Chapter Seventy-Seven: There Are No Shortcuts to the Extraordinary, But Money Has Its Own Path.

Early the next morning, Xuanlu’s convoy had already assembled outside the gates of the royal capital. Fifteen infantry fighting vehicles, several armored cars, and over a hundred knights from the kingdom’s order were in place to provide escort.

The matter of the royal selection was at last concluded, and the various factions began their gradual withdrawal from the capital—Xuanlu included. The king remained alive, the pillar of the realm was restored, and the kingdom’s internal divisions had transformed into a façade of unity. No matter the truth of it, the result was a relatively stable and secure environment, which was of utmost importance to Xuanlu.

This was Xuanlu’s greatest gain in recent times: a peaceful setting. In his original world, he had been targeted and isolated by the entirety of society, creating acute shortages of resources. Petroleum, for instance, was sustained only by a handful of domestic oil fields, barely supporting the heavy industry.

The dilemma Xuanlu faced was clear: without the means to develop heavy industry, national power couldn’t grow, weapons couldn’t be updated, military strength would decline, and eventually, the nation would fall. Extreme as it sounded, it was the stark reality. While other nations were gradually recovering from the First World War, Xuanlu struggled under blockade.

The new world was the only avenue for breaking this deadlock. To exploit its resources, a relatively stable and secure environment was essential. A fractured, turbulent realm, wracked by constant conflict, was no place for resource development. Qinle’s limited transport capacity and scarce military strength would be entangled in endless affairs, leaving no room for progress.

Only stability allowed for the exploration and development of resources, construction of roads, establishment of factories, and ultimately, the revitalization of the homeland.

The King of Dawn clasped Qinle’s hand, his face marked with grief. “My Lord, I never expected the time of parting to come so soon.”

“Your Majesty,” Qinle replied, equally reluctant, “there is no feast that lasts forever. If you need anything, you can always reach me by wireless telephone.”

Their farewell dragged on for half an hour, before they finally parted with lingering regret.

As Qinle turned toward the armored car, his smile vanished, replaced by undisguised distaste. Ever since learning of the peculiar habits of the nobles in this world and the king’s “heroic deeds” of the past, Qinle could hardly face him.

He reached the central armored car of the convoy, where the door stood open and Aimoya, Olina, and Iron Fist sat quietly inside. This arrangement was mainly for his own safety, to guard against possible ambushes on the return journey. Should the convoy be attacked or subjected to an indefensible psychic assault, Aimoya could ensure his protection. Though unlikely, precautions were necessary.

The hundred knights accompanying them were likewise a safeguard.

Qinle sat down beside Iron Fist, shut the door, and said, “Let’s go.”

Engines roared to life, and the convoy began its journey.

Watching the convoy fade into the horizon, the King of Dawn’s eyes reflected a strange light. He lowered his gaze to caress the Sword of Dawn in his hand, murmuring, “Black hair, black eyes, high-born humanity, the Church of Night, seeking the useless and dangerous Deathswamp…”

Having survived the brink of death, the King of Dawn finally had the strength to contemplate other matters. The more he considered, the more his heart filled with doubt, as if the entire world had suddenly become unfamiliar.

But fortunately, the outcome was favorable: his life preserved, the kingdom’s hidden dangers resolved, and the factions restored to quiet.

At that moment, Mark spoke, “Your Majesty, Princess Eileen has also left with the Grand Duke of the Eastern March.”

He racked his brain to understand his student’s decision, failing utterly. Was there something about the Grand Duke that Eileen sought and could not refuse?

“I know. It’s not a bad thing. I look forward to the Grand Duke’s betrothal gifts.” A smile crept onto the king’s aged face. When faced with an unknown force that could not be opposed or resolved, the best course was to make them one’s own.

If you can’t defeat them, join them.

…

Inside the armored car, scenery retreated behind tempered glass. Aimoya played with her coins as usual, Olina gnawed at the tasteless Giant Vine, and Iron Fist sat upright, expression stern and body utterly still, as if executing his duties with utmost seriousness. In truth, only Qinle knew he was simply spacing out.

Qinle cleared his throat and asked, “Aimoya, I’m at a bottleneck. Is there any way to quickly become a Tier One Transcendent?”

Aimoya stopped flipping her coins and glanced at him. “There are no shortcuts on the transcendent path. You’ve only been transcendent for two months—how could you advance so quickly? Tier One isn’t entry-level—it takes time to hone. Normally, it takes at least half a year.”

“I advise you not to look for shortcuts. There aren’t any!” she scolded righteously.

Normal circumstances? That meant there were abnormal ones.

Qinle caught the nuance, his smile widening. “And what about those abnormal circumstances?”

He pulled a coin from his pocket.

The sight of the coin triggered something in Aimoya; her long ears perked up. “As far as I know, there are two main ways to quickly become Tier One. One is to forcibly elevate yourself with rare medicines, but that hurts your foundation—I don’t recommend it. The other is to gain power from a god, which I recommend even less.”

She stopped there.

She really wouldn’t talk without seeing the rabbit.

Qinle smirked and tossed the coin to her.

Aimoya inspected it carefully, then pocketed it with delight. “Thank you, boss.”

“Any other methods? Money isn’t an issue.” Qinle’s intuition told him this troublesome elf definitely had a way.

Aimoya’s bright eyes sparkled, sensing the scent of gold. “There’s a method from the Church of Night. If it’s done properly, there won’t be any side effects.”

Qinle eyed her as though she were trash, and asked softly, “Who just said there are no shortcuts for transcendence?”

Aimoya replied solemnly, “There are no shortcuts for transcendence, but there are for money. Besides, with talent like yours, how could ordinary mortals compare!”

Qinle felt his lower expectations for her being constantly shattered, rubbing his brow in resignation. “How much?”

“Uh…10—no, 3—wait…” Aimoya’s face was full of conflict, fingers twisting in indecision. At last, she timidly held up one finger.

“One hundred gold bars.”

Qinle’s face was expressionless. “Why not just rob me?”

She really dared to name any price.

Aimoya thought: Robbery isn’t nearly as profitable as fleecing you, you big sucker!

“Uh…then fifty.”

“One hundred gold coins.”

“Ten bars.”

“Eighty gold coins.”

After several minutes of stalemate, they settled at eighty-four gold coins.

Qinle was certain this elf would not refuse, holding firm on the price, while Aimoya, fearing she’d lose even more, finally nodded in agreement.

“Go ahead,” Qinle gestured.

Aimoya cast him a resentful glance and grudgingly explained, “It’s a method I learned from the Church of Night, called Moon-Eating. By absorbing moonlight, you can quickly advance. It doesn’t leave major hidden dangers, but you need a female transcendent to help you channel the moonlight, or you’ll suffer dreadful side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?” Qinle asked.

“You’ll become more and more like a woman.”

…

Xuanlu, on a highway in the southern city.

Young people of the new era poured into the streets, holding banners aloft and shouting slogans, their faces alight with fervor.

“Drive out the invaders, restore our national prestige!”

The demonstration was massive, with nearly all participants students—young, passionate, reckless.

The protest was quickly dispersed by the government, ending within a few hours. Most students were sent back to their schools, and the leaders were detained for fifteen days for disturbing public order.

The government paid no heed to the students’ demands for war, nor did the newspapers headline the conflict the next day.

Those students, returned to their schools, were furious and planned a second protest. Yet, with the cooperation of the schools and the authorities, this demonstration failed before it began.

In the seventh year of the Republic, a misfire among the warships of the nations in the southern gulf sank three fishing boats, resulting in forty-seven deaths.