September 5th, 11:40 PM.

The outer ring of the Royal Capital.

A private clinic without a business license.

After the old king stepped down, during the power transition vacuum, another comprador government came in to purely sell land for money, leaving national governance in chaos. Whether one had a license or not made no difference.

Although most of the citizens in the Royal Capital were filled with enthusiasm for tomorrow, after almost a year, Mulong finally welcomed back the legitimate Royal Family.

But many were worried, concerned about whether more terrifying wars would break out.

The upper circles evidently knew that the forces from the East Sea were the main contributors to the successful restoration.

But the public was unaware, only thinking that the East Sea forces were just part of the external aid; the main strength was still from Uborio and the support he received from other nations opposed to Aran.

The Dark Knight Bruce Wayne was commonly referred to as Little Liszt.

Hidden beneath the revelry was a more terrifying undercurrent.

"I've often heard people mention the wealth of the Royal Capital, but I never imagined it would be this prosperous."

Banu was cloaked, his skin bloodless, lips cracked, a ghastly white.

"I'm sorry... even debridement is useless now."

The doctor took off his glasses, expressing his powerlessness over Banu's injuries. He looked so young, but the sword wound on his chest was severely infected and had penetrated deep into his organs, beyond recovery.

As far as he knew, usually only bandits or pirates poisoned their blades. This wasn't an ordinary infection; it was a toxic compounded infection.

"I just want to know how long I have left to live. Once, my greatest dream was to come to the Royal Capital to see the palace. Now that I've achieved it, I have no regrets."

Upon hearing that his injuries were fatal, Banu surprisingly breathed a sigh of relief.

He was lucky and yet unlucky.

He should have died months ago along the railway. These past few months had been borrowed time. The misfortune was that he had harmed his compatriots with his own hands and was now a traitor.

But he didn't care; he never felt any allegiance to Mulong. He only got food by working under Uborio's command.

The people of the Royal Capital probably never worried about food.

"Probably not more than three days."

The doctor didn't finish his sentence. In reality, he might fall into a coma due to multi-organ failure by tomorrow, and after that... two days wouldn't count as living.

"Are you sure it's three days? I'm very tired now, which is unusual. I can feel it—if I fall asleep, I won't wake up again. You wouldn't lie to a dead man, would you?"

Banu's childhood dream was to see the palace; unfortunately, he would never get the chance to see what it looked like inside.

"I'm afraid it won't be long before you can no longer stay conscious."

The doctor said sincerely.

"Not long... how long is that?"

"Within a day, probably less."

"I see."

Banu looked at the wall clock; it was fifteen minutes to midnight, "I've decided to die before midnight. This way, Her Majesty's last enemy will disappear. Then you can use this gun to kill me, and no matter what, you should be able to claim twenty or thirty Golden Dragons from the Royal Court."

He uncovered his cloak, his strength too weak to pick up the gun. With some effort, his trembling arms placed the standard issue Aran magic-guided rifle on the table.

"I won't do that." The doctor saw how young he was, "You should go find your family instead."

"I don't have a family anymore."

Banu started gasping, feeling something heavier and heavier pressing on his chest. His consciousness was gradually blurring. He wanted to say something but soon forgot, clutching his throbbing head, struggling to remember.

"You're an older person; you should know.

A terrible idea has been implanted in me.

I don't want to die with this thought. Can you help me negate it?"

Banu held onto the table to prevent his body from collapsing suddenly.

"Go ahead."

The doctor only thought he was pitiful; he looked only sixteen or seventeen years old.

But Banu's mind was too chaotic, unable to describe it or remember it—only feeling that it was terrifying, with nothing at the end, only fear.

"I just want to know if there's a way to solve everything without killing."

Banu wasn't sure what he was saying, only knowing he'd expressed it. In his eyes, the doctor's face began to double. He focused on the clock, determined to die before midnight; no matter what, Mulong was still his homeland and would be reborn at exactly twelve.

Huitt was silent for a moment.

There was still some wrapping up needed with the cooperation with Uborio. Pedan and Mulong had always had friendly diplomatic relations; besides the diplomatic envoy at this ceremony...

Due to his immense success in magic transformation, Huitt could counteract Aran's Life Alchemy, causing a huge sensation in the Elder Council. He now only needed election funding to run for a seat in the council.

The Magic Energy Industrial Committee had previously ignored Fen, but things were different now. He had risen again, ready for reckoning in the autumn, finding election funds from him.

Huitt volunteered to detain the first-class political prisoner, the Tower Alliance's fugitive, Fen, and bring him back to the country.

"I'm very sorry, child.

Unlike an ant colony's social structure, where worker ants, soldier ants, and drone ants are born this way.

We are not insects. We have desires and dreams that drive us to kill, regardless of the form it takes, whether destroying the body or enslaving the soul. Only by killing more people and gaining a higher social status can we achieve a better version of ourselves.

This is the only way for ordinary people to fight against this cruel world.

I'm truly sorry; I can't negate it."

Huitt said solemnly.

"Even if... you lied to me, you couldn't do that either...

His still immature face bore ultimate despair, his spirit crumbling like a precarious building unable to withstand the relentless blows of a heavy battering ram.

Not even the echoes of the guillotine were this oppressive.

His consciousness grew more and more blurred—he couldn't remember anything. Outside the window, the towering palace that reached the clouds became a blur. He began to cry loudly, utterly terrified of death, the long-untriggered dud explosive obliterating his babbling infancy.

"I just feel...

It's as if from the moment I was born,

I was meant to be killed."

All words, actions, dreams, collapsed beneath his pupils.

11:59 PM.

He picked up the rifle, shoved the barrel into his mouth.

Bam!

The salute fired, and the Royal Capital was in wild celebration. Each round of synchronized booming added another page to history, branding the sky with the insignia of the ceremony.

September 6th, midsummer noon, as if the Holy True God too congratulated the new Emperor's coronation, the sky was cloudless, clear blue skies leading into a new calendar year.

The honor guard, the choir, a grand parade, colorful streamers.

She dressed magnificently, delivering a speech from the High Castle observation deck.

Flashlights, cameras, surrounded by powerful foreign dignitaries.

All the old statutes were torn apart, birthing the power of the new king.

Cheers, shouts, tears of joy.

Their voices were like a train halted abruptly, and her name was Mulong's long national border.

At this moment.

In the hospital basement.

Huitt replaced the young man's heart with the engine of a magic-guided machine.

He knew.

This cruel, absurd game was like the wheel of hell, crushing every revelry, leaving the reflection of joy or despair.

This circle would perpetually spin, each time erasing the memory of "erasure" with a more perfect arc.

…

…

…

(End of Volume Two: Wheel of Hell)

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