On the brink of death, the Elder still harbored fantasies. He swore to disdain death, to hide within the Wind Cellar, to survive in the shadows where the sun never shone, only for the chance to reignite.
Thus, the Elder spent a long ti in the Wind Cellar. Sotis he fell into a deep sleep, and sotis he awoke, guarding the unchanging Wind Cellar.
The Wind Cellar accumulated unimaginable wealth, forbidden knowledge, power coveted by countless people... All these were within arm’s reach for the Elder; he was perhaps the most powerful person in this world. Yet, the Elder was not happy. On the contrary, ti was eroding his will.
The Elder had danced with death for too long, so long that he who once had the courage to disdain death began to turn cowardly and fearful.
One night, the Elder awoke in terror from a nightmare. He looked at his pathetic body. To outsiders, he had achieved a high degree of Etherealization, with most of his organs and flesh transford into pure Ether, thus transcending the mortal flesh.
Only the Elder himself understood that beneath the highly etherealized shell, he had not felt hunger, thirst, or any series of physiological reactions for many years. He knew no fatigue, nor pain, and even sleep was no longer a necessity for him. Each ti he had to force himself into deep slumber.
The Elder was supposed to disdain these worries and troubles, yet his heart could not be at peace. He missed the taste of fine wine, longed for physical pleasures, envied those who road freely in the boundless wilderness.
Why, having gained power and strength, did he have to live like a prisoner?
"I’ve had enough of these days."
A fierce wind gathered around the Elder, high concentrations of Ether rged into the wind, like thousands of sharp knives dancing with it, instantly cutting dense sword marks into the ground around.
The Elder looked madly at the Blood of the Regent King in Derby’s hand. As long as he perford the Blood Donation, he would be transford into a mber of the Night Race, escaping the Scythe of death.
At that ti, he would no longer need a high concentration of ether environnt to extend his life; he could act according to his heart’s desires, disregarding any rules.
"I must leave here, drink, revel, and enjoy all the beauty."
Amidst the terrifying gale, the Elder’s staggering steps gradually beca steady and firm, his unimaginable will supporting this aged body.
The Elder wanted to see the changes of the era, those towering buildings and sharp spires, the srizing and captivating beauties...
Dense Wind Guns attacked again, Palr angrily wielding his power, but the roaring hurricane still did not affect the Elder. With a gentle lift of his hand, a powerful wind pressure descended out of thin air, pressing Palr firmly onto the ground.
Palr struggled to lift his torso, the pressure increased, and his body uncontrollably fell to the ground, his eyes bloodshot, even the ground beneath showed cracks under the heavy pressure.
"How ruthless. He’s your new star in the Clarks family, isn’t he?"
Derby mocked, from the information he had learned, Palr was of great significance to the Clarks.
"Him? Palr isn’t special."
The Elder revealed the cruel secret, "Palr isn’t important, it’s the era that matters."
Palr strived to lift his head, but the wind pressure pinned him onto the ground, under the intense oppression, he found it hard to breathe.
"The Clarks’ Alchemy Matrix, accumulated over a century, has blood in this era with the most glorious brilliance... Palr just happened to be born in this era, burdened with such power."
The Elder slowly pressed down his palm, half of Palr’s body sank into the ground.
"It’s not Palr who is special, it’s the era."
Words pierced Palr’s heart, shattering all the cautious pride he had hidden away.
"There has never been any ’heroes,’ just the era’s power converging, manifesting soone as the will of this power.
Palr is rely a vessel for power, a vessel that can be replaced at any ti."
The Elder unleashed all his strength, the wind pressure was about to crush Palr, when a sharp Iron Spear pierced through, only to be blocked by an invisible wind wall at the mont it approached the Elder, bending and shattering.
Bologue held his spear-throwing stance, and the sa heavy wind pressure descended, causing Bologue to imdiately fall to one knee, crushing the stone beneath him.
The vast disparity in power was vividly displayed at this mont. Bologue couldn’t move, not even lift his head to face the Elder.
The armor ant to protect Bologue had beco his cage. The steel began to deform and collapse, clinging tightly to Bologue’s body, restricting his limbs.
Bologue attempted to command the tal, barely opening a gap at the back of the armor. However, before his body could slip out, the burning Fla of the Cauldron extinguished completely. Sharp pain surged from within, and the Alchemy Matrix on his surface flashed with arcs and sparks.
The Elder’s Ether filled this area. Under Ethereum Mutual Exclusion, Bologue couldn’t command any matter, and his own Rectangular Soul Critical was repeatedly under attack.
Coughing up a large swath of blood, Bologue stubbornly lifted his head, even as his eyes were stained completely red.
"You... won’t last much longer."
The hoarse voice squeezed out from Bologue’s throat. He could sense the anomaly within the Elder, that maddening, treacherous intent.
A hundred years ago, during the Dawn War, the Elder did not receive the Blood of the Night King. That single drop of blood turned into a wicked seed, buried deep within the Elder’s heart, only to be exploited a century later by the mysterious Regent King.
The Blood of the Night Race is extrely mysterious. It not only encompasses a Blood Contract with the Devil but also grants many peculiar powers as the Night Race evolves.
Bologue sensed the Ether’s intensity around him and could confirm that the Elder’s Tier was that of a Defender. This reminded Bologue of the Third Seat in the disordered tiline.
At that ti, the real body of the Third Seat didn’t descend onto the battlefield. He relied only on a puppet and a Secret Sword that slashed through everything.
In the absence of the Seeker of Glory, a Defender was the epito of power in the Extraordinary World. Even a Defender’s puppet wielding pure Ether had incomparably terrifying combat strength.
Under the siege by Lebius, Geoffrey, and others, plus the Immortal Heart releasing the authority of "Gluttony," Bologue managed to deal with the Silver Knight in the chaos.
Now, the enemy was no longer a cold puppet but a genuine Defender. He called upon Ether, indulgently wielding his Secret Energy, and a terrifying scene was brewing in the shadows, ready to unleash a world-destroying storm.
Regrettably, even though the Elder was terrifying, this was not the Defender’s full form.
The Elder was old. As a Defender, his lifespan was nearing its end. He had survived until now entirely due to his Etherealization and the shelter of the Wind Cellar.
Now, the Elder was like fireworks in the night sky: brilliantly radiant yet incomparably brief. Even if the Elder could move mountains and fill seas, his body couldn’t hold out. Given enough ti, his deteriorating physique would drag the Elder down, ushering in the arrival of the Death God.
"Defenders... are nothing!"
Bologue forced himself to stand. He could hear the low hum of his bones fracturing and sense the raging surge of his blood.
His heart was like an overheated engine, fully unleashing Ether to resist the Elder’s pressure.
Bologue’s chances were slim, but there was still a chance. He didn’t need to confront a Defender head-on, much like in Palr’s favored board ga, "Journey in the Dead of Night." Despite the hunters gathering in groups, it was still hard to win against terrifying enemies.
For ga balance, the designer set many chanisms for the final confrontation. By achieving those special chanisms, even mortals could reverse their fate.
The Elder coughed painfully. When he first entered the Wind Cellar, like the other Elders, he had swore an oath. Now his betrayal had triggered the oath’s repercussions, further deteriorating his physical state.
The shattered chains reford, sealing the Elder’s body layer upon layer. He was about to say sothing to Derby, but as the Elder convulsed in pain, a brief mont of lapse occurred in his suppression of Bologue, who seized this mont and broke free from the wind pressure.
Bologue mustered all his strength and leaped forward. He had only one chance; if he failed, he would surely be crushed into pulp by the Elder.
The Deceitful Snake Scale Liquid forged a sharp Long Spear in his hand. Bologue tensed every muscle as if to crush steel.
Derby looked at Bologue mockingly. The battle seed already decided, and all of Bologue’s actions appeared so ridiculous. But soon, he couldn’t laugh anymore.
The Iron Spear was not aid at the Elder but at Derby—more precisely, at the Blood of the Regent King in Derby’s hand.
Roaring, Bologue hurled the Iron Spear. The Scorching Scale ignited, transforming into a stream of fire piercing through the night.
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