Conquest Sea, the waters surrounding Moncarlo. Under the dim moonlight, several figures stood upon the vast surface of the sea. One of them—a man dressed in a black suit, hair neatly combed, skin tanned yellow-brown, wearing a serpent-shaped ring, and bearing the distinct features of a Conquest Sea islander—stood calmly on the water with his hands behind his back, gazing into the distance toward Moncarlo’s main island. Beside him stood two followers, one of North Ufigan appearance and the other with mainland white features, both likewise standing on the sea. “Lord Swordscale, what’s the situation on Edward’s side? The transaction has gone through—he still isn’t letting Tonic return?” One of the North Ufigan followers asked. The man referred to as Swordscale continued to gaze into the distance in silence for a moment, before replying calmly. “Edward detained Tonic. He just told me the Waters of Youth we gave him was fake. That we didn’t uphold our end of the deal…” “Impossible! I clearly gave the Waters of Youth to the auction house. As long as that old man bought the item, there’s no way it could have been fake!” The white mainlander follower immediately exclaimed. “I don’t yet know the full situation on his end… During our conversation, his son barged in and said the auction house staff had been compromised—put into a trance by sleepwalking. Which means... the Waters of Youth we delivered to the auction house... might have been switched.” Still clasping his hands behind his back, Swordscale spoke without changing expression. Upon hearing this, the North Ufigan follower furrowed his brow. “Sleepwalking... could it have been Blackdream? Did they catch wind of our deal and intercept it? How would they even have the intel?” “Lord Swordscale, if the Waters of Youth really was intercepted and never made it to Edward, then this transaction isn’t complete. Should we go back and help retrieve it for him?” The white follower suggested, but Swordscale didn’t respond right away. After some thought, he answered. “No need for now… Everything I’ve heard so far is one-sided—just Edward and his brat’s version of events. Who knows what’s really going on over there? If this is a setup, going back would be walking into a trap. Remember, we designed this entire transaction specifically to avoid giving him any chance to pull a double-cross.” Though Swordscale had come to trade with Edward, as a Crimson-rank Beyonder of the Abyssal Church, he had no illusions about Edward—the notorious traitor to the church. He took every precaution to avoid being backstabbed once the goods changed hands. Thus, after consigning the Waters of Youth under the guise of a palace crystal bottle, Swordscale immediately left the venue, bringing his followers far from Moncarlo Island and away from Edward’s influence. Only at the final moment did he instruct Tonic to inform Edward how to complete the trade by purchasing the unremarkable-looking bottle. By then, even if Edward wanted to make a move, he couldn’t find them. Swordscale, as a Crimson-rank Beyonder, could travel over the sea at incredible speed, escaping Moncarlo’s reach within moments. Now that the corruption seed had been planted in Vania, and Edward had a weakness exposed to the Abyssal Church, Swordscale’s primary objective had already been fulfilled. He had no reason to return and risk anything. Observation from afar was sufficient. Whether or not the Waters of Youth had truly been swapped—he no longer needed to intervene. … Moncarlo main island, Wavewhirl Theater. The second half of the Moncarlo auction had already been underway for some time. Several items had been successfully auctioned off. Though the number of attendees was far fewer than during the first half, the intensity of bidding was just as high—perhaps even more so. Prices reached multiples higher than those in the earlier session. In fact, just a few items had already surpassed the entire total revenue of the first half. “Lir once… Lir twice… Lir three times—sold! Congratulations to the guest in Box 9 for winning Item number twenty-three: the Plague-Repelling Gloves. Now let’s move on to Item number twenty-four.” With her detached tone, the masked female auctioneer on stage read the result. The platform slowly descended, carrying away the previous item. Not long after, accompanied by mechanical noises, it rose again with a new item—a small fragment of black jade—now placed atop the display stand. It looked like a broken shard from a shamanic disk, carved with intricate ring-like patterns. “There are many mysterious domains in this world that remain unexplored. Among them, the Wistful Sea to the far east of the continent is one of the vastest and most enigmatic. In that chaotic sea where no navigational devices function and no mystical guidance can work, danger and the arcane flourish. Countless treasures and threats appear and vanish without logic—only the most seasoned and powerful captains can return with treasure from there. “The renowned explorer Bartholomeo Varena recently returned from another expedition into the Wistful Sea. One of his discoveries has been consigned to us—this broken jade disc fragment, which he named the Black Moon Talisman. It grants its wearer unique sensitivity to Shadow spirituality, significantly diminishing the effects of Shadow-related cognitive poison, and reducing the influence of all Shadow-type mystical abilities. It is a highly practical item.” The auctioneer’s voice rang out through the now-silent hall. Hearing her words, the pale-faced man with black circles quietly lifted his head for the first time, eyes locking onto the jade fragment atop the stage. “The Black Moon Talisman—a Shadow spiritual treasure from the Wistful Sea. A spoils of a great expedition. Starting price: —— Lir. Bidding begins now!” With the call, a new round of bidding erupted. Quickly, the price of the artifact began to skyrocket. Clearly, many were interested in its practical utility. At that moment, the dark-eyed man quietly retrieved his bidding paddle, stood up, and walked to the edge of his box. For the first time during the entire auction, he raised his paddle to bid. … Elsewhere in Moncarlo, inside Sovereign Sea Fortress. In the dimly lit underground corridor of the massive pirate fortress, illuminated only by sparse torches, the emaciated old man and former great pirate Edward strode swiftly over the damp stone floor, his thick cotton robe billowing behind him. A terrifying weight hung on his face, and his once-cloudy eyes now burned with murderous sharpness. He moved rapidly through the dank passageway until he reached its end. Before him was a modest room. One side opened to the corridor, while the other three walls and the ceiling were solid and thick. The floor, however, was absent—replaced by a pool of water. At the edge of the pool, Edward paused. As he stared into it, the water’s surface began to stir, rippling violently before splitting apart to reveal a hidden staircase descending beneath the water. Edward hurried down. Soon, he passed below the surface into a treasury chamber. All around the room stood locked safes, while overhead hung a shimmering layer of water, casting rippling reflections across the dark chamber from the interplay of water and torchlight. Reaching the far end, Edward drew out a key, inserted it into the lock of one of the safes, entered the code, and opened it. Reaching inside, he retrieved an item—a plain silver basin, half a meter in diameter, unadorned and free of any carvings. With the basin in hand, Edward quickly left the vault. The suspended water closed behind him, sealing the chamber once more. He made his way back through the corridor and up to the surface, emerging atop one of the fortress towers beneath the open night sky. Outdoors, he placed the silver basin on the ground. With a light wave of his hand, a stream of spring water flowed into it, quickly filling the basin. This text is hosted at noveⅼfire.net Once it was full, he slashed his wrist, letting blood drip steadily into the clear water, dyeing it red. As he bled, he chanted under his breath. “...Veil it.” As Edward spoke, a change swept over the entire Moncarlo main island. The previously invisible spiritual mist that enveloped Sovereign Sea Fortress suddenly expanded, surging outward in all directions and beginning to shroud the entire city. At the same time, the surrounding waters grew wild and turbulent. Rising waves tossed anchored ships at the harbor violently. It felt as though a storm was about to descend upon Moncarlo. … Far out in Moncarlo’s surrounding sea, a small object floated under the night sky. Dorothy, seated atop her magnetic levitating flying carpet, gazed toward the distant main island. “Edward already started...” Using spiritual sight, Dorothy watched as Moncarlo became completely consumed by the thick mystical fog. She murmured quietly—knowing full well: the ruler of Moncarlo had begun searching for the thief who had stolen his precious Waters of Youth. And that was precisely what Dorothy had wanted. After viewing the dreams of both the auction registrar and Tonic the night before, a long-standing question of Dorothy’s had been answered. Once Swordscale confirmed Vania had been properly seeded with corruption, how would he transfer the Waters of Youth to Edward? From Tonic’s memory, Dorothy learned that Swordscale would never trade the water in person. He would ensure the exchange kept him in full control. From the registrar Allen’s memory, Dorothy learned that Swordscale had arranged the holy emblem necklace, used to test Vania’s reaction, early in the auction, and that another item—a small bottle—was explicitly requested to appear two or three items after the necklace. With these clues, Dorothy quickly deduced Swordscale’s plan. He would use the auction itself to complete the trade. They’d register the Waters of Youth under a fake identity as a follow-up item after the emblem. Once Swordscale verified Vania’s corruption, he’d decide whether to submit the real water for auction. The delay between the necklace and the bottle would give him enough time to flee with his subordinates—except Tonic—before Edward could betray him. This was the method Swordscale designed: a fail-safe for dealing with a backstabbing traitor like Edward. As long as the plan wasn’t leaked, both parties would get what they wanted. But unfortunately for them… Dorothy, with the help of Little Fox, had made a stunning leap in intelligence-gathering. Starting with the faintest clue from Laurent, she managed to unravel their entire plan. Since Swordscale would consign the Waters of Youth to the auction once Vania passed inspection, all Dorothy needed to do was have Vania play along, win the emblem bid to fool Swordscale, and then extract the fountain from the auction. Many of the first-half auction staff were marionettes under Dorothy’s control. She had Little Fox hypnotize them, then branded them with Marionette Marks to control them. While working, they waited for Swordscale’s men to deliver the fountain. Then, when the moment was right, Dorothy removed the marks in secret—causing them to collapse in public. Any Beyonders investigating would find them simply asleep under hypnosis. From there, all Dorothy needed was for Edward to realize the Waters of Youth had a problem and trace it back. Once he discovered the issue with the auction staff, he’d naturally begin thinking in the exact direction Dorothy intended. And in this era of Butterfly Path decline, only one faction in the mystical world remained active in dreams and sleep: The Blackdream Hunting Pack. “Well then... let’s see for myself whether the rumors are true—that you can track even a Crimson-rank Shadow Beyonder…” Dorothy murmured, gazing at the Moncarlo main island, now engulfed in dense, blinding fog. … “Congratulations! The guest in Box 6 has successfully won the Black Moon Talisman, a rare treasure from the Wistful Sea, for —— Lir! This sets a new record for the highest bid of tonight’s auction!” At the Wavewhirl Theater auction, as the female auctioneer’s gavel struck the podium, Item number twenty-four was officially declared sold. Due to the exceptionally high final bid, even the usually dispassionate tone of the host lifted with enthusiasm. Although the audience was sparse, a smattering of applause still broke out across the hall. After all, this final price was several times higher than the starting bid—over 200,000 Lir, equivalent to more than 10,000 pounds. Amid the scattered applause, the dark-eyed man in Box 6 allowed himself a faint smile. Just as he was about to proceed with payment and collect his prize, he suddenly noticed something strange. At some point, the railing of the box had become covered in tiny droplets of water, and the floor beneath his feet was damp—the entire box had become subtly moist, like a sudden humidity surge in a spring monsoon. A sudden wave of dampness… in the middle of the night… was that normal for Moncarlo’s climate? This question emerged not in the mind of the man himself, but in that of the one controlling him—the Withered Wing. Far from the Wavewhirl Theater, on the second floor of a modest house at the edge of Moncarlo’s city center, a man of a different appearance furrowed his brows. He appeared around fifty years old, with round glasses, a thin frame, neatly combed gray-white hair, and a face deeply etched with wrinkles. Dressed in a black suit, he stared solemnly at the window ahead. At some point, the once-clear glass had fogged over with thick condensation. With a stern expression, the man raised a hand and gently wiped the glass, collecting visible moisture on his fingers. The dampness on the walls and floor confirmed it—something unnatural was happening. This moisture… carried traces of spirituality. A flicker of unease stirred within him. As he remotely controlled his distant puppet to complete the transaction and collect the auction item, the man quickly descended the stairs, preparing to leave. But as he reached the front door and pushed it open, the scene that greeted him stunned him for a moment. Thick fog. A dense, white fog completely engulfed the street before him, blinding his sight. Street lamps had turned into hazy halos of dim yellow light. Visibility had dropped to only two or three meters. Clearly, this abrupt and unnatural fog was no weather phenomenon. “Water mist… spiritual water… just what on earth… is happening here…” Gazing into the haze, the man known as Withered Wing murmured in bewilderment. And deep within the thick fog… a pair of hidden eyes had already locked onto him.