Chapter 652: Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio  Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

The Jiu Xiao Huan Pei’s Heaven Ladder music theory, the quiet moon’s Wyrmrest enchantment, Hermes’s stone of sage, the Inquisition’s purifying music theory, Abraham’s catastrophe resonance… He listed out everything that he had learned on the paper. He did not leave out anything, not even the Genesis music theory nor the music theory that had been passed down from the Masters. By the time he was finished, even a blind man could see that he did not intend to create a normal Symphony of Predestination.

Why would someone go through so much trouble just for a general Symphony of Predestination? Combining any three of these would already be enough to create one of the most powerful Symphonies in the world.

But Ye Qingxuan did not plan to stop yet.

He had already made up his mind.

Since he had to copy them, he was going to copy them all!

He would copy out new ideas, new harmonies, new worlds!

Besides, since ancient times, no one had decreed that a Symphony of Predestination must look a certain way. Everyone’s core music theory was wondrously different, so much so that two students of the same School taught by the same teacher could turn out completely different.

So there was nothing strange about doing it this way.

Ye Qingxuan had simply decided to make a great one.

Since there had never been one like it before, he would simply have to make it so good that no one would ever be able to surpass it!

…

Two days later, outside the Ultimate, the navies of the various nations were still in the same place, guarding against each other. Several clashes had already taken place over the last several days. The various factions had tried their best to work together and avoid meaningless fighting, but the situation was still as tense as a taut string, and at some point was sure to snap under the immense pressure of martial symphonies.

Everyone was paying close attention to the situation within the Ultimate.

Over the past few days, long, drawn-out movements had rung out from the ancient cities. Although they had no way of detecting what was happen inside, the changes were clear for all those outside to see.

The vast stream of aether still enveloped the whole area, making it impossible for anyone to get closer. They could only make inferences from the faint changes that came in the wake of the flow of aether.

A catastrophe was clearly being born. But the circumstances were extremely abnormal. But apart from the astonishing changes of the first two days, the ruined city had been shrouded in silence for the rest of the time. The transformations had become incredibly slow, so slow that it was almost impossible to bear it.

It was like a difficult birth.

And far away in the Sacred City, under the Central Holy Cathedral’s Nebula Monitor, Archbishop Albert was nodding off, with a bit of drool running down his chin. From time to time, he would lift his hand lazily to wipe away the dribble, glance at the monitor, and then close his eyes again and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the injured half of his face had not healed right. The muscles were bare, giving him a hideous appearance.

After a while, he had slept his fill. He opened his eyes and saw the figure standing next to him. A red-robed member of the College of Cardinals stood silently under the Nebula Monitor, staring intently at the flashing light that represented the Ultimate.

“Are you awake?”

“I’ve slept enough.” Albert wiped the drool away from his mouth, rubbed his eyes, squinted at the figure, and raised himself up. “When did you get here? Why didn’t you call for me?”

“I just got here. You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you.” The old bishop shook his head and looked away from the Ultimate. “How long has this been going on?”

“More than a week,” Albert said listlessly. “Can a catastrophe have a difficult birth? It’s not like the guys working for us are midwives, but even they are getting nervous.”

“Giving birth is a skill too.” The old man shook his head. “There’s no need to worry.”

“Sounds like you’ve got some experience in this area,” Albert laughed.

“Mm, yes, I do.” The old man sighed softly. “In my early years, I served at a small church in the South. There were two doctors in the town, but one was only responsible for cutting hair, and the other for bloodletting. Sometimes people couldn’t find a decent midwife and had to come to the church for help. The women there married early. Becoming a mother at 16 was considered late. I saw many difficult births. Giving birth is gambling with your life. Sometimes I would have to go make home visits with the priest. And sometimes all of our skill was useless, and we had to make a choice…”

“Let me guess.” Albert rubbed his chin and smiled. “Save the child or save the mother?”

The old bishop shrugged.

“Which would you choose?”

The old bishop did not answer, and they dropped the topic.

The two of them did not speak. There was a long silence.

After a while, the old bishop raised his head from his meditation and said softly, “Let Chopin send out a signal before it’s too late. A long delay means trouble.”

Albert wasn’t smiling anymore. “Are you sure?”

“Sometimes waiting is no use. It will only bring pain to both parties.” The old bishop’s eyes were peaceful. “It’s always best to be decisive.”

A letter of attorney signed by the Sancta Seda was placed in front of Albert. His eyes twitched slightly. He sighed and waved his hand. The sound of a mighty organ rang out from above the Central Holy Cathedral, echoing throughout the steel city. Thousands of clock towers began to chime, and the echoes spread out in all directions.

As he listened to the bells, Albert seemed to be exhausted, and he slumped down in his chair, shaking his head. “Sometimes I really envy you people who can make up your mind.”

There was a hint of irony in his tone. The old bishop shook his head and smiled bitterly. “Do you know how I used to solve the problem of difficult births?” The old man mimed administering an injection. “A shot of oxytocin would make everything alright.”

Albert was shocked.

“Albert, I was never the one who made the decision. Who could be so brave?” The old bishop patted his shoulder and turned to leave.

“Whether the mother or child would survive, that was up to God.”

Amid the silence, there was only the sound of his retreating footsteps.

Albert said nothing. He closed his eyes again.

…

Ye Qingxuan awoke from a dream.

He had not dreamed in a long time, but he had just had a nightmare. He had dreamed of being buried in an ocean of music theory. But when he awoke, he saw thick stacks of books and papers all covered in his handwriting. He didn’t know many how many times he had edited them or how many movements he had added.

And in the corner sat a trembling old nun.

He heard the sound of bells ringing in the distance.

As if there was some secret signal or command in those bells, the old nun began shivering harder. She fell on the floor and looked up, with her eyes rolling back in her head. It seemed like she was having a seizure, but epileptics did not have such a strong fire in their body.

It was like a furnace had been ignited.

The flame lit up the whole dark temple. Waves of aether as powerful as a hurricane swept out from her body, emanating in all directions.

The Masters all woke up and looked at the old nun in shock. Even though they had already experienced the full power of the Saint, at that moment, with Schubert in full force, they felt a crushing pain.

At that moment, they finally realized the gap between them and the Saint.

A gap like the distance between heaven and earth.

Schubert’s music theory crashed around in the body of the old nun, with almost enough power to destroy herself. She cared for nothing, not even herself.

In that roaring song of self-destruction, Ye Qingxuan heard the nun’s last prayer: “Dust to dust, mud to mud, ashes to ashes…”

May God have mercy on my soul.

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