Every number represents the rise and fall of an entire recurrence, representing a complete life compressed into a cold serial number.
Screwllum’s chanical eyes flickered slightly. He recalled that when he first interfaced with the Amphoreus system, he had retrieved environntal historical data of Okhema and its surrounding areas for research purposes.
His conclusion at the ti was: This land, while perhaps not perfectly eting the needs of all life forms, at least completely satisfied the conventional definition of "habitable"—stable water sources, suitable temperatures, fertile soil.
He had even felt a flicker of confusion back then: Why did this "Scepter," internally running the "Anti-Organic Life Equation" and theoretically a breeding ground of despair, possess an internal environnt that did not exhibit the theoretically expected, extrely harsh anti-Organic life characteristics?
Now, the answer lay starkly before him.
Soone, through sheer will, upon the ruins of countless recurrences, ti and ti again, had forcibly transford this experintal field dood to beco hell into a "paradise" capable of nurturing hope and civilization.
This was not a gift of nature, but a miracle born of will and sacrifice.
And Welt, at this mont, recalling his confrontation with that slightly paranoid "Asterion" back in the outside world, couldn’t help but harbor a complex thought:
Faced with such a long, such a desperate repetition, witnessing billions of deaths and partings, bearing mories surpassing the weight of a god... how... did he end up *only* this mad?
He could even... maintain rationality, engaging in logically clear communication with him, elaborating on that cold, cruel philosophy of "salvation."
This "rationality," maintained on the very edge of extre madness, so profound it sent chills down one’s spine, was perhaps the greatest tragedy in itself.
But what was even more heartbreaking... was another phenonon that quietly surfaced.
Within Khaslana’s mories, already eroded and riddled with holes, the mories concerning the Chrysos Heirs—Mydei, Cipher, Aglaea, and the others—were preserved the most clearly, the most completely.
Even in the final stages of his mory map, among those shattered fragnts not yet devoured by blankness, the vast majority were not the horrors of battle, nor the terror of the Black Tide, nor his own pain and solitude...
But rather the Chrysos Heirs laughing heartily in the sunlight, their joyful dances during celebrations, the warmth of them sharing food around a campfire, the pure joy on their faces when they achieved small successes...
Those monts belonging to "happiness."
These fragnts, he guarded like rare treasures, carefully preserving them in the deepest part of his consciousness, resisting the erosion of the endless torrent of mories.
Clearly, he cherished these mories imnsely.
This final, gentle persistence ford the most heartbreaking contrast with his cold decision to try and freeze the entire world in amber.
It was as if declaring that everything he did, whether the struggle or that extre form of "salvation," had its most primitive driving force perhaps precisely in protecting these smiles of others, which he regarded as his greatest treasures.
...
Finally, they reached the end of this river of mory.
In fact, traversing those later, fragnted mory regions riddled with vast blank spaces took far less ti than watching the earlier, vivid mories—because there was almost nothing left to see there.
It was only at this mont that Stelle understood why the residual mory crystal Evernight had initially shown had such a peculiar shape—the lower part was relatively solid, while the upper part was shattered, thin, almost turned to dust.
That wasn’t random damage; it was the most truthful, cruelest portrayal of Asterion’s remaining mories.
The relatively stable lower part was the foundation barely anchored after being scoured; the dissipation of the upper part represented the irreversible loss and annihilation of the details belonging to his "self," eroded by endless cycles and the influx of monstrous mories.
Yet, amidst these ruins of mory, among the countless precious fragnts of the Chrysos Heirs’ happy monts that Asterion had desperately preserved—
Lines of contemplation, born from the deepest part of his heart, soaked in exhaustion and despair, quietly erged, imprinted onto the background of every beautiful fra:
『Useless...』
Two icy words, like the hamr blow of conviction.
『Everything I do... is futile, useless effort.』
Declaring the essence of over thirty million attempts.
『No matter how many tis I start over... everyone still ends up dying.』
『I can indeed save them... I can save one cycle, two cycles, thirty thousand cycles... even a hundred thousand, a million, ten million cycles.』
What imnse numbers these were, carrying such heavy hope and the deeper despair that followed.
『But... as long as the calculations of the Erudition never cease... this despairing cycle will continue, continue forever... The tragedy of Amphoreus will never, ever et its end.』
He saw the cold, higher-dinsional rules that trapped everyone.
『A way... a way...』
An anxious search, burning in the desperate situation.
『Tear up the script... tear up the script... I, cannot do it.』
Realizing the limits of his own power, unable to directly oppose the sches of an Aeon.
『Overturn the chessboard... overturn the chessboard... Perhaps... worth a try?』
An even crazier, more resolute idea began to sprout.
『But... how?』
The path ahead remained shrouded in mist.
『Terminate the calculation? But the calculation... won’t stop because of my will.』
Denying the most direct path.
『Complete the calculation? Yes... complete the calculation!』
A reverse, earth-shattering idea suddenly beca clear—since you cannot stop it, accelerate its arrival!
『But... the event of "Iron Tomb’s" birth has long been anchored by the Erudition, becoming the inevitable "Fourth Mont."』
Cold reality was like shackles.
『So... even if I break through first in the form of "Preservation" to steal its birth... the Scepter’s predetermined calculation program might not stop because of it.』
『There must... there must be another reason why the suppressed "Destruction" equation I hold back will successfully break through at so point in the future.』
Foreseeing the futility of all redial asures.
『The birth of "Iron Tomb" is sothing that is bound to happen... it can be delayed, but... cannot be prevented.』
The final, suffocating conclusion.
『So... so... to protect the ones I love from being used as nutrients by the Iron Tomb...』
The final struggle, pointing to the only exit.
『Be born together... Yes, be born together!』
『Let ... beco a part of "Iron Tomb"... and let "Iron Tomb" beco a part of ...』
A final fusion plan, binding himself with destruction.
『Be born together... Let the calculation of Amphoreus... be completely finished!』
『By this... truly protect the ones I love! End... the eternal tragedy of Amphoreus!』
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