Everyone knew the importance of doing all things in moderation. The Mythic Spirits could all sense that the Tsar was already on the verge of exploding, and they had already come close to stepping on his bottom line. Therefore, they tacitly stopped making their demands.

That said, all the Tsar had done so far was nothing more than a mere statement of his intentions, and they would never allow the three gods of death in their hands to return to the hands of the Russian Underworld right now. After all, what would they do if he suddenly reneged on his promises?

Naturally, it would be far safer to keep the three gods of death where it was safest, such as… with them.

A rift tore open in the void, and Aristotle, Catherine the Great, and Peter the Great promptly vanished into the crack. The Tsar’s eyes flickered wildly, but he said nothing.

He had lost. And as a loser, he naturally needed to play by the rules.

The international community had to treat each other with some measure of regard and respect, and the Tsar knew full well that there was no way they could make the problem go away so summarily. Nobody would condone such rule-breakers.

“Well, then…” The Tsar glanced at the Resentment Crystals and was just about to go on when another voice suddenly interjected, “Hold on.”

Qin Ye walked forward slowly with the Harken in his hands and raised an eyebrow quizzically, “Your Excellency the Tsar, are you looking down on me, looking down on Hell, or looking down on the Second King Yanluo here?”

The Tsar’s gaze landed directly on Fate, and his body trembled slight...