Chapter 103: Whose Good Baby Is This?

Chapter 103: Whose Precious Child Is This?

Power exploded from a single source, like a placid sea suddenly erupting. Everything before seemed to pave the way for this one arrow.

The black flames erupted violently, igniting the barriers before the Archangel. The surroundings became a domain of the dark blaze. At last, the flames touched the fleshy web connecting to his body, and in that instant, a sizzling, corrosive sound of decay and collapse rang out.

Only then did the Archangel, with nowhere left to hide, realize—it wasn’t just his power that was crumbling.

The multiple wings behind him drooped like wilted flowers, feathers falling one by one. In another space, the deity that had only opened a pair of eyes slowly shifted its gaze. Its greedy gaze moved from Amos and Xiao Chuzao in the distance to the desperately panicked Archangel.

Now, those massive crimson eyes watched the spectacle with detached amusement, viewing everything as insignificant—whether it was Amos and the little one in the distance or the "angels" who had usurped the Angelic Realm.

All it needed was despair to plunder power. It cared nothing for their thoughts or attitudes—whether they revered it or resisted it, none of it mattered.

"No, no—I can still—I once successfully seized the power of angels—no—I can still continue—"

The Archangel’s body and power were disintegrating. The Divine Grace Stones he called the Plunder Stones beside him were also shattering, their edges warping space.

The rift behind him began creeping toward him. The Pollution Power that had once sheltered him now controlled his movements, slowly melting and dissolving him—

Watching his own body crumble again was a sensation both prolonged and horrifying.

Of course, it was only the span of a few blinks, but to the Archangel, it felt excruciatingly slow.

Struggling, he turned his gaze toward the little one who had unfurled six wings.

A six-winged angel—

The image he had meticulously constructed was effortlessly attained by this little creature.

Perhaps as death approached, the past flashed before his eyes like a spinning lantern.

There was his moment of smug triumph, only to hear reports from other angels—a different kind of angel had been born from the Angelic Spring. Not only was its coronet different, but its power was too. The Archangel knew this was an uncontrollable anomaly.

But he was an angel—an angel recognized by the Angelic Scepter, the true ruler of the Angelic Realm. At that time, he had been powerless against this little one who had descended with a name.

This was an uncontrollable element, impossible to deceive or mold. If allowed to grow, once it learned the truth, it would bring ruin to all the angels of the Angelic Realm—because they could never offer it sincerity, nor could they hide the fact that they had replaced the true angels.

That was the conclusion the Archangel had reached back then.

The tender little one had drowsily slept in its cradle, and the Archangel had loomed over it, silently watching, thinking: *I will kill its soul, bit by bit.*

And so, the Archangel watched as the little one removed its coronet to fit in, suppressed its temper to belong, time and again repeatedly sinking into despair and tears, time and again rejected and wounded, trembling in fear.

The coronet’s luster faded further with each passing day.

The Archangel trembled with excitement—he had finally cast a shadow over this gem that had shone too brightly from the start.

But in the end, that dimmed power of love and peace transformed into the sharp, formidable arrow now hurtling toward him.

Countless points of light rose from beneath the Angelic Realm, tearing apart his power and body. More drifted like dandelion seeds, scattering across the realm, clinging to the fleeing monsters who had played their century-long game of make-believe—ripping them apart.

Those were the remnants of the Angelic Realm’s original inhabitants, buried and suppressed here.

Xiao Chuzao’s small wings fluttered. He sensed something amiss but had no time to look back, his wide eyes fixed on the Archangel drowning in the Pollution Power.

"No, impossible—" The Archangel stretched out a hand in fury, staring at Xiao Chuzao in horror, his agonized roar long stripped of its former pretense. "That can’t be—"

But in the next instant, his voice was cut off.

At this moment, everything fell silent, as if all sounds had been absorbed by the Divine Grace Stone's erupting power as it warped space—nothing could be heard.

Behind the Archangel, the space expanded abruptly in that instant, like a guillotine, slicing his body cleanly in half with a sharp crack—a scene grotesquely serene in its horror.

Especially those crimson eyes hidden in the rift. But the rift did not have time to expand further. With the Archangel's death, the fissure began to close, and no attack could penetrate it. A pair of greedy, blood-red eyes slowly shut, still craving flesh and blood until the very last moment.

"Baba..."

Xiao Chuzao, held by Amos, looked up at him.

"What was that? The source... of the corruption?"

Amos had already tried—none of their power here could harm those eyes.

And the streaks of light could not reach there either—

It must be.

The source of corruption.

The nightmare that had plagued the Crown Clan for centuries, claiming nearly all their kin, with no deliverance even now.

Amos’ grip on the Psychic Sword turned white-knuckled.

Countless Divine Grace Stones linked together, triggering massive spatial upheavals, glimpses of the cosmos bleeding through.

The entire Angelic Realm was collapsing. Its true inhabitants had died out centuries ago, their place usurped.

The radiance, after its final outburst, was also fading away.

They were powerless against it now, but they were getting closer. It was time to return.

Amos thought.

Then, a massive glow slowly manifested before them—warm golden light coalescing into an androgynous figure, long hair streaming down, its tips dissolving into transparency. A faint halo flickered above their head, and behind them—the budding six wings.

This was the original Archangel of the Angelic Realm.

They studied the little one for a long while before smiling gently.

"Chu—is the surname passed down by the Archangels."

The voice hovered on the edge of dissolution.

As the little one shifted uneasily, the figure softly recounted the past—how they had discovered an alien interloper, appearing inexplicably near their Angelic Spring. They had thought it was a unique little angel. Angels embodied kindness, purity, and power, the counterpart to the interstellar Crown Clan, tasked with handling cosmic aberrations. Their only connection to the stars was the Crown Clan's home planet—places like the Angelic Realm existed elsewhere in the universe, corresponding to the domains of the Longlived race.

Isolated from the world, they had been too trusting and naive. They had tried to nurture the outsider, only to have their essence drained bit by bit by the so-called Divine Grace Stone over time. In the end, their entire race was replaced, all angels wasting away as the disguised monsters took over seamlessly. The Angelic Realm had been unable to react, even complicit in their own erasure.

Almost nothing remained of them—soon, no one in the world would remember them.

The little one was a gift from the Crown Clan’s cradle-world. Though his psychic lineage was of the Crown Clan, he had been born from the Angelic Spring, inheriting angelic traits. By then, the replacement had long been complete. The Angelic Spring had only instinctively bestowed upon him the surname of the Archangel lineage.

"We failed you—"

The voice was soft.

"To deny you a childhood bathed in love."

They glanced briefly at Amos beside them.

A soft sigh escaped—why couldn’t a fostered child be treated like family?

"I—"

The little one hesitated, unsure what to do, simply staring at the other.

Even a power fading like this could still feel—

"We can’t fight this corruption. The Angel Realm has lost its meaning—everyone suffers under that force. Take the Angel Spring Source Stone with you. It will be of use. Maybe, Zao Zao, maybe you’re the one who’s different. Let us—"

As he spoke, countless flickering lights gathered behind him once more, like stars chasing and illuminating, settling upon the little one’s golden crown.

"Finally, to crown you—"

The Little Crown Clan who once came to the Angel Realm—also the last angel acknowledged by all angels—

All this light wants to shine on you.

This is all these fading forces below can do.

Xiao Chuzao felt his drained strength slowly returning, and the Cupid’s bow in his hand changed slightly, less rounded now, sharper.

The little one’s crown shone bright.

"Zao Zao won’t forget you."

Xiao Chuzao tightened his grip on his small bow, and in the final moment before Amos shielded him, tucking his little head against his chest, he spoke to them.

Those sorrowful emotions—

The fading forces seemed to freeze.

In the very end, Xiao Chuzao, worn out from exhaustion and everything that happened, nestled in Amos’s arms, breathing in his scent, slowly closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

Right before he fell asleep, the crown atop the little one’s head flickered faintly. Then, Xiao Chuzao heard the angels’ final words.

"Hello, little angel."

"Grow up strong… Farewell."

The little one curled up in Amos’s arms and closed his eyes tight.

Amos glanced back, his silver-black crown shielding the golden little crown in his embrace. His fierce will tore through the collapsing space as they returned to the stars.

The stars—

Fei Man and Finn were scrambling around like lost sheep along the edges of the corruption.

The two—and the whole Crown Clan—were on edge.

Still no word?

Amos is missing?

Amos disappeared with Zao Zao?!

For the Crown Clan, Amos could afford to be out of contact.

After all, with His Majesty’s power, nothing could touch him.

But Amos, holding Zao Zao, lost contact.

The Crown Clan, extremely protective of their sole youngling: —No, Zao Zao!!

Meanwhile, in a certain polluted sector, space itself warped and shuddered continuously, as if something was about to break through.

That power radiated outward in an instant, rippling across lightyears to unknown star systems.

Amid countless derelict starship graveyards, a massive, bloodied figure loomed like a craggy hill. His enormous body was battle-scarred and ragged, with many areas revealing stark white bones. Above his towering form, a haze of particles swirled over his head.

Within that surge of power, two clusters of crimson flames suddenly ignited in the mountain-like figure. In that instant, he turned his head toward a certain direction and let out a primal roar that shook the void—

In another unfamiliar region, terrified refugees, hiding in fear, watched helplessly as their kin were devoured. They, too, seemed to hear this roar and instinctively turned their gaze into the distance.

*

Xiao Chuzao was slumbering soundly.

The little one's power continued to rise, but his body couldn't withstand such intensity. He had no choice but to adapt by suppressing part of it, seeking a precarious equilibrium.

In his dreams, the little one's psychic presence seemed drawn, merging with a comforting energy.

What was this feeling?

Xiao Chuzao didn’t quite understand.

But from Amos's perspective, the little one's crown pulsed rhythmically, carrying a faintly familiar aura.

Amos, holding the little one, set foot on the blighted world in this contaminated zone. The moment he sensed discomfort, he unfurled his wings, preparing to shield the little one in his arms and fly away, searching for an area where signals from the Saint Cas Empire could reach—

Just then, Amos detected that familiar presence.

It was an achingly familiar presence.

Amos hesitated slightly, glancing down at the fitfully sleeping child in his arms.

And indeed, the little one heard a familiar voice.

"Zao Zao."

The voice was melodic and soothing.

"System?"

The little one knew that voice immediately.

Yes.

He was a little one born in the Angel's Realm, sent by the habitat. The Angel's Spring and the Angel's Scepter had been deceived, merely performing their functions to bring him into existence. But until now, after returning here—to the habitat where he was found by Papa—the origin of the system's voice remained a mystery to Zao Zao.

Each race was different, and the Crown Clan's habitat planet was unique. The little one mused for a moment before asking softly, "Are you the consciousness of the habitat planet?"

His psychic presence mingled playfully with the other's power, nuzzling like a contented kitten.

The warmth enveloped him.

"Why did you call yourself a system?"

"Habitat?"

The gentle voice rippled with amusement.

"Our Crown Clan baby is truly so mentally active—you'll grow up to be a clever one."

Xiao Chuzao paused.

Wasn’t that the case?

"Why 'system'? Zao Zao, this name was given to you by the habitat, hoping you’d shine like luminous algae, bright from beginning to end. But the habitat can no longer do much—it's been polluted, its power stripped away. The Crown Clan is slowly marching toward death, growing more desperate with each step, with despair peaking at death."

The presence spoke again.

"We were constantly led toward despair and surrender by a force that seemed to come from the cosmos’ depths. Even in death, when we return to the habitat, we are suppressed, made to watch our descendants repeat that despair. It only gets worse—while that monster grows ever more excited and unrestrained, tormenting us with despair even now, delighting in it, controlling everything—"

Xiao Chuzao’s eyes slowly widened—that monster.

And... watching their descendants?

Was the "system" a Crown Clan consciousness?

"Honestly, I hesitated all this time, unsure how to introduce myself to you. Because I, too, went down this road of despair, just like those Crown Clan members you've lifted up."

The voice continued.

"Perhaps—you've heard my name from that troublemaker Amos."

Xiao Chuzao's spirit seemed to be gently caressed.

"You should call me Grandmother."

This was Solan—long gone, lost to despair, Amos's mother, Xiao Chuzao's grandmother, a Crown Clan member who returned to the habitat's embrace in agony.

Grandmother?

The little one's eyes widened.

He listened as Solan recounted all that the habitat had done.

The habitat could no longer bear young. It could only collect traces of spirit from the Crown Clan, and in the end, as in the past, used Amos's spirit to create a small Crown Clan child. But it no longer had the conditions to allow the child to be born.

It could only send this little one to the Angelic Realm, the Crown Clan’s counterpart, for him to be born and grow there.

But as the Grail Clan once said, every race has something unique.

The habitat saw visions of the little one's future—the fall of Saint Cas, the destruction of the Crown Clan.

And it also saw the small Crown Clan child it had struggled to create raised in such a way.

In the end, when the habitat sent the little one away, it also attached the last remnants of Solan's long-lost spirit to the child's crown.

Waiting only to nurture the next surge of power before bringing this little one back.

"I was too weak."

Solan whispered.

"And at that time, after facing death, I had grown numb to everything. I once thought—how could anything be so painful? Until I saw you. But Grandmother could do nothing. After following you, ensuring you arrived safely, I had no choice but to sleep, waiting for the habitat's next call."

Solan gently embraced the little one's spirit with her last fading traces.

She was, after all, a departed Crown Clan, with almost no power left.

After doing all this, the habitat was utterly drained.

"Grandma believes in you, but... she still hesitated."

Solan said.

"A grandma this pathetic shouldn’t leave such an impression on Zao Zao—but Grandma has to go now, just as I said—you can definitely do it. Grandma has always believed in Zao Zao."

Solan had meant to slip in and out quietly, like some background system, not leaving much of herself behind for the little one. Perhaps in the future, the little one would hear about the strong and brave Grandma Solan from Amos and the others—what a wonderful image that would be, right?

But in the end, she couldn’t hold back—this was the Crown Clan’s long-awaited treasure, centuries in the making.

The little one shivered.

Xiao Chuzao paused a long moment before murmuring,

"Grandma?"

"Mhm."

"Yes, it’s Grandma. Even if Grandma wasn’t much use, she’s always been by Zao Zao’s side. Now let that troublemaker Amos look after you."

Solan chuckled softly.

"He likely won’t fall to darkness again now, and should have a good ending...? Our clansmen who died suffering, never finding peace—Zao Zao, could you—free us from this suffering?"

Including her.

Robbed, crushed, drowning in pain and despair in this corruption, even after death, they remained trapped in this agony, oppressed.

But now—grow up strong. Walk your path to the end, to a future not even the habitat could predict—

"Grandma, did you—talk to Zao Zao when I was even smaller?"

Xiao Chuzao couldn’t hold it in any longer, because of this sense of familiarity.

Solan gave a soft chuckle, gently pushing the little one’s consciousness back, withdrawing from the little one’s crown—seemingly even colliding with Amos’s energy for a moment.

The little one’s furrowed brow gradually relaxed, just like when Solan was first sent to the Angel Realm alongside the little one by the habitat.

Before she finally fell into slumber within the little one’s crown.

She had gently rocked the little one’s cradle, humming softly and hopefully amidst the light of the Angel Realm—"Rock-a-bye, little one, who’s Mama’s sweet baby?"

How’d that punk end up with such a perfect little angel?

Makes no sense. Damn irritating—

It’s not fair—

Why’d we get so little time?

Under Amos’s gaze—

Xiao Chuzao forced his eyes open at last, his huge eyes swimming with tears, uncontrollable tears spilling over.

"G’ma... Papa, it’s G’ma—"

He flung his arms around Amos’s neck, clinging desperately, his hot, tear-streaked face buried in Amos’s shirt. He hiccuped softly, muffling little sobs—the grown Little Crown Clan boy was reaching back, trying hard to recall the forgotten memories of his earliest days.

He had always thought he had nothing in his childhood.

But—...

"Dada, little Zao Zao... little me wasn't... completely without..." He had something, from the very beginning. He actually knew, but he was too young, and he forgot.

On that afternoon before the Archangel arrived, the already departed lingering spirit came to an unfamiliar place. With the last bit of strength before sinking into slumber, it gently rocked the cradle, murmuring softly—

'Rock-a-bye baby, the cradle sways, whose precious little one... lies here...'