After learning the glorious truth behind this Floating Mountain range and the mists of history, the Arcanists led by Blade ultimately chose to forgive the wardens who had silently guarded the cursed flame in a corner of the Astral Plane.
They forgave this hatred that had been tenuous to begin with.
After all, even from a neutral standpoint, they truly were invaders who had attacked without declaration and taken without leave.
The Silver Dragons had not even had time to do anything to them before their own side had already suffered grievous casualties under this forbidden land's "automatic defense mechanisms."
Though the Arcanists' unjust deaths still left them unable to let go, the ones they ought to hate should have been the source of that Void corruption—the Void Star God Mofite Lan.
Everyone present—or rather, this entire world—was a victim.
It was simply that the enemy was too powerful. Even someone as mighty as Ao, along with this world's first generation of gods, had failed. What could mortals like them possibly do?
At this point, the only person Blade could not forgive was likely himself.
He stubbornly believed:
It was his willfulness and that devilish impulse that had ultimately brewed such bitter fruit.
It was his orders and his will that had hijacked all his companions' patriotism, sending them to die on a charge that held not the slightest meaning.
All of this had been caused by Blade's misjudgment and incompetence.
Why did my teacher choose me?
Why?
He believed he had neither the qualifications nor the ability to serve as a captain who needed to hold the helm, to become the leader of these Imperial elites.
The only thought in Blade's mind now was to lead these surviving Arcanists, carrying the will of those companions who had fallen halfway,