A wisp of Madness Fire, to burn away one's own will?
That sort of request couldn't have been common even in the Tyrant's era, could it?
Faced with Nepheli's request, Fu Qian couldn't help feeling impressed.
Even those exiles in Forsaken Prison had essentially been people with nowhere else to turn, seeking shelter. Their situation was entirely different.
Yet here was a noble of the mortal world, going to such lengths to probe him and even offering a secret in exchange, only to ask for torment at the hands of the Tyrant?
The contrast was simply too stark.
Of course, as mentioned earlier, a closer look revealed that the logic behind it was not entirely unreasonable.
She had gone to great lengths to confirm that he was indeed the one who'd pinned the blame for the Madness Fire on the Native Council—and she wasn't trying to hold him accountable.
So confirming that he could produce the flame clearly had some significance of its own.
At the same time, the nature of her request lent a peculiar weight to what she'd just said about the ashes of the apocalypse.
In theory, Nepheli's psychological symptoms should have been fairly easy to diagnose. After all, there was already the even more extreme case of Jade Soul Master—
In his search for miracles, he had seen things he shouldn't have, and as a result began to doubt the existence of the entire world.
Perhaps the difference was that Jade Soul Master had dismissed everything as delusions of his own making.
Nepheli's account, by contrast, suggested that after the apocalypse, a group of lonely ghosts had entered some specially woven dream, pretending the world was still going on.
Even the Warehouse, which seemed to be struggling to hold on, had already failed long ago.
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