Chapter 237-The Manga Pariah's Guide to Self-Salvation
Inside the Papal Palace.
"Wen De, is anything still bothering you physically?"
Ye Zheng set down the documents in her hand and asked gently.
Wen De bowed. "Thank you for your concern, Your Holiness. I've made a full recovery. Please feel free to give me any orders."
Ye Zheng's eyes curved slightly. "I have nothing for the moment. Wen De, is there something you'd like to ask me?"
Wen De gave a helpless look. The two knew each other far too well—reading each other's thoughts came effortlessly. She had no choice but to be honest. "During the time I was recuperating, it seems quite a few things happened…"
"Yes. I had Empire Central Station blown up."
Ye Zheng said it as casually as remarking on the weather.
After Empire Central Station was destroyed, transportation in the upper district was paralyzed. Few people took the expensive express trains to the lower district—the station mainly served travel within the upper district and to the Middle District, which was essentially the upper district's backyard.
With both the Imperial Palace and Empire Central Station hit in succession, everyone took it as an ominous sign and fell into widespread panic—especially the upper district's aristocrats, who were being mercilessly reminded that the upper district was no impregnable fortress.
Naturally, the bounty on Syrah—the designated scapegoat—had shot up again, though no brave soul dared step forward despite the hefty reward.
"But without Empire Central Station, traveling to the lower district has become very inconvenient for you, Your Holiness. Not to mention, the Holy Journey Knights Order's base and your mother are both stationed in the lower district."
"The regular trains will be repaired and operational soon. A two-day journey isn't too much trouble."
Ye Zheng replied, her brow rising slightly. It was an unavoidable cost, and she had no regrets.
Wen De nodded. She didn't ask Ye Zheng's reasons—so long as everything remained within Ye Zheng's control, that was enough.
Just as Wen De was about to take her leave, Ye Zheng suddenly called her back and handed her a strange bone.
"Is this… a human vertebra?"
The outwardly gentle knight wasn't well-versed in medicine, but her line of work had given her a solid familiarity with human anatomy. She looked at Ye Zheng in puzzlement.
"Wen De, I need you to take this and help me find something."
"What is it?"
"The burial sites of the demon dragon's remains. I want to locate every piece of Dragon Bone."
The young Pope spoke with a calm yet unyielding, cold determination. Even the ever-steady, dependable knight couldn't hide her shock. This time, she couldn't help but ask, "Do you have a plan in mind?"
Ye Zheng smiled briefly. Her plan was a bit earth-shattering. Wen De had only just recovered from serious injuries—best not to give her too many shocks.
"You'll find out when the time comes."
Wen De was speechless. She noticed Ye Zheng blink quickly—a flash of mischief slipping through that composed, rational exterior. She knew that expression all too well: it was the Saintess's signal that she was about to do something "naughty."
Instinct told Wen De that this time, "naughty" didn't begin to cover it.
"Very well." Wen De smiled with resignation. "I look forward to your surprise."
Once Wen De left, the faint trace of a smile vanished entirely from Ye Zheng's face. She looked down at a sheet of paper on her desk, covered in scrawled handwriting scattered unevenly across it—a visible trace of racing thoughts.
Since returning from five hundred years in the past, Ye Zheng had been mulling over Aston XIV's objectives. Although she now knew most of the truth, certain things remained shrouded in fog.
That is, until Lin Zhixing shared a crucial piece of information. Everything clicked into place. She finally understood Aston XIV's behavioral logic—and what she needed to do next.
[The manga Creator is dead.]
Lin Zhixing told her.
[To be precise, his body is dead. His brain has been preserved by the company, and the experiments continue.]
[His body reached its physical limit, but his brain's consciousness remains active—still connected to your world, still influencing your world.]
[Percy's consciousness is linked to his at a very deep level. Now that his brain is fully dedicated to the experiment, that link will only deepen… Perhaps…]
"Perhaps they'll become one person."
Ye Zheng murmured.
She thought back to the early days, when the System would issue warnings about character collapse. Now she knew that the so-called plot restrictions and character settings were really just the manga Creator's consciousness exerting influence—personal will dressed up as grand destiny.
Interestingly, the only "characters" who had ever triggered such warnings were herself and Percy.
The System had explained that the Creator's will had limited reach. He could interfere with and obstruct her rebellion, but he couldn't prevent the butterfly effects she set in motion. That was why the changes in Lucy, Wu Shu, and the others never triggered warnings—the Creator's consciousness didn't have the bandwidth to control them.
Apart from her, only Percy had ever triggered a warning.
Clearly, the Creator's consciousness exerted an extremely deep influence on Percy—so deep it forbade Percy's thoughts from deviating from his vision.
Yet later, warnings had stopped appearing for Percy altogether.
Was it because Percy and the Creator's consciousness had become so entangled, so deeply resonant, that there was nothing left to warn about? Or was it because the Creator, provoked by her, could no longer blithely maintain his hot-blooded adolescent fantasy?
Probably both, Ye Zheng thought indifferently.
This reminded her of the term "skin suit" she had seen on the manga forums. Now that the Creator's physical body had died in the real world, his consciousness would only grow more dependent on Percy in the other world. In a sense, Percy was that Creator's "skin suit."
The situation was virtually identical to Aston XIV's.
Vincent Aston five hundred years ago was like the present-day Percy, and the current Emperor—the true Aston XIV—was like the Creator from the manga's world: an entity that had invaded this world and seized a body with its consciousness.
Lin Zhixing had told her that killing the manga Creator could halt the merging of the two worlds. Following that logic, killing the original invader might sever the Demonic Domain invasion entirely!
The Creator's body was already dead, and his brain was stored in a restricted area Lin Zhixing couldn't access. For Ye Zheng, her mission had become: destroy the Creator's consciousness and render his brain truly, completely dead.
Killing a person's consciousness sounded abstract, yet Ye Zheng felt the task had actually become simpler—if she killed Percy, the fragile soul hiding behind him might collapse.
On the paper covered in chaotic handwriting, Ye Zheng wrote down two names, her dark eyes deep and somber.
Percy. Aston.
Kill them, and end the disaster.
The former had the Creator's consciousness shielding him; the latter was a monster that could repeatedly invade and occupy other people's bodies, making it impossible to know where to strike.
Ye Zheng glanced at the latest manga update. She knew Percy and Aston XIV had already joined forces and were discussing how to kill her.
Percy was still hesitating out of fear, but the Emperor appeared to have something up his sleeve. The last time she'd caught him summoning Bai Muqing along with her father and brother, he was likely plotting a move against her.
But Ye Zheng had a plan of her own.
She didn't know the Emperor's weakness—but the more a person feared something, the more they resisted it, the more readily their weakness would reveal itself.
He had dismembered the demon dragon's remains and buried them deep in remote corners far from the upper district, while secretly researching Dragon Bone, yearning to harness the demon dragon's power for himself.
Since he feared the demon dragon's revival—then she would make certain that Margaret rose from the underground and returned to the light of day!
Ye Zheng's eyes grew deep and dark, a storm brewing within.
*
Inside the dimly lit palace, the Emperor rubbed his weary eyes and sighed. No matter how carefully this body was maintained, after twenty years of use it was no longer responsive enough.
Sykes's body was destroyed. Percy couldn't be touched for now. Roy was far too ordinary.
The middle-aged man closed his eyes and sat in silence for a moment, then pulled open a hidden compartment in the desk and took out a mirror.
The mirror reflected a young face—a somewhat delicate set of features tinged with a faint, lurking gloom. It was a visage completely different from the man on the other side of the glass.
This was the face belonging to Aston XIV. The bright mirror could reflect one's soul, and no matter how many identities he had assumed, his soul still recognized itself as the most glorious and great Aston XIV.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door requesting an audience. The Emperor casually set the mirror down.
Heath pushed the door open, walked to his desk, and with lowered eyes and bowed head, began reporting Percy's movements in a soft voice.
"Oh, he's gone back to the lower district."
The Emperor's tone carried unmistakable disappointment and contempt.
"The one I so carefully… cultivated turns out to be such a cowardly child. How disappointing. He can't even compare to you."
Heath maintained the stiff curve at the corners of her lips and said nothing.
Seeing the girl's submissive, timid demeanor, the Emperor felt inexplicably more irritated. He couldn't arbitrarily possess just anyone's body—there had to be a connection. Human blood ties were the most convenient.
Yet this entire generation was useless—not a single one worth choosing! That impulsive fool Sykes had possessed such tremendous power, yet still managed to lose to Ye Zheng. The rest weren't even worth mentioning.
This Heath was at least competent in her duties, but her power was far too weak, and a woman's body was simply a hassle.
Seeing the furrows deepen between her father's brows, thick with irritation, Heath stepped forward to personally pour his tea. Her movements were practiced. Head bowed, she presented the teacup to the middle-aged man with both hands.
"Please calm yourself, Father."
The Emperor drained it in one gulp. He set the cup down with a heavy thud, picked up a handkerchief to dab the moisture from the corner of his mouth, and instinctively leaned forward, stealing a glance at the mirror he had left to one side.
Suddenly, his movements froze. The irritation on his face slowly gave way to a smile, and his gaze shifted from the mirror to the bowed figure of Heath.
He noticed that Heath's silent form had gone utterly rigid.
"What did you see, Heath? Tell Father."
His tone was the very picture of paternal affection, yet his golden eyes only grew darker.
He enjoyed looking in mirrors. Over five hundred years, he had executed countless people who stumbled upon his secret. Many of them posed no real threat to him and had even convinced themselves they'd simply been seeing things—but killing them was all upside and no risk. Even if they were his wife or his children.
"Heath, tell me. What did you see?"
The Emperor patiently repeated himself, his gaze savoring Heath's trembling shoulders like a man admiring a little bird that had blundered into a dead end.
Then—thud—the girl's legs seemed to buckle, and she dropped to her knees. Her forehead slammed against the carpet.
"…Are you begging for mercy? Do you think Father would hurt you?"
The Emperor's golden eyes looked down at the kneeling girl without a shred of pity. Seeing Heath make no sound, his amusement quickly faded. He had witnessed this tedious scene hundreds upon hundreds of times—
"The great Aston XIV, the hero who once saved the Empire from the brink of destruction, before whose glorious deeds even the radiance of the God of Hope must bow…"
"That the Empire, in its hour of such dire peril, should be graced once more by your benevolence… I am so overwhelmed I can barely speak. Please forgive my impudence…"
Heath raised her head. Her eyes blazed with flawless, unassailable fanaticism and worship.
The Emperor's hand, which had been reaching into the desk's hidden compartment, paused. Slowly, he withdrew it.
*
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