aircannonsinc Chapter 498 Where the Heart Leads
Chapter 498 Where the Heart Leads
Chapter 500 Where the Heart Leads
"By learning from history, we can understand the rise and fall of dynasties."
Ignoring Quixote's reaction, Joggs walked to the edge of the platform alone. One more step forward—or a push from behind—and he would plummet thirty meters into the sea. At that height, the fluid seawater would instantly harden like concrete. However, the land cloud behind them, feigning sleep with its eyes closed, naturally wouldn't allow that to happen.
"Some people think history is a clay figure that can be altered at will, while others think it's ashes that have already burned out," the Blue Cardinal said, facing the sea. "Lord Quixote, in your eyes, as someone dedicated to creating history, what does history look like?"
"A pool of filthy, foul water." Quixote stood in the center of the platform, answering without the slightest hesitation, "It's filled with corpses, lies, and crushed bones. The victors of each era crouched by the mud, teaching those who came after to drink from it."
A sarcastic smile crept across his lips.
"Then, they learned the same trick by using that fishy smell."
"Very insightful." Joggs didn't turn around. "So, what kind of person do you think deserves to be a victor?"
"The most popular person." Quixote took a step forward, the rusted metal platform creaking slightly beneath his feet.
"Of course, public opinion can be manipulated. Public opinion, propaganda, fear, and hope are like the wind. As long as you know which way they're blowing, you can drive the crowd like sheep. You and I both know what the Plasma Group has done to the United States over the years. So-called public opinion" is not some sacred and inviolable scale; it's merely something that can be measured...
Variables that are calculated and guided.
In other words, those who win the hearts of the people—
"The one who is best at calculation," Quixote replied without hesitation. "That's why I chose that monster N to be king."
Jorge was silent for a moment.
Swans, startled from the distant reefs, soared and flew towards the hazy sky. The seawater beneath their feet lapped against the platform's supports, producing a dull, rhythmic sound.
"—No, that's still not right."
The historian suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but like a stone thrown into a deep pool.
"Lord Quixote, this is a classic example of circular reasoning. The one who becomes the victor in history is, of course, the one who has the support of the people; and the one who has the support of the people is, of course, the one who can best win the trust of the people—you've just repeated this logic in a more unpleasant way."
"And what do you think?" Quixote's voice came from behind, indifferent. "What kind of person should a king be?"
Joggs did not answer immediately.
He took another half step forward, his boot toes almost protruding from the edge of the platform. Thirty meters below, the sea shimmered a dark, leaden gray in the twilight, the waves rising and falling like the breath of some enormous creature, never ceasing.
"A king doesn't have to be the wisest person," he said. "He doesn't have to be the most powerful. He doesn't even have to be the best at uniting people."
"Oh?" Quixote raised an eyebrow slightly.
"For wisdom will dry up, strength will grow old, and hearts will betray. And even if these things were perfectly intact, they alone could not support a stable throne. They are like the wind you just mentioned—the direction changes, the force diminishes, and a flag that blows east today may point west tomorrow."
Seemingly tired of gazing at the boundless sea, Joggs turned to the side and sighed wistfully. The sea breeze clung his blue robe to his body, outlining his slightly gaunt figure.
"There is something that lasts longer than any of these."
Quixote remained silent. The eye that was visible outside the blindfold narrowed slightly, with the alertness of a wild beast sensing danger.
"It's destruction," Joggs said directly, without keeping anyone in suspense.
"The ability to cause maximum destruction at any time—that is the true qualification of a king."
"Destruction?" Quixote repeated the word, his gaze unconsciously drifting to the mirror that Joggs had hidden in his sleeve.
"Destruction itself is certainly not the goal." Joggs turned completely around, his gaze fixed on the head of the sages before him. "But the ability to destroy—especially the ability to overturn the chessboard at any moment"—is the cornerstone of all power. Think about it carefully, what do those who truly sit on the throne rely on? Wisdom? Virtue? Popular support? None of these. These are merely the paint they use to embellish their image."
"I never expected your views on politics and history to be even more critical than mine."
"This is the calculation you most admire, Lord Quixote," the Blue Cardinal stated sternly, revealing his opinion.
"The cost of maintaining the status quo is lower than the cost of eliminating them. To put it more bluntly—if someone has the power to reduce the entire Union to ashes in a single day, everyone will surround that person, urging them not to do so. They will give them land, titles, and everything they desire, as long as they remain quiet and don't ignite the powder keg."
"That sounds a bit like robber logic," Quixote sneered.
"History itself is a long, serialized bandit novel," Joggs replied calmly. "By studying history, we can understand the rise and fall of dynasties. And all these rises and falls, over and over again, are nothing more than the same thing—one group that has the power of destruction overthrows another group that has the power of destruction, and then uses the same methods to consolidate its own position. Don't you agree?"
"Agreed, I couldn't agree more!" 'Foolish Carnival' pressed his forehead, almost bursting into laughter. "I understand now. Why you, the calmest and most neutral of all the sages, would choose such an extreme method."
"I originally thought that the existence of your adopted son would make him the king who could shake up the chessboard of the United States," Joggs said. "However, I now have to admit that I did overestimate the situation."
Quixote scoffed, "That guy is still too weak."
"You're wrong again, Lord Ghetsis." The historian shook his head. "On the chessboard, a king who charges recklessly is far less formidable than one who hides in a heavily guarded castle, surrounded by layers of protection. The real problem with Team Plasma lies with us, the subordinates entrusted with the king's trust—we misjudged the balance of power between ourselves and the Alliance, and that is the root cause of our current predicament."
"It's just that the other side has a superior player," the Sage Leader insisted, maintaining his opinion. "Compared to the Alliance Champion's absolute power in that faction, our Sage Council's decision-making process is far too sluggish and conservative. And N is unwilling to shoulder the responsibilities befitting the King—that's what I mean by 'weakness.'"
The wise men check and balance each other, and N cannot become a true king. Isn't it precisely because there is a "pope" of "foolish revelry" in the order?
Joggs, who had always remained aloof and neutral in the factional struggles within the Plasma Group, did not utter this slightly offensive question. He simply raised his hand and pointed to the stone tablet in Qychth's hand.
"Even decentralized power has its purpose. If the current order were a one-man show by His Majesty the King, I probably wouldn't be asking you for this."
Compared to the steel slab next to it that gleamed with a cold, metallic sheen, the rock slab looked like an ordinary brown brick. But judging from the occasional glances that the land cloud would stealthily lift its eyelids towards the slab, it must truly contain a powerful energy capable of altering the weather of the entire coastal region.
"Well?" asked the "Exiled Ocarina," "the quagmire of history is filthy and corrupt; are you willing to plunge into it?"
"I've always been a resident there," Quixote shrugged dismissively. "If I intended to refuse you, I wouldn't have come here in the first place."
"It seems the alliance has made some clever moves again."
Seeing that Quixote showed no sign of resistance, Joggs sighed. This old friend, who was usually quite protective of his public image, had so readily agreed to his plan, which showed that Team Plasma had truly been forced to take a desperate gamble.
"If we keep searching, there might be other organizations in other regions willing to trade our stone tablets for strategic resources, like the Lava Team did. At the very least, we could use them as collateral to pawn the Black Market's underground banks and hire a bunch of fearless outlaws—" Quixote paused, "Of course, compared to what you're about to do, those guys' destructive capabilities are negligible."
He handed over the stone slab that symbolized unwavering will.
"Then, let's present your teachings to the United Nations through 'Exile of the Odeon Shards'."
Joggs took the stone slab and, without hesitation, placed it in the hands of the Earth Cloud. The moment the latter touched the stone slab, its aura surged.
"Lord Ghettoss, if you wish to leave, please do so now," Joggs said calmly. "Once Landorus unleashes its power, this will no longer be an area where Pokémon can roam freely."
"Heh, soon the entire Unova won't be like that either."
The outline of the Coffin of Death appeared behind Quixote. The coffin lid opened, and the Sage took a step back, disappearing into the black, other-dimensional space.
The next second, the open door slammed shut—the Coffin of Death launched a "Sneak Attack" and disappeared from the ocean platform.
This "fool's carnival" is probably headed for the Black Market next. After all, at this critical juncture, Quigish will not let the remaining stone tablet go to waste.
The historian glanced at the land cloud beside him.
"Then let's begin."
His voice was understated.
""sandstorm"."
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