81: The mastermind and the key to authority

As the eyes of the whole world were fixated on the apocalyptic scene unfolding in the fissure above the South Pacific, a wound in the sky; as countless screens broadcast the tragic images of human fleets turning into seas of fire before alien monsters, spreading a plague of panic to every corner — a completely different war, a more silent yet equally cruel and bloody war, was reaching its gory climax in a resource-rich nation in Central Africa.

The capital was burning.

Soaring black smoke, like twisting evil Dragons, dyed the sky a desperate grey-black. Streets that once symbolized order and prosperity had now become scorched ruins and a twisted graveyard of steel. Gunfire, explosions, and the wails of the dying intertwined into a symphony of blood and fire. The regime, propped up by the Long Family's vast network of commercial and military interests, was crumbling. The attacking force was an Alliance of neighboring warlords, led by a charismatic and ruthless general. Their blitzkrieg had, in a matter of days, torn through all of the nation's defenses like a hot knife through butter.

On the surface, this was merely a regional conflict, an insignificant spark among the dozens of wars that ignite and extinguish around the globe each year. It seemed to have no connection to the grand stage occupied by Lin Tian and the Holy Mountain Organization.

It was merely an insignificant footnote in a burning world... Deep within the Forbidden Ground of the Long Family Manor.

Inside that secret chamber, shielded from all forms of prying and surveillance, the passage of time seemed to lose its meaning, and space solidified into eternal amber.

Lin Tian sat cross-legged, having entered a state of profound meditation. His Physical Body had transformed into a furnace, a cosmic crucible undergoing a creation-level fusion. The "Scroll of Flesh and Blood" was the perfect blueprint from the Origin of the Universe; his own Pangu Gene was the top-tier raw Materials for forging a divine body; and the immense energy he absorbed was the infinite fuel igniting this sacred fusion.

A faint golden halo, like that of a newborn star, slowly seeped from beneath his skin. If one could magnify their vision to the extreme, they would see every cell within him undergoing earth-shattering changes. They were no longer simple biological structures but were slowly, yet irreversibly, transforming into a completely new form — infinitely tiny singularities, condensed with eternal particles.

The transformation into the "eternal particles Physical Body" was a vast project on a cosmic scale, and he had already taken the most crucial first step. His transformation progress had reached ten percent. This meant that the toughness of his current flesh, blood, and bones could perhaps withstand a focused beam bombardment from a battleship's main cannon head-on without a scratch.

He was growing stronger. In absolute silence, he was becoming stronger in an unstoppable manner unknown to the outside world. And the world outside him was spiraling into Chaos...

Back in the burning African capital.

The victor, General Mbata, did not immediately proceed to the presidential palace to announce the dawn of his new era.

On the contrary, his convoy of heavy armored vehicles, with the most brutal force, directly smashed open the thick doors of the National Treasury. His battle-hardened, ruthless soldiers swarmed in like a tide. Their target was not the gold reserves in the treasury, but a heavily fortified, independent vault located in the deepest basement.

After blasting open a one-meter-thick reinforced alloy door with high explosives, they found their target: a small, ancient, and ornate box crafted from meteorite iron. Inside the box, resting on faded silk, lay a chip. It was not a modern silicon-based chip, but a crystalline fragment, cold to the touch, its surface etched with incredibly complex patterns incomprehensible to Mortals. These patterns, under faint light, seemed to writhe and breathe like living things.

A "Key of Authority."

General Mbata, with a reverence bordering on pilgrimage, reached out his tactical-gloved hand and lifted the "Key." He dismissed all his guards and, from a concealed pouch on his person, took out a quantum entanglement communicator capable of bypassing all global surveillance networks.

He pressed the activation button. A continent-spanning link was instantly established.

"My esteemed Duke," Mbata began, his voice, which once commanded thousands and struck fear into his enemies, now filled with the unquestioning absolute obedience of a servant to his master, "the second Key has been successfully acquired."

The voice that responded to him was calm, refined, and carried the weariness of an ancient noble, as if from a world constructed of unimaginable luxury and absolute power.

Deep within the snow-capped peaks of the Alps, in an isolated ancient castle, a young man stood before a massive floor-to-ceiling window. The window was not glass, but a living display interface capable of perfectly projecting the Universe's star map. He was only respectfully referred to by the outside world as "The Duke." His face was never shown, and his identity remained a mystery even to his most trusted adjutants. What people always saw was his back to the world, a silhouette that appeared lazy and elegant against a backdrop of brilliant stars or classic paintings.

In his hand, he held a glass of red wine, its vintage so rare it was priceless. Behind him, four figures in seamless shadow-black armor stood like statues. They were his Shadow Guards, S-class genetically modified assassins, each a walking disaster. Their sole purpose was to protect his safety.

"Well done, General," the Duke's voice was a soft baritone, a voice that could with equal composure charm a nation or pronounce its death sentence, "the war you instigated has achieved its purpose very well."

The encrypted channel faithfully transmitted the General's report. The true purpose of this war was never for territory or resources, but for this Key. It was one of four keys, scattered across the globe after a forgotten war, and they were the credentials necessary to activate a prehistoric superweapon — an ultimate weapon capable of destroying civilization, sleeping on the far side of the Moon.

The Duke slowly sipped his red wine, savoring its complex aroma, while in his mind, he reviewed his grand plan. The first Key he had obtained from the ruins of a fallen ancient South American Empire. This was the second.

"As for the third..." he mused, his gaze fixed on the slowly rotating Orion Arm nebula projected before him, "that will be more troublesome."

One of the Shadow Guards behind him stepped forward, and a holographic file appeared out of thin air beside him. At the top of the file was a handsome and cold face, a face that had recently shaken the entire world.

"According to our intelligence," the Shadow Guard's synthesized voice reported emotionlessly, "the third Key was recovered by the Long Family from a deep-sea exploration site ten years ago. Currently, it is believed to be held by their number zero heir..."

The Duke's silhouette remained motionless. He gently swirled the wine in his glass, the deep red liquid reflecting the light of stars in distant galaxies, stars that were heading towards their demise.

"...Lin Tian."

A slow, predatory smile, unseen by anyone, touched the Duke's lips.

"Very good," he said softly, his voice in the quiet, opulent room becoming a chilling promise, "it seems my interesting game is finally going to intersect with this 'new king of the Golden Age,' isn't it?"

He drained the last sip of red wine from his glass, as if tasting future victory.

"Let him enjoy his fleeting fame..."

"After all, the crown of the king is always heaviest just before it falls."