Chapter 179: The Thirteenth Pillar of Light Rises
[The midnight phantom that once appeared in Cloud City came about because of this—but that was merely a phantom. Creatures of the real world and extraordinary beings could enter the Midnight from it, but what dwelled in the Midnight was still bound by restrictions and could not come out.]
[However, as long as the transformation continues, one day, the Midnight and Cloud City will fully merge.]
[The problem is you. You’re an unpredictable variable—constantly disrupting Its arrangements. From the beginning until now, you’ve foiled Its plans at least three times!]
[Remember that fragment? It didn’t belong to the Midnight. That was something It seized in preparation for this very day—using it to tear open a passage between the real world and the Midnight. But you took that fragment away, preventing the rift from expanding.]
[You even used the fragment to wrest control of Cloud City’s mist, causing Its plan to stall completely. The false archbishops It fabricated were all slaughtered by you. Now It’s been forced to alter the layout with the Blood Eyes.]
[Creating those temporary Blood Eyes to breach the barrier between the Midnight and the real world must have cost It quite a bit of energy.]
[Who could’ve guessed you’d actually have the power to sever those eyes that shouldn’t even exist in this world—once again ruining Its efforts to patch things up?]
Xu Zhi blinked innocently. “So… what now?”
[For now, It can’t do anything to you. In fact, because of your interference, Its entire layout in Cloud City is likely in shambles.]
[If It fails to bring the Midnight fully into the real world, It’ll lose a tremendous advantage—something extremely detrimental to Its overall plan.]
[So next, It’ll likely rip open the rift sealing the small aberration. Time is running out, and since you can cut off the Blood Eyes, It won’t have time to revise Its plan again. The only option left is to widen that fissure and let the aura of the Midnight flood into the real world.]
Xu Zhi frowned. If the other side truly did that, there was probably nothing she could do to stop it.
The Narrator seemed to sense her worry.
[If It truly defies the laws of the Midnight to tear open the rift, then that means It has made a desperate, all-or-nothing decision. You don’t have to intervene—the backlash from breaking the Midnight’s rules will be enough to wound It.]
[And for what It intends to accomplish, even the smallest injury might be enough to ensure failure. When that moment comes, It certainly won’t have time to care about you.]
“You mean that’s what you meant by ‘avoiding Its peak’?”
[No.]
The Narrator refuted her directly.
[At this stage, Its plan is going poorly—but that won’t change Its goal. The plan has already begun, and even It can no longer stop it. Once It’s discovered, there won’t be a second chance.]
No second chance if discovered?
The phrasing struck Xu Zhi as strange—almost as if that supreme being itself was struggling within its own cage, desperately seeking an opportunity.
[When It raises Its sword toward the sky—whether success or failure—that will be Its weakest moment.]
[Seize that moment, and you’ll have a chance to defeat It.]
The Narrator’s words lingered in her mind.
“…Are you okay?”
Xu Zhi glanced at the handheld console in her lap. Its battery indicator was steadily dropping as each line of the Narrator’s text appeared, like power leaking away. She couldn’t help but worry.
[Not very well—but that’s fine.]
The Narrator never used comforting lies like “I’m fine.” It stated plainly that it wasn’t.
[If you sense a strong presence approaching from within the rift, make the little aberration leave immediately.]
[Don’t waste the cores—save as many as you can. You’ll need them soon.]
[Remember what I’ve told you—especially after It descends.]
And with that final message, the Narrator vanished once again.
As the critical moment drew near, it had ignored the backlash from revealing forbidden knowledge, almost as if it feared it wouldn’t get another chance to speak.
Days passed, but no matter how many times Xu Zhi called, the Narrator didn’t respond. She didn’t know if it was suffering from the backlash—or something else entirely.
After the second beam of light appeared within the Federation, it was as if a hidden switch had been flipped. New pillars began to rise more and more rapidly, sometimes even two at once.
By the time twelve beams illuminated the sky, the Federation had already changed beyond recognition.
The sky was no longer bright. The sun that once hung high had turned blood-red under the reflection of the pillars. That crimson hue was familiar to the people of the Federation—it had appeared once before, half a year ago, heralding the arrival of the archbishop who had thrown the Federation into chaos.
Now the red sun hung in the sky for far longer. What would it bring this time?
The seas rose. Vegetation withered. Animals went mad. The temperature dropped. Contamination of the [Cup] attribute permeated the air—so pervasive that even ordinary humans began to lose their sanity.
Weaker transcendentals suffered internal conflict as the dense [Cup] energy clashed with their innate attributes, causing unstable surges of power.
Even more disturbing—the number of believers was skyrocketing. But instead of rampaging or killing, they eerily restrained themselves, their behavior unnaturally calm and composed.
It was unbelievable—those mindless zealots were actually suppressing their desires.
Meanwhile, Cloud City seemed to remain a sanctuary. Though faint traces of [Cup] energy seeped into its mist, it was still far purer than the outside world.
Even knowing Cloud City wasn’t truly safe and would eventually fall, Xu Zhi began selling entry passes at exorbitant prices.
She needed cores.
By now, her personal stockpile exceeded the Federation’s reserves—but she continued hoarding, as if she could never have enough.
Federation officials couldn’t understand it. The world was ending—what could one person possibly do with so many cores? Why not share them?
To them, Xu Zhi had become the embodiment of greed itself.
What does the world look like before the end? The Federation illustrated it perfectly— The wealthy fled into Cloud City, their “Noah’s Ark.” The poor either prayed for salvation from the Federation or from the gods, or simply surrendered to despair, wasting their last days in indulgence.
A suffocating madness—half despair, half frenzy—spread across the land. More and more people turned to the [Cup], far beyond what the Federation could control.
Violence should have been rampant in such times—but curiously, large-scale conflict only broke out between ordinary humans and non-[Cup] transcendents.
The Federation was collapsing, and even Cloud City could not remain truly peaceful.
Zhong Lingfan rushed from lab to lab; Shen Jinwen quietly polished her blade, gazing wistfully toward her homeland; Lin Zizhen’s face was anxious, but his eyes remained resolute—he had finally learned to live as a person, and he refused to die so meaninglessly.
Xu Zhi leaned against the little aberration, absentmindedly stroking the once-proud kitten that now obediently nuzzled into her hand.
She had done nearly everything she could. The connection between her Authority and the fragment was still unstable—something was stuck, blocking her progress. She sighed, feeling powerless for the first time in a long while.
And then, one day—When dawn should have come, the sun never rose.
Instead—The final pillar, the thirteenth blood-red beam, ascended into the heavens.
