East Coast of Pritt, Tivian. Under the blazing sun of day, in the northern part of this grand city immersed in celebration, a battle of power was currently unfolding within the magnificently built cathedral district. Under the command of the current Archbishop of Pritt, Samuel, the faith of over a million Radiance Church believers throughout Tivian was gathering from all corners of the city, converging upon the cathedral district. Guided by Samuel, this vast and boundless power of belief manifested as a golden, sacred pillar of light descending straight from the heavens, illuminating the wide cathedral plaza and pinning Gaskina in place atop the intricate ritual array at the plaza’s center. At this moment, Gaskina appeared to be bearing a tremendous weight, crushed to her knees by the pressure. Though she screamed and struggled with all her might, she was unable to shake the overwhelming power binding her—she felt as though a massive cathedral had been placed upon her body. “Let me go!! You damn zealot!! Or I’ll pierce you with a thousand spikes!!” Her eyes wide in fury, Gaskina roared threats at Samuel. But Samuel paid her no heed, gripping his scepter tightly as he focused entirely on channeling the city's faith to subdue her. Even as a Crimson-rank archbishop, the sheer magnitude of this faith made it difficult to control, and sweat poured from his brow as his expression remained solemn. Layered Vision—this was a powerful detection system built by major regional branches of the Radiance Church, using the faith of entire cities. In the Church's belief-harvesting system, while most of the faith flows skyward, a portion is retained by the local churches. In emergencies, this ratio can be quickly adjusted to grant local branches more power. With detection based on the faith of millions, even Shadows above Crimson-rank could not escape undetected. Yet faith power wasn’t used solely for detection. In Samuel’s hands, what was meant for wide-area sensing had now been focused into a tool of suppression and binding. Layered Vision had become Layered Shackle, locking down the Eight-Spired Nest’s leader—Gaskina—completely. Of course, though the Archbishop of Pritt had the authority to command Tivian’s massive faith reservoir, such power wasn’t easily wielded. Without prior ritual support, Samuel couldn’t possibly contain such vast energy for long. That was why the ritual array carved into the cathedral district had long since been prepared. It aided Samuel in controlling and concentrating the faith to bind intruders. Dorothy had, under the name of Artcheli, arranged all this in advance—laying a trap here and using the Twilight Devotion to lure the enemy into it. Although Samuel was fundamentally aligned with the Knight faction and not directly under Artcheli’s command, refusing an order from a Cardinal was not an option. And before her departure to investigate in Pritt, Artcheli had already secured Gilbert’s command for the local churches to cooperate with her. Naturally, Gilbert didn’t object, and thus Samuel was compelled to support her, which explained his presence here. Despite the ongoing suppression from this immense faith power, Gaskina—though a Gold-rank being—was still glaring at Samuel from within the light beam. Her muscles trembled as she strained against the restraint. She hadn’t yet been entirely subdued. “I will… make everyone in this city… suffer! “Lady of Pain… grant me power—turn this land into a place of punishment!” Eyes locked on Samuel with malice, Gaskina spoke with venom, and the prayer she had long been reciting in her heart reached its conclusion. She now called upon the divine nation of her faith to grant her strength. And that call was swiftly answered. Suddenly, several protrusions burst from her upper garments. From those ruptures emerged four additional pale arms. Her face split to reveal three new pairs of crimson eyes—six in total—making her entire face appear grotesquely torn apart. With a sharp screech, power from a distant inner realm began flooding into her, transforming her body violently. As divine power surged into her, Gaskina now had eight limbs and eight eyes. Her once-pale skin quickly sprouted short, bristly black hairs as coarse as steel wire. These changes, in mere seconds, were far more dramatic than those seen earlier with Gassmore under divine influence. Along with this transformation came a surge in strength. Samuel suddenly realized he was beginning to lose control—he could no longer fully suppress Gaskina. Previously unable to move, she now braced herself against the ground with her new arms and slowly rose. Her body trembling slightly, the monstrous Gaskina was regaining mobility, inching forward under the beam of light, trying to escape its grasp. “Just wait… soon… you’ll all…” With a monstrous voice, Gaskina muttered as she moved under the pressure of faith. Samuel, soaked in sweat, could only watch helplessly as she fought her way free from the Layered Shackle. As she kept praying internally, divine power continued pouring into her, and she used it to break through the constraints of faith. Even a prison forged by the beliefs of millions meant little before the might of a god. Just as Gaskina reached the edge of the colossal beam, several ghostly figures silently floated from behind the towering cathedral structures surrounding the plaza, landing swiftly along the edge of the ritual array. They were all clad in black robes, with black hoods and veils that concealed their faces and bodies entirely—indistinct, unidentifiable forms. The only distinguishing feature was a mark on their robes resembling a forked symbol. Once in place, the mysterious figures raised their robes in unison and pointed at Gaskina. In that synchronized gesture, countless black chains burst from their sleeves with a rustling hiss, stabbing rapidly into every part of Gaskina’s body—especially the eight limbs. The chains pierced and bound her instantly. Gaskina, who had just regained movement, was once again immobilized—this time wrapped entirely in those black chains. When Gaskina was first bound by the chains, she managed to struggle violently, loosening and even snapping some of the bindings. However, once the black-robed figures confirmed the chains had all taken hold, they each raised a single hand, placed an upright finger to their lips—a gesture of silence. “Silent Wardens… you all…” Looking around at the suddenly appearing black-clad figures, Gaskina, now heavily restrained, opened her mouth to speak—but the moment those figures made their silencing gesture, her mouth clamped shut as if forced, rendering her completely mute. And it wasn't just the mouth on her face that closed—so too did the one in her heart. The constant inner prayer she had been offering to the Spider Queen was abruptly severed. As a god-chosen sorceress, Gaskina’s divinity was bestowed by her deity. Prayer served as the channel to receive that divinity. For the god-chosen, prayer was essential to gain divine power—it was the conduit through which divinity flowed. Furthermore, prayer didn’t end once the channel was opened; it had to be sustained. Although maintaining prayer was simpler—usually just silently reciting within one’s mind—it was still indispensable and typically didn’t interfere with combat or other activities. But now, even that minimal prayer was cut off. After the Silent Wardens made their gesture, Gaskina could no longer speak, nor could she pray inwardly to the Spider Queen. It was as if the mouth in her heart had also been sewn shut—no sound could emerge. With the channel to divine power severed, Gaskina began to shrink with a muffled growl of frustration. The extra arms retracted, the additional eyes closed, and the grotesque transformations on her body reverted almost instantly. Her form, once again fully restrained by chains and faith, lost its strength. Silencing—no, absolute silence. The effect those black-robed figures imposed on Gaskina rendered her completely incapable of praying. And for someone who depended on divine favor, it was fatal. As for the source of this silencing power—it was Secrecy, a force acquired by the current King of Pritt, Charles IV, through his role as the keeper of secrets. Secrecy, in its essence, was a form of silence and enforced muteness. The Silent Wardens were the embodiment of Charles IV’s secret-keeping powers—guardians created through this force, loyal only to him, and the only beings he fully trusted. When he sensed Gaskina’s intrusion, he dispatched them immediately. And once her prayers were silenced, cutting off divine power, she was once again subjected to complete suppression—unable to resist any further. This power… could truly be called the bane of all god-chosen! Eyes wide with fury, unable to speak, Gaskina glared at her enemies with hate-filled eyes. She realized that their plan had been thoroughly outmaneuvered—especially her own part, which had clearly been specifically targeted. And yet, there was no hint of surrender in her gaze. Even in such a desperate situation, she showed no intention of retreating. She knew—her side’s final trump card had not yet been played. The most crucial piece had long since been buried in the most critical position. If it activated… everything would be reversed! … Eastern outskirts of Tivian, at the World Plaza. Within the vast square, the main stage of the grand exposition’s opening ceremony stood tall. A dazzling performance played out upon it—elegant dancers moving with grace, leading the others in a captivating display. Nearly a hundred thousand spectators erupted into waves of cheers under the enchantment of the show. The roaring applause filled every corner of the venue. Almost everyone was lost in the splendor—save for a few whose attention was elsewhere. Chief among them was the most important figure of the event seated on the main viewing platform: King Charles IV. Charles IV sat in his seat, watching the performance with only casual interest. His gaze shifted briefly to a figure not far beside him—the "Archbishop of Pritt." He knew full well this Samuel was merely an illusion, conjured by the Church using some means. The real Samuel was at the cathedral district, suppressing an invading monster. “The head of the Eight-Spired Nest has breached the cathedral district. I require reinforcements…” These words had been delivered to him moments ago by the illusion. Charles IV had never shared his plans with anyone—not even the Church. Thus, he didn’t immediately believe Samuel’s message. He used his own power to cautiously verify the situation at the cathedral before allocating part of his strength to provide assistance. Charles IV had his own agenda, and due to certain mandates, he revealed it to no one—not even the Church. In fact, he was surprised the Church had managed to detect his movements and assist at this critical moment. He suspected the intervention came from the Cardinal who had recently arrived in Tivian to investigate. Perhaps she had uncovered the truth and was now aiding him from the shadows. Initially, Charles IV had feared she might be manipulated by the enemy and turn against him. But now… he realized he had underestimated her insight. With the Church’s covert cooperation, the ritual could now proceed steadily… So thought Charles IV. In truth, his ritual had already begun long ago. Hidden within the many ceremonial elements of the event—in the hands of various staff across different positions, among the countless spectators—the ritual was progressing in an orderly manner. Every line-up, every salute, every slogan, every national anthem, every round of applause… each step of Charles IV’s ritual was embedded within the seemingly mundane sequence of the opening ceremony. The layout of the audience, the stage design, the placement of the VIP section—everything contributed to a hidden, massive ritual array. This entire arrangement even surpassed the secrecy techniques of the Amakusa-Style Remix Church that Dorothy had once studied. Each movement had been meticulously planned in secret by Charles IV. His Silent Wardens, positioned in the most covert places, monitored each step of the ritual. Should anything go awry, they would immediately report it. So far, the king had sensed no disruptions. Everything was going smoothly… Now he needed only wait for the final—and most crucial—moment. Gazing at the noisy venue, Charles IV reflected silently. Though his ritual progressed smoothly, he remained vigilant—fully alert to any surprises. He believed firmly that the enemy still had forces lurking, waiting to strike. His own power remained on constant alert, prepared for every possible contingency to ensure that even in the face of unforeseen events, the ritual could proceed. And his instincts weren’t wrong. Somewhere within the crowd, a hidden force was indeed writhing and watching. Yet that force remained suppressed—held down by an even greater power, unable to break free. … At that very moment, on the far side of the royal viewing platform from Charles IV, one of the most esteemed members of Pritt’s royal family—the princess Isabelle—was standing atop her own platform, gazing out over the opening ceremony, her eyes fixed on the jubilant stage at its center. “What an amazing dance… Since when did Tivian have dancers this skilled besides Adèle…” Watching the extraordinary performance onstage, Isabelle couldn’t help but murmur in admiration. Her attention became increasingly fixed on the masked lead dancer, and a growing sense of déjà vu crept into her thoughts. The more she looked, the more familiar that dancer seemed to her. “This dancer… Could it be…” Just as Isabelle was about to voice her thoughts, her previously focused expression faltered for a moment—her face abruptly froze, and her expression darkened. At the same time, a flood of shadowy thoughts suddenly surged from the depths of Isabelle’s mind. Her pupils began to shift—at their edges, sharp spikes started to spread outward. As she looked upon the surrounding spectators, dangerous impulses surged in her mind. “Pierce… Tear open… Pain… Display blood and brew…” With an ethereal expression, Princess Isabelle murmured these ominous words. Her gaze toward those nearby and far off was now filled with apathy and cruelty. Driven by that cold emotion, Isabel slowly stood from her seat, seemingly on the verge of leaping into the densest crowd to unleash a brutal massacre. But just as she was about to act, compelled by that strange force—an abrupt change occurred on the stage. At the center of the performance, what had begun as a simple ensemble dance had shifted, with one performer rising to the role of lead dancer. As the music surged rhythmically, she leapt high into the air and executed a sweeping midair spin. When she landed gracefully, she swept a hand across her face and—with dramatic flair—removed her mask amidst the lingering momentum of her spin. Her long hair cascaded as she revealed a face nearly every citizen of Tivian recognized—smiling as she looked in all directions. Then, a roar exploded across the venue—a cheer louder than anything the opening ceremony had yet heard, louder even than thunder, shaking the earth. Wild applause and raucous cheering filled the air as nearly a hundred thousand spectators chanted a single name in unison. “Adèle!” “Adèle!!” “Adèle!!!” In the most dazzling performance on the grandest stage Tivian had ever known, Adèle—the most legendary star dancer in the city’s history—had finally made her appearance. She now basked in a storm of cheers and blessings from the largest audience she had ever faced. Smiling, she opened her arms and responded with a dance that resonated with the audience’s fiery passion. Adèle’s appearance ignited the crowd's enthusiasm completely. Although many had already suspected her identity, her dramatic reveal still caused a massive sensation. Tens of thousands were instantly swept up in the fervor, their excitement reaching an absolute peak. In that deafening storm of applause, Isabelle—who had just stood up, consumed by dark emotions and ready to slaughter—suddenly froze in place. Her entire body went rigid, halting the motion she had been about to make. For a moment, all the sinister emotions that had welled up inside her seemed to be suppressed and receded rapidly. The spikes around her pupils shrank back, her eyes returning to normal, and surprise flickered across her face. “So it really was Adèle… I wasn’t wrong. This new entrance of hers—it’s actually quite effective…” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the stage. A moment later, Isabelle seemed to realize something was off about her condition. “Huh…? Why did I suddenly stand up? Was I just… really excited?” Confused, Isabelle looked around and then sat back down, resuming her calm demeanor as she continued to watch the show, trying to piece together what had gone wrong. What happened to Isabelle was not unique. All throughout the celebration, similar phenomena were occurring. Numerous members of the royal family and nobility—momentarily seized by a sudden urge to kill—stood up with the intent to massacre, only to freeze and stop when Adèle revealed herself, dazedly returning to watching the performance. This phenomenon was caused by the clash of two forces. The first was the Spider Queen’s corruptive influence on Pritt’s royal family. The second was the emotional suppression Adèle exerted. After the Eight-Spired Nest’s hidden “Doors” and spies were exposed, the Church’s Court of Secrets rapidly deployed. With the holy warship Twilight Devotion looming overhead, Court of Secrets agents infiltrated the venue invisibly, surrounding and silently subduing each infiltrator and spy. In a single sweeping operation, the Eight-Spired Nest and Blackdream factions lost all their embedded agents in the venue. At the same time, their Dreamscape strike force was ambushed and overwhelmed, throwing their operations into chaos. Their storm front was halted over the sea. Their dream assault had failed. Their planted agents were all removed. In desperation, the Eight-Spired Nest activated one of their hidden last-resort tactics—forcing the corrupted royals and nobles to go berserk and turn the venue into a slaughterhouse. Yet just as they flipped that final card—Adèle crushed it flat. “Such… overwhelming emotion… such intense desire… “To feel it so vividly for the first time… to hold it so tangibly… to see it so clearly… “This must be… the realm of Crimson.” Amid the jubilation at the heart of the stage, Adèle stood surrounded by countless supporting dancers. Arms spread wide, she looked out at the cheering audience, her expression tinged with dreamy awe. She had ascended the Desire Path, and the ritual to reach the Crimson rank required three performances: one for the self, one for others, and one for the gods. While traditionally ordered, the sequence wasn’t strict—any order was allowed. Adèle had already completed the dances “for the gods” and “for the self.” Only the final one remained: the Dance for Others. It required her to dance before a crowd of at least seventy thousand and stir their emotions completely—becoming the focal point of the entire venue. And now, at the grand opening of the World Expo, she had the largest stage in Tivian’s history, with an audience nearing one hundred thousand. Moments ago, she had seized control of the crowd, directing the emotions of nearly every spectator, becoming the brightest star in the entire event. In that thunderous cheer, Adèle had successfully completed her advancement to Crimson-rank, attaining the title “Floral Dance Attendant”—a mythic figure said to dance at the edge of the stage during the performance of the Mistress of Flowers herself. As a Floral Dance Attendant, Adèle’s ability to manipulate desire and emotion had risen dramatically. She could now stir the passions of tens of thousands within kilometers, drawing upon their natural desires to serve her will. Just now, she had gathered the intense emotions from nearly a hundred thousand people, converting them into a calming balm to suppress mental corruption and the urge to kill. She applied this power directly to the corrupted nobles and royals on-site—freeing them from the Spider Queen’s grasp. The power of the Floral Dance Attendant came from the stage—its size, its audience. The larger the crowd, the stronger the desire she could harness. Unlike White Ash-rank Desire Dancer, who used their own emotions, a Floral Dance Attendant could turn the emotions of others into a weapon to influence a few key individuals. Just like now—Adèle used the desire of nearly a hundred thousand people to suppress the Spider Queen’s corruption in a handful of nobles, restoring their sanity. The Spider Queen’s corruption waxed and waned depending on her influence in the region. After Gaskina was silenced earlier, her prayer was interrupted, weakening the Spider Queen’s reach in Tivian—and giving Adèle the perfect opening. Of course, the Eight-Spired Nest’s hidden cards were not exhausted yet—and Adèle’s countermeasures were not finished either. Amid the continued thunderous cheering, Adèle slowly turned her head… and looked to a distant point in the sky. … In the west of Tivian, far beyond the horizon, a violent storm was surging forward, and a figure raced within it, carried by the storm winds, charging rapidly ahead. In the cloudless skies over Pritt, that figure streaked through the air at supersonic speed, wrapped in the tempest, crossing more than half of Tivian in an instant, flying eastward straight toward the city’s outskirts. At the heart of this approaching storm was a man—clad in a high-ranking Pritt military officer’s uniform and cap, his temples graying, with a neatly groomed mustache. His face was clean, dignified, and solemn. He was the one controlling the storm as he tore across the skies toward eastern Pritt. His pupils, like sea urchins, were laced with outward-pointing spikes. This man’s name was Kent. He was none other than one of Pritt’s Crimson-rank leaders, the Marshal in command of the Pritt Army—one of the military’s most powerful figures. During the World Expo, he had been stationed far in the west of Tivian, tasked with both surveillance and cloud-clearing duties. Now, however, Kent had clearly fallen to the influence of the Spider Queen—fully corrupted and under the Eight-Spired Nest’s control—charging toward the main venue. With Harold and Spring currently being restrained by Anna, Kent had become the only Crimson-rank Pritt figure left available for the Nest to use. Controlled by the Eight-Spired Nest, Kent hurtled toward the opening ceremony, but slowed and stopped as he neared the venue—he did not proceed all the way in. At that time, the rioting nobles and royals corrupted by the Spider Queen had already been suppressed by Adèle. To ensure Kent wouldn’t be affected by the same force, the Nest refrained from letting him get too close, lest Adèle’s power interfere and disrupt their control over him. So instead, the Nest had Kent remain at a set distance from the venue—intending to have him bombard the site from afar, inflicting widespread destruction to sabotage the ritual in a different way. Standing in the sky upon the winds beneath his feet, Kent raised his hand and aimed at the distant venue. There, a highly concentrated air cannonball began to form at his palm. Soon after, from his cold, indifferent eyes, the compressed air shell shot forth. Tearing through the sky with tremors trailing behind it, the cannonball rocketed toward the massive, festive gathering—ready to unleash the destructive force of a heavy artillery shell and turn the celebration into carnage. The invisible air shell surged forward—but just as it reached midair, something flashed from the dense woods below. A silver-cherry silhouette suddenly shot up, intercepting the projectile with a deafening boom. Kent’s air cannon exploded midair, and in the forceful dispersal of the blast, the cherry-pink blur that intercepted it also burst apart into countless fragments that scattered like petals across the sky. Seeing those drifting petal-like fragments, even the controlled Kent paused, an unexpected murmur escaping his lips. “Flowers…?” Indeed, the sky was now filled with a dreamlike cascade of cherry-pink petals. The thing that intercepted his cannonball had been a manifestation of these petals—a concentrated form that had now scattered, adding an almost fantastical hue to the world around it. Then, at the epicenter of the explosion, the empty air began to stir—something was starting to materialize out of thin air. Focusing closer, one could see delicate green sprouts appearing midair, growing from nothing without any soil. They rapidly expanded, absorbing nutrients from seemingly nowhere. In the blink of an eye, what began as thumb-sized sprouts had grown into saplings, then continued to swell—branches split and leaves unfurled—until they began to resemble a rapidly forming tree. Staring at this surreal development, Kent initially hesitated, then promptly summoned wind blades to slash at the twisting branches. His razor-sharp wind attacks quickly cut through the limbs—but the severed twigs didn’t die. They sprouted new shoots and stretched toward each other, seemingly trying to reconnect and remerge. Kent struck again and again, slicing the branches to pieces, yet no matter how they split, the growing limbs attempted to regrow, reconnect, and recombine. Just as he was about to unleash even more wind blades to stop the growth, the countless flower petals drifting in the air suddenly stirred. With no wind to push them, they began to drift toward Kent, then accelerated sharply—transforming into razor-sharp blades that shot toward him from every direction. Seeing this, Kent paused his wind blade assault and waved his hand, conjuring a raging whirlwind shield that blew away the incoming petals, protecting him for the moment. Meanwhile, the previously fragmented tree branches took advantage of the lull to rapidly reconverge. Thin branches and vines intertwined in the air, swiftly forming a larger structure—but not that of a typical tree. Instead, the branches and vines shaped themselves into limbs, a waist, even a head. Soon, the composite formed the figure of a beautiful woman—full curves, slender waist, defined hips—despite being made entirely from wood and vines, her silhouette was exquisitely formed. Though devoid of flesh, the mere outline was enough to stir the imagination. As her face took shape from twisting vines, long hair woven from leafy strands cascaded down her back. Within her chest, a cherry-pink radiance pulsed and flickered—glowing from within the gaps in the vines like a beating heart. Just as her natural body finished forming, the countless cherry-pink petals scattered across the air gathered again, swirling around her and fusing into a delicate, form-fitting dress. In an instant, she was adorned in a petal-woven gown. Wearing this floral dance dress, the eerie yet undeniably graceful nature maiden twirled once in midair, then bowed elegantly to Kent. At the same time, various types of blossoms bloomed across her body, perfectly complementing her cherry-colored dress like ornaments designed just for her. “Forgive me, Marshal,” the nature maiden said in a voice strikingly similar to Adèle’s. “The audience is quite immersed in the festivities. No one wants their celebration interrupted by an unknown aggressor, so I must ask you to stop here.” “But if you truly wish to witness the performance… I wouldn’t mind offering you a solo dance—through this form.” This natural figure responded courteously, her voice unmistakably Adèle’s. Having ascended to the title of Floral Dance Attendant, Adèle had gained a new ability—the materialization of desire. Now, Adèle could convert the emotional force of desire from the spiritual realm into the physical realm—channeling it into a form aligned with the ideals of the Chalice and giving it tangible substance. In practical terms, this allowed her to use desire as nourishment to grow plant life—primarily flowers, the sacred symbol of the former ruler of the Desire Path, the Mistress of Flowers. Roots, stems, and leaves were natural extensions. With this power, Adèle projected the overwhelming desire she had gathered from the World Expo venue into this distant space—creating a floral avatar specifically to intercept Kent. With the support of the Twilight Devotion still lurking in the skies, such an interception was already more than sufficient. … Amid countless looming threats, the opening ceremony of the World Expo at the World Plaza continued as planned. With the audience cheering enthusiastically, one performance after another took the stage and ended in succession, as time steadily marched on. Thus far, not a single disruption had occurred throughout the entire venue. The opening ceremony proceeded flawlessly—at least, so it appeared on the surface. Seated upon the throne at the center of the grandstand, King Charles IV watched the scene before him with a solemn expression. Beneath that calm exterior, however, there lay a sliver of tension and confusion. Clearly, things were not unfolding quite as he had anticipated. In Charles IV’s expectations, hiding the ritual within the opening ceremony would inevitably draw the attention of that ancient enemy. To counter this, he had deployed his most trusted Silent Wardens to monitor every critical point of the ritual and had prepared a wide array of contingencies to deal with any sabotage. And yet, up to this moment, with the ritual nearly complete, not a single countermeasure had been necessary. The only time he had acted directly was in response to the Church’s alert about the Eight-Spired Nest’s Spiderhead. Based on everything he’d heard in the legends, the ancient enemy was supposed to be cunning and resourceful. There was no way they would rely solely on a single brute-force attack. And yet, no other threats had manifested. He had noticed many oddities—such as the star dancer, the occasional mysterious disappearances among the crowd, and strange fluctuations in the distant sky—but none had interfered with the ritual’s progress. So Charles IV had chosen not to act on them, instead pressing forward step by step with the ceremony in secret. Now, Charles IV had realized that someone was quietly assisting him—and it wasn’t just the Church. Even so, he had no intention of contacting these mysterious allies. Following the ancestral code of the Secrecy Sovereign, he was to carry out the Secrecy Ritual in solitude, without placing trust in anyone. Even if he wished to speak with those aiding him, it would have to wait until after the ritual concluded. Fortunately, the ceremony was proceeding smoothly. Only one final step remained. Then, in a quiet flicker, Charles IV vanished from his seat, departing the venue. He hadn’t gone far. He moved secretly to the rear of the site, stopping before the towering Crystal Palace. At its entrance, two Silent Wardens already stood guard. After the ceremony concluded, the Crystal Palace was scheduled to open to the public. But before that, Charles IV needed to complete the final phase of the ritual here. Escorted by the Silent Wardens, Charles IV entered the Crystal Palace. At its center, beneath the vast glass dome, a massive ritual array had been drawn. Bathed in the midday sunlight refracted rhythmically through the dome, the circle gleamed faintly. Around its edges, more Silent Wardens stood in a solemn ring. This was the final stage of the Secrecy Ritual—one that could not be hidden within the public ceremony and had to be conducted personally by the king. Walking silently, Charles IV stepped beneath the dome, entering the heart of the ritual array. There, a Silent Warden—seemingly female—approached, cradling a simple stone sword in both hands. She came before the king, and after a single glance at the sword, Charles IV reached out and took it. “You’ve worked hard all these years, Korina.” “This is our duty, Your Majesty.” With that soft reply, the one called Korina stepped back and withdrew from the array. Gripping the unadorned stone sword, Charles IV surveyed the solemn scene, then exhaled deeply. He knelt on one knee and planted the sword into the center of the ritual, bowing his head and chanting in ancient Pritt. “Keeper of All Secrets… Maiden of Mysteries… I, the Lord of Prittain, heir of my ancestors, guardian of the Wind King’s secrets… come as promised…” His voice echoed through the hall. As his solemn chant filled the air, the array beneath him began to glow with a soft silver light. Around its edges, the Silent Wardens all knelt with one knee to the floor. A ritual passed down through a thousand years, now carried out by a king of that same lineage—everything proceeded in perfect order. All interference had been eliminated. Everything seemed to be on track. Once this ritual was complete, the ancient enemy and its maddening torments would no longer plague Pritt. The kingdom would know peace for centuries to come… As time passed, the final phase of the ritual reached its end. Charles IV began to recite the final invocation. “In accordance with the covenant, following the path of my forebears, I shall… once again swear before You… I vow… urgh!!” Suddenly, something went wrong. Charles IV’s eyes flew open. His expression twisted in agony. His chant cut off mid-phrase as he screamed in pain. “Aaahhh!!!” Clutching his head, his entire body convulsed. From his horrified eyes, two streams of black blood-tears began to pour down. … At the exact moment Charles IV’s ritual went awry in the Crystal Palace, an anomaly struck the cathedral district. The Silent Wardens, who had been assisting in restraining Gaskina, suddenly flickered—becoming indistinct and unstable. In that instant, the silencing effect on Gaskina weakened significantly. Freed at last, she immediately threw her head back and erupted into wild, hysterical laughter. “HAHAHAHA! You finally stepped into it, descendant of Arthur! After all these centuries, the Queen’s trap has finally been triggered! “You didn’t really think the ritual passed down to your ancestor by that half-corrupted Geoffrey was flawless, did you?! This—this was the Queen’s final trump card!! Hahaha!!” Gaskina cackled maniacally and turned her gaze skyward, gloating with uncontainable pride as the blazing sun burned overhead. Back then, what Baldric received was only the concluding fragment of the ritual from Worsioff. He never carried out the full procedure. And with Geoffrey’s mind nearly lost to madness, there was no way he could have passed down a perfectly preserved ritual without any error. The ritual Baldric inherited… had been subtly misled by the Spider Queen!