Every number represents the rise and fall of an entire recurrence, representing a complete life compressed into a cold serial number.

Screwllum’s mechanical eyes flickered slightly. He recalled that when he first interfaced with the Amphoreus system, he had retrieved environmental historical data of Okhema and its surrounding areas for research purposes.

His conclusion at the time was: This land, while perhaps not perfectly meeting the needs of all life forms, at least completely satisfied the conventional definition of "habitable"—stable water sources, suitable temperatures, fertile soil.

He had even felt a flicker of confusion back then: Why did this "Scepter," internally running the "Anti-Organic Life Equation" and theoretically a breeding ground of despair, possess an internal environment that did not exhibit the theoretically expected, extremely harsh anti-Organic life characteristics?

Now, the answer lay starkly before him.

Someone, through sheer will, upon the ruins of countless recurrences, time and time again, had forcibly transformed this experimental field doomed to become hell into a "paradise" capable of nurturing hope and civilization.

This was not a gift of nature, but a miracle born of will and sacrifice.

And Welt, at this moment, recalling his confrontation with that slightly paranoid "Asterion" back in the outside world, couldn’t help but harbor a complex thought:

Faced with such a long, such a desperate repetition, witnessing billions of deaths and partings, bearing memories surpassing the weight of a god... how... did he end up *only* this mad?

He could even... maintain rationality, engaging in logically clear communication with him, elaborating on that cold, cruel philosophy of "salvation."

This "rationality," maintained on the very edge of extreme madness, so profound it sent chills down one’s spine, was perhaps the greatest tragedy in itself.

But what was even more heartbreaking... was another phenomenon that quietly surfaced.

Within Khaslana’s memories, already eroded and riddled with holes, the memories concerning the Chrysos Heirs—Mydei, Cipher, Aglaea, and the others—were preserved the most clearly, the most completely.

Even in the final stages of his memory map, among those shattered fragments not yet devoured by blankness, the vast majority were not the horrors of battle, nor the terror of the Black Tide, nor his own pain and solitude...

But rather the Chrysos Heirs laughing heartily in the sunlight, their joyful dances during celebrations, the warmth of them sharing food around a campfire, the pure joy on their faces when they achieved small successes...

Those moments belonging to "happiness."

These fragments, he guarded like rare treasures, carefully preserving them in the deepest part of his consciousness, resisting the erosion of the endless torrent of memories.

Clearly, he cherished these memories immensely.

This final, gentle persistence formed the most heartbreaking contrast with his cold decision to try and freeze the entire world in amber.

It was as if declaring that everything he did, whether the struggle or that extreme form of "salvation," had its most primitive driving force perhaps precisely in protecting these smiles of others, which he regarded as his greatest treasures.

...

Finally, they reached the end of this river of memory.

In fact, traversing those later, fragmented memory regions riddled with vast blank spaces took far less time than watching the earlier, vivid memories—because there was almost nothing left to see there.

It was only at this moment that Stelle understood why the residual memory crystal Evernight had initially shown had such a peculiar shape—the lower part was relatively solid, while the upper part was shattered, thin, almost turned to dust.

That wasn’t random damage; it was the most truthful, cruelest portrayal of Asterion’s remaining memories.

The relatively stable lower part was the foundation barely anchored after being scoured; the dissipation of the upper part represented the irreversible loss and annihilation of the details belonging to his "self," eroded by endless cycles and the influx of monstrous memories.

Yet, amidst these ruins of memory, among the countless precious fragments of the Chrysos Heirs’ happy moments that Asterion had desperately preserved—

Lines of contemplation, born from the deepest part of his heart, soaked in exhaustion and despair, quietly emerged, imprinted onto the background of every beautiful frame:

『Useless...』

Two icy words, like the hammer blow of conviction.

『Everything I do... is futile, useless effort.』

Declaring the essence of over thirty million attempts.

『No matter how many times I start over... everyone still ends up dying.』

『I can indeed save them... I can save one cycle, two cycles, thirty thousand cycles... even a hundred thousand, a million, ten million cycles.』

What immense numbers these were, carrying such heavy hope and the deeper despair that followed.

『But... as long as the calculations of the Erudition never cease... this despairing cycle will continue, continue forever... The tragedy of Amphoreus will never, ever meet its end.』

He saw the cold, higher-dimensional rules that trapped everyone.

『A way... a way...』

An anxious search, burning in the desperate situation.

『Tear up the script... tear up the script... I, cannot do it.』

Realizing the limits of his own power, unable to directly oppose the schemes of an Aeon.

『Overturn the chessboard... overturn the chessboard... Perhaps... worth a try?』

An even crazier, more resolute idea began to sprout.

『But... how?』

The path ahead remained shrouded in mist.

『Terminate the calculation? But the calculation... won’t stop because of my will.』

Denying the most direct path.

『Complete the calculation? Yes... complete the calculation!』

A reverse, earth-shattering idea suddenly became clear—since you cannot stop it, accelerate its arrival!

『But... the event of "Iron Tomb’s" birth has long been anchored by the Erudition, becoming the inevitable "Fourth Moment."』

Cold reality was like shackles.

『So... even if I break through first in the form of "Preservation" to steal its birth... the Scepter’s predetermined calculation program might not stop because of it.』

『There must... there must be another reason why the suppressed "Destruction" equation I hold back will successfully break through at some point in the future.』

Foreseeing the futility of all remedial measures.

『The birth of "Iron Tomb" is something that is bound to happen... it can be delayed, but... cannot be prevented.』

The final, suffocating conclusion.

『So... so... to protect the ones I love from being used as nutrients by the Iron Tomb...』

The final struggle, pointing to the only exit.

『Be born together... Yes, be born together!』

『Let me... become a part of "Iron Tomb"... and let "Iron Tomb" become a part of me...』

A final fusion plan, binding himself with destruction.

『Be born together... Let the calculation of Amphoreus... be completely finished!』

『By this... truly protect the ones I love! End... the eternal tragedy of Amphoreus!』