Northern part of the Main Continent, Frisland, Aransdel. In the central district of Aransdel, within the Cathedral District of the Requiem Cathedral, inside the Archbishop’s office—Vania, who had just burst through the door not long ago, froze in place upon hearing Kramar’s words. She could hardly believe her ears. “Pur… purify several hundred thousand to a million people… Lord Kramar, what are you thinking!?” Standing at the doorway, Vania said in disbelief. She couldn't believe those words had just come from the mouth of a Cardinal Saint of the Church. “I’m thinking about how to stop the evil conspiracy of heretical cults! To prevent the harm from spreading to an irreversible level, you sinful nun!” Kramar, who had been facing Sinclair, suddenly turned around and looked at Vania with evident disgust. Feeling the clear hostility from the Inquisition Cardinal, Vania involuntarily flinched and took a step back. “You’re insane, Vambas! Purify nearly a million people… how could you even say something like that!? You’re one of the Seven Living Saints! Is this how you treat the Lord’s children, as if they were ants?” On the other side, Sinclair was equally agitated after hearing Kramar’s stance. She pointed at him and accused him angrily. Kramar snapped back just as harshly. “Yes, I am insane! But right now, only madmen get things done—what about you? Even at a time like this, you still can’t judge what’s urgent or not. If such a massive evil ritual is successfully performed, it won’t just affect millions—it will be far more! It won’t stop at Frisland! When the entire northern continent is plunged into endless suffering and ruin, will you regret your hesitation now?!” Kramar shouted furiously, and Vania frowned deeply, speaking in a serious tone. “Lord Kramar… The cult’s objective is still unclear. We cannot jump to the conclusion that this is a vast evil ritual just because we found foreign substances in the food supply… A purification of this scale, involving millions, would have sweeping consequences. We must investigate thoroughly before taking action.” “Investigate, you say… Hmph. From what I know, this contaminated food has been circulating within Frisland for over several months. Thanks to the incompetence of the local archbishops, those heretical cults have had more than enough time to prepare their evil scheme. At this point, the ritual must already be nearing completion. Any moment now, it could begin! “I wanted to investigate too, but given the current situation, I no longer have time. I will not gamble the foundation of the Holy Church on a risk! No one can afford that wager, not me, not you, not anyone!” With a dramatic flick of his sleeve, Kramar declared resolutely. At that moment, Sinclair rebuked again in a stern voice. “This concerns the lives of nearly ten million innocents! It’s not something you can decide unilaterally! With the Holy See absent, you at least need the approval of the Cardinal Council!” “The Cardinal Council? Hah… Discussing with that bunch of fools at this point is just a waste of time! When they had the audacity to pronounce this sinful nun innocent, I already stopped trusting them! “Talking with those fools is a waste of breath. I will take responsibility for the Holy Church’s future! I believe, when the Holy See returns—” Kramar said bitterly, clearly intending to bypass the Cardinal Council and act on his own, which left Sinclair stunned and shaking her head in despair. “Vambas… I know you’re harsh by nature and cannot tolerate even the smallest heresy… But this concerns nearly ten million lives! For the Lord’s mercy, please reconsider…” Seeing Kramar’s hardline stance, Sinclair’s previously forceful tone suddenly softened into something close to a plea. But Kramar barked in anger immediately. “All you people ever talk about is mercy! So tell me, what’s your solution then? Tolerance, compassion, forgiveness, love… I’ve heard enough of those from your kind! But do they solve the problem? No! You people only know how to gain ignorant support through pretty words. When real problems arise, you offer nothing but obstruction! Absolutely disgusting!” With fury on his face, Kramar glared at Sinclair, then swept his gaze across the room, addressing both Sinclair and Vania. “Listen! Showing mercy to those who deserve purification is cruelty to the countless innocents who don’t! We cannot afford to waste any more time! I will have everything prepared by dawn tomorrow, then the purification shall begin! You have only one day! If you have a better solution, do it now! If not, then get out of Frisland before you get caught in the crossfire!” With that, Kramar flung his robe and stomped out of the Archbishop’s office with his attendants, ignoring both Sinclair and Vania. Watching him leave, the two women stood dumbfounded for a moment. Suddenly, Sinclair moved. She strode quickly to Vania, grabbing her hand with visible agitation. “Vania… Sister Vania… You heard it too. That madman actually plans to kill nearly ten million innocent people on this land! This is unacceptable, utterly unacceptable! Who gave him the right to deal with so many lives as he pleases!? Not even an Inquisition Cardinal has that power!” Looking Vania in the eye, Sinclair trembled as she spoke with conviction. “Calm down, Archbishop Sinclair… As extreme as it was, Lord Kramar is also fulfilling his duty. We still have time. I’m sure we can find another solution before he acts.” Vania tried to calm her down. It had some effect, but not much. Sinclair still looked distressed. “Yes… a solution must be found. But for such a large ritual, it’s impossible to resolve it in just a day. What we need first and foremost is more time, so we must stop that madman! “As a Cardinal Saint… only another Cardinal can stop him now. Sister Vania—you’re known to have close ties to the Redemption Cardinal. That madman might have lost all regard for the Cardinal Council, but he didn’t attack you directly, likely fearing to draw the Redemption Cardinal out… You must have something she left with you, some kind of safeguard…” Holding tightly onto Vania, Sinclair spoke with utmost seriousness. Vania slowly nodded in response. “I see… That’s good. That means the madman still fears her to some extent. Listen to me, only the Redemption Cardinal can stop him now! I’ve heard that she once fought fiercely against him on Holy Mount. Among all the Cardinals, she’s the most capable of countering him… “So, for the lives of nearly ten million innocent people in Frisland, Sister Vania, I beg you to contact the Redemption Cardinal immediately. Ask her to come to Aransdel at once and stop that madman! And if she can summon other Cardinals too, all the better! “I know, Sister Vania, you are kind and merciful. You’ve risked yourself before to save countless lives. I believe you won’t abandon the people of Frisland!” Grasping Vania’s hand, Sinclair pleaded. Seeing the sincerity in her eyes, Vania was momentarily at a loss for words. After a brief pause, she nodded solemnly and spoke. “Alright… I understand. I will contact Lady Amanda immediately and inform her of the situation here. But on your end, please hurry and investigate a way to break the ritual before it activates.” “Of course, I will do my utmost. I entrust the Holy Mount side of things to you, Sister Vania… Let’s go.” Seeing Vania’s agreement, Sinclair let out a small breath of relief. After some final words, she departed with her people. For a time, the vast Archbishop’s office was left with only Vania. She slowly walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window with disbelief still lingering in her expression. Gazing out at the early morning cityscape and the cathedral beyond, she murmured softly. “A massive ritual… that could affect tens of millions of people? That’s… far too much…” … At dawn, somewhere in Aransdel, inside a luxury suite of a high-end hotel. Wearing nothing but a thin white nightgown, Dorothy stood on the balcony, letting the cold morning wind brush against her skin as she gazed into the distance, where the horizon was gradually painted by the brilliant hues of sunrise. Her expression was solemn. “Why... How did Kramar find out about the situation in Frisland too? I only just discovered irregularities in the food logistics, and he already got wind of similar intel and rushed over with such urgency. Can it really be just coincidence?” With a grave expression, Dorothy contemplated inwardly. She was starting to realize that what once seemed like a manageable situation had now become extraordinarily critical. “Kramar plans to stop the Nether Coffin Order’s ritual by ‘purifying’ nearly 20% of the country’s population... and he intends to begin after just a single day of preparation… In a sense, if we disregard the massive cost, this is indeed a workable strategy. A ritual of this scale can’t afford a severe loss of materials. Without knowing how far the Nether Coffin’s ritual has progressed, if one refuses to gamble, then this is a method… “If, in the end, even I can’t find a solution to disrupt the ritual, then Kramar’s brute-force approach might be the only one left. But… given all the strange details so far, I have the strong feeling it won’t be that simple. “Besides… there’s something slightly off about Kramar himself. If he’s already decided to bypass the Cardinal Council and commence purification directly, why didn’t he make a move against Vania? He’s already torn off the mask, what’s he holding back for? Even if he fears Amanda’s contingencies placed on Vania, that wouldn’t justify letting her go entirely… “After all… whether Amanda rushes here because she senses Vania in danger, or because Vania sends a report that brings her here, the result is the same. Earlier, Kramar had plenty of reason to attack Vania… and yet he didn’t.” Sitting down on the balcony chair, Dorothy frowned as these thoughts churned in her mind. But at this critical moment, she didn’t spend any more time mulling it over. After a brief pause, she immediately began setting her plans in motion. She closed her eyes slowly and, entering a meditative state, issued commands through her spiritual link. At that moment, Dorothy began enacting arrangements across several fronts. … In the chill of early morning, somewhere in the skies above Frisland, a massive steel structure—unseen to the naked eye—was flying steadily into the rising sun. Aboard the concealed Saint Steel Vessel, the Twilight Devotion, crew members belonging to the Court of Secrets busied themselves inside and out, diligently executing their assignments. Near the corridor by the bridge, a nun in a black habit—her face hidden—stood by the porthole, silently watching the sky outside. Suddenly, the nun felt the previously steady ship abruptly accelerate, and even tilt slightly, clearly turning. Behind her, the crew members, clerics, and nuns began to bustle with renewed urgency. The noise level across the ship rose noticeably. “What’s happening?” she asked. A cleric who had been standing respectfully nearby quickly replied. “Sister, we just received a message from the Command Engine. We must head south at full speed, returning to Holy Mount immediately. A critical mission awaits.” “Returning now…?” The black-robed nun nodded slightly in thought, then spoke again. “And you’re not waiting for your leader? She’s undertaking a dangerous mission alone.” “Our leader?” The cleric blinked in confusion before replying. “Our leader is the Command Engine, as I’ve told you many times. The Court of Secrets has always followed the Command Engine’s orders. The Command Engine doesn’t go on missions.” The nun gave a slight nod. “I see… then proceed.” With that, the black-robed nun walked off quietly into the corridor. The cleric followed, a small sense of suspicion rising in his heart. “What a strange woman… She’s not even from the Court of Secrets, yet the Command Engine personally arranged for her to board. Since last night, she’s been asking odd questions… Who exactly is she?” With questions lingering in his mind, the cleric trailed behind the mysterious nun. … Later that morning, the sunlight from the eastern sky began to illuminate the vast lands of Frisland. As the gentle rays swept across the cities, slumbering people awoke one after another, beginning another day of labor. Though a grave crisis was already bearing down upon them, the unaware continued their lives as usual. Bright sunshine heralded the start of a beautiful day. But not every part of Frisland enjoyed its warmth. In the forgotten places—shunned and ignored by all—dark clouds cloaked the sky. A blanket of grey blotted out the heavens. Though it was daytime, the land beneath was steeped in lifeless gloom. The air was chilled and stale. Beneath that sky, endless farmlands sprawled across the land, and a winding road ran straight through the fields. Along that path, moving in a form invisible to most eyes, walked Artcheli. Cloaked in an undetectable state, she surveyed the eerie surroundings as she traveled. Despite the morbid atmosphere, the place was unexpectedly… busy. She could see that while the grasses and trees along the road had mostly withered, the crops in the fields thrived. Countless figures moved between the rows. At a glance, they seemed like regular farmers at work. But upon closer inspection, they were clearly gaunt, their clothing tattered, and where their skin should have been lay only yellowed bones and shriveled skin. Their hollow eye sockets were devoid of life. Watching these horrifying skeletons and desiccated corpses tend to the lush crops without pause, Artcheli was overcome with a deep sense of unease. She only glanced at them briefly before turning her focus back to the road. Ahead, several horse-drawn carts approached. Though the horses had long since lost all flesh, and the coachman was a skeleton too. She stepped aside to let the carts pass, watching silently as they rumbled by. Then she continued her quiet walk. At the end of the road stood a looming city. A city shrouded in mist and gloom, cloaked beneath a swirl of dark clouds. Above it, the clouds had twisted into a great vortex, within which pulsed an ominous green light. That place was the Forgotten City of Frisland, Stinam. “…Finally.” Looking upon the distant city, Artcheli’s expression grew more serious. Maintaining her concealed form, she continued her approach. Along the way, she noticed all the surrounding farmlands were carefully maintained. Even the roads bustled with the occasional cart. The outskirts of the city were… active—if unnaturally so. All of it created by the dead. “Dead people farming… Hah. Do the dead need to eat too?” With that bitter thought, Artcheli pressed onward. Before long, she entered the city and stepped onto Stinam’s streets. But inside the city, it was a different story. Unlike the outskirts, the streets were utterly still, devoid of sound or movement. Not a single soul was in sight. Even the dead seemed absent. All windows and doors were shut tight. The entire city was drowned in grey, lifeless silence. “No signs of the living… nor the dead… And the buildings are well-preserved, no signs of major conflict… “Such a large city… Where did all the citizens go?” Puzzled, Artcheli continued forward. After some time, the sound of wheels and hooves broke the silence. Another cart, fully loaded, emerged from a corner and rolled out of the city—driven, again, by the dead. “Transport’s busy too, huh…” She decided to follow the cart’s trail and see where it had come from. Using her tracking skills, Artcheli weaved through a few streets and finally arrived at her destination: a massive factory. “A slaughterhouse…” She froze in place, instinctively catching the overwhelming stench—an acrid, nauseating metallic scent thick in the air. It was blood. Vast, rancid, coagulated blood—not of livestock, but unmistakably human. With a heavy expression, Artcheli stepped past the open gates of the slaughterhouse, her boots landing on the dark red ground, a floor layered thick with dried blood. Pressing onward, she soon saw several carts parked in the yard. Their tarps were pulled aside, revealing heavy loads of what looked like flour. Several skeletal workers carried pails from inside the factory and poured pale white powder into the carts. One skeleton stirred the mixture with a large scoop, blending the powder thoroughly into the flour. Artcheli stopped, a deep sense of dread rising in her chest. She turned silently toward the slaughterhouse’s main hall, and when she emerged from the other side, her expression had turned completely dark. “Bastards…” Clenching her teeth, face grim, Artcheli whispered as she forced herself to suppress the surge of emotion. Even with all her experience, the horrors she had just seen inside were enough to make her stomach churn. After taking a deep breath to stabilize herself, she finally looked forward, only to be met by what appeared to be… mountains. Upon closer inspection, she realized the mounds were made entirely of clothing. Piles upon piles of garments—ordinary clothes worn by ordinary people—heaped across the bloodstained ground. So many that the mounds had overflowed beyond the slaughterhouse walls, spilling into the streets. “Someone must pay for this… someone must.” In silence, Artcheli walked out of the slaughterhouse and resumed her solitary wandering through the empty city, still searching for valuable clues. In the midst of her silent search, Artcheli gradually approached the center of the city, until she arrived at a location she had marked for investigation: the local church of Stinam. In the biting wind, she looked at the tightly shut doors of the church. Then, sinking downward, her form melted into shadow and slipped through the cracks of the doorway, entering the building. She glanced across the empty, dust-covered chapel, and then began her search step by step, her eyes keen and professional as she sought anything of value. Eventually, she discovered a subtle trace within an abandoned office. Beneath the desk, she found an unsigned envelope. Inside, there was half a page of a torn letter. Artcheli carefully extracted the page and began to read its contents. “Recently, the Inquisition, under the oversight of the Inquisition Cardinal, has initiated a broad re-audit of old cases. Coupled with developments in several recent heresy cases involving the Nether Coffin Order, they have discovered certain oversights in the results of the Frisland Great Inquisition from sixty years ago. “Sixty years ago, during the correctional inquisition of Frisland, many corrupt individuals were prosecuted—so-called ‘Lord Inquisitors’ who, during their tenure, abused their authority and expanded the scope of trials, fabricating countless false charges. Though the evidence was conclusive, many of the accused insisted their rulings had been correct, claiming that in hundreds of years Frisland had never suffered any major wraith disasters. “The investigation at the time concluded that the ‘Lord Inquisitors’ had colluded with one another to deliberately suppress reports and cover up the outbreaks, falsely claiming to have suppressed the wraiths. However, many low-ranking priests and mortals testified that such disasters did in fact occur. The Inquisitors’ defenses were lies. They had likely been thoroughly corrupted, with even their souls beyond redemption… “Although the ‘Lord Inquisitors’ were executed, during the present re-examination of the records—and in light of developments in several recent cases—suspicion has emerged regarding the wraith calamities of the past, thus…” The letter ended abruptly there. The remaining content had clearly been torn away, lost to time. But even just that portion was enough to pique Artcheli’s deep interest. “This looks like a letter sent from the Court of Inquisition to a subordinate office… Based on the content, it seems the Holy Mount’s Inquisition was ordering the Frisland Inquisition to re-investigate what happened during the correctional inquisition sixty years ago… “If memory serves, that trial was jointly presided over by none other than Kramar and the current Archbishop of Frisland, Sinclair. That trial was originally a purge operation within the Inquisition itself. Its successful conclusion earned both Vambas and Sinclair significant political capital, giving them the opportunity to contend for the Cardinal seat. “Judging by this letter… Kramar, while overseeing the old case reviews, discovered suspicious details in that very trial which had been pivotal to his rise, and now wants to reexamine it… If I recall correctly, the last time a case review was personally led by an Inquisition Cardinal was early last year. That wasn’t long before Kramar came to Frisland in March. Could it be that this is why he came here in the first place?” The thought lingered as Artcheli turned her attention to the “wraith calamities” mentioned in the letter. “When a person dies with intense resentment, their soul may become a wraith. When many such wraiths gather, they can trigger a wraith calamity. After the Muddy Stream War, the Holy Church ruled through religious terror in many places. During that period, countless false charges and wrongful executions occurred under Inquisition oversight, producing enormous numbers of vengeful dead. “These unjust deaths carried resentment far stronger than ordinary souls, and due to their numbers, were highly prone to clustering together and sparking massive wraith outbreaks. These disasters were common in areas under heavy religious terror following the Muddy Stream War. It was precisely the increase in wraith disasters that finally drew the attention of the Holy Mount and made the Cardinal Council realize the severity of the situation. That realization was one of the key reasons the Inquisition lost power afterward. “From the letter… it seems that during Frisland’s terror period, there were no such wraith disasters. Because the usual indicator never appeared, Frisland’s religious terror lasted far longer than in other regions. During the correctional inquisition, the judgment concluded that the ‘Lord Inquisitors’ had concealed the wraith outbreaks—and mortal and priestly witnesses corroborated it… “So why, why would Kramar, who had no issue with that conclusion last year, suddenly deem it suspicious now? What exactly did he encounter after arriving in this city?” These questions spiraled through Artcheli’s mind. After a brief pause, she carefully tucked away the torn letter and resumed her search for additional clues. Unfortunately, she found nothing else of value. With no better option, she left the church and moved on to investigate other parts of the city. This time, she set her sights on the city center. The swirling black clouds above Stinam seemed to form a vortex, and the very center of that vortex was positioned directly above the heart of the city. Artcheli intended to find out what was there. Before long, she arrived—hidden in the shadows—at the center of Stinam. Perched atop a high-rise at the edge of the main crossroad, she looked up toward the sky… and was stunned by what she saw. The vast storm of black clouds swirling above the city, spiraling out from the center, and from that eye of the storm radiated a ghastly, greenish glow, emitted by tens of thousands of wailing souls. Spirits—uncountable spirits. Tens of thousands… hundreds of thousands… perhaps even a million souls gathered together at the vortex’s heart, merging into one mass, their silent wails of torment echoing in the void, twisting and shrieking in agony. That unthinkable cluster of souls had fused into a massive, ghostly green skull—hundreds of meters wide—looming at the vortex’s core, gazing down upon the dead land below with a gaze of cold, inhuman horror… … Western Main Continent, across the ocean, the Starfall Continent. It was afternoon. Above the heartland of the Starfall Continent, beneath the clear blue sky, a strange object was streaking rapidly through the air. Soaring over the boundless wilderness below was a long, ancient-looking boat, over ten meters in length, cutting through the sky at high speed. The entire vessel was made of wood, with no cabin cover, and along both sides, two rows of oars extended outward, rhythmically paddling on their own—despite the absence of any rowers. At the bow, a ferocious dragon head was carved into the prow, roaring into the wind. “Achoo!” Seated on the wind-battered deck of the speeding vessel, shivering violently as she hugged her body, Nephthys finally couldn’t hold it in any longer and let out a great sneeze. Her teeth chattering, she spoke up through trembling lips. “Are… are we not there yet?” “Almost. We’re almost there. Hah, so the little miss finally couldn’t take it. I told you before boarding to buy thicker clothes, but you wouldn’t listen. Now you’re learning the hard way! I told you my ship doesn’t mess around. Look at that kid, at least he’s more obedient.” Standing at the ship’s front, Harald, the ghostly helmsman, sneered as he watched Nephthys finally break under the cold. Then he looked toward Kapak, who was sitting calmly on the deck. Unlike Nephthys, who wore ordinary clothing, Kapak had bundled himself in layers of thick furs. “Lord Harald’s dragon ship is indeed fast,” Kapak replied calmly. “It’s many times faster than any mode of transport currently popular on the Eastern Continent. Miss Thief probably just wasn’t mentally prepared. This is her first time experiencing such speeds.” “W-who knew it could go this fast… I can usually handle the cold. But this ghost ship already has heavy yin energy, and you're flying it so fast… This isn’t normal cold anymore,” Nephthys replied, still shivering. As a Chalice Beyonder, her body was considerably stronger than the average person’s, but even so, the ship's frigid temperature was pushing her limits. Harald hadn’t been bragging, his ship really was absurdly fast. “We already lost a lot of time yesterday. No way I’m taking it slow now. But we’re close. Look, you can already see the destination up ahead.” Turning forward, Harald nodded toward the horizon. Hearing that, Nephthys steadied herself against the railing and stood up. “What? We’re finally there?” With a hint of excitement, she looked ahead, and there, on the edge of the Eastern Continent’s vast wilderness, a sprawling field of ruins came into view. Beyond those ruins rose a towering mountain range! As they approached the destination, Harald slowed the ship and began to lower its altitude, veering toward the mountains. Nephthys noticed more and more enormous flying spiritual beings appearing in the distant skies, many of them taking the form of birds. Down below, large spirit forms were also moving along the ground, all heading in the same direction. Many of these large spirits bore physical vessels with human figures riding them. Nephthys could feel their strength—these were Wild Spirits. “These… are all Wild Spirits? So many at once… It’s incredible. I’ve never seen so many gathered in one place!” Kapak said excitedly. “Well, this is your Shamanic Church’s most sacred ground, of course it’s packed with spirits. You really are a greenhorn.,” Harald snorted as he steered the ship closer to the mountains. Before long, they reached the skies above a massive field of ruins at the mountain base. Nephthys and Kapak looked down from the deck and saw remnants of colossal stone pillars and wide foundations—silent testaments to a once-glorious civilization. “This… looks like the ruins of an ancient city. Were there cities of this scale in the old days of this continent?” Nephthys asked curiously. “Of course,” Harald replied bluntly. “Don’t forget, their so-called King of Souls, or rather the later Evil Spirit King, once established a nation. This was its capital. It was destroyed during the war, and the locals refused to rebuild it, so it ended up like this.” After that explanation, Nephthys nodded thoughtfully. They continued flying deeper into the mountains. After a while, Nephthys saw a vast canyon cutting into the range. Harald’s dragon ship flew along the ravine, which grew wider and more dramatic the further they went. “Is this the Ancestral Valley down below?” Nephthys asked as she observed the lush rivers and vegetation within the ravine, and the many spirit beings wandering it. “Yes, but only a small part of it,” Kapak replied. “According to my teacher, the main body of the Ancestral Valley lies at the convergence of the Four Divine Ravines. What we’re flying over now is just one branch.” “The convergence of the Four Divine Ravines…” Nephthys repeated thoughtfully. As time passed and the ship continued flying another hundred kilometers or so, she finally saw it—the true Ancestral Valley. Across the vast, mountainous wilderness, four massive ravines extended from the east, south, west, and north, all stretching toward a single center. These giant fissures grew wider as they neared the core, expanding from dozens of meters to hundreds, then nearly a kilometer wide, until they met in a massive basin. At the center of that basin, with a radius of over a thousand meters, lay an awe-inspiring earth-etched image. Concentric, geometric patterns radiated outward in strange formation across the land, and at the center stood a withered totem pole several hundred meters high. It looked ancient beyond measure. Strange and somewhat indecipherable runes were carved into its surface. At the very top, the largest rune was just barely recognizable. It depicted a massive, tightly shut eye. This totem pole stood at the very heart of the basin. At the four corners, where the ravines fed into the center, there were other remarkable features. At the eastern ravine’s mouth, there was another large geoglyph. From the air, Nephthys could clearly make out the image—a giant bird spreading its wings in flight, drawn in simple lines. The southern and western mouths had nothing similar. The south was empty, and the west was marred with chaotic scribbles—like pages covered in ink to cover a mistake. The northern ravine was different still. No geoglyph. Instead, a mound of scattered stones formed a hill, upon which stood countless wooden poles tied with colorful banners, each one inscribed with runes, fluttering in the wind. At that moment, the enormous basin was filled with countless simple tents, densely packed everywhere except the geoglyph and mound. Trails of smoke curled up between them, and figures bustled among the tents. Wild Spirits roamed freely between camps, creating an oddly serene and sacred atmosphere. “This… this is the main body of the Ancestral Valley? It’s magnificent…” Nephthys said, awe in her voice. “Yes. This is my first time here too. I’ve only ever heard stories… the sacred land of all our tribes,” Kapak murmured. At the ship’s prow, Harald remained silent, staring at the hill adorned with fluttering ribbons. He didn’t speak until Kapak noticed his stillness. “Lord Harald, is something wrong?” “…No. We’ve arrived. I’ll drop you two off with that old man now.” Snapping out of his thoughts, Harald steered the ship toward a specific spot, gradually lowering its altitude until they gently landed on a small slope within the basin. There, a few tents had already been set up in advance. Standing before one of them was a familiar figure. An elder wearing a feathered crown and long robes, Uta. “Hey, old man! I brought your people!” Harald hollered. “Teacher, we’re here,” Kapak added. “…This is our first proper meeting, isn’t it? An honor, Mr. Uta,” Nephthys greeted politely as she stepped off the ship. Uta nodded in return to Kapak and responded with courtesy to Nephthys. “Welcome. You’ve come a long way… friends from across the sea. “You’ve arrived just in time. The Great Wild Rite will begin soon. By my estimates, no later than tomorrow.” Hearing that, Nephthys was startled. “No later than tomorrow…? Wait, didn’t Kapak say the Rite would be held sometime within a week? Why has the timing suddenly been moved up to tomorrow?” Nephthys spoke with surprise, and Uta, gazing at the distant, towering totem, answered calmly. “This was a sudden decision made earlier by the True Spirit Shaman under divine prompting… I suspect the Spiritual Mutation may have undergone a change.” “Spiritual Mutation?” Nephthys echoed, a trace of confusion in her eyes. Uta slowly explained. “What we call a ‘Spiritual Mutation’ refers to an enormous-scale soul anomaly, sometimes also called a ‘Soul Catastrophe.’ “In this world, whether due to human actions or natural causes, when a vast number of souls fail to return smoothly to the Great Soul and the natural cycle is severely disrupted at a global level… such an occurrence becomes a horrifying disaster.” “A catastrophic soul phenomenon… But what does that have to do with the Great Wild Rite?” Nephthys asked, still puzzled. Uta continued slowly. “Normally, it has nothing to do with it. The spiritual cycle of the world possesses a powerful self-healing capability. Even large-scale mutations can often be handled by local spiritualists. But this time is different… According to the True Spirit Shaman, the scale of this Spiritual Mutation he foresaw… is unprecedented. Such magnitude may not have occurred in thousands of years.” “An unprecedented Spiritual Mutation… Has it already happened? Where is it taking place?” Nephthys asked, visibly startled. Uta replied. “It has already begun to manifest… According to the True Spirit Shaman, it is happening on the far side of the ocean, in the eastern continent. A massive Spiritual Mutation is brewing there. It is supported by a grand ritual formation. The fluctuations within its structure have already begun to deeply affect the Nether Realm, to the point where even he could perceive it… “This Spiritual Mutation has partially begun… and will soon fully detonate. Both the Nether Realm and the present world will be gravely affected, and the cycle of soul reincarnation will be severely disrupted!” Uta’s tone was grim. Nephthys swallowed hard before speaking. “So… the Great Wild Rite can suppress that Spiritual Mutation?” “The rite itself cannot. But what it summons can,” Harald interjected. As Kapak and Nephthys looked to him with curiosity, he glanced toward the eastern ravine and continued. “You lot call it… that big bird, right? The one that’s supposed to hate Spiritual Mutations? So you’re using this rite to call it forth.” “Correct,” Uta continued after Harald. “The Soul-Burier, Suun, the guardian of this world’s spiritual order. When the order is gravely imbalanced and beyond the capacity of mortals to restore, then, in accordance with ancient law, the True Spirit Shaman and we gather here to perform the Great Wild Rite, to awaken the Soul-Burier from its slumber. It shall act according to the will of the Great Soul, fly to where the problem lies, and restore the balance of souls.” “What… this rite is actually a divine summoning ritual? You’re summoning that… Soul-Burier, Suun, to resolve the Spiritual Mutation?” Nephthys asked in disbelief. “Yes. This is our sacred duty,” Uta nodded. “When the soul cycle is gravely threatened, we must call upon the Soul Eagle to restore order. The imbalance in the eastern continent has grown beyond what any mortal force can resolve, it requires divine intervention…” As he spoke, Uta turned his gaze toward the valley. Sweeping past countless tents, he focused on the ancient totem at the valley’s center, where four figures sat cross-legged beneath it. Each of them wore even grander and more intricate feathered crowns than Uta’s, and their robes were covered in colorful streamers marked with runes. They sat in silence, meditating in each of the four cardinal directions around the totem. Three appeared to be aged elders full of wrinkles, while one was a young man. They were the only ones allowed near the ancient totem. Around them, many tribespeople knelt in reverence and prayer. Nephthys followed Uta’s gaze with curiosity. “Those are…” “They are the Four Great Shamans,” Uta explained. “Under the True Spirit Shaman, they are the four most respected sages across this land. They are the wisest among us… and will serve as the main supporting force during the Great Rite.” Hearing this, Kapak cast a glance of admiration toward them. At that moment, Harald, floating nearby, interjected again. “Great Shamans, huh… Tch, not so impressive. I’ve dealt with those geezers before. Old man, the way you were just praising those scholars, honestly, in terms of knowledge, I think you’re on par with them… maybe even better than one or two of them.” “Hah… you flatter me, Lord Harald. I’m merely an ordinary tribal shaman. I could never compare to the Great Shamans,” Uta responded humbly. “Ordinary tribal shaman? Tch, I don’t buy it. No regular shaman knows how to summon me into the world. Just admit it already, what’s your background really?” Harald pressed relentlessly. Uta, a bit helpless, responded. “I truly am just a regular shaman. Nothing special… I’ve merely wandered farther and studied longer than most. Please don’t overthink it.” “You’re still dodging, huh? I’m not buying it…” Thus began a back-and-forth between Harald and Uta. Harald insisted Uta had hidden depths, while Uta firmly denied it. Watching them bicker, Nephthys couldn’t help but feel confused. “This Uta shaman… he really does give off an aura of hidden master, sometimes he doesn’t even seem like someone from the White Ash rank… So when that barbarian spirit said Uta wasn’t ordinary, I believed it. But now he’s denying it so earnestly… and his expression doesn’t seem fake. So what’s the truth here?” She pondered as she watched their argument. At that moment, over at the valley center, beside the ancient totem pole, one of the four meditating Great Shamans—the young one—suddenly opened his eyes. He slowly turned his head and looked straight in their direction, toward Nephthys and the others. Narrowing his eyes slightly, the young Great Shaman’s painted face revealed no emotion. No one knew what he was thinking. … Frisland, Northern Main Continent. The sun had set. The moon had risen. Daylight had passed, and darkness once again draped over the city of Aransdel like a heavy curtain. Streetlamps began to glow one by one across Aransdel, casting golden halos over the city. In the sky, shrouded in night and hidden from mortal eyes, a massive iron warship—hundreds of meters long and shaped like a coffin of steel—was flying swiftly toward an unknown destination. “The Saint Steel Vessel… Annihilation Nun?” From a rooftop in the city center, atop the Requiem Cathedral, Archbishop Sinclair, clad in ceremonial robes, gazed into the night sky and softly murmured. “She’s finally arrived… the Redemption Cardinal, Saint Amanda…” “Yes… Lady Amanda is here. I suppose this is what you hoped for?” A familiar voice rang out behind her. Turning slowly, Sinclair was unsurprised to see the person standing there. “Ah… Sister Vania. Good evening,” she said with a gentle smile, offering a slight bow. “Thank you… for bringing the Redemption Cardinal in time. At last, the innocent people of Frisland have a chance at salvation…” The evening breeze fluttered Vania’s white robe as she stood solemnly, her gaze fixed on Sinclair. But there was no joy on her face, only calm determination as she replied. “I’ve brought Lady Amanda as promised. Now then, Archbishop Sinclair… have you found a way to dismantle the ritual? Because… simply stopping the Inquisition Cardinal will not be enough. Only by dismantling the ritual can we truly bring salvation.” “Ah… as for that, we’ve mobilized every resource to investigate thoroughly. We’ve already made some progress. I believe it won’t be long before we find the answer…” Sinclair met Vania’s gaze as she spoke. But unlike that morning, the gentle kindness she once saw in Vania’s eyes was now absent, and her own expression subtly tensed in response.