Chapter 1125 - 212: Hopeless Pursuit

The wheelchair rolled over the smooth marble floor, emitting a rhythmic "creak."

Sir William Stonefield's bony fingers rested on the armrest, resembling the claws of a shriveled eagle, the bluish-black veins snaking beneath his pale skin like protruding tree roots.

Though he was very old, there was still a chilling sense of intimidation about him, akin to a natural-born predator.

"Do you see, Chris? This is just a bunch of fools blindfolded by greed!"

William said in a hoarse voice, sounding like it was being squeezed out of a damaged bellows.

The young man behind him was blond and blue-eyed, appearing to be under thirty, and handsome as if he had walked out of a movie as the protagonist.

The young man's gaze slowly swept over the figures sprawling chaotically on the seats, watching as the bodyguards silently and efficiently dragged people out of the room. Expensive bracelets, necklaces, cufflinks fell onto the thick, soft carpet; no one cared, and no one picked them up.

William laughed twice proudly, followed by a few suppressed coughs from his throat, his chest heaving violently.

Chris immediately handed over a silk handkerchief, which William took to cover his mouth, his shoulders shaking for a moment. When he took it away again, the handkerchief was already stained with dark red marks.

He carelessly tossed the handkerchief to the ground and continued:

"My poor allies, they actually believe... believe that we can take the soul of a living person out of the body and stuff it perfectly into the shells of these artificials? Hahaha..."

He began to laugh. The laughter was dry, short, with a phlegm-laden sound, yet it had a peculiar penetrative power.

"If it were me... even if I were so old that I was about to fall apart, struggling for each breath, only a step away from the God of Death... I would never believe such nonsense!"

"Nor would I hand over my own soul, my consciousness, everything that makes me 'William Stonefield'... into someone else's hands! To let others determine what I'll become!"

His voice suddenly rose, speaking angrily and disdainfully:

"What's the difference from suicide? No, it's even more foolish than suicide! Handing over your soul to others means even the last trace of your existence could be altered, erased, replaced with what others desire!"

He began to breathe heavily, and Chris hurriedly patted his back gently, whispering:

"I understand, Grandfather, I know what you mean to say— In the future, no matter if I encounter aging or serious illness, I will never pin my hopes on these futile experiments. I will always remember—the interests of the Stonefield Clan surpass all else!"

"Good child, I do not worry about you... I know you will, like me, surely make the right choice."

William spoke intermittently, waving his hand to indicate he was fine.

Although his breathing remained labored, looking at the abundant "fruits" in the room, he couldn't help but let out laughter.

Chris timely bent down and said:

"But Grandfather, I think it's not because they are foolish that they fell into your trap. It's because their confidence in the name 'Stonefield' has surpassed their own level of cognition."

A smile mixed with admiration and mockery appeared on his handsome face:

"They believe, because you and the family have built an image over decades that is 'omnipotent.'"

"In the field of the integration of Magic and technology, in attempts to break the limitations of life, 'Stonefield' has become synonymous with miracles."

"When their own ambition and desire for immortality swell to the limit, of course, they choose to believe in that most legendary, most powerful name—no matter how unrealistic that hope sounds."

"It's not their fault; the 'myth' you and the family created was too successful."

Listening to his grandson's compliment, William's smile became even broader, but gradually it turned into a look of loss and fatigue.

He slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Myth... miracle..."

He murmured the two words repeatedly, the corners of his mouth tugging into a bitter arc.

"Chris, do you know? I too once... truly longed for that myth to become real."

He opened his eyes, his gaze drifting towards those motionless, flawless poppets on the stage, his eyes becoming distant and vacant:

"Forty years ago, no, even earlier... when I first realized this body would age, would ache, would betray my will, I began searching for a way out."

"I accumulated wealth and resources beyond ordinary imagination, and I... I wanted to use them to purchase the most precious thing in the world—time."

"I funded over thirty top research teams worldwide, capturing and purchasing the most incredible creatures from around the globe, researching the most obscure and wicked Magic and Witchcraft."

"I also acquired seven of the most advanced biotechnology companies, having them research without regard to cost into telomeres, gene repair, consciousness digitization... trying even the most absurd ways, even to sewing a monkey's organ onto a human!"

His voice grew ever lower, as though the entirety of him was being submerged by something heavy:

"I invested so much money, so much effort, countless lives were sacrificed for it... yet what was the result?"

He paused for a long while. The hall was left with only the rustling sound of fabrics rubbing as bodyguards moved unconscious people, and the distant humming of machines.

"—What was the result?"

William suddenly raised his head, intense unwillingness and derision bursting from his aged eyes:

"The result is—I spent forty years, invested vast resources accumulated by generations of the family, ultimately only proving one thing—we can't do it!"

He sighed heavily, that sigh filled with the exhaustion of having exhausted a lifetime only to admit defeat in the end:

"Chris, we are just ordinary people! Ordinary people looked down upon and labeled as 'Muggles' by those guys!"

"No matter how hard we try, we cannot transcend the boundary between life and death... This world is so unfair..."

Having said that, he seemed to have exhausted his strength, slumping back into the wheelchair, closing his eyes, his chest faintly rising and falling.

Chris stood silently behind him, looking at the old and haggard profile of his grandfather, the glint in his eyes complex and difficult to discern—

holding awe for his grandfather's wisdom, pride in the family's power, excitement for the current situation, and a deep, hidden skepticism toward that conclusion of "it's impossible" camouflaged beneath his respectful exterior.

A moment later, he softly said: "In any case, your plan was a success, Grandfather, and that is something to rejoice about."

William finally showed some excitement: "Yes...yes... I should be happy... let's not mention disheartening matters..."

He lifted his withered branch-like fingers, pointing to the unconscious people:

"These foolish people still hope I can take them into immortality. But instead of expending enormous costs to exchange for the trifles in their hands, I might as well just take everything from them!"

Seeing the last guest being carried out by the bodyguard, a smile of excitement rose on William's face, expectation glistening in his eyes like a child about to see his birthday gift.

He slowly raised his hands and clapped three times.

Clap!

Clap!

Clap!

The side door of the venue quietly opened, and a group of formally dressed people successively walked out from inside. They had exactly the same appearance as the previous guests, wore the same clothes, and even had smiles so similar they were like copy-paste.

Chris suddenly felt a cold chill crawling up his spine.