The room was once again empty; everyone had left after the news of the death of the Hunter. According to Wraithshade, one of the Founding Emperors was the one who killed the Hunter.
That Hunter seemed to be a core member of Nightfall, but now he's dead. I couldn't help but sneer.
As for what Wraithshade said—why they can't seize Yvonne May's instinct, or in other words, the Founding Emperors are slumbering in this darkness—they don't want to awaken them and trigger unnecessary conflict, because they are no match for the Founding Emperors at all.
"So what should I do now? Heh."
I muttered and crouched down, a chill running down my spine. I leaned against the surface of the tank. Strangely, I couldn't feel any coldness from the transparent soaking liquid—I could breathe and speak—but the chill at my back made me shiver.
I had no idea how much time had passed. The room was still empty; no one came. I was still leaning against the tank, and only the chill on my back kept me awake. I couldn't get out, couldn't do anything—but I was still alive.
Now that an important officer is dead, they must be discussing something. I laughed coldly. Thinking back over this period—even though I've been soaking in this giant tank for more than half a year—the burning urgency in my heart and the crushing sense of pressure in my body have gradually faded. My state of mind has become steadier.
If my instinct had been taken away, I should have died. But I didn't—I survived, thanks to the artificial soul implanted in my body. This soul is identical to the one in the Replicator, meant to control the End Instinct.
This time they succeeded, but they're doomed to fail. Thinking about my instinct, Ethan Zhang's instinct, and what I know about Rachel Lan's instinct...
All these instincts were born as the truest reflections of our hearts, emerging in moments of utter desperation. Most of those at the Dark Banquet probably have no instinct at all—or not a single one. That's why they try to seize instincts, using those special things called Instinct Stones.
If you think about it carefully, it's clear: that stone must have the ability to absorb primal instinct, but it can't preserve it for long. Once the body dies and the connection between instinct and self is completely severed, the instinct itself fades away.
"Anyone who hasn't tasted true despair has no right to claim their instinct."
I said coldly, feeling a strange lift in my mood. At least I no longer had to hear Wraithshade's endless questions every day. Sure enough, he didn't come by today—they must be busy dealing with the death of the Hunter.
I tilted my head back, staring up at the lid above me, and let out a helpless, bitter laugh.
The moment I was torn from Ethan Zhang’s body—drawn out as an Earthly Soul and cast into the Soulbinding Altar—I was utterly hopeless, stripped of even the faintest shred of hope.
Yet my bond with Ethan Zhang wasn't severed. In dreams, I often witnessed fragments of his life. Slowly, I began to hope—if he grew stronger, perhaps he'd discover me and come to save me.
But it was all just a mirage—beautiful, impossible delusions. As our instincts began to awaken, I found myself trapped in Ghost Tomb Forest, while Ethan Zhang was in Exile Town. In that moment, the End did not choose me. It chose Ethan Zhang.
"Envy, jealousy, resentment—what a bastard you are."
I forced out a bitter smile as I spoke.
Perhaps this pain is rooted in jealousy for Ethan Zhang. We were supposed to be one and the same—or perhaps we had become one. Yet everything we've endured is so vastly different.
I truly cannot imagine why Ethan Zhang, in the very instant of Endbringer's awakening, would abandon that primal instinct. Endbringer chose him, perhaps because of the deeply twisted hatred for both humans and ghosts buried in his heart—a hatred that erupted forth. Even if he no longer remembers the past, the subconscious loathing for humanity and the spectral still lingers within him.
Later, when I was cornered by the Ghost Syndicate and the Immortality Society, the pain I endured had nowhere to go—there was no one to save me. Not even Ethan Zhang, who by all rights should have rushed to my aid without hesitation, but he didn’t. He didn’t even know I existed.
I sighed.
"John Chou saw through everything, yet he pretended to be deaf and blind. What a truly despicable man. Still, everything he did was correct. If John Chou had exposed the truth, that bastard would’ve come to save me without a second thought. But I don’t need saving."
To beg for anything is a mistake. The only one I can rely on is myself. I can’t be like Ethan Zhang and Rachel Lan, with their absolute trust in each other—willing to give up their lives for one another. I can’t do it, nor do I understand what it means. Yet, along this journey, I’ve witnessed everything Ethan Zhang has endured.
A person born weak, with an absolute flaw in their humanity—yet somehow accomplished so much, despite being so fragile.
This is perhaps what I find most incomprehensible. The path is merciless, lined only with blood and death, but he chose a road completely different. What he relies on is not his own strength, but everything and everyone around him.
Gradually, I came to realize a truth: I don’t hate Ethan Zhang. We simply walk different paths—opposite directions, growing farther apart. My sense of rivalry toward him is just the desire to defeat him, to stand at the summit after our cycles of conflict have come full circle, and defeat him completely.
A sudden warmth surged in my heart. I stared in shock at my rising chest—my heart was beating.
This was the most astonishing change I’d experienced in half a year. My heart had long stopped beating. Now, clutching my chest, I could hear the thumping of my heart—loud and clear.
"It's Endbringer."
I closed my eyes. My consciousness began to slip away, and when I came to again, I opened my eyes wide. Before me was a round table—the Replicator's perspective. Wraithshade sat directly across from me.
The room was filled with people from the Dark Banquet. Other than the Replicator and Wraithshade, I didn’t recognize a single face.
"Mr. Wraithshade, why did you let that guy go so hastily?"
A burly shadow next to the Replicator spoke up.
"Are you really going to let Rachel Lan die in the forest? That place is deadly—not just for her, but even for us if we venture too close to the Founding Emperors’ domains."
It seemed to be a conference between Duskfall, Nightfall, and East Cemetery. I had no idea how long it had lasted, but judging by everyone’s expressions, the tension was palpable.
"Nightfall, this time the responsibility is entirely yours."
The fourth seat from the Replicator—a woman with a neutral voice, her hand propping up her chin—spoke. By her silhouette, she seemed female.
"Don’t joke around. Why should we take the blame? If the three factions could trust each other and act together, none of this would’ve happened."
Wraithshade continued, and now murmurs of debate echoed around the room.
"Enough arguing. After hundreds of years, we finally sit down to talk. The most critical issue now is the Founding Emperors—we don’t know which one it is. If it’s Emperor Huang, it’s extremely dangerous. Emperor Yan is dangerous too, but his temperament is softer, so for now, there won’t be immediate problems."
The burly man spoke again, and the Replicator smiled.
"Ultimately, the reason we’re in this predicament is because of Xu Fu—the real culprit—and John Chou, who sent Tan Tian to the Asura Realm."
"Has anyone negotiated with the Asura Realm?"
A short figure on the left asked.
"Shouldn’t Duskfall have acted already? Why are you asking us?"
The burly man next to the Replicator retorted. I began to understand: this side represented East Cemetery, Wraithshade across the table was Nightfall, and the left side belonged to Duskfall—with the burly man as the dividing line.
The furious woman was also with East Cemetery.