"Furthermore," Screwllum gracefully took over the conversation, "regarding the mysterious intellitron we encountered in the previous recurrence’s memories—the one who fought against both Herta and myself—’Lygus’."

He continued in that steady, metallic voice:

"When I briefly crossed blows with him on a data level with Miss Herta previously, time was limited and we couldn’t conduct an in-depth analysis."

"But this time, by observing the fragments concerning that ’Lygus’ within Asterion’s memories, combined with our existing knowledge, Herta and I have reached several new conclusions."

Screwllum’s tone remained steady, but his following words were earth-shattering:

"Based on his demonstrated abilities, his familiarity with the underlying code of the ’Scepter,’ and his ancient methods of editing information..."

"We strongly suspect that Amphoreus, this supercomputer known as the ’Scepter,’ is no ordinary Aeon-created artifact. It is highly likely the historically recorded, long-lost first ’Scepter,’ once part of the physical form of Nous, the Aeon of ’Erudition’ itself."

This conclusion stunned everyone present!

And Screwllum’s next words pushed this shock to its peak:

"As for that system administrator who calls himself ’Lygus,’ given the depth of knowledge and ability he has displayed... if Herta and I are not mistaken..."

"His true identity is likely Genius Society Number One: Zandar One Kuwabara. The one who exists only in legends... who proposed the Imaginary Tree theory, the first genius who created the Aeons."

"Come to think of it," The Herta suddenly spoke, her voice carrying a trace of belated realization, "if that Asterion hadn’t, at some point in the past, sealed away the vast majority of this Number One’s genius permissions within the ’Scepter’..."

She paused, as if imagining that alternative possibility, "back during that data-based offensive and defensive battle, the ones who might have ultimately needed to go all out, or even fled in defeat... might have truly been us, right?"

"And moreover..." Screwllum’s mechanical voice lowered slightly, steering the conversation toward an even more chilling possibility,

"regarding that Emanator of Destruction who was supposed to be born from Amphoreus—’Iron Tomb’... although with our current understanding, we cannot fully comprehend how an Emanator of Destruction could truly threaten an Aeon themselves, based on existing records and extrapolations of the nature of their power..."

His mechanical eyes flickered with serious light, his voice, unusually bereft of its customary elegance and composure, becoming grave:

"An entity whose mere overflow of power creates secondary disasters that the Interastral Peace Corporation has solemnly defined as ’Emanator of Destruction’-class..."

"One can imagine, if ’Iron Tomb’ truly succeeded in emerging from Amphoreus, this petri dish, with its affinity targeting inorganic life, it would undoubtedly be a catastrophe for all civilizations and factions in the galaxy that rely on machinery, intelligence, and even technology. This... is no exaggeration."

"In other words..." Stelle struggled to digest this information, nodding with partial understanding, trying to summarize in her own way, "Phainon, Phaethon, and Cyrene... they prevented the birth of a Destruction Emanator? They saved the galaxy?"

"From an objective results perspective, that can be said." Screwllum affirmed Stelle’s summary, a hint of admiration in his tone.

"What is particularly noteworthy is that the three of them, in essence, weren’t even truly, naturally born life, merely data relying on the ’Scepter.’"

"Yet, it was precisely they who, through their own will and sacrifice, delayed, distorted, and even once came close to overturning this simulation laid out by the Aeons, achieving what they have today..."

He paused slightly, as if paying tribute to this history of resistance spanning countless recurrences.

"This is undoubtedly... a great epic of struggle."

The Express crew unanimously turned their gaze once more toward the two young figures, Phainon and Phaethon, carefully planting the first handful of wheat seeds into the soil of Aedes Elysiae.

Their movements carried hope for the future, their expressions focused and pure. But thinking of the heavy mission and countless hardships they would bear in the future, complex emotions welled up for a moment. Everyone fell into silence, unsure what words could describe the shock and emotion in their hearts now.

---

After a brief silence, they composed themselves and continued following the torrent of memory, watching the long and arduous journey belonging to "Asterion."

They watched him, in a new recurrence, like an indefatigable guardian god, doing everything he possibly could.

Relying on his "memory" of past recurrences, he predicted crises, resolved conflicts, and did everything to guide and help every Chrysos Heir, trying to pull them away from the predetermined tragic end belonging to Destruction.

They witnessed him leading the entire civilization of Amphoreus, persisting tenaciously and resisting unyieldingly under increasingly ferocious Black Tide invasions.

Under his protection, the new recurrences seemed to truly see a faint glimmer of hope, different from the past.

But...

The shackles of fate never truly loosened.

Even though he gave his all, one merciless rule of the universe, which he could not reverse through personal power alone, silently descended—

Time.

After experiencing a relatively stable period of development, he inevitably began facing a deeply painful truth: the companions by his side, those he had strived to save, would soon begin to... age and die in large numbers.

Their lifespans were reaching their limit.

This wasn’t devouring by the Black Tide, nor sacrifice in war, but the end of life’s natural law.

No matter how much power Phaethon possessed to shake the Black Tide, no matter how much "memory" he had to glimpse the future, facing the silent passage of time, he remained utterly powerless.

The people of this recurrence were going to die.

It was at this moment that the Express crew encountered the second anomalous region.

The scene before them was completely different from the pure, unsettling blankness earlier, yet it also revealed the scars of memory itself.

There were no particularly coherent scenes here. What unfolded before them was a chaotic realm, like a shattered kaleidoscope.

Countless memory fragments floated, tumbled, and collided. Each fragment flickered with faint light, reflecting a single instant—

From these fragments, one could vaguely discern a general chronological order: the earlier ones had brighter colors; the later ones, having endured more deaths of those close to him, were shrouded in deeper shadows.

"Dear companions," that familiar voice rang out again at the right moment, breaking the oppressive atmosphere brought by these fragmented memories, "your progress to this point is much faster this time, worthy of praise, oh."

Evernight silently and soundlessly appeared beside them. She held her black umbrella, her dark red pupils scanning the chaotic sea of memories before them, her face showing not the slightest surprise.

"Don’t worry," she smiled slightly. "This little bit of ’chaos’ is not enough to trouble me. I will chart a safe path for you, to help you... continue moving forward."