When the plot-skips players into the game world-Chapter 1025 - 367: The Way of the Serpent Coiling Heart

Chapter 1025: Chapter 367: The Way of the Serpent Coiling Heart

The motivation driving Red Chancellor Peng Bonazzi’s usurpation was not madness, caprice, power, or desire… but his love for The Star.

He loved The Star more than anyone else.

It was just that the The Star he loved was the initial one, a kind of love “etched” in memory as if searching for a sword lost in a river.

It was not out of love, but more from his hatred towards Bashir for ascending into the Dream Realm alone, abandoning him;

Perhaps not from hatred, but from the disappointment towards Valentine’s present iron yet not steel resolve;

Or maybe not from disappointment, but from the nostalgia for the pure struggle before the establishment of this country;

But ultimately, it was not because of nostalgia, but because of [Love].

For the madness and selfishness of the Path of Love—

“No wonder,” Aleister suddenly laughed, “I sensed a whiff of decay from you earlier, like that bottle of wine you keep.

“At first, I thought it was an illusion. After all, you’ve lived for so long… everyone wants to reminisce about the past.”

“…Hmph.”

Peng Bonazzi’s expression suddenly turned grim.

He guessed what Baroness Beyard wanted to say, but he neither interrupted nor denied it.

Aleister looked at his expression, his lips curling slightly: “Indeed, you’ve guessed it too…

“—Your Path has deviated, heading down the [False] path.”

That is the path above the Source River of Errors… symbolizing the eternal and static twilight.

The concepts of “etching” and “nostalgia” belong to Spirit Amber Celestial Marshal. In the rare instances where amber does not respond to prayers, Spirit Amber Celestial Marshal represents the Path of Dusk.

The “old man’s stench” emanating from the Red Chancellor was no illusion—as if rotten flesh gives off an odor, attracting bugs and flies. A Transcendent on the Path of Love, once dusk-transformed, would become such a deranged shepherd.

“Perhaps.”

Peng Bonazzi’s words grew sharper, no longer as polite as before: “This is also my own choice.”

Perhaps because he had already said what he wanted to say—as the creator of The Star’s most glorious era, he disdained the people of this era’s The Star. He arrogantly believed like an obsessed old man that “young people don’t know anything,” “this era is rotten to the core.”

Even his direct descendants who he transformed into Sons of the Moon, he looked down upon them. Peng Bonazzi believed they did not understand him, nor were they worthy of understanding him.

Yet, at the same time, he had an urgent desire to converse with others—no one could share the pressure in his heart, even just as a soundless tree hollow would suffice.

His eagerness to share his sorrows was like an old gamer feeling melancholic while alone watching the densely gray icons in the guild of an outmoded online game.

Watching the foolish questions scattered among the world channel, he only wanted to sneer—those were questions he once ardently repeated countless times, and now he couldn’t muster the interest to type a single word. After all, they wouldn’t stay long and would leave; no one could accompany him, they did not understand the joyfulness of his early pioneering days, “the game back then was not like this at all.”

And now, Baroness Beyard, who existed in the Imperial Era the same as him, and was also a Son of the Moon, and even had a higher status than him back then, naturally deserved the role of this “listener.”

Just like when Peng Bonazzi was on the verge of quitting the game, he suddenly discovered a veteran guild member had logged on!

—Baroness Beyard, last logged on one day ago.

Then Peng Bonazzi naturally would be overjoyed, staying online daily. He wanted to seize the moment when the other logged on to have a good chat about the past and reminisce about times gone by.

But now, he had said all he wanted to say, and he had reminisced over everything that was to be reminisced.

Confirming that the irretrievable past was indeed gone… and so Peng Bonazzi was thoroughly letting go.

“If this was truly your own choice, why are you so pained, so confused?”

Baroness Beyard, with crossed legs, swirling her wine glass, spoke with biting sharpness: “Or say, do you truly from the bottom of your heart endorse Bashir’s philosophy?

“The Way of Stibium born from the experiences of the inequitable Empire, brought about even more inequality. Have you really never questioned the path itself?

“The Way of Stibium allows the capable to rise above—but who determines who is capable? Is it the monarch? An expert? Or is it merely the path level? Does moving deeper into a path make them stronger? Is someone stuck at a certain energy level due to a lack of effort or inherent inadequacy, considered inferior?”

Updat𝒆d fr𝑜m freewebnøvel.com.

“—Otherwise?”

Peng Bonazzi retorted: “Isn’t it the same with the Beaumont Consortium? Survival of the fittest, just like nature. Providing a relatively fairer arena has already eliminated most of the unfairness.”

“But the ‘unfairness’ you’ve eliminated is itself the greatest ‘unfairness,'” Aleister countered without hesitation: “Does a person have only one direction for their talent? Does an individual’s success depend only on their effort and talent? Luck, opportunity, choices, persistence and giving up, personal performance, societal support… Can all these factors really be ignored?

“In the Way of Stibium, the so-called ‘successful’ always compare upwards, and the ‘failures’ will utterly lose dignity. People won’t openly pity the weak because they are merely ‘eliminated,’ the sifted sand amidst the gold. People will think their failure is due to stupidity or laziness… Weakness at this moment becomes an original sin.

“Prince Xiyaldo, as an alchemist, is already quite talented. Reaching the Third Level at such a young age, it’s only a matter of time before he gains a deeper understanding of the Path of Balance and steps into the Fourth Level.”

“Albert is undoubtedly a genius, but he also feels the pressure from the huge expectations society has placed on him. To be acknowledged within this societal system, he must constantly grow stronger—their achievements beyond their primary duties are not recognized by society and are considered a distraction from their goals.”

“To outsiders, they are already quite successful and truly significant figures. Yet, they are still tormented by the expectations of others and the gaze of the crowd… as they find themselves within a new evaluative system, continuing to battle with new strong competitors. This cycle repeats endlessly, with no peace and no respite, like an Ouroboros serpent biting its own tail without end.”

“Once they fall, their past glory turns into a blade. People eagerly step on those who have fallen from high places, as if proving that everyone is a failure alike. Their own failures seem all the more forgivable.”

“Conversely, if a person becomes strong within this system, they naturally come to believe that everything they have is deserved. They assume that they should enjoy all of these things as a matter of course, because they are the embodiment of Perfection, surpassing the failed ones in personality, essence, talent, and effort… and all those beneath them are relatively failures.”

“—Just like you.”

Aleister said word for word: “This is a disease, the affliction of Serpent Coiling Heart—the Ouroboros of the Path of Transcendence has bewitched you, leading you onto a paradoxical path with neither beginning nor end.”

It’s a posture akin to a Möbius strip.

Originally, Aleister thought that the Stibnite community ought to follow the principles of the Path of Balance.

The Royal Alchemy Association, Demons’ Association, Spirit Summoning Tower, Red Fortress… Many forces gather here, maintaining a precarious Balance. Any individual rise is suppressed by the other forces, thus ascending in an infinite sway.

But now Aleister profoundly realizes—that all of this is merely a façade.

The essence of the Way of Stibium is utilitarianism and meritocracy, which the alchemists pursue as the Path of Transcendence.

The only difference is that the members of the Demons’ Association follow the Fallen Celestial Marshal, while alchemists follow the Serpent Celestial Marshal.

As the original creator of alchemy, the Serpent Celestial Marshal indeed has the potential to be followed by alchemists.”

“Bashir… Valentine I,” said Aleister, looking at Peng Bonazzi with a gloomy face, “He is an Angel Envoy of the Serpent Celestial Marshal, right?”

“So what if he is?”

Peng Bonazzi defended, as if also defending himself: “Even if only a circulating river emerges from the stagnant dead water, it’s still considered progress!”

“—Is it really progress, or is it a form of ‘Transcendence’?”

Aleister continued to interrogate Peng Bonazzi.

Finally, it seemed that Peng Bonazzi could no longer hold back.

“Heh… Isn’t the Beaumont Consortium the same?”

Peng Bonazzi retorted: “Despite being a Ritualist family that serves the Serpent Father, you intermarried with the Witch Family—who doesn’t know that you responded to the embrace of the Shadowy Celestial Marshal back then?”

Here it comes.

Aleister’s heart stirred, realizing that Peng Bonazzi was breaking down.

So she pretended to frown unhappily, weakly defending and seeking to elicit more secrets: “Curse and Ritual… they’re not different at all. As techniques of the Path of Transcendence, what difference does it make?”

“Hehe… Difference? The Curse skills of the Path of Transcendence are precisely the inheritance of the Beyard Family, aren’t they? Considering the power of rituals too gentle for the Path, you have been unscrupulous, drawing the world’s talents and skills, including curse, deceit, and magic potions—even at the cost of betraying the Path itself.

“With these skills, the Beaumont Consortium reached the apex of Stibnite within just twenty years. Every cent of your family’s wealth is soaked in blood and curses!

“If we are corrupted by the Path of Transcendence, then you have never escaped it.”

Peng Bonazzi banged his fingers hard on the armrest, making a creaky cracking sound.

He frowned slightly, looking anxious and troubled.

Gazing at the silent Baroness Beyard, Peng Bonazzi questioned repeatedly: “Did you really go to the Primordial? I rather think you went to Parthian Ancient Country for further study. You were never so vicious before, and now your words seem to carry a cutting edge.

“I know after you returned you went to Avalon—what, to check on the maintenance of the curses you sold in the past? I heard you fell in love with Aiwass from the Moriarty Family… Isn’t that the deceitful love that witches are adept at?

“The forgotten curse entwined with the Moriarty Family is precisely cast by your mother! For this curse, the pledge given to you by the First Generation Moriarty, you still keep it, right? The curse should have expired by now since seven generations have already passed—do you really plan to return the deposit to them?”

Observing Baroness Beyard’s continued silence, Peng Bonazzi snorted with a hint of self-satisfaction from his victory in words: “You may have forgotten, but I have not—

“The sword of Mordred’s Clarent is with you, right? But have you returned it to Aiwass? I think… probably not?”

“Enough.”

Aleister exhaled a breath, feeling satisfied.

“—Indeed, it’s enough.”

“I’ve had enough of this talk with you,” Peng Bonazzi replied grimly: “I’m disappointed, Baroness Beyard. I thought we were the same kind of people…”