Witnessing this scene, Phaethon fell into brief contemplation. A bold, ga-changing idea flashed through his mind like lightning.
He suddenly raised his head to look at Phainon, a light of resolute decision flashing in his eyes.
"Phainon, perhaps... the thod of the so-called *Re-Creation* we’ve been pursuing needs to change."
"Change?" Phainon suppressed the scorching pain from the Corefla’s agitation within him and patiently asked in return. He knew Phaethon. Unless he had a mature idea, he would never bring it up at this mont.
"The fundantal reason you choose to seize Coreflas and accelerate the cycles is this: if a cycle’s period is too long, you fear you won’t be able to find and complete the handover to the next ’Phainon’ before your will is utterly consud." Phaethon pointed out the core contradiction with piercing accuracy. "And the thod of persuasion through words, gaining trust, carries too high a cost in ti and energy. Moreover, the Corefla within you is constantly burning, eroding your reason, making it difficult for you to maintain focus and patience for long periods. In the end, these factors often force you back onto the old path of violent seizure."
Phainon remained silent, which was tacit acknowledgnt.
"So..." Phaethon’s voice carried a guiding force. "Why must Coreflas be submitted to that elusive ’Vortex of Genesis’? Why must becoming a demigod necessarily an personally absorbing and fusing with the Corefla, bearing its price?"
Hearing this, Phainon narrowed his eyes slightly, seeming to grasp a certain possibility within Phaethon’s words. "Phaethon, you an..."
"Imagine this: if in the rules of a new cycle, the Chrysos Heirs no longer need to fuse with Coreflas. What if they only need to ’submit’ a Corefla to a specific location after obtaining it, and they would imdiately gain the corresponding authority? What would happen?" Phaethon proposed the core concept.
Phainon’s pupils contracted slightly as he rapidly extrapolated. "The Corefla... would beco a ’voucher’ or ’currency’ to exchange for power. Since one only needs to ’submit’ to gain authority, naturally no one would risk absorbing a Corefla. The tragedies of the Chrysos Heirs... could perhaps be fundantally avoided..."
"Exactly!" Phaethon affird. "The Fla Chase Journey would continue. The twelve Coreflas would still be diligently collected by the Chrysos Heirs. But ultimately, these Coreflas would not remain within any single Chrysos Heir. Instead... they would be concentrated in one person’s hands, or gathered at one special, secure location."
"But there’s a key issue," Phainon imdiately pointed out the flaw. "How would the corresponding authority of the Corefla be bestowed upon those who submit it? Without the Corefla, how can they wield the power?"
"The authority of Romance can let one understand the true thoughts in another’s heart. And I have over a hundred thousand such authorities." A sly curl appeared at the corner of Phaethon’s mouth. "What essential difference is there, in the effect of fighting the Black Tide and saving the world, between authority I temporarily ’lend’ them to use, and authority they use themselves? What they need is the power itself, not the form of its source."
"A complete... thorough ’deception’ covering the entire cycle." Phainon’s eyes lit up completely—it was the light of seeing hope. "In that case, the Iron Tomb would gain no sustenance from the Coreflas, and the Chrysos Heirs would no longer pay any price for the Titans’ trials. We would only need to... slightly ’misinterpret’ the ’prophecy’ for the next cycle, guide the Chrysos Heirs to understand the new ’rules,’ and then simply wait for the twelve Coreflas to be gathered."
Phainon fully understood Phaethon’s plan. His mind instantly clear. "You, using your ability to forge the effects of Corefla-bestowed authority, maintain the combat strength and hope of the Chrysos Heirs. And I, transform into that ’man in black’ who seizes Coreflas, constantly applying pressure, forcing them to ’submit’ a Corefla the mont they obtain it. They would have no ti to delve into the nature of the Corefla, and thus no opportunity to for them to embark on the path of fusion. In this way, efficiency and safety... might truly be achieved simultaneously."
Mydei, watching the two of them discuss with increasingly bright eyes, almost lost in the details of the new plan, finally couldn’t help but interrupt: "Based on your description, combined with the so-called truth of the cycles and Re-Creation... this might indeed be a feasible strategy to break the deadlock." His low voice carried a calmness untouched by fanaticism.
"But the cost?" He took a step forward, his gaze burning as it swept over Phaethon and Phainon in turn. "Have you calmly considered what the true price of this plan is?"
"Huh?" Both Phaethon and Phainon, caught up in their intense thoughts, paused simultaneously and turned to look at the solemn Mydei.
Seeing their expressions, which seed to have given no thought to their own consequences, Mydei couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. He pointed out gravely: "If you choose to execute this plan, doesn’t it an—Phaethon, you will never be able to close your eyes. Your spirit must constantly maintain that vast ’deception’ covering the entire world, without a mont’s relaxation, never knowing true peace? And you, Phainon," his gaze shifted to the other savior, "you, transforming into the man in black who seizes Coreflas, bearing the misunderstanding and hostility of your forr comrades—doesn’t that an you will forever bear the stigma, forever bearing the infamy? Is this a cost that can be so easily accepted?"
Phaethon and Phainon instinctively glanced at each other. In each other’s eyes, they saw a trace of... almost ’bewildernt.’ So, in Mydei’s view, being unable to sleep and being reviled by all... were such unacceptable things?
Never rest, always on edge? Perhaps... that was still sowhat better than closing one’s eyes each night to be flooded by the mories of countless dead, finding no mont of peace? Phaethon had long forgotten the feeling of sleeping. And being hated by comrades, never understood? Perhaps... that was still sowhat better than personally raising a blade against those sworn to protect, bearing that heart-rending agony? Phainon had long since cast aside personal honor and disgrace.
"Mydeimos," Phaethon shook his head slightly, his tone calm yet carrying an immovable firmness. "There is no need to worry for us. Everything... is for the survival of Amphoreus, for everyone to have a future. Compared to utter destruction, this is perhaps the relatively better outco we can strive for."
"Survival? Through a ticulously woven lie? By deceiving the comrades who trust you to achieve it?" Mydei frowned deeply. He felt a strong unease. Rooted in the demigod of Strife’s sense of honor, which favor direct confrontation and disdain for trickery, made it difficult for him to accept for the mont. The very notion of victory built on deception felt alien to a glory forged in honorable combat.
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