leiming City by finely manipulating sand and gravel with source energy, combined with earth-element magic.

Though not a perfect replica, it captured eighty percent of its essence.

The bird's-eye view of the city was captured by the "Butterfly of All Things," perched atop the Clock Tower.

At this moment, Luo Yan resembled a creator seated among the clouds, gazing down at the city below while crafting its reflection with his fingertips.

This device was undoubtedly far weaker than modern 3D printing, but in 1054, it was nothing short of an artistic miracle.

Because no one had ever done this before.

Powerful mages mostly looked down on wasting time on art.

Perhaps soon, Leiming City would produce a "Great Artist Colin."

"You've got some skill, huh."

A golden little head leaned in.

There, Tafu crouched along the table's edge, folding her dragon wings behind her, her vertical pupils intently studying the model Luo Yan had sculpted by hand.

This little female dragon had apparently grown another layer—her body had lengthened, and she was no longer as sleepy as before.

Especially her scales, freshly molted, now shimmered with a golden luster under the light, making her look even more regal.

When she grows up, riding her out will be quite impressive.

Luo Yan didn't look up, speaking in a slow, deliberate tone.

"I take every task seriously."

Tafu leaned closer, examining the tiny houses and carriages no bigger than grains of rice, carefully controlling her breath.

"So what's the point of this thing? Just an expensive decoration? You planning to put it in the Clock Tower?"

"That's only one of its functions."

Luo Yan smiled mysteriously.

He extended his hand, palm down, hovering above the model.

Instantly, a deep blue mist rose from the model's base, enveloping the entire miniature city.

Then, an unbelievable sight occurred—the lifeless sand table suddenly came alive!

The blue mist hovering above the Clock Tower model began to drift slowly, gathering and dispersing like real clouds in the sky.

Tafu's eyes widened in shock.

She saw that beneath the miniature cloud layer, actual fine rain was falling! The splashes of raindrops on the miniature streets were clearly visible, matching the weather outside perfectly—yet when she reached out to touch it, her scales remained completely dry.

The raindrops were merely projections.

"How did you do that?!"

Tafu couldn't help exclaiming.

This was utterly unbelievable—these primitives, still in the early Industrial Revolution, had used magic to create a panoramic radar?!

If her research vessel were still here, she'd have dragged this primitive aboard to keep as a pet!

Luo Yan watched the flowing light and shadow, explaining calmly.

"When everyone looks up at the Clock Tower, we don't just instill in them the belief that 'time is money'—we also, subtly and imperceptibly, steal one second of the scenery they just saw."

Tafu blinked, utterly confused.

"Can you speak human?"

"That's human speech," Luo Yan shrugged. "If I used magical terminology—like 'etheric resonance of visual afterimage' or 'collective subconscious projection'—you'd be even more lost."

Though the actual implementation was extremely complex, involving high-level use of Mingwen and analysis of rules, the principle itself wasn't obscure.

The Clock Tower was no longer merely a building; under the faith of a million citizens, it had transformed into a divine artifact.

Every region that could see it had become its domain—and unlike the temporary domain of a demigod like "Open-and-Eat," this was a permanent one.

Luo Yan had deeply modified it based on this, blending inspiration from the 440th Void Realm—the Solipuxi people were masters of constructing wonders; their "Echo Gallery" had given him profound insight.

This Clock Tower and the panoramic sand table were merely his first creation; the developing Grand Library and the Encyclopedia would be his second wonder for this world.

But that one was a bit strange.

Maybe because Leiming citizens read too many novels, or because the library wasn't mysterious enough, the faith energy refused to coalesce.

The Colin Grand Theater was the same.

They were magnificent, but both lacked a spark to ignite them.

"What's that?"

Tafu suddenly pointed a claw at a corner of the model.

At the edge of the drifting blue mist, a distinct brown dot had appeared.

It was only a blurry patch; its exact shape was indistinct due to distance, but it was moving steadily toward Leiming City.

Luo Yan also noticed the tiny mosaic, his eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise, then softening into a gentle smile.

"Guests have arrived."