Chapter 232-The Manga Pariah's Guide to Self-Salvation
"The way to end the disaster... is absolutely not killing the demon dragon!"
Margaret's pale irises shattered like glass struck by a sudden blow. The sealed cage finally had a crack.
Margaret unconsciously widened her eyes. She looked at the little girl who barely reached half her height—beyond the shock and astonishment, there was a glimmer of hope she herself hadn't even noticed.
From the moment she was born, she had never told a soul this desperate secret. Through chaotic, recurring visions of the future, she had learned of Ye Zheng's existence.
Ye Zheng would dispel the shadow that had loomed over this nation for centuries. She would be the greatest person this land had ever known. And she herself... was destined to be the demon dragon who would die bearing infamy.
This was her fate. Beyond the Aston Royal Family, she could blame no one. Yet in countless midnight awakenings, how she wished she could be the one to save the world instead.
She had been born with an enviable pedigree and possessed political acumen far surpassing Vincent Aston's. Without this twist of fate, she too could have been a ruler celebrated through the ages!
Seeing Margaret's expression, Ye Zheng lowered the hand that had been pointing at Margaret's heart. Her gaze softened. She reached out and took Margaret's hand, her small fingers gripping the young woman's large hand tightly.
"Ye Zheng, you..."
"I know this might sound overly arrogant and presumptuous—Margaret, I want to save you."
Such words, spoken by an eight-year-old, should have been amusing.
Margaret looked down at those resolute eyes, but she couldn't laugh. A stinging sensation crept from her throat to her eyes. As if reluctant to blink, she held her gaze until her eyes stung unbearably, and only then did she slowly move her eyelids.
"Ye Zheng." Margaret bent down, her brilliant red hair cascading forward. She said:
"Thank you. No matter what happens, I will always remember what you just said."
Margaret took Ye Zheng's hand and led her back to the bedchamber, walking into the depths where sunlight couldn't reach.
"I'll find a way to get you into the secret ritual three days from now. Perhaps... you'll uncover a secret that even the demon dragon never noticed."
*
Throughout history, founding monarchs were often accompanied by legends of divine providence on their path to the throne, as if they were heaven's chosen.
The Aston Royal Family's history had suffered a rupture after the descent of the Demonic Domains. After the God of Hope vanquished the demon dragon, the God's Descent Era began, and pre-descent Imperial history faded into obscurity. Aston XIV's status surpassed even that of the founding monarch—he had led the Empire to rebirth, second only to the God of Hope in greatness.
The time period Ye Zheng had arrived in saw Vincent Aston as merely a gloomy, frail young Emperor. Externally, he was constrained by the irreversible tides of the era; internally, he was overshadowed by Margaret and the Henry Family's power behind her.
Nothing like the wise and astute ruler posterity celebrated.
The most glorious monarch was the founding Aston I. Two hundred years prior, the royal clan of this land had squandered lavishly and brutally exploited the people. Aston I had been nothing more than an unremarkable Knight.
Witnessing a noble lord slaughter commoners at will, he was powerless to stop it. All he could do was secretly rescue a dying child. Seeing the child losing too much blood and fading fast, the desperate man cut his own arm to bleed. His warm blood couldn't restore the child's already stiffening body—but just as the man was losing hope, a miracle occurred.
The blood flowing from his wound turned gold, gradually warming the child's body back to life. Then the sword at his side was also stained gold by the blood.
And so, a stirring legend launched the prelude to conquest.
The moment Ye Zheng heard this legend, she immediately thought of the golden Blood of the God and the golden Divine Sword.
Marcy had previously told her that the God of Hope was really just a human girl with extraordinarily powerful abilities. The Empire had crafted the image of a deity to rally the people, which meant "the God of Hope's Divine Sword" didn't actually exist.
Or more precisely, the so-called "God of Hope's Divine Sword" was the Aston Royal Family's Divine Sword, passed down through generations. It had once been lent to the God of Hope, Hope, for use against the demon dragon. Now it was in Percy's possession.
Percy had proven that the Blood of the God and the Divine Sword were one and the same. Ye Zheng didn't believe their origin was as coincidental as the legend described. They might well be artifacts from another world.
Ye Zheng had originally planned to return to the timeline five hundred years later and find another opportunity to study the Blood of the God and the Divine Sword.
She hadn't expected to encounter them up close so soon, right here in this time period.
Three days later, beneath a secluded palace within the Imperial Palace grounds, a deep Cellar flickered with guttering candlelight. In the center of a dry, empty pool stood a stone Altar. Three figures cast their shadows on the pale gray floor, their voices echoing through the cavernous space.
"Margaret, my Empress... I never expected you to support me like this. I wronged your trust before. I apologize—I have always been grateful for your understanding and help."
The slightly frail young man hung his head. His pitiable, submissive posture was almost pleasing to the eye. Margaret's brow creased almost imperceptibly at the sight.
"Don't be silly. From the day I became Empress, my life has existed for this nation. Any sacrifice for that is worthwhile... just as I taught you."
At her words, the young man raised his head. His smile was strangely off—skin and muscle straining upward while his eyes held no warmth whatsoever.
He said, "Yes. Your teachings have always stayed with me. No one in this world has ever cared about me the way you do."
"Margaret, I will be grateful to you forever and ever... and I mean that sincerely."
Margaret dispensed with any pretense of a smile, her face impassive as she regarded the young man.
He had harmless features. An unloved childhood had made him exceptionally skilled at reading people—at times, even the handmaidens felt sorry for him.
But Margaret knew full well: he was a monster who could neither be killed nor be moved.
Vincent Aston had striking, rare golden hair and golden eyes. Gold had always been the Aston Royal Family's signature color, and people pinned their hopes on him to replicate the golden miracle of his ancestors. That was why he had been chosen as Crown Prince, despite his parents favoring their lively, adorable younger son.
By the age of nine, Margaret had already glimpsed a terrifying destiny through her recurring nightmares. On one occasion, she accompanied her father into the Imperial Palace and met the eight-year-old prince.
This man who would one day send her to her doom was then still a quiet, endearing child—meekly letting his overbearing little brother snatch away his favorite toy, then hiding to cry in secret.
Nine-year-old Margaret thought of her own little sister. She couldn't summon hatred or murderous intent toward him. She even told herself the dreams must be the work of some wicked fairy-tale witch tormenting her.
So she reached out her hand to him, and from that day on she fiercely protected him, vowing to safeguard the Aston Royal Family. With such a pledge, the pitiful little prince before her had no reason to ever go to extremes—he relied on her so completely, needed her so utterly.
But the deeper their acquaintance grew, the more Margaret realized Vincent was not the innocent, harmless boy he appeared. He even engineered an "accident" to kill his younger brother. When she found out, he wept and claimed how suffocating and painful his brother's existence had been. By then, Margaret could no longer trust such words.
Because she had long since learned from the handmaidens that the scene she'd first witnessed at age nine—the brother snatching his toy—was a lie. The toy had belonged to the younger brother all along. At the age of eight, he had already known how to twist the truth before a stranger.
Margaret realized she had been catastrophically wrong. As her mind matured, she confirmed that no fairy-tale witches existed in this world. Those dreams were prophecies from the future. Her fate was drawing ever closer to the shape of things to come.
In her adolescence, Margaret gave up trying to reform him. She began attempting to kill him instead—but every attempt ended in failure. The assassins she sent always met with inexplicable mishaps along the way, almost enough to make one believe his ancestors truly were protecting him.
For the past several years, Margaret had continued to play the devoted supporter and guardian—all for the sake of today.
Margaret glanced down at the little girl she held by the left hand. The girl, wearing pale-colored irises, sensed her gaze and looked up to meet it.
"Little Miss Henry, do you know why we're here today?"
The young Emperor bent down, arranging his features into a gentle expression.
Ye Zheng, wearing the guise of Margaret's sister, found it unbearable. She couldn't be bothered to guess how a real eight-year-old would respond. Instead, she simply threw her arms around Margaret's waist, burying her face in her skirt, pretending to be frightened.
"Don't scare her." Margaret's tone carried a note of reproach.
"I wasn't trying to scare her... But saying something like that at a time like this—Margaret, is this who you really are? Ha ha ha."
The young man's laugh cut off midway. A flicker of viciousness crossed his usually gloomy, fragile features, his golden eyes blazing. "Haven't we already committed to the necessary sacrifice?"
"There's no going back now."
Margaret turned her head away without a word.
Vincent Aston spared the cowering little girl a glance, paid her no mind, and turned toward the central Altar.
Behind him, Margaret's hesitant voice rose. "Are you sure about this? Will a deity truly answer you and put an end to all the Empire's strife?"
Vincent caressed a sword lying quietly on the stone Altar, his gaze fixed on it with near-obsessive rapture. "Of course. This is exactly how my ancestor founded this nation."
"To end the wars, he offered up the people of his homeland—including his own daughter—to the deity. The deity granted him a drop of the Blood of the God to channel Its power, and bestowed upon him a Divine Sword of boundless might, making him invincible..."
"Now, all we need to do is end her life with this sword, and we shall usher in another magnificent era."
"But your ancestor sacrificed the people of his homeland and his own daughter to earn the deity's favor. Will sacrificing a single little girl be enough?"
"Deities have their favorites! That man was nothing but a down-and-out Knight—how could he compare to me in nobility? And his family and friends were hardly worth as much as the daughter of Duke Henry and the Empire—"
The young man broke off abruptly. He realized the voice that had spoken back wasn't right.
He whipped around to stare at the girl beside Margaret. That familiar, childish face wore an expression entirely foreign to it—a look of contempt and revulsion that made him tremble with fury to his very core.
"Who are you!"
"Margaret, who is she!"
Ye Zheng tilted her head slightly. She couldn't reveal her true identity, so she simply answered, "I'm just an ordinary person. Your deity probably wouldn't be interested in such a plain, unremarkable offering."
She raised her hand and pointed at the enraged man. "You, on the other hand, are of such exalted birth. If you were offered to the deity, this land would surely enjoy a far more lasting peace."
Vincent Aston's panicked gaze shot to Margaret. How could Margaret possibly betray him? He had depended on and looked up to her since he was a child!
Margaret ignored his shattered eyes and drew a Flintlock Pistol from within her clothing.
She had sent many assassins after him. On midnight awakenings, she had fantasized about pressing a gun barrel to his forehead herself.
Even if today she could not escape the fate of becoming the demon dragon, she would at least try to fire one good shot at destiny!
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