Endless Debt

The blood tyrant, hovering eternally above everyone’s heads, perpetually demands and devours the blood tax that arises from flesh and bone.

Bologue didn’t ask Olivia about the meaning behind her words; instead, he focused on a conversation with Ossana.

"Are you worried that those extremists will lead the world to another dark extreme?"

Ossana nodded, saying, "I’ve read many books and skimmed through numerous historical records. A century ago, my family also participated in the campaign against the Eternal Night Empire. I always felt the Dawn War was a pivotal point for the world, pulling its trajectory back from a path of deviation."

"Do you now think that the extreme Condenser supremacy is just another form of... Night Race?"

Bologue organized his thoughts and ultimately posed this question.

Ossana didn’t immediately answer Bologue’s question but silently gazed out the car window. The bus drove through streets, past districts; pedestrians walked and conversed on the street as if it were a normally functioning urban society with no difference.

Yet as the bus gradually distanced from the Supreme Hub, when even the radiance of the Aurora Path could scarcely illuminate this area, Bologue noticed the street view growing increasingly dilapidated, chaotic constructions of old buildings, mostly broken doors and windows, cracked walls exposing the red bricks beneath, like damaged skin revealing scarlet wounds.

Many homeless people lay sleeping across the streets; they shrank into corners like black garbage bags, under flickering streetlights. They used empty metal barrels to set up a few bonfires, the flickering firelights releasing a comforting warmth.

"You didn’t expect it, did you? Even the Earthly Celestial Kingdom has shadows it cannot illuminate." Ossana murmured.

"I imagined it, it seems reasonable this way."

Bologue calmly accepted such a scenario, and indeed, this desolate scene oddly reassured him.

Ossana turned her head to look at Bologue, her eyes full of curiosity and inquiry.

Bologue spoke up, "Just like purifying gold, no matter how hard the craftsman tries, how much the technology advances, people can never extract one hundred percent pure gold—there will always be some flaw, however small."

"The world is the same; no matter how perfect a city or ideal a society, darkness will still exist in places unseen."

"You’re quite realistic."

"Accurately, I’m a pragmatist," Bologue explained, "I don’t deny the existence of ideals, but I believe to achieve ideals, one must start with tangible actions."

"I truly wish I had your capacity for action."

"It’s only that the environment differs; I’m an Undead, no blood ties, no family, like a fugitive. Everyone fears people like me; no one dares to push me to the brink because they know I’d genuinely hunt them relentlessly day and night."

Bologue was so forthright it seemed like he was exposing the full extent of his inner darkness, "But you’re different, you can die, bound by chaotic constraints, so it’s only natural you act clumsily."

Upon hearing "clumsy," Ossana couldn’t help but laugh; she was a respected Duke of Fantasies, at the pinnacle of power within the All Secrets Order, every person reverently respectful to her. Yet today, Bologue freely offended her.

This was normal; Bologue was a dignified fugitive. Status, lineage, numerous honorable titles meant less to him than a rock singer.

Bologue also hadn’t noticed himself gradually transforming into a true Undead, no longer restrained by worldly matters, only his preferences, and whims.

"So, you think Condensers are another form of Night Race, then what?" Bologue picked up on the previously interrupted topic.

"Then... then let’s chat about something else for now."

Ossana smiled at Bologue, and Bologue found that her smile was quite pleasant, with an elegant sense of beauty, yet she’d grown accustomed to haughty indifference, and now the smile appeared somewhat stiff.

"Always changing topics, is this your negotiation technique?" Bologue asked.

"Just a form of guidance, to subconsciously lead you to my side," Ossana said, "I’m quite skilled at persuasion."

"Using Secret Energy?"

"Of course not, I’m the Duke of Fantasies; just hearing the title should hint at my school of thought."

"Illusion Creation school?"

Ossana expressed her goodwill, "Indeed, pure fantasy that won’t affect your mind; rest assured about this."

"The Illusion Creation school isn’t that limited," Bologue recalled an old friend, "I knew someone before who followed the purest traditional path, purely Illusion Creation—meaning they could, to a certain extent, make wishes come true.

If he were you, he might just activate Secret Energy while thinking ’convince Bologue,’ and maybe it would really happen."

Ossana turned sideways, chuckling softly, "You’re more interesting than I imagined, Bologue."

"And you are more approachable than I imagined," Bologue said, "If you were as arrogant as your two attendants, we might have started brawling by now."

Bologue remembered the figure of the Regent King, "I really hate those condescending people; even if you’ve done nothing, aren’t connected in any way, in their eyes, you’re inexplicably inferior. It makes you want to punch and smash their pretty face."

"Hahaha."

Ossana kept laughing; after a moment of easing, she continued her rhetoric, posing an odd question.

"Bologue, do you have a girlfriend?"

"Uh?"

Bologue was taken aback, somewhat confused, unsure if this counted as Ossana’s negotiation tactic.

Before he could respond, Ossana pointed ahead, "Look, that woman sitting in the second row."

Bologue followed her gaze, a beautiful figure appeared in his view, a smooth neck emerging from the collar, a lovely profile caught his eye.

"According to aesthetics, she is indeed a beautiful woman, isn’t she?"

"Yes."

Bologue quietly acknowledged, not knowing what Ossana was up to.

She continued, "If you want to get her, what would you do, approach her and start a conversation?"

Bologue retorted, "Why would I need to get her, I have a girlfriend."

"Hmm?"

It was Ossana’s turn to be stunned.

Bologue felt a bit offended, "Do I look like someone who doesn’t have a girlfriend?"

"I think you probably have quite a lot of female admirers, someone like you should be very popular, rational, strong, reliable," Ossana repeatedly evaluated Bologue, "but because of all this, I feel like you are someone who sleeps with a sword, women are just unnecessary trouble for you."

"Looks like you don’t know me well enough," Bologue felt the conversation becoming more and more absurd, "Moreover, my girlfriend isn’t trouble, she’s very useful."

As Bologue spoke, he raised examples, counting on his fingers, "Her Secret Energy can amplify me; she’s also a wise scholar, she can..."

Ossana pressed down Bologue’s hand, forcibly interrupting his near-sales pitch introduction.

She found Bologue to be a strange contradiction, possessing cold ruthlessness yet somehow carrying hints of black humor and a dumfounded sincerity, difficult to imagine what kind of experiences had shaped Bologue’s personality.

"Alright, alright, I did underestimate you, now hypothetically, if you wanted to win over that woman, what would you do?" Ossana tried to regain control of the conversation.

Bologue hesitated for a moment, then shared his thoughts, "I would approach her."

"Tell her..." Looking towards the beautiful figure, Bologue spoke while fantasizing, "I’m being stalked by someone. To shake him off, please help me cover up, pretend you’re my old friend and happily chat with me."

"Hmm, a good opening," Ossana said.

"I learned it from the movies," Bologue continued, "the protagonist used this line to lure women into his home."

"And then?" Ossana asked curiously.

"He’s quite the charmer," Bologue recalled Serey’s face, "the ending naturally involved some betrayal."

"Oh..."

Ossana let out a short sigh.

"So, what are you trying to express exactly?" Bologue questioned, finding the conversation increasingly puzzling.

Until he saw Ossana’s strange smile, she asked again, "Then if you were a Condenser, wanting to win over this woman, what would you do?"

Bologue’s eyes fluttered lightly, he realized Ossana’s trap, her voice carried a strange magic, like the Devil’s whisper.

"Would you need such clumsy chatter to win her heart?"

The bus came to a halt, the door opened, and several Imperfects boarded, among them a man sat beside the woman, the two grinning at each other, like friends, or perhaps a couple.

"Oh, poor thing, turns out she has a boyfriend," Ossana said softly, "now how would you win her over? For normal people, this would be quite troublesome, right?"

Bologue pondered, like a detective investigating the woman’s preferences, dressing himself as her true fated one and intervening, or calmly waiting, not all relationships last, and when they part, it’s Bologue’s time to strike...

"Don’t waste time on those troubling and unrealistic plans," Ossana placed a hand on Bologue’s shoulder, speaking low, "Haven’t you realized? You’ve long mastered the game’s cheat code."

Bologue stopped pondering, calmly prepared for the storm to come.

"Bologue, you are the exalted Defender, no need to consider their self-will, you could crush that man into blood paste in front of her, and completely dominate her amidst her endless screams and howls.

The gap between her and you is like that between humans and pets, she would obediently fall into your grasp, if she resists, scratches, you wouldn’t be mad, you’d just find her cute, like a pet nuzzling your cheek."

As she spoke, Ossana’s gaze towards the woman carried a tint of melancholy, when you lack power, your resistance only adds a layer of amusing struggle.

"No one would blame you, nor would there be any force to punish you, you must know you are already one of the rare, supreme forces in the world, who could possibly rival you?

Everyone would compromise to win you over; compared to a Defender, she, a mere ordinary person, is just a number to be adjusted at will.

You are the status, the rule, the embodiment of mundane and extraordinary power."

Ossana’s speech quickened, like a crescendoing piece of music, stopping abruptly at its peak.

Leaving only the chatter of people in the compartment, the low panting of the engine, the clashing of metal against metal, all in a chaotic mix, while Bologue’s ears were enveloped in silence.

Ossana leaned back, her gaze unfocused, staring at something Bologue couldn’t see, her voice hollow and monotonous, like a dried-up corpse speaking.

"Look, Bologue, this is the temptation we constantly face."

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