A Century

Diana's clear sapphire-like beautiful eyes glistened with tears as she took a deep look at her husband, filled with resentment and disappointment at his lack of ambition. In the end, she could only shake her head and let out a sigh: "You've let me down too much."

She had hoped Durandal would choose the ten-year term, mustering the courage to fight for her—that would at least show some backbone as a man!

But this man, for the guaranteed godhead, chose the hundred-year term. Though the time was more generous, it also meant he was giving up his claim to his own wife.

What infuriated her most was that Durandal hadn't even realized Linley was setting a trap for him, doing it all for her to see, deliberately telling her: your husband doesn't have the guts to go all in for you.

Durandal shook his head and said nothing.

In truth, he had vaguely guessed at this chieftain's open scheme, but he couldn't help admiring it—the temptation of the godhead was too great, completely shaking his resolve.

Most importantly, he could see that Diana's heart had long since wandered. She had been a woman who admired strength since childhood, and she had never adjusted well to the drop in status after coming to Hell. The only reason she had endured this long was for the sake of their son Arthur.

This woman was beyond his ability to hold onto. Better to let go early.

Thomas transmitted: "Impressive, Linley. You really know how to play."

He too saw that Linley was striking a blow to the heart while killing the man, though the price was a bit steep.

Linley transmitted back to Thomas: "I think Durandal is a talented man too. Just a bit lacking in strength."

Thomas transmitted in surprise: "No way, are you actually thinking of grooming him?"

Linley understood the deeper meaning—this was the hatred of a stolen wife. Even if Diana wasn't resisting, it made no difference to Durandal. No normal man could endure such humiliation.

Thomas put himself in Durandal's shoes and knew he would uproot the problem entirely, so he couldn't understand Linley's approach.

Linley transmitted: "It's fine. A god who refines a godhead—what potential or threat does he have? Alchemy talent is rare, and I have some interest in that field."

Thomas asked curiously: "Are you so sure he can't become a god within a hundred years?"

"From the moment he chose the hundred-year term, the outcome was already sealed."

In Linley's magnetic sensing, the emotions Durandal radiated were anger, gloom, regret, and suppression—not a single trace of positive, confident drive. For someone like that to become a god on his own, even ten thousand years might not be enough.

With his special ability—Magnetic Control—no one's inner emotions could hide from Linley.

Take Diana's son Arthur, for example. The emotions he radiated gradually shifted from anger to coldness, and some even transferred onto Durandal. Even a fool could see that his mother and father were no longer of one mind.

He hated his mother for betraying his father, and hated his father even more for not being an exalted God-level powerhouse. These emotions festered inside him, increasingly turning into a thirst for power.

Thomas transmitted, both amazed and admiring: "I see. You really think things through."

A person who refines a godhead has their future potential locked in forever, never able to threaten a genius like Linley.

Linley said flatly: "Go."

Thomas led the father and son away.

When Durandal and Arthur returned to their residence, they found their neighbors and onlookers staring at them with sympathy and surprise. Some pointed and whispered mockingly.

"Tsk tsk, these two father and son actually made it back alive. Lucky them."

"Right, I thought they were done for."

"The new chieftain is really merciful."

The news that Durandal's wife, Arthur's mother, had caught the chieftain's eye had already spread widely through the Tianlan Tribe.

Of the women previously selected, aside from those who returned, the rest had been taken into the beds of God-level powerhouses. Most of their husbands, if they had any, had already been disposed of, with only a few spared after pleading for mercy.

Toward such matters, many in the tribe showed cold indifference, taking it in stride, or even gloating.

After all, women were a scarce resource. If your strength wasn't enough to intimidate most people, your wife would inevitably attract a swarm of suitors—whether they wanted to take your place or just seek short-term pleasure.

Durandal's face was terrifyingly dark. His eyes swept the surroundings with fierce, sharp intensity, memorizing every bastard wearing a smug, mocking expression. He swore in his heart: "Hmph, just wait until you face the wrath of a future God-level powerhouse!"

"Let's go. Ignore them."

Durandal said quietly to Arthur, and the father and son returned home to go into seclusion and train.

Day after day...

Time flew in Hell, and the Centennial Pact had arrived.

"Sigh!"

Durandal let out a helpless sigh, but the frustration on his face was mixed with a hint of excitement and anticipation.

Knock knock!

Hearing the knock, Durandal said: "Come in, Arthur."

The bedroom door pushed open, revealing a handsome young man with short golden hair, his face worried: "Father, will the chieftain really give you a godhead?"

"Maybe."

By now, Durandal's answer carried a hint of uncertainty.

Failing to become a god on his own within the Centennial Pact had completely ground away his last shred of pride and confidence. In truth, after the tenth year, he had already been fantasizing about refining a godhead and rising to power in one step. This outcome was somewhat expected.

"Hm!"

Suddenly, Durandal's face changed, ecstatic: "Yes, I'll be right there!"

He turned to Arthur and said: "Lord Thomas has summoned me. I'm to go collect that godhead!"

Arthur was both shocked and delighted, smiling: "Congratulations, Father. You're about to become a God-level powerhouse."

Durandal's entire mind was consumed by the godhead. He hurried anxiously outside, where he saw Thomas waiting for him with a genial smile. He promptly bowed in respect and addressed him, "Lord Thomas!"

"Brother Durandal, no need to be so formal and restrained. Once you've refined the godhead, you'll be a God-level powerhouse too. From now on, we can meet more often and have a good chat."

Thomas's attitude had undergone a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. From aloof condescension, he had become warm and friendly. All of this stemmed from the godhead. For friends of limited potential who could nonetheless bolster the tribe's foundation and serve as foils to his own brilliance, the more the merrier—no one would ever complain.

Durandal felt a wave of comfort in his heart, but on the surface he remained courteous and grounded, not letting it go to his head.

The two of them entered the castle where Linley resided.

Linley sat upon the throne in the great hall. Beside him stood a noblewoman with golden hair reaching her waist, beautiful and dignified. Her cold, blue eyes gazed down at the man kneeling in obeisance, devoid of any past affection—only indifference, with a hint of peacock-like pride between her brows.

Diana felt deeply fortunate for her choice. Following a man like Durandal had no future. Over the years, standing by Linley's side had earned her great prestige; even those God-level powerhouses showed her a measure of respect, and in private, she could still look after her son.