Chapter 82
"You're right, The Lazy One. I orchestrated the Harmony Conflict to draw The Singer's attention. I spread rumors about the gods beginning to weaken, I whispered poison into the ears of humanity's leaders, I arranged for war to erupt on a scale never before seen in the history of the universe—all just to make The Singer notice me, to make her admire me, to make her fall in love with me, the way she fell in love with you without reason, without logic, without considering that you—you never even took her seriously, you never even returned her embrace when she held you at night, you never even said that you loved her even though she had screamed in front of you that she would wait, no matter how long it would take, no matter how many obstacles she would face, no matter how many deaths she would have to endure."
He let out a long breath—a breath that felt like swallowing all the bitterness he had buried for thousands of years, a breath that felt like releasing all the burdens he had carried alone for millennia, a breath that felt like the end of every plan that had never borne fruit, because in the end, after everything he had done, after all the blood he had spilled, after all the civilizations he had destroyed, The Singer still stood before him with tear-filled eyes, with a shattered heart, with a love that had never once turned away from Huan Zheng, the lazy man who did not even know how to yawn properly.
"But do you know the irony, The Lazy One? Even after I destroyed every civilization of the gods, after I ordered that the goddesses be violated and passed around, after I ensured that humanity rose as the Second Divinity and forgot that they were nothing more than puppets in my hands—The Singer still never looked at me. Her eyes remained fixed on you. Her heart kept beating for you. Her soul remained bound to yours, even though you never wanted her, even though you never loved her, even though you preferred sleeping on a cattle cart rather than spending even a single night by her side."
Amid the gaping cracks in the artificial hell's floor, amid the black flames that had begun to dim from exhaustion after witnessing hatred older than their own fire, the Silent One continued speaking.
Not with the flat tone he used when admitting his role as the mastermind, not with the mad laughter he used when mocking the foolishness of love, but with a heavy voice, deep, like a tombstone dropped into the bottom of a well whose depth had never been found—a voice of a man who had lost everything and was left only with bitter memories he could never discard no matter how desperately he tried.
"Back then, when the rumors of the gods weakening began to spread like wildfire across dry grass, the human faction split into two, The Singer," he said, his dark eyes burning with a color not entirely human as he looked at the red-haired woman before him with a gaze he could not hide—a gaze of a man who still loved, even though that love had driven him into the deepest abyss of madness.
"There were those in favor—those hungry for power, eager to seize what had long belonged to the gods, who believed the only way to ensure victory was to annihilate the enemy down to its roots, leaving none behind, showing no mercy, giving no chance to rise again. And there were those against—those who still believed in peace, who did not want to see more blood spilled, who thought that the gods who had already surrendered deserved a chance to live, even if that life meant becoming slaves, prisoners, living corpses breathing under the strict watch of humanity's forces."
He smiled—a smile no longer bitter, no longer sour, but cold, like ice that never melts even under the sun's endless glare, like death that never asks for permission before claiming its prey.
"And I—I was among those in favor, The Singer. In fact, I was the loudest voice calling for the gods to be killed rather than allowed to continue existing. I stood on the stage before thousands of soldiers, shouting until my voice grew hoarse, until my saliva spilled, until the veins in my neck bulged like tree roots searching for water in dry soil. I was the one who convinced them that mercy was useless, that peace was pointless, that the only language the gods understood was blood, fire, and death."
Huan Zheng, hearing The Silent One's confession about his role as a fiery orator before thousands of soldiers, about how he openly called for the deaths of the defeated gods, could only let out a breath.
Not a tired breath like before, but a heavy one, a breath that felt like expelling all the air from his lungs at once, followed by a subtle tremor throughout his body—a tremor that said he understood, that he knew, that he was not as foolish as The Silent One thought, that he knew exactly what lay behind all that rhetoric of slaughter.
"You wanted to show The Singer that you were more worthy of her attention than I am," Huan Zheng said, his voice no longer lazy, no longer flat, but sharp, like a scalpel slicing through layer after layer of lies the Silent One had built around his shattered heart for thousands of years.
"You thought that by becoming a war hero, by beheading the gods with your own hands, by bathing in the blood of your enemies—The Singer would forget my lazy flaws and begin to look at you. You thought courage on the battlefield would outweigh the warmth she found in my indifferent, careless embrace. You thought—"
"Enough, The Lazy One!" The Silent One cut in, his voice exploding like thunder in a sky that never knew rain, his dark eyes blazing with a fire he had never shown anyone.
A fire of hatred, a fire of jealousy, a fire of pain that had never healed despite the passing of thousands of years.
"You know nothing! You've never known anything! Because you're too lazy to care, too lazy to see, too lazy to realize that beside you stands a woman who loves you with all her soul, who is willing to do anything for you, who is willing to die for you—and you repay all that with... with a yawn? By sleeping on a cattle cart? By acting as if she were nothing more than dust drifting in the wind?"
He pointed at The Singer with a trembling index finger.
Not out of fear—because he feared nothing except losing that woman—but because anger long suppressed had finally burst out beyond his control, like a flood that no dam could ever hold back.
"Do you see, The Lazy One? Do you see how she stands there with tear-filled eyes, with a broken heart, with a love you never appreciated? That's all because of you! Because you could never be what she needed! Because you chose sleep over loving her! Because you—"
"How unfortunate, The Silent One," The Singer said suddenly, her voice no longer breaking as when she heard his confession as the mastermind, no longer wet with tears as when she mourned her unrequited love for Huan Zheng, but flat, empty, like the surface of a lake long undisturbed by wind, humans, or beasts.
"When that time came, when you stood on that stage shouting like a madman who had lost his sanity, The Lazy One and I—we were actually among those against it. We were the ones defending the gods who had already surrendered. We were the ones trying to prevent the massacre. We were the ones who believed that victory does not have to be celebrated with blood, that peace is more valuable than the fleeting satisfaction of killing a helpless enemy."
To be continued…