Chapter 318 - 97: Fickle

Words : 1811 Updated : Oct 13th, 2025

Bologue called upon the Ether, trying to forge an Iron Armor to cover himself, readying for battle, but this time the Ether did not respond to him.A strong sense of crisis surged in his heart as Bologue tried to pull out the folding knife and the Sheep Horn Shock Hammer from his waist, but now he couldn’t even perform such actions, his body completely froze on the spot, unable to move. A bright light fell from above, not shining on the ground, but onto the wooden floor, footsteps continued to draw near, a blurry figure gradually appeared in sight, finally stopping at the edge of the light, Bologue could only see a pair of polished shiny leather shoes. "We meet again, Mr. Lazarus." A familiar voice sounded, a white glove swept across in the dimness as Bologue suddenly sat backward, he didn’t fall but sturdily landed on a chair. The light above brightened, dispelling the surrounding darkness until Bologue could clearly see the coming mad shadow. "Tyrant..." staring at that sinister figure, Bologue whispered. "It feels so good to see you again." The Tyrant’s voice carried a smile, sitting opposite Bologue, examining Bologue’s bloodstained body, he continued. "You look a bit rough, need some help? The kind without any cost." "Really?" Bologue chuckled, "Would you really be so kind?" "Helping you would indirectly help me," the Tyrant candidly said. Bologue didn’t immediately respond but looked around, just as when he met the Tyrant before, he found himself in a mysterious space where the Tyrant was the sole Sovereign. "So... in this chaos, you also have something to gain." Bologue said. "Of course," the Tyrant nodded. "The things I am about to do will help you, but because my condition is so bad, I may not be able to accomplish it, thus you choose to help me." "Yes." The Tyrant seemed to know what was in Bologue’s mind, he crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees. "The power of choice is yours, Mr. Lazarus, you can accept my help and achieve mutual benefit for both of us. You can also destroy my plans... as long as it fails, but would you really do that?" Another beam of light fell, illuminating Palmer sprawled on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, continuously spread until it passed Bologue’s feet. "Or perhaps you would resign to failure, handing over victory to others just like that." Another light fell, the container like a work of art was placed on a pedestal. Bologue fell into silence, his condition was terrible, Aimou couldn’t provide Ether endlessly, admittedly, after consecutive battles, even an expert was trapped in a stalemate. He couldn’t sit by and let Palmer die, nor allow the Immortal Heart to be taken by Teda, let alone the rotten roots spread across the ground... "Tyrant, what exactly are you trying to do?" Bologue questioned, "What role are you playing here exactly?" "Me? Mr. Lazarus, there’s something you need to know." The Tyrant let out waves of laughter, "The Devil and I have no stance." "Everything I do is purely in pursuit of value." "Value?" Bologue was puzzled, "Isn’t the value you’ve gained enough?" "Enough? Yet never enough, I am a greedy person, regretfully, my desire for value can never be satiated." "And the auction? This sacrificial offering to you has been botched, aren’t you angry?" Bologue said. "Botched?" The Tyrant responded, as if hearing a joke, he said meaningfully, "Really botched?" Bologue froze. "Not at all, Mr. Lazarus, it hasn’t been botched; in fact, it’s proceeding quite smoothly, you see, the light you all shine in the face of death and hardship..." The Tyrant’s body started to tremble, not out of fear, but excitement. "I hope you can understand one thing, sometimes we’re not in opposition, instead we can cooperate," the Tyrant calmed his emotions, "though it sounds like dancing with wolves." Suddenly the Tyrant appeared in front of Bologue, lifting Bologue’s chin, gazing into his teal eyes, as if piercing through the boundary of reality and illusion to see the soul hidden within the shell. "You must admit one thing, in such a crisis, gods won’t help you, the only one who can extend a hand is me, the Devil you spurn." His narration was very calm, yet as it fell into Bologue’s ears, it was filled with temptation, awakening the deepest Original Sin within his nature. Before Bologue could respond, the Tyrant disappeared, reappearing on a nearby chair. Bologue stared intently at that mad shadow, the lights went out one by one, leaving only him and the Tyrant sitting opposite each other in the darkness. Repeated deep breathing, as if engaging in some sort of inner struggle, fortunately the struggle didn’t last long, Bologue came up with a new idea, this idea was terrible, but he was willing to give it a try. "Are you... interested in my soul?" Bologue suddenly asked. "Oh? That’s a rather surprising proposal." The Tyrant’s emotions rarely showed a bit of fluctuation, his words were full of astonishment. "Unfortunately, I cannot take your soul right now." "Why?" Bologue curiously asked, "Is it because the soul is fragmented?" "No... I have nothing to offer you now, Mr. Lazarus, you have no wish for me to fulfill, how could I take your soul?" The Tyrant waved his hand helplessly, hearing it, one could tell he craved for Bologue’s soul greatly, whether or not Bologue was related to the person he was seeking, Bologue’s soul in his view was extremely valuable, even if it was a fragmented soul. "And what about the next matter?" Bologue asked. "This counts as mutual aid, I helped you, you helped me, we’re even." Bologue was slightly dazed, repeatedly observing the Tyrant’s words, "If I hadn’t known in advance, I would find it really difficult to associate you with something like the Devil." The Tyrant’s demeanor hardly resembled that of a Devil, more like... an unpopular businessman. "Devil... My brothers and sisters are all bound by different desires, which leads to our diverse personalities. Some are so arrogant they can’t communicate at all, some are consumed by anger, which devours everything that approaches them, and others..." The Tyrant chuckled. "That’s how Devils are, whimsical, ever-changing, fickle in their moods... Fortunately, I am the most rational among them, capable of conversation." "I can see that," Bologue nodded, affirming, "Compared to a Devil, you’re more like a businessman." The Tyrant laughed again, taking Bologue’s words as praise and acknowledgment. "However, why did you suddenly mention your soul?" the Tyrant asked, "You don’t seem like someone who would voluntarily sell your soul." "I... I’m like you, I’m also searching for someone, one who could be considered your sibling, it was he who took my soul," Bologue said, "I want to find him." "Sacrificing another part of your soul just to find him... doesn’t sound very worthwhile," the Tyrant smiled. "No, I just want to know how he would react if I were taken by another Devil," Bologue said nonchalantly, "It’s not often you get a chance to toy with a Devil." "Haha, you’re quite amusing, Mr. Lazarus." The Tyrant was amused by Bologue; whether he was willing to cooperate with Bologue’s crazy idea was unknown. After a moment of calm, Bologue looked at the Tyrant and asked again, "So can you foresee the future?" "Foresee the future?" "You seem able to see what happens next, hence we are having this conversation, right?" Bologue asked. "It’s not foreseeing the future, it’s just that everything is proceeding according to the script I’ve written. However, a script is still a script; if the actors don’t cooperate, many variables can arise, disrupting the plot’s direction." "Sounds like a madman’s self-entertainment," Bologue joked, "Are you filming your own movie?" "Hmm? Self-entertainment, I like that term." "Well... what if someone eventually breaks the conclusion you’ve set? Would you feel angry about it?" Bologue chatted with the Tyrant. "No, quite the opposite, I would feel delighted." "Why?" "Few can break free from their script, resist their conclusion... or in other words, escape from the story, shattering the end fate has handed them." Rather than being a script, it’s more the fate manipulated and influenced by the Devils in the shadows. "Those who break free from fate signify a high value." Bologue fell silent, seemingly pondering the information revealed in the Tyrant’s words, then remembered his first genuine understanding of the Devil during his conversation with Geoffrey. "You interfere with the world’s process, constantly revising history to the way you want it." Bologue sensed something; he wasn’t sure if it was his own conjecture or the Tyrant deliberately revealing it to him. "Resisting fate, shattering shackles... those who can sway the trajectory of history are the ones with value, and they’re the ones you Devils desire to hunt." In response to Bologue’s words, the Tyrant made no reply, only emitted that meaningless laughter. Bologue realized he couldn’t get anything out of asking further, and shifted the topic, looking around this strange space. "In your territory, you’re omnipotent, right?" "You can think of it that way." Previously, Bologue had needed a certain ritual to summon the Tyrant, but in the Tyrant’s territory, he appeared unbound, able to manifest at will, even bestowing his protection upon everyone. The physical restraints had already disappeared before; Bologue stretched his body vigorously, like warming up before a battle. "So, before I leave here, and for our mutual assistance efforts, I have a few small requests." "Like what?" Bologue thought for a moment, testingly asked. "A glass of orange juice?" The Tyrant paused for a second, laughed again, then snapped his fingers, and a glass of orange juice appeared out of thin air in Bologue’s hand. Bologue took a sip; the taste was unchanged from the orange juice he remembered, even chilled by the Tyrant himself. "Anything else?" the Tyrant asked again. "Hmm? A bit of music." A light shone down, illuminating a record player in the darkness, which, if Bologue looked correctly, was the same one from his home. "Hmm... nice." Bologue slowly stood up, and just then the Tyrant also appeared before him, suddenly extending his hands, tightly gripping Bologue’s head. The cables on his face began to twist and split, revealing a hundred scarlet eyes, all looking into Bologue’s gaze. "You... are extraordinary." The Tyrant seemed to utter a curse, releasing his hands, merging with the darkness. When the light shone again, Bologue had returned to the dim earth; what had just happened seemed like an illusion, yet he still held a glass of orange juice in his hand. A series of coughing sounds ensued, and Bologue turned his head, only to see Palmer’s injuries healing at a visible rate, with layers of Ether Protection enveloping him. Not only him, but also Bologue, enveloped by the Tyrant’s power.

Chapter 318 - 97: Fickle

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