Slytherin forcefully suppressed his legendary arrogance—a genuinely rare sight, for he was thoroughly shaken to his core.
He simply couldn’t comprehend the implications. The intricate plan they had painstakingly constructed, sacrificing countless lives over centuries, had collapsed utterly the mont Erwin revealed the terrible truth.
It reminded him of the devastating shock rlin must have experienced when he learned the truth. Years of perseverance, mountains of sacrifices, endless effort—all for this outco.
No one could accept it!
Now, Slytherin possessed only one consuming thought: he needed to know the truth. No matter the cost, he had to understand the complete picture. For himself, for everyone who had sacrificed themselves, and for the perseverance he had maintained for so long.
Slytherin stared at Erwin with desperate intensity. "Why? Why did he do this?"
Slytherin didn’t know how Erwin knew all this. He didn’t even understand why, hearing these words from Erwin, he felt compelled to believe them absolutely.
Logically, he was an inherently suspicious man by nature, but at this mont, the thought that Erwin might be lying never even crossed his mind.
Ravenclaw continued listening quietly, not uttering a single word. Her brilliant mind had already pieced together substantial portions of the puzzle from the conversation.
She summarized the key points ntally: A powerful, terrifying figure exists. rlin and Slytherin intended to oppose him. Even combined, they couldn’t defeat him completely. So they devised a plan: fuse the two most noble and special bloodlines of the West—rlin’s and Pendragon’s. The bloodlines were opposing forces, yet in Erwin’s body, they successfully rged. But now, Erwin claims their plan was known all along, orchestrated secretly from behind the scenes. In other words, Slytherin and his allies had been a joke from the very beginning.
Ravenclaw looked at her old friend. She didn’t know what to say. Years of ideals vanishing into thin air—a devastating blow, especially for the intensely prideful Slytherin.
Yet Ravenclaw also found herself genuinely intrigued by Erwin’s revelations. He had dropped his pretense, revealing information she had never encountered before.
Erwin glanced at Slytherin. "It’s elegantly simple. The only reason he allowed you to plot against him—and even secretly fueled your efforts—is that your actions served his interests. He wants to fuse top-tier bloodlines into one person, then strip away the bloodline to create a god."
Slytherin frowned with obvious confusion. "Gods? Isn’t that simply about wielding power? You’re already a god!"
Erwin shook his head firmly. "Your Majesty, you’re truly naive even now. You still don’t understand. Eastern and Western gods are completely different things! Western gods aren’t even true gods in the proper sense; they can’t achieve genuine immortality. Only Eastern gods, born from the blood of the ancient gods, are true gods, capable of eternal existence."
He continued his explanation. "The West is called the Land of the Rising Dragon for many profound reasons. The blood of the ancient gods nurtured everything—including the dragon veins and the gods themselves. But Western gods only erged because the dragon veins had dissipated from that region, and these powers arose for easier managent of diminished magic."
"Take Death, for example," Erwin elaborated. "Death wields the authority of death itself, but he can’t achieve immortality like the gods of the East. The reason he’s existed so long is that he needs the power of death to continuously maintain his physical body. Otherwise, why do you think he beca that inhuman, ghostly state you’ve witnessed?"
After delivering this explanation, Erwin deliberately gave Slytherin and Ravenclaw ti to process the overwhelming information.
He had revealed far too much today, but it was absolutely necessary. He needed Slytherin to understand everything completely so the Founder would willingly hand over what Erwin required.
In Erwin’s analytical eyes, the Western gods were fundantally defective by design. That was precisely why the being imprisoned in the hole had spoken those specific words to him: using authority to sustain one’s life.
While it offered a form of indirect immortality—as long as the authority existed, one wouldn’t die—it also progressively corrupted the wielder.
The power of authority was imnse, but it was truly not a beneficial thing. If one beca overly influenced by power, they would gradually be assimilated by it completely.
Power was strength, a gift, and also a curse.
It took Slytherin and Ravenclaw considerable ti to process all the information thoroughly.
Slytherin eventually sat heavily on the ground, utterly disgraceful in posture. At this mont, he was no longer the high and mighty Salazar Slytherin, one of the legendary Four Founders. No longer a top-tier pure-blood noble of supre lineage.
He was just an old man—a lost and profoundly disillusioned old man. He had even abandoned maintaining his dignified appearance.
Ravenclaw approached Slytherin slowly, hesitating for a mont before speaking. "Salazar, are you alright?"
Slytherin released a bitter smile. "No, not at all! Ah, Rowena, we were so ridiculously foolish, weren’t we? Thinking we were so brilliantly clever, but actually, we were being manipulated at every turn! We were like clowns performing for an audience, and we didn’t even realize it!"
Ravenclaw sat down next to Slytherin, gently patting his shoulder with unexpected compassion. "Alright, Salazar, this isn’t the Salazar Slytherin I know. Have you forgotten? Everyone makes mistakes, but so people have the chance to correct them, and so don’t. What we need to do is ensure we get a chance to correct our mistakes every ti and make proper ands for them."
Salazar looked at Ravenclaw with dawning comprehension. Suddenly, as though rembering sothing crucial, he laughed—a sound mixing bitterness and renewed hope.
"Yes, Rowena, you’ve always been more rational than the rest of us. You’re absolutely right, we were wrong, we were foolish, but we have a chance to set things right."
Slytherin deliberately looked at Erwin and stood up with renewed purpose. His face rapidly grew younger and more vital.
When his appearance had fully returned to normal, a distinct hint of lancholy remained visible on Slytherin’s aristocratic features.
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