Chapter 53: Eternal Pain

Mo Wen’s unbreakable mental barrier finally began to be penetrated under the ignited radiance of the Shroud.

The world in his eyes fractured, transforming into countless fragments like a kaleidoscope, revealing different colors from every angle.

Those were the memories of the Shroud.

Beginning from this moment, following Mo Wen’s retrogressive gaze through time, they continuously unfolded.

He saw the deities whom civilizations across the universe revered with awe as the "Supreme Radiance" devour humanity entirely, proclaiming their own birth with the end of a civilization and stirring up conflicts that swept across the cosmos.

Qi Shiming did not awaken; his utterly uneventful plan failed to rouse him, and the vessel instead birthed its own will, crushing all usurpers.

The cries of those who left behind their testimonies through self-immolation failed to stir a single ripple; the powerless, unresisting lambs reveled until their demise; the defiant ones who feared not death slumbered in silence...

"Incorrect."

Mo Wen was not shaken by this apparition, even though it seemed to highlight his own importance.

He saw the upper echelons of the [Group] piloting Unit Zero, utilizing this flawless creation to achieve the ascension of all humanity, only to abandon the resurrection of Qi Shiming out of arrogance and fear.

The direction of civilization was locked onto the path of relentless progress; for the sake of higher efficiency, insignificant parts were continuously pruned away, and even individuals who seemed important were proven utterly useless.

The old humanity was erased and transformed into the new humanity, but the production efficiency of the new humanity was still insufficient, so they were erased once more, and computational units were forged by the [Host Unit Zero].

The grassroots were replaced by interactive units, the middle tiers by command units, and then even those who fancied themselves the navigators of civilization were replaced by overarching units.

Civilization was stripped of its complexities and simplified, leaving only the most crucial entity—the inheritor of all human assets, the [Host Unit Zero].

"Incorrect."

Humanity might perish, but not so easily; someone among them would surely resist to the bitter end.

Ah, was he hallucinating that he was important, causing the Shroud to mirror his illusions?

Mo Wen cast this notion aside.

He saw the return of Qi Shiming, saw the madman cross the staircase to divinity, saw countless lives sacrificed, saw those entrusted with heavy responsibilities forced to grow stronger because of their duty, millions of ascending flames lighting up the sky, and shouts stirring boundless waves...

Among the [Group] executives he had casually slaughtered, some had also participated in the resistance; Vanessa, who had almost killed him once, became the whistle-blower of the rebellion; the gang members he had casually slain died to protect the dream-weaving nodes capable of countering psionic fluctuations...

"Correct."

Mo Wen calmly accepted a world without him; that was entirely possible.

Yet what meaning did that hold...

Existing, advancing, fighting, seizing—he would feel no guilt for whatever he had changed.

Suddenly, a speck of light burst open.

Human nurseries, servants of the spirit-machine, the Mechanicus, the society of the ultimate producers, the Crusade of Light...

People viewed as resources, those who charged into the Shroud, those who acted spoiled before mechanical maids, those who worshipped machine deities, those who rebelled against tyranny, those who crossed time only to be bitten to death by a dog...

Countless possibilities swelled continuously, and every new choice at every juncture spawned a new route. Even with his current computational power, he could not take them all in at a glance.

Mo Wen suddenly understood that this was the Shroud’s answer to him.

It possessed no self-awareness whatsoever; it merely reflected his own power.

It had remembered his psionics, the first time-reversal traveler in this universe.

Yet to Mo Wen, this was utterly meaningless; he would still be cast out by this world.

And at that very moment, light swept over from the edge of the kaleidoscope, originating from the very first memory of the Shroud, carrying an in-depth warmth that pierced straight to the soul.

This was Qi Shiming’s true fatal strike.

A universe, from antiquity to the present, holding the memories of billions of civilizations—who could possibly bear such a burden?

I can.

Mo Wen reminisced.

He recalled his own miserable and lonely death, recalled that forced-to-be-forgotten madness and despair, ripping open his scars and using his flowing blood to fend off this assault.

He had wept bitterly; he had screamed until his voice was hoarse; he had stood dull and blank like a puppet, awaiting death.

Not enough. Such simple pain was simply unable to reject this warmth.

He had torn open his own skin, consumed his own flesh, and together with the newborn self inside his mind, pretended that he was not alone.

Not enough. Even pain that surpassed human intellect could not combat this level of warmth.

He had been forced to personally experience the despair of being neither dead nor alive, his flesh dissolving into all things, witnessing the destruction and rebirth of everything while wide awake.

That was the source of his psionic power, his strength, his fear, and his evasion.

Humanity could deceive itself so easily.

Calling inability "indifference," calling cowardice "courageous endurance," calling failure "victory"—as if shouting slogans time and again could truly change everything.

When time passed faster, the pain could end sooner, yet the prisoner who failed to escape had locked himself and time together.

Rejecting death meant being able to keep moving forward, and moving forward would bring happiness. Yet every moment of struggle held only pain, and the promise of happiness was nothing more than a lie.

Even if one reversed time and yearned to make a new choice, only oneself could never move backward.

They linked together, foreshadowing a person's past. Seemingly two psionics, yet in reality, there was only one.

"My Sole Eternal Pain."

Yet on this road covered in thorns, shouting lies, stepping over one's own corpse, and pressing forward unceasingly—what was wrong with that!

The pain driving Mo Wen forward collided with the warmth brought by igniting the Shroud.

Death, destruction, despair, nothingness, pain, madness, abandonment, closure... Countless negative emotions were effortlessly pulverized by Mo Wen.

Was Qi Shiming’s final killing blow truly just this?

"No."

Mo Wen’s vision pierced through the light that seemed to encompass all things, seeing a will being continuously gnawed at by hounds, along with a cunning smile.

His deception was, after all, quite brilliant.

For this move, Qi Shiming felt that even if he gambled everything, he might not execute it perfectly. He had merely feigned success in igniting the Shroud, leaving Mo Wen responsible for burning it to ashes.

You truly turned out just as I thought.

This belongs to you, a magnificent death.

May countless blessings be bestowed upon you, may your path ahead lie wide open.

Your past shall die here, alongside countless the dead... And so shall I.

"No," a voice sounded.

"No," like the chirping of insects, yet Mo Wen could comprehend the meaning.

"No," the branches and leaves trembled.

"No," transmitting messages through scent?

"No," the refracted light mirrored a message.

"No," the leaping of electrons formed a single character.

"No," the shift in the field manifested a will.

"No," ah, it was human language.

Since the birth of the universe, the radiance of all awakened psionics merged together. That seemingly endless array of colors ultimately converged into a single rainbow light, overwhelming Mo Wen, embracing him, holding him, and demanding his embrace in return.