Now, the only obstacle standing between Phaethon and his plan was this:
How could he ensure that the people he wanted to save—Phainon, Cyrene, the Chrysos Heirs, and the billions of lives in Amphoreus—would not be buried alongside him in this desperate, self-destructive sche?
...
"Who... who exactly is he talking to?!" The Herta’s face was filled with astonishnt. She turned to Screwllum, hoping that as an Intellitron, he might be able to glean more information.
However, before Screwllum could use his analytical capabilities to arrive at a possible inference, Asterion’s torrent of mories surged forward once again.
Fragnts of mory, as if drawn by an invisible force, rapidly assembled, revealing a new scene—its progression, much like the "Preservation" equation accelerating its breakthrough in reality, once begun, would never stop.
...
The scene before them abruptly shifted, and a familiar sight appeared.
"This place is... the Pathstrider Corridor?"
Stelle couldn’t help but exclaim softly.
What lay before her was the mysterious realm of the Paths she had visited countless tis within the Simulated Universe aboard the Herta Space Station.
Bizarre streams of energy swayed like auroras across the firmant, while beneath their feet lay a path seemingly paved with starlight.
Only now, struggling through this strange cosmic space was not her, but that solitary white figure—Phaethon.
"This is... his mory of embarking on the Path of ’Preservation’?" The Herta’s voice carried a hint of rare interest.
At these words, not only the two Geniuses present but also the Express crew mbers held their breath.
A powerhouse whose strength infinitely approached that of an Emanator, at the mont he first set foot on a Path and resonated with the will of an Aeon.
The value of this mory, even within the Garden of Recollection dedicated to housing mories, would be considered extrely precious.
The mory’s image focused within the Pathstrider Corridor.
At the end of the path floated an orange-red amber, representing the purest desire for protection.
It was not dazzling, yet it emitted an ancient, profound aura, as if capable of bearing all things. It floated there silently, symbolizing absolute guardianship and eternity.
Phaethon, step by step, walked toward that crystal. His steps in the ethereal corridor seed unusually heavy, yet carried an unquestionable determination.
Finally, he stood before that amber, gazing at this embodint representing the essence of "Preservation."
Slowly, he raised his hand, reaching toward that orange-red crystal.
However—
Clang!
Just as his fingertips were about to touch the crystal, a sudden change occurred!
Several dark red chains ford from molten lava suddenly shot out! Precisely and viciously, they wrapped around his outstretched wrist, binding it tightly!
"Hngh—!"
A searing pain, as if it could directly burn his soul, made Phaethon grunt. He instinctively tried to yank his hand back!
But the lava chains remained motionless. These shackles not only restrained his movents but also rcilessly branded that extre heat onto his body and soul.
After his withdrawal was blocked, a vast, majestic will descended, echoing through every inch of space, directly assailing Phaethon’s mind:
『Asterion—』
『Why—do you embark on "Preservation"?』
It hurt.
Phaethon looked down at his right wrist, at the clear burn mark where he could even sll the scorched flesh, his brow furrowing tightly.
He realized that even within the Pathstrider Corridor, his Golden Finger still worked; his physical condition was no different from the outside world.
But at this mont, this body capable of withstanding the Black Tide seed so fragile before these chains ford from pure Path concepts.
Here, no matter how strong or weak his original power was, under the direct interrogation of the Aeon’s will, it seed no different from the most ordinary mortal—equally fragile, equally needing to face his inner self.
『Asterion—』
『Why—do you embark on "Preservation"?』
"Because I want to lead Amphoreus toward ’Survival’! I want to calculate the ’Survive’ equation! I want to protect this world!"
Phaethon growled out this grand vow, once again straining to reach his hand toward the orange-red crystal so close.
Yet, what responded to him was an even fiercer, heavier blockade!
More lava chains erged from the void again, carrying heat that could lt stars, binding his arm, their imnse resistance allowing him only to inch closer to that amber.
Every milliter forward was accompanied by unimaginable pain.
『Is this your true answer?』
The vast voice sounded again. Phaethon could discern no joy or anger from it; it rely repeated the question coldly:
『Khaslana—why do you embark on "Preservation"?』
The chains tightened with the voice, the scorching pain nearly burning through his marrow.
Phaethon could advance no further. He stared fixedly at the amber, less than ten centiters from his palm, symbolizing guardianship.
Sweat trickled from his brow, but his gaze, amid the agony, grew ever clearer, ever more determined.
Grand ideals, the continuation of the world, cold equations... these were certainly important, but were they truly the most primal, most fervent force driving him to reach out this hand right now?
No.
They were not.
Phaethon opened his mouth again, his voice sowhat hoarse from pain, yet carrying an even truer determination:
"Because... I have made up my mind," his gaze seed to pierce through the amber, seeing the figures he vowed to protect—Phainon, Cyrene, those companions who had given him monts of warmth across countless cycles,
"even if it costs my life... I want to protect... those few people I love!"
It was this answer, casting aside all grand narratives and returning to the most primitive, original desire for protection, that beca the key to breaking the deadlock!
The instant these words fell—
Phaethon’s hand suddenly exerted force, firmly grasping the orange-red amber heavily protected by the scalding chains!
Clang—!!!!
A resounding, bell-like boom, as if from the dawn of the universe, echoed throughout the Pathstrider Corridor!
It was no longer the sound of chains imprisoning, but the heavy hamr of amber, finally striking the resonance of conviction!
The lava chains binding his arm, at this mont, as if their purpose was complete, shattered inch by inch, turning into specks of warm starlight, rging into the flowing Path light around them.
Asterion, at this mont, truly embarked on the Path of "Preservation."
But what truly earned Asterion the recognition of Qlipoth, the Aeon of Preservation, was never that cold, instruntal "Survive" equation.
Qlipoth, the silent wall-builder, didn’t even care about such things.
What truly set Khaslana on the Path of "Preservation" and granted him its power was the genuine, pure original intention buried deep within his heart— that original intention to protect those he wanted to protect, even at the cost of himself.
At this mont, the Express crew could only see Phaethon gripping the orange-red crystal in his scarred right hand, which seed to pulse in resonance with his heartbeat.
Phaethon had found it.
Phaethon had found the thod in his plan to protect his companions from being implicated when he broke through.
And now, Phaethon’s ultimate plan lacked only one final piece— an "outsider" who, after his mad salvation plan was finally completed, could be trusted to take over and lead those he cherished toward a true future.
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