Chapter 1201
Forgrim: A Man of Both Intellectual and Middle-Aged Talent
Chapter 1201 Forgrim: A Man of Both Intellectual Youth and Teenage Idiots
Forgrim stood amidst the milky waves parted by golden flames, as if frozen in place by something.
He gazed at the man who walked step by step from the depths of the golden flames, his throat bobbing slightly, as if he wanted to say something, or as if he had suddenly forgotten what he was supposed to say.
Only when that almost instinctive tremor finally overwhelmed all his thoughts did he, with a slight daze that he himself was unaware of, ask in a low voice:
"Who are you...?"
When Forgrim uttered that question, even he himself found it strange.
Logically speaking, he shouldn't be so slow at this time.
Throughout his life, he has never lacked judgment, confidence, or composure in the face of the unknown.
He knew what he wanted, and he had been using his own hands and will to carve those few clear, almost obsessive goals out of the ruins, inch by inch.
He sought ultimate perfection, not superficial splendor, but a flawless unity of power, order, and beauty in the same thing.
He wanted civilization to truly rise up, no longer surviving on famine and plunder, but to resume operation in a way that was noble, stable, and elegant enough.
He wanted the ultimate form of art, the kind of beauty that wouldn't be considered superfluous even in the harshest reality.
He wanted to know where he came from, why he was so different from everyone else in the world, and why he naturally knew things that others might never even grasp in their entire lives.
Above all that, he wanted to find a benchmark that he could truly accept, one that could explain why he was the way he was and where he would ultimately go.
Looking at the person in front of him, Forgrim felt that many questions that had been weighing on his mind for years no longer needed to be asked in words.
Why am I different from others?
Why do we know how to fix machines, organize city-states, and rebuild order from a young age?
Why do I instinctively reject vulgarity, chaos, and inferiority, and why do I so obsessively pursue the perfect unity of form and function?
Why, even though I was born into such a dying and desolate world, do I still have an almost out-of-place belief that things shouldn't be like this, and that the world shouldn't be nothing but hunger, plunder, and submission?
These questions vanished the moment they saw the other person, as if gently brushed away by an invisible hand, all converging on a simple conclusion—because he was never born to adapt to this ruin.
And now, the answer is right in front of him.
It's perfect!
This was Forgrim's first impression of his elderly father.
What Xia Xiu presented was the ultimate pinnacle of human aesthetics in Forgrim's understanding.
His flawless physique, combining the strength of a warrior with the elegance of an artist, and his face that blends the vibrancy of youth with the depth of old age, made even this master of appearances utterly impressed him.
Of course, the beauty here is not simply about appearance, but rather the cognitive influence that Forgrim himself had when observing Shashow's great spirituality.
Different people will see completely different images of Lao Xia. The image he presents will perfectly match the observer's deepest desires, obsessions and cognitive system.
Therefore, the seventh son, Forgrim, loved beauty, and his obsession with perfection, order, civilization, and redemption was revealed when he saw his father.
More importantly, Forgrim sensed something from the other person that could not be faked or misjudged—bloodline.
Xia Xiu looked at the child before him, who still held the sword but whose eyes already held the answer, and didn't beat around the bush any further. He simply stood amidst the still-burning golden flames, holding the silver staff, with a faint smile on his face, and began to speak in the tone that Forgrim liked:
“My name is Hugh Abraham. As for who I really am, I think you already have the answer in your heart.”
“Sometimes blood ties can reach the truth before language, so if you need, I can certainly tell you clearly about your origins, why you are in this dying world, and what you can get from me in the future.”
"But if you already know which side you should stand on, then there's no need for us to drag this encounter into a long lecture. After all, some things, once recognized, are already closer to the truth than any explanation."
Xia Xiu felt like he was about to have a bout of his artsy, pretentious phase when he said this, but there was nothing he could do; the kid just liked this kind of thing, so he could only go along with it.
Who can blame the child for having a penchant for artsy types... I wonder if they'll encounter any hotheads in the future.
At this moment, Forgrim was unaware that his father had described him as having a severe case of "intellectualism." Instead, he was excited, as if his XP had been satisfied.
He deftly sheathed his sword, bent his knees, and knelt on one knee.
He held the sword Carax with both hands, looked up at Xia Xiu, and uttered a line reminiscent of a late-stage, pretentious, and somewhat childish declaration to Xia Xiu:
"If bloodline speaks before language, if the echoes of my soul have already shown me the way, then why should I ask fate for a second proof?"
“Your Majesty Abraham, my Father, I offer you my sword, my name, my glory, my future, and all that I have yet to accomplish.”
"If you are willing to accept me, I will fight for you, govern for you, and complete the order and civilization that have not yet been completed for you, from this day forward, until my will, my blood and my sword come to an end."
Seventh brother, you're such a chuunibyou (a person with delusions of grandeur).
Although Xia Xiu was internally struggling, he managed to keep a straight face.
Xia Xiu had been quietly watching for a long time, long before the young man was sitting at the negotiating table, trying to resolve the issue of the last city-state through a meeting.
He saw how Forgrim persuaded others, and he also saw how the boy, knowing the other party had ill intentions, was still willing to enter that meeting room.
He also saw that when the boy actually took action, he showed no hesitation or weakness, demonstrating a sense of proportion in knowing when to talk and when to kill, as well as the influence of old man [Shalis] on the boy.
However, it's not a big problem. Although his hobbies are somewhat influenced by [Shalis], he is witty and humorous enough, mostly a fun-loving person, and also has a bit of a literary and chuunibyou (middle school syndrome) personality.
These attributes effectively neutralized the perverse influence of [Shalis] on him, and gave Forgrim a unique sense of contrast.
When the old man first saw Forgrim grinning with pleasure at the sight of the blood-soaked ground, he thought the kid needed a few more correction punches.
However, after spending some time together, he felt somewhat at ease about Lao Qi.
To put it bluntly, Forgrim's personality is that of a child with some strange quirks who sets very high standards for himself and pushes himself very hard.
All I need to do is set a good example, teach by example, teach according to students' aptitude, and cooperate with Lao Qi's chuunibyou performance.
The seventh child's intellectual and adolescent tendencies are indeed quite severe, but it's not a big problem. After all, a child with enthusiasm, ideals, and drive is much easier to manage than one whose mind is only filled with killing.
I wonder if the perfect embryo that returns later will actually have a child whose mind is only filled with killing.
With that in mind, Xia Xiu, in keeping with Forgrim's overly dramatic sense of ritual, reached out and took the Karax sword that was being held high.
"Get up, my child."
After cooperating with his child's performance, Xia Xiu gripped Forgrim's sword and looked out over the entire Heavy Capital Factory, while Forgrim stood beside him like a well-behaved child.
It's worth noting that Forgrim's second-in-command, Edron, was still somewhat dazed at this moment.
In the end, he was supposed to be accompanying his father to a meeting today, but as the meeting progressed, a bunch of disgusting white monsters appeared in the meeting room, making you want to gouge your eyes out. Then, a mysterious man holding a silver cane and speaking like some important person fell from the sky.
Then, without saying a word, his master knelt down on one knee, raised his sword, and swore allegiance on the spot.
What does all this have to do with anything?
Aren't we here for a meeting?
What did I do to you?
This series of developments would have stumped even someone with a slightly sharper mind, let alone his deputy. However, Aidoron's greatest strength was that, although he might not be quick-witted, he was very good at reading the room.
Since their own master has already knelt down, this man who appeared with a golden sea of fire effect and made their master look like he had finally found his father is obviously an even bigger "master" than their "master".
So he didn't say anything more or ask any more questions. He just stood aside tactfully and then scurried over, trying his best to make himself a proper background figure, afraid that he might accidentally disturb the father-son conversation between the adults.
Forgrim, however, was clearly oblivious to his deputy's inner turmoil. His attention was almost entirely focused on the Heavy City Factory in front of him, which was covered in golden flames. As he watched the milky-white mutants twisting and churning in the fire, yet still not completely dead, his expression gradually became serious.
"Father, are these filthy things that crawl in the flames and seep between steel and dust the culprits that gnaw at the roots of the Carax and cause this world to slowly decay in the long night?"
Was it they who, in a damp and vile way, slowly instilled decay, famine, and corruption into this land that could have been saved?
As he spoke, his eyes grew noticeably brighter, and his "I want to save the world" spirit reignited. Even the initial excitement of recognizing his father was temporarily suppressed, replaced by a pure and unwavering determination that perfectly aligned with his life journey.
"If we kill this thing completely, will we be able to sever the lesions clinging to Carax? Will we be able to bring this dying world back to order, get the factory running again, stop the sky from being filled with only ashes and despair, and stop the living from having to fight for tomorrow like wild dogs?"
"If the answer is indeed so, then I am willing to immediately wield my sword to assist you and burn this filth along with the shadow in which it hides, for if a world can still be saved, it should not be allowed to continue to drown in such a white nightmare."
Although the child is a bit immature, he has a genuinely good heart.
Seeing that Forgrim was in high spirits and had clearly imagined the exorcism of evil spirits and the saving of the world as an epic hero's tale, Xia Xiu did not dampen his spirits. Instead, he nodded naturally.
Then, mimicking the style the child liked, he gripped the sword Carax with both hands, holding it upright in front of him with the blade pointing upwards and the hilt pressed against his palms. He looked as if he were standing at the center of an ancient oath, exuding both solemnity and the cooperative air of an old father playing along with his child.
"This evil spirit that dwells in steel, infiltrates city-states, and lurks in the long night and suffering is the root of the disease that is corrupting this world, and the culprit that is causing Carax to sink deeper and deeper into decay."
"What we need to do now is to burn it, cut it down, and bury it along with all the filth it has bred in the shadows, so that the world can see order again, see the light again, and see the future it should have."
Before the father and son, who had just successfully reunited and were now quickly entering the "saving the world together" scenario, the milky white distortion suppressed by the golden flames finally began to churn more violently.
This guy knows how to time things well.
The milky white cataclysm, which had been suppressed and churning by golden flames, was no longer content to maintain its relatively mild "liquid" form.
It began to gather.
Milky white liquid flowed back from the surrounding ruins and flame-covered cracks, like streams of milk and pus being drawn back, converging along unseen paths into the same center.
Finally, in that deepest, thickest, most nauseating white expanse, a shape slowly swelled into an ever-growing form.
As it began to take shape, a sound also rang out in the surrounding air.
Countless layers of whispered murmurs, overlapping, rubbing against each other, permeating each other, and secreting from each other.
They seemed to come from cracks in the walls, seep from the damp mud under the floor, as if the whole world was singing the same lullaby in the same extremely soft, extremely disgusting voice.
“Isota…”
"Dreamless Milk..."
"The White Thirst..."
"The weaner in the quiet night..."
"Dream Extractor..."
"The empty nest mother..."
"The sucker of the secondary womb..."
"Isota," one of the offspring of the Great Old Ones, even announces her own presence upon entering the world, as if afraid others won't know her status.
As the program was being announced, "Isota" also finished gathering.
It was a huge, milky-white monster that made you instinctively want to look away, yet you couldn't really look away from it.
It does not have a stable overall outline that can be accurately recognized, but in general, it is more like a filthy living divine aggregate forcibly piled up by countless swollen breasts, unclosed uteruses, translucent fetal membranes, sucker-like mouthparts, and soft tissue that constantly drips white fluid.
Its lower half does not have limbs in the true sense, but is a mass of milky white tentacles, tubes and sacs intertwined together, like a mobile mother nest that secretes fluids, breathes, nurtures and swallows.
Its surface has no skin, or rather, that surface itself is a perpetually moist film, pale white, translucent, sticky, and soft. Through this film, one can even vaguely see the outlines of the slowly floating organs inside.
In the center of its body, several huge mouthparts slowly opened and closed. These mouthparts were not located on its head, because it did not have a "head" in the clear sense.
They were distributed in the most fertile, fullest, and most mammary gland-placental fusion area, with short, milky-white whiskers and fine teeth growing along the edges. With each opening and closing of their heads, translucent fluid dripped down.
At an even higher position, float several half-open, half-closed eye-like structures. If you are stared at by them for too long, you will instinctively want to close your eyes, lie down, give up thinking, and shrink yourself back into a soft, warm place where you can never wake up again.
Above its enormous and disgusting body, rings of milky white liquid slowly floated and unfolded. These were not the halos commonly seen on normal crowned beings, but rather a liquid crown composed of viscous white liquid, the thin light of the amniotic membrane, and remnants of dreams.
It was like layers of swirling white milk, slowly flowing, swirling, and dripping above His head.
Forgrim couldn't help but complain about "Isota," who had her own introduction upon entering the stage:
“Father, if it is said that a kind of tragic beauty can be found in all things in the world that are imperfect, then this lump in front of us is born to shame the word ‘beauty’.”
"I thought there should be a limit to vulgarity, but it can actually combine disgust, stickiness, filth and indecency into a whole and still grow into this shape. It's like some drunken, clumsy creator who blindly dumped a slaughterhouse, a delivery room and a sewer into the same mold."
Xia Xiu then summarized and refined Forgrim's literary and artistic lines as an evaluation:
"Yeah, that's right, all of this guy's facial features have fled."
The father and son both agreed that this thing was really ugly and incredibly noisy, with its own background music and babbling as if it wanted everyone to know its name.
The instant the liquid crown fully formed, Aidoron, the deputy standing to the side, almost collapsed in his legs. Although he had been spared the most direct impact under Xia Xiu's protection, the manifestation of authority from the crown level was still something that his mortal constitution could not easily withstand.
He felt as if his mind was suddenly enveloped by something cold, wet, and thick, and his ears were filled with countless maternal whispers. The world before him was stretched into a blur and softened in an instant. If he looked any longer, he would be "coaxed" back into some place where he would never have to think.
Fortunately, Xia Xiu was standing nearby.
The impact was barely close before it was forcefully crushed by the invisible, great spirituality emanating from him, like an invisible barrier that kept out all the ugly pollution and soothing, which prevented Aidoron from kneeling down on the spot, or even losing himself.
Even so, Aidoron couldn't help but swallow hard, his face turning pale, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the milky-white monster with its crown hanging high, its enormous size making the entire Heavy City Factory seem to rot at its feet, and felt his teeth ache.
"This is……"
His mind was almost blank; he didn't even dare to utter a sound. Only a very honest, yet extremely unsure, thought instinctively popped into his head:
"Is this thing... really something we can defeat?"
The young deputy, Aidoron, was still too inexperienced; the ugly stats and appearance in front of him frightened him.
However, this feeling of fear wouldn't last long, because he still didn't know how powerful the blond youth standing next to him was.