The Emperor’s Angel of Death

At this moment, only then did Soshjan realize that this was a hall of figures, filled with ancient individuals recorded by history. He didn't recognize their names, nor did he know what kind of history they represented, but undoubtedly, those who could be recorded here must have profoundly changed the course of human history. Qingzhao walked beside Soshjan, only answering when he asked questions.

Between these statues were various artifacts belonging to their respective eras. Each time Soshjan took a step forward, he would hear different musical instruments ringing out, either striking, blowing, or plucking, their sounds not chaotic, yet not entirely distinct, as if the entirety of humanity's vast history of civilization was contained within segments of melodies.

Primitive stone chimes and bone flutes played the rough roars of civilization.

Creatures huddled in caves and underground chambers raised torches, shining their bows and spears at those with fangs and claws, who were stronger, swifter, and more ferocious.

"When the first ape decided to crush the bones of its own kind with another bone, an entirely different species was born from the bloody, dark wilderness."

The sound of metal rods striking and horns made from the bones and horns of beasts mixed into a vast roar.

In the endless yellow sands, chariots dragged by hoofed creatures galloped past, bronze battle axes cleaved through flesh and blood, and a crowned king looked down upon the battlefield, admiring the misery of his destroyed enemies. When he turned his head, he saw the magnificent monument built for him slowly erected by the pulling of slaves.

"Empires are not eternal, all kings will die, and their achievements will be buried by the dust of history."

Wooden harps and soft zither music flowed by like a trickling stream.

A peerless beauty in the palace plucked the strings of her instrument with slender fingers, playing mournful music. When she looked up at the outside world obscured by the gauze window, her gaze passed over the protective walls and arrived at the battlefield where blood splattered. Many warriors wielding shields and spears were fighting with all their might, thrusting their spears into each other's bodies.

"Love and hate, desire and loathing, are merely the struggle of possessing and being possessed."

Leather drums and metal-cast bronze bells emitted exhilarating harmonies.

The wind howled, swords flashed, arrows flew, blood flowed like rivers, flames soared into the sky, burning away ambitious dreams. In a great battle, some rejoiced while others grieved, but who could understand the sorrow of a broken halberd?

"Life is like a dream, like the great river flowing away, never to return."

A massive orchestra surrounded a proud conductor, and as the baton danced up and down, more than a dozen instruments played the era of empire.

The rumbling steam train passed through pastures and farmland, and in the smoke it trailed, chimneys rose from the ground one after another. At the same time, soldiers in gorgeous military uniforms neatly approached each other from two directions, then raised the guns in their hands and, with a crackling sound, shot lead bullets into the enemy formation. White mist rose, and corpses fell to the ground in the blink of an eye.

"I came, I saw, I conquered."

A lively saxophone and an elegant violin composed a modern tune.

Starting from the smallest spark, artificial light completely melted away the darkness, and the roar of steam was replaced by the static of electricity.

"This is the best of times, and the worst of times."

The heavy metal drumbeats and electronic bass tore open the old veil of history.

Information began to explode at an unprecedented rate, books were filled with fantastical imaginations, and past legends were no longer just imagination. Humans, like toddlers leaving their mother's embrace, began to run towards the world outside the cradle.

"That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

Soshjan's steps slowed down, allowing the dust of history to envelop him, transforming into droplets that moistened his skin.

There were no gods here, no immortal supermen, and no modified humans who surpassed the limits of the flesh, only fleeting centuries, lives like fleeting shadows. Yet, they were also the footprints of humanity's progress, the grains of sand that built the magnificent tower.

At this moment, Soshjan seemed to breathe, think, and walk with them.

This was the first time he had truly broken away from the limitations of the "Imperium" framework and looked at the concept of humanity, looking back at a broader and more distant past.

Unexplained emotions rose in Soshjan's heart. He was no longer a blindly obedient soldier, nor a machine created for slaughter. He was just a human, a descendant walking among the sages and heroes.

Occasionally, he would stop to observe a particularly unique statue.

Passing by one figure, Soshjan paused to watch for a moment, but did not ask any questions, then turned around and continued forward.

Finally, at the end of the corridor, Soshjan saw the last statue.

This statue was very strange.

How strange was it?

It looked like a strong, naked man sitting on a stone bench, bending over, clenching his fists, and resting his chin on his hands in contemplation, but he had no face. His face was just a blank space.

What shocked Soshjan even more was that there was no name on his base, but rather a line of High Gothic.

This language was familiar to him, but it seemed very abrupt here. The sentence was short, but its meaning was profound—'Know me, blame me, I care not.'

"Who is he?"

When Soshjan raised his hand to point at the statue, Qingzhao replied:

No one wrong one head one hair one inside one allow one in one see one see!

"He is the main sponsor of the Geller Program, but there is no name for him in the database. Those who know refer to him as Mr. E."

"Why does Mr. E have no face?"

"There is no relevant information in the database, but using normal logic, it should be because he doesn't want others to know his true face."

Soshjan withdrew his hand, in fact, he already had a faint guess in his heart.

He silently stared at the statue, his heart filled with mixed feelings. After a long time, he exhaled and said softly:

"Know me, blame me, I care not... Is this what you want to say to yourself, or what you want to say to me?"

But no one would answer him. The statue was still contemplating, as if it were a prisoner forever thinking about fate.

When Soshjan withdrew his gaze and turned to look back at the corridor he had come from, for a moment, all the statues seemed to be watching him as well.

Finally, when Soshjan left the building, he told Qingzhao to take good care of this place. He would come again in the future, but not alone, but with his descendants.

The descendants of the wanderers have wandered in the galaxy for tens of thousands of years, and they must know what their homeland looks like.

Perhaps that person sponsored Geller in order to rekindle the historical and civilizational fire it contained one day, but ultimately, things did not go as planned, and the current Imperium can no longer accept these things—at least Soshjan has no way to do so without causing big trouble.

After that, this place called the Ruins of Remembrance also became a place where Soshjan often stopped. During the waiting period, he would read those ancient histories in the palace and gardens, chewing on the wisdom of his predecessors.

All this continued until Kalistus informed him that the teleportation plan had been completed.