Endless Debt Chapter 1378: Epilogue 2

The old man trembled as he sat down. Amidst the silent silence, he sometimes looked at the surface of the lake, sometimes at the sky. The old man thought he was hiding it well, but Bologue could sense that the old man’s gaze always inadvertently fell on himself, as if examining him.

"Can you do me a favor?" the old man asked.

"Tell me."

"Well... I bet with a friend, bet on which of us could make friends with a young person," the old man laughed. "I know, I don’t understand the things young people talk about, but can you pretend to be having a good time chatting with me?"

Bologue found the old man before him inexplicably interesting, and he agreed, "Alright."

"This city is really beautiful, isn’t it?"

The old man easily blended into the conversation and asked, "Have you lived here for long?"

"Sort of, I’ve worked here for quite a while."

Bologue pondered for a moment, was this his fifth year working? Or the sixth? Time always flies so fast—by the time you notice, it’s gone without a trace.

"That’s quite nice," the old man said, looking at the towering skyscrapers and sighing, "I came here once decades ago, back then, it was nothing but scorched earth and ruins."

Bologue gave the old man a look of surprise, and the old man continued to speak.

"The war, the never-ending war. When I recall it now, I don’t even know anymore what I fought for. Anyway, when I came to my senses, everything had changed."

The old man began to babble on, "My hometown was gone, familiar friends were gone, and even I myself had become unrecognizable..."

"Were you part of the Fury of Scorched Earth campaign?" Bologue asked.

"Yes," the old man showed Bologue a hearty smile, "You wouldn’t have expected it, right? There are so few surviving veterans these days."

Bologue wanted to say that he himself was actually one of those veterans too, but mentioning it wouldn’t gain him trust from the old man, anyway, and it wasn’t necessary. As for "so few"... that was indeed true. With the passage of time, one by one, all the soldiers who joined the army back then were centenarians and had mostly been laid to rest in graves.

"Time is truly great."

The old man praised, "It turns cities into scorched earth and turns scorched earth back into cities. It fades all sorrows and forgets countless dead."

"Only some things cannot be obliterated by time."

Bologue echoed the old man’s words, "Even though you may forget them under the influence of time, they will remember you in the currents of time. Until the moment fate arrives, like the sound of a gunshot, awakening you."

The old man fell silent, lost in thought. Bologue, gazing ahead, suddenly said, "Your friends are all gone, no one is betting on such a dull thing with you. What are you really looking for me for?"

Upon seeing his scheme exposed, the old man wasn’t embarrassed, instead he just let out a hoarse laugh.

"Sorry, I racked my brains and came up with this way to start a conversation," the old man said. "I mean no harm, it’s just that you seem very familiar."

"Familiar?"

"Yes," the old man examined Bologue’s side profile, "You resemble a comrade of mine when I was young."

Bologue met the old man’s gaze and in his eyes, Bologue easily saw the emotions he couldn’t conceal.

"Did he die?"

"Hmm."

"Was it related to you?"

"Probably... I feel very guilty about him."

The old man didn’t dare to continue looking into Bologue’s eyes, and instead turned to face the lake.

"I used to be a proud person, but later I realized I was a coward through and through. I thought time would make me forget everything, but just like you said, even if I forget it, it remembers me."

Feeling tormented, the old man covered his face with his hands. Bologue suddenly reached out and moved the old man’s hand away, looking into his bloodshot eyes.

This time, Bologue saw familiar marks on the old man’s face, which had been scarred by time.

Bologue recognized the old man, then he laughed and murmured, "That’s not an illusion."

"That’s something that truly existed, not an illusion..."

The old man didn’t understand what was happening to Bologue, but he heard his laughter growing louder and louder.

Suddenly stopped.

Bologue slumped on the bench, his thoughts still chaotic, but clarity returned to his gaze.

"When you revisit the past, do you ever feel a sense of being in another world?" Bologue asked, "As if it’s not your own story, but someone else’s."

The old man hesitated but affirmed, "Yes."

"Just like it’s not me."

The old man spoke and then suddenly asked back, "But isn’t all that me?"

"Yeah, that’s all part of what makes up your life."

Bologue suddenly stood up and reached out toward the old man, as if wanting to shake hands.

"Don’t dwell on the past; what’s happened has happened. Rather than indulging in nostalgia, you should..."

Fragments of past events flashed before Bologue’s eyes, and he softly said.

"Do better."

Do better!

The old man blankly raised his hand, caught by Bologue, who cheerfully shouted at him.

"I forgive you, Dennis!"

Dennis froze for a moment, tears welling up.

...

In the empty bedroom, a slender rift blooms out of thin air, and then it is completely torn apart, forming a huge rift traversing the room. Within the distorted space, a heavy stone slab crashes through the floor, shattering the glass coffee table, stirring a whirlwind, and throwing everything into chaos.

Leviathan slowly walked out of the rift, then the Curved Pathway Rift closed. He swaggered and sat on Bologue’s sofa, propped up his feet, and examined the stone slab he had transported back from the Ethereal Realm.

Initial Scroll.

Leviathan lifted the golden mask over his helmet, and in the instant the black particles made contact with the external world, a repelling force from the Material Realm suppressed him. He didn’t resist; he simply scrutinized the faded mural on the stone slab.

"Before everything began, a group of naive children in the depths of the forest encountered a visitor from the heavens."

Leviathan suddenly began to mutter to himself.

"The visitor said, I can fulfill one wish for one of you, but it requires exchanging something most precious to you.

The first child said he wanted the supreme power.

The visitor said, even with supreme power, you will still die.

The second child wanted absolute violence, so that he could defeat those who bullied him, and power could be obtained through swords and knives.

The visitor retorted to him that there are things that swords cannot obtain, such as life.

For this reason, the third child said he wanted the power of usurpation, so that whether power, violence, or life, he could steal them from others.

The visitor asked him, after taking everything, would he really be satisfied?

Fourth child, fifth, sixth...

The children proposed one wish after another, but all were refuted by the visitor, as if there were no perfect wishes in this world.

So the visitor said..."

Leviathan closed his eyes, as if he could hear the words the visitor spoke at the time, in that cold, emotionless tone.

"Then let me bestow upon you my power to fulfill wishes."

When Leviathan opened his eyes again, he was already standing on the shattered coffee table, reaching out to touch the cold stone slab, looking to the bottom of the slab, at the ending of the scroll.

"The children said, heavenly visitor, whatever you take away from us is fine.

So the visitor got what he wanted, but then he discovered that one child hadn’t made a wish; he just stood there, crying incessantly.

The visitor asked him what he was crying for, and the child said he was sad for what his blood relatives had done and felt despair for the dark fate the world will bear.

The visitor asked him, child, what is your wish? He thought for a long time, as if making up his mind, and made his wish to the visitor."

Leviathan’s fingertips brushed the faded, blurry silhouette, and the child’s voice echoed in his ear.

"He wished for the power to end the crimes of his blood relatives."

Countless images interweaved and replayed in Leviathan’s mind, and myriad thoughts collided and burned.

Leviathan’s figure began to wriggle, transforming into a swarm of black fish that disappeared from where he stood, leaving only his booming words echoing.

He said.

"Thus the eighth person sacrificed himself, casting the flames against the Devil upon the earthly realm.

The Scholars picked up these flames and named them—Alchemy Matrix."