"I respect you, I trust you, aside from this matter, you really haven’t had other contacts with those humans. I once thought, were you trying to replace me by bringing in foreign enemies to create waves sufficient to overthrow me, but now it seems that’s not the case..."

"Then what is the reason? Please forgive my foolishness, and as always, enlighten me."

The old woman answered quite straightforwardly:

"For the prophecy."

This answer greatly ignited Victor’s rage!

He seemed not truly as he said, unclear about the old woman’s motives. On the contrary, he seemed especially clear, so much so that when the old woman spoke, it was like igniting all the anger squeezed in his heart, causing him to show unprecedented loss of composure!

"For the prophecy? For the prophecy!!!"

"I believe in your prophecy! I have done too many things for this prophecy. I harmonized the countless forces big and small in Comoros, made them believe this prophecy decided the fate of every Spirit Race member, binding them to the chariot. I was dedicated to weakening the Infinite Corps, observing and seizing opportunities at all times, and when necessary, I’m ready to mobilize great troops, to carry out a military action in Subspace extremely dangerous to our race."

"I was nearly about to succeed, as mentioned in your prophecy, whether it is Robert or Gu Jing, have already fallen into Comoros. Even if there are some minor setbacks in between, everything is still under control. Just the last step left, slowly bleeding those humans, on our turf, where we can spill the blood of countless slaves."

"Yet you brought the Alliance in, gave away Comoros’ greatest secret. At the most critical point, you stabbed me."

"Betrayal, betrayal. Throughout my life, I’ve experienced countless betrayals, none made me feel this pain."

"Old woman, old woman. Where did I go wrong? The prophecy gives fate’s verdict to the Spirit Race, and I am determined to hold fate in the Spirit Race’s hands, where exactly did it go wrong?"

"Must you let those so-called divine offspring make the judgment? Do you not believe at all that our great race can’t control its own fate, can’t personally complete our revival?"

Faced with a series of questions, the old woman’s attitude remained unchanged.

The ’daughter’ of the God of Mensha just listened patiently, and didn’t speak until Victor’s words filled with rage stirred the cold wind to the extreme, saying:

"This is Mensa’s will, this is the fate of the Spirit Race. Our race has long lost all vitality, great revival is merely a forbidden fantasy, the future of the universe holds no place for us. Our only path is to become part of the universe’s overlords, join them, become them. Only thus can our genes, our culture, our wisdom, and our divinity endure..."

"God! God! God!!!" Victor angrily interrupted the old woman’s words, "What of Mensa? What of that human false emperor? Those vile repugnant things in Subspace are the same!"

"Let all these gods die! Nothing can stop the Spirit Race’s great revival, nothing can stop me from grasping fate in my own hands."

"Even if it’s our race’s divinity!"

Victor’s face cast a giant shadow under the light from the crystal prism.

With his anger vented, his whole body gradually calmed down.

The anger retreated with the cold wind, leaving only deeper, unreadable silence. His deep eye pools slowly lifted, swirling with a heavy, thoroughly betrayed cold.

Perhaps, he had long understood.

He was betrayed not only by the old woman, but standing behind her, the divine being named Mensa revered by the Dark Spirit Race, one with Windsor.

The Dark Spirit Race fervently worships Mensa. In their society, Mensa worship is the greatest religion, often conducting bloody sacrificial rites with slaves or other Dark Elves. The initiators of this worship are the Witch Spirits, led by the old woman, ’Mensa’s daughter.’

Victor is also a follower of Mensa, but now, he scorns the divinity, scoffing at its pitifulness.

"I will not tolerate any existence manipulating me and my race, no matter what fate is used as an excuse." He slowly shakes his head, "Every grain of dust filled with pain in Comoros will dance under my war blade. Mensa helps me, I believe Mensa; Mensa doesn’t help me, then it is merely a damned Subspace entity, unworthy of attention."

"Even if everything is like a chess game and toy of those divine beings, everything is destined, everything is unchangeable, I’d rather take the Spirit Race, take all of Comoros, together into hell, sink into the dust of history!"

The crystal prism behind him shattered with his proclamatory words. The light faded, the giant shadow cast by Victor under the throne also pulled back.

His body leaned slightly forward, as if using all his strength to prevent himself from falling. That gaunt face of the Dark Spirit Race was covered by a layer of twilight ashes, he reached out a hand—more resembling a powerless dismissal than an attack.

"Bring the sacrificial knife, old woman." Victor’s voice like wind passing through the hollow of bones, "Then, leave."

Just a final, lightweight instruction, more stabbing than any curse.

The old woman knew the result.

No words of judgment were needed, Victor’s lifeless gaze, the subtle sound of the cracked stone armrest, and the word "sacrificial knife" pointing to the final rite were already unmistakable.

Her deep eyes looked at the hunched figure on the throne for a long time, until eventually, she let out a slight sigh.

The old woman didn’t resist her fate, just as she didn’t resist the fate of the Spirit Race.

But as she looked at Victor, her gaze gradually bore a hint of compassion.

Retracting her gaze, she ceased looking, nor did she speak another word.

She deeply, silently bent down, a last farewell to an old friend she accompanied for countless years.

Then, she slowly, incredibly slowly turned around, the movements like struggling in flowing amber. The hem of her robe, dark as raven feathers, brushed the cold ground, dragging, silently gliding towards an unnoticed archway at the edge of the council chamber swallowed by deep darkness.

The darkness like a beast’s giant mouth, swallowing her lonely and isolated back bit by bit until the last piece of her robe disappeared into the swirling thick shadow, as if she never stepped into this hall filled with betrayal and judgment.

The air was filled only with the faint scent of decay and the withered figure on the throne.