Translator: CinderTL “This is truly bizarre…” Zellier shook his head with a wry smile.
The idealists’ methods reminded him of monkeys at typewriters, endlessly trying combinations until they stumbled upon the one correct answer.
“Bizarre doesn’t even begin to cover it!
They’ve caused immense harm to the outside world!
Random scribbling means you have no idea what kind of magic you’ll create.
Conflicting circuit structures can be lethal!” “Three years ago, an Idealist mage in the Royal Capital created a spell that drained all the moisture from four living people, including himself.
In an instant, they were reduced to desiccated corpses—one of them even a noble from the royal family!” Bev recited the details like a well-worn tale.
“And last year, an Idealist mage accidentally concocted a spell that permanently salinized the soil.
Unfortunately, his experimental site was right next to a vast wheat field, the town’s primary food source…
I won’t elaborate on the consequences, but let’s just say his head is still displayed on the city walls.” “There are countless similar examples.
Accidental curses, self-inflicted transformations into monstrous beings, or even spontaneous explosions due to unstable mana—I can’t even be bothered to list them all.” “Doesn’t the Mage’s Guild do anything about this?” Zellier asked, his jaw dropping.
“Sigh…
It’s not that simple.
While most sensible mages oppose the idealists, there will always be believers, some of whom hold positions of power within the guild.” Bev shook her head.
“Moreover, despite the idealists’ reckless experimentation, some have stumbled upon genuinely useful magic.
This makes it difficult for the guild to completely eradicate them; they can only strictly prohibit experiments in densely populated areas.” “That makes sense…” “In short, just remember that Idealist mages are a bunch of lunatics.
Never associate with them,” Bev warned, her expression grave.
“Understood…” After hearing Bev’s explanation, Zellier’s mind raced with possibilities.
First, he could now confirm that the Great Creation Art existed—the legend was true.
This also explained why the Great Creation Art had been added to the analysis queue the moment he chose formulaic evolution—because this world itself was a product of the Great Creation Art.
Everything he saw was a part of the Great Creation Art.
Secondly, Zellier was deeply interested in how to reproduce the Great Creation Art magic.
If the Creator God had truly stumbled upon the Great Creation Art by sheer luck, as the idealists believed, then his luck attribute must have been 99999.
Wait a minute…
The method to reproduce the Great Creation Art…
didn’t he already have it?
Zellier suddenly froze.
At that moment, images from another dimension seemed to materialize before his eyes.
His perspective shifted to a third-person view, allowing him to clearly see his own form.
Frame after frame flickered across his vision, accompanied by a cold, disembodied narration that echoed in his mind: Zellier realized something.
He had already obtained the final script of this game of fate.
Yes, it was the Great Creation Art.
With it, all efforts were meaningless, and even struggle became absurd.
It was the answer to every question, the end of every journey, like a silent stone monument standing at the end of time.
Zellier no longer needed to explore anything else.
From that moment on, he only had one thing to think about: “Survive.” Yes, all he needed to do was survive.
No matter the means, no matter the cost, no matter what he became, as long as he lived, he could wait until the Great Creation Art’s analysis progress reached 100%.
Though the process would be incredibly long, the day would eventually come.
Thus, Zellier chose this path.
He abandoned all emotions and morality, making survival his sole creed.
He began frantically studying ancient tomes of dark magic, learning how to extract life force from the screams of living beings and how to infuse fresh blood into his aging body.
He performed the most cruel sacrificial rituals, offering countless innocent lives to the Evil God in exchange for the right to cling to life.
Zellier was no longer human.
After countless flesh magic transformations, he had become a writhing mass of malevolent flesh.
He sealed himself within the deepest caverns beneath the earth.
Writhing, spasming.
His appearance had long since changed, and even his personality had been lost.
But that didn’t matter.
Writhing, spasming.
As long as he lived, he could reach the end.
As long as he lived.
Though the analysis of the Great Creation Art progressed at a glacial pace, time eventually brought it to completion.
Great Creation Art—Analysis Complete.
Zellier had grasped the supreme authority, and all things would now prostrate themselves before him.
How much time had passed?
Ten thousand years?
A hundred thousand?
Or an even greater span?
Seas turned to fields, and stars shifted in the heavens.
None of it mattered, for Zellier had already achieved ultimate victory.
Under his warped consciousness, the entire world had been transformed into a land of flesh by the Great Creation Art.
Chunks of meat and pus spread across the earth, covering every inch of the landscape.
In this deathly silent realm, the individual consciousness of every living being had been extinguished.
Only newly sprouted flesh buds thrived beneath the crimson moon, reveling in the gift Zellier had bestowed upon them—eternal life.
Ending 1: The Curse of Immortality.
“Hey, Zellier, are you listening?” Bev waved her hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his reverie.
Zellier jolted violently, as if awakening from a nightmare.
Cold sweat instantly soaked his back.
What was that vision just now…?
He touched his cheek, his fingers trembling slightly, and his breathing quickened.
Ending 1: The Curse of Immortality?
Was that the path his future might lead him down?
“How…
how do I look right now?” Zellier asked Bev, his voice tinged with panic.
“You look fine…
no rice stuck to your mouth or anything,” Bev replied, studying him intently.
“Are you just trying to get me to compliment you?” “If I look fine, that’s good…” As long as he didn’t look like that grotesque mass of flesh, Zellier breathed a sigh of relief.
To become that kind of creature for the sake of immortality would be worse than death.
Those images…
they must have been just his imagination, right?
“What’s wrong?
You suddenly look so pale.
Are you feeling unwell?” Bev asked, her voice filled with concern.
“I’m fine…
just spaced out for a moment,” Zellier replied, shaking his head.
“It’s nothing.” Having spent so long at the Mage’s Guild, it was already evening before he realized it.
With his tasks nearly completed, Zellier bid farewell to Bev, promising to see her again soon, and left the guild.
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