Scanning the suspected demigod from head to toe, Micky was surprised by how gaunt – arguably decrepit even – he looked. There was barely any muscle between his wrinkled skin and bones, his scalp covered in age spots rather than hair. He did have a long, white beard that reached all the way to his waist, giving him an air of refinement that one would normally struggle to find in a mortal.

Micky was sure that the Saint’s ears had once pointed outwards like the rest of Marnok’s people, though the years had caused them to droop. Even his skin tone was paler than the sailors’, indicating that he had spent vast stretches of time in closed meditation – as was typical of such figures.

‘Wow. There’s old… and then there’s positively ancient,’ Micky thought, struggling to remember the last person he had seen looking like this.

In fact, he couldn’t recall ever meeting a Yellow-born – let alone a Green-born who had presumably had access to cleansing resources their whole life – so close to the end of their lifespan. Back on Remior, demigods were capable of living for well over a hundred thousand years, and he didn’t think that Robari had been any different before its downfall.

‘And yet he still failed to forge his internal world in the end,’ Micky reminded himself.

Okay… perhaps it was time to reconsider how difficult it was to cross the final barrier separating gods from mortals. Between Micky’s work on the artificial advancement and his royal-jelly-producing familiar currently baking in the oven, there was a good chance that he’d finally solve the lifespan problem that had plagued him for so long. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to start thinking seriously about what came next.

‘I should have asked Zoris what the exact process of attaining divinity involves. I suppose I can bring it up when I get the ring back, or I can ask Nephthys if she still has her memories after she hatches.’

“Saint Ludwick, I presume?” Micky asked on the outside, partly to confirm his suspicions and partly to calm down the turmoil in his host’s soul. As for Marnok, he appeared more than happy to let Micky do all the talking.

“Yes and no,” the demigod replied, before elaborating. “There is no magic that can bring back the dead as far as I know – certainly not after so many years. However, this projection was designed to think and speak like the original Ludwick, so you may consider me an acceptable replacement for the purposes of this conversation.”

Micky nodded, this being pretty much in line with his guess. On a side note, it was quite refreshing to listen to one of Marnok’s people speak their language properly, though he still struggled to suppress a smile upon hearing the comment about reviving the dead.

‘My main bodies would like a word with you, sir.’

Examining the man more carefully, Micky failed to spot any trace of mana in his body. He wasn’t sure whether that was due to the illusion failing to trick his host’s Mana Sense like it did his sight and hearing, or due to Clear mana being notoriously difficult to perceive for people at lower grades. It didn’t really matter though.

“I came here searching for Fools’ Amber,” Micky said, before scratching the back of Marnok’s head. “Uhm… I don’t know if it was called something else in your time. I’m talking about cultivation resources. Please tell me you didn’t go through all this trouble just to have a chat with me.”

“I do have what you seek,” the projection replied, causing Marnok’s heart to skip a beat. “Despite my arduous efforts, I ultimately let Robari down by failing to ascend. This is why I worked with others like me to preserve enough coins for a future generation to try their luck. That said, I’m afraid that this stash was never intended for someone like you.”

Micky wasn’t surprised by that. “You’ve been waiting for a Green-born, I take it?”

“Indeed.”

The demigod sighed. “I hope you can forgive me. Unlike many of my colleagues, I’ve never held any contempt for those of lower birthright – this is purely a matter of practicality. Yellow-borns cannot ascend to godhood, thus we cannot afford to squander our limited supply of coins on them.”

“Why didn’t you pick a bunch of Green-borns to support before your deaths?” Micky asked.

“We did,” Ludwick replied. “We still had enough beast mana for all the Green-borns alive at the time, and we even left them enough to pass to the generation after them. Unfortunately, the fact that we are having this conversation probably means that they, too, have failed to attain divinity, and that something has broken the chain of inheritance. This place is our last resort – a final attempt to grant advancement resources to a generation of Green-borns in the far future, who are otherwise incapable of procuring them.”

Micky nodded, the Saint’s words once again corroborating his prior information. Clearly, the demigods had hidden some of their stashes so well that they hadn’t been found for a very long time, probably setting up some vague clues that would eventually reveal themselves – all so that they could lead people like the four Commodores here one day.

“I see. I’m not aiming for the Clear grade personally, but I’m here on behalf of one of those Green-borns,” Micky explained, sticking to his host’s story. “The problem is that I’m stranded on the island. I only ask that you help me protect myself for a few years, until my superior sends people after me. I’ll give him the Amber then.”

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“That won’t work.” Ludwick shook his head. “I’m only allowed to personally hand the resources to a verified Inheritor – not their representative. Any unauthorized person who steps into this tomb is to be eliminated.”

Marnok’s eyes widened, clearly neither him nor Micky having expected the conversation to take such a drastic turn. The Saint continued, however.

“Once again, I must ask for your forgiveness, young man. This isn’t personal, but the coins are too precious to fall in the wrong hands. I only hope that the next person who reaches this place will be a Green-born, as this projection will not be operational a second time.”

With little warning, the background hum grew louder, a high-pitched sound stabbing into Marnok’s skull, blurring his vision and bringing him to his knees. Micky scrambled to think of a way to convince the demigod to let them go, only to realize that he couldn’t even open his mouth.

Horror gripped their heart as the enchantments across the room shifted colour at once, an ominous crimson light permeating the tomb. Micky tried to recall where the hole in the ceiling was. The illusion had masked it, but he knew it had to be there somewhere.

The problem was that even lifting his host’s head was a struggle, let alone jumping that high. Left with no other option, he reached into the deepest recesses of his mind, hoping that he could activate Metatron’s Decree again, now that he wasn’t on Remior.

‘I’m sorry Marnok. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but anything is better than certain death.’

Right as Micky was about to summon a portal beneath the sailor’s feet, something changed.

The painful ringing in their head died down, the runes turning purple and then blue, before reverting to their previous colours. Micky and Marnok soon discovered that they could move their body again, even the lingering weakness fading within a few seconds, making them wonder whether they had merely imagined the unpleasant experience.

‘What the hell?! Did he change his mind or something?!’ Micky asked himself, his gaze returning to the demigod’s projection.

The Saint appeared just as confused as them, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he rubbed his beard in contemplation.

“Curious. Also, concerning…”

Ludwick muttered, giving his descendant a weird look. “The enchantments were designed to gauge the Inheritor’s remaining lifespan and time to their next advancement – to estimate their potential lifespan. You’re clearly a Yellow-born, but the data suggests that you can live long enough to reach the Clear grade…” The Saint paused, seemingly struggling to make sense of the information. It was only a few seconds later that his eyes widened with shock. “You! You have a second core! How is this possible?!”

Micky ignored the demigod’s question entirely, not in the mood to explain anything to him – the fucker had just tried to kill them!

Tempted as he was to walk up to the old man and punch his teeth out, he knew that he couldn’t even touch Ludwick’s body. Besides, the real Saint was long dead, and this projection was nothing more than a message that he had left behind. Getting mad at him was as pointless as it was stupid.

“Why did you set the system up in such a contrived way?” Micky asked, finding this a more productive use of his time. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just read my grade than to perform all those complicated calculations?”

“Your current grade can’t give me a complete picture. A Yellow-born could have found enough beast mana to advance elsewhere, coming here posing as a Green-born. Even a real Green-born could be a bad candidate to inherit the stash if they’ve consumed too much of their lifespan.”

Micky shrugged. “Great! So, are you saying that I’ve passed your little test then? Are you done trying to murder me?”

Ludwick looked like he’d just swallowed a fly. Still, he begrudgingly answered the question. “I couldn’t put a scratch on you even if I wanted to. Now that you’ve been determined to be a suitable Inheritor, I am compelled by my design to lead you to the coins.”

Micky cracked a wry smile as he sensed how unhappy the Saint was about this, though he couldn’t exactly blame him for it. Leaving his and Marnok’s interests aside, this was indeed an unfortunate development for the demigod’s plans.

Sure, his host’s second core had barely tipped his potential lifespan beyond the threshold of reaching the Clear grade, but it would still take him something like fifty-five thousand years. He wouldn’t necessarily need to advance all the way with both cores, but he would need to get the second one to at least Violet or White to buy himself enough time.

Micky had no idea how much Fools’ Amber Ludwick had preserved, yet being forced to give so much to a single person wasn’t ideal. After all, that much mana would be enough for around ten Green-borns to become demigods.

Even worse, Green-borns technically had more than enough time to advance to the Clear grade even if they diluted the coins. That way, the stash could theoretically support up to fifty times as many people – or a total of five hundred god candidates!

Meanwhile, Marnok would have to consume the resource in its concentrated state to stand a chance, thus robbing half a thousand Green-borns of their opportunity. Finally, the sailor wouldn’t even have as much time left to attack the Concept realm afterwards, making this a complete waste of resources.

‘Well, he’s going to have to suck it up. Besides, Marnok doesn’t even want to use the coins.’

The sailor had never expressed any interest in advancing or attaining divinity. He’d only ever wished to bring the Amber back to his superior, to help him defeat the White-core behind his family’s deaths.

Granted, Marnok might need to consume some of the coins to reach Green, to better his odds of escaping the island. Even so, a few years’ worth of Amber would barely put a dent on the stash. Regardless, Micky didn’t speak a word about this to the demigod, happy to let him squirm. It was the least that the bastard deserved after that stunt he’d just tried to pull.

Oblivious to his thoughts, the projection walked through Marnok, stopping at a certain spot behind the sailor. Several runes lit up on the floor, illuminating a square a couple of metres across. The mechanisms around the room shifted loudly again, tiny streams of compressed air spilling out of the edges of the glowing tile as it sank slightly, sliding away to reveal a staircase.

“Follow me,” Ludwick said, descending into the tunnel. More enchantments lit up to illuminate the path behind him. “Loophole or not, I suppose I have no choice but to hand you the coins… and a few other things.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep