In a street-side teahouse in North Tivian, Dorothy sat serenely, sipping the tea on the table while leisurely reading the latest newspaper. She had her own views about the Holy Mount’s stance on the reports concerning Vania. “These media exaggerations about Vania didn’t start out this extreme. After all, the editors at those papers aren’t fools—they’re well aware of the Church’s doctrinal red lines. Elevating Vania’s status too much could easily cross the line, and no one wants to get summoned ‘for tea’ without warning. So initially, they only danced around the edge, brushing close to the line, which at worst would earn them a warning... “But even those borderline reports weren’t punished at all. That gave these newspapers more boldness, and they kept pushing Vania’s image upward. When even this didn’t earn penalties, others started believing the Church tacitly approved. In the public eye, it practically became an official Church endorsement, and the masses became even more fanatical. At this rate, Vania’s about to be deified as the Holy Mother incarnate.” “As for why the Holy Mount hasn’t curbed this trend... one reason is my connection with Vania—mistreating her might cause a ‘diplomatic incident’. Another is that Vania’s growing influence is indeed greatly soothing the increasingly anxious population affected by the divine disaster, helping stabilize society and faith.” “From this perspective... all those comments I’ve heard in the past about the Holy Mount’s Saints are evidently true. These cardinals are more politicians than they are believers. Sure, they’re pious in their own right, but their role as policymakers always overrides their faith. Even someone like Kramar, who seems fanatical on the surface, is a pragmatist at heart. For the Cardinal Council, solving real-world problems takes precedence. Doctrines and dogma? Those can be bent as needed.” As Dorothy pondered this while reading, she came to understand that it was precisely because the current cardinals of the Radiance Church were realists that her proposal for the Savior’s divine genealogy was passed unanimously. In the face of the very real threat of Inut, they didn’t hesitate. If they had been traditional zealots who would rather die than breach dogma, she’d have been in real trouble. “Seems like the Pope really knows how to pick people. I wonder if he got burned one too many times and that’s why he ended up with this personnel philosophy...” As she mused, Dorothy’s thoughts drifted to Unina and Fabrizio—two former cardinals who defected and took high positions in cults. She doubted their betrayal had left the Pope unaffected. Still holding her cup of tea, Dorothy’s attention suddenly shifted. She sensed something and paused briefly, lowering her newspaper to glance at the thick tome on the table: the Literary Sea Logbook. She set down the paper, pulled the Logbook in front of her, and flipped to a page where new words had appeared—her contact page with Kapak. “Esteemed Scholar, I’ve arrived safely in Falano.” Recognizing the young man’s handwriting from the New Continent, she picked up her pen and responded. “Very good. Have the Church’s people received you?” “Yes, I’ve met them already. I’m now en route to the Holy Land of Radiance. I will do my utmost there. Thank you and the Order for your support—without you, I’d never have had this chance to change the fate of my homeland.” Dorothy smiled slightly and replied. “This opportunity was one you earned for yourself. Do your best.” “I will not let you or our homeland down!” As Dorothy read the words, she thought about the current state of the Starfall Continent. That ancient land was undergoing change. After repelling the King of the Underworld and thwarting the Nether Coffin Order’s schemes, the Shamanic Church finally recognized the cult’s threat. Facing an increasingly dangerous world, they began reform. Led by the True Spirit Shaman, the faith began centralizing power, restructuring its once-loose framework into a tighter and more efficient system. The goal: to move closer to a Church-like structure and unite all the indigenous tribes under one banner. Historically, due to the Evil Spirit King Takaoma, the native peoples of Starfall had come to despise centralized states. To prevent another Takaoma incident, the Shamanic Church had upheld an ancestral edict forbidding tribal conquest and consolidation. This taboo on building a large political entity had persisted for millennia. As a result, the continent remained tribal—no cities, no nations. The people didn’t just hate Takaoma; they came to hate everything he represented, including “states.” But the times had changed. With cults growing ever more aggressive, the tribal disunity made Starfall dangerously vulnerable. For example, the Eight-Spired Nest had incited some tribes to commit terrorist acts on the Main Continent. The Nether Coffin Order tampered with the Great Shaman election, installing their agent as the Western Great Shaman to infiltrate the Great Wild Rite. Had the faith been more centralized, it would have been much harder for them to operate under the True Spirit Shaman’s nose. Thus, after this divine catastrophe, to better defend against cult threats, resolve tensions with main continent colonists, and prepare for a possible second invasion by the Lord of Calamitous Cold, the True Spirit Shaman and the other three Great Shamans agreed to abandon the ancestral edict. They would unify the Shamanic Church and all tribes into a new political entity for the New Continent’s indigenous peoples—one structurally modeled on the Radiance Church. After the divine disaster ended, the True Spirit Shaman didn’t immediately return. Instead, right after Dorothy left Aransdel, he took the chance to speak soul-to-soul with Cardinal Amanda and Kramar for quite some time. The two cardinals treated the Shaman leader with due seriousness. Because of Dorothy’s final “heartfelt request,” both sides agreed to open channels for joint efforts against cults. The hope for more equitable dialogue with the Radiance Church became another motivator for the Shamanic leader’s internal reforms. To deepen communication and facilitate cooperation, both sides agreed to exchange envoys. Due to his understanding of the main continent’s culture and language, Kapak naturally took the position—becoming the Shamanic Church’s official envoy to the Holy Mount. … Northern Falano, at a port. A young man from Starfall Continent, dressed neatly in formal attire, sat upright inside a luxurious carriage. After closing the illustrated book in his lap, he gazed nervously out the window at the passing port scenery and the Church Guards escorting him. “I never imagined a day like this would come…” He murmured in his homeland’s tongue, reflecting on his mission as he stared at the foreign land beyond the glass. Two years ago, he had been just an ordinary warrior in his tribe. Now, he was carrying the hopes of his homeland, venturing to the heart of the world’s most powerful regime. His lifelong dream was to improve the harsh conditions of his people. While Dorothy had once helped improve life for the Tupa Tribe with material aid, that was just one tribe. For the continent’s countless natives, it was a mere drop in the ocean. Now, everything had changed. If he could secure strong cooperation with the Radiance Church, it might transform the fate of the entire continent. The Church didn’t just possess immense material aid; it could also restrain the unchecked colonial powers. If he succeeded in this role, his dream could finally come true. An opportunity like this was unthinkable just two years ago. And the turning point had been that “illustrated book” he’d picked up by chance. “Thank you, Great Soul… Thank you, True Spirit Shaman… thank you, Teacher… thank you, Miss Thief… thank you, Scholar… “Thank you, Aka…” Looking intently at the book in his hands, Kapak silently gave thanks to every person or force that brought him to this moment. Most important among them was the deity named “Akasha.” An invisible power—one that silently influenced the world’s structure. A mysterious sovereign no less than the Great Soul itself. “Please keep watching over me. I won’t disappoint you…” With that final silent vow, Kapak steadied his thoughts, calmed his nerves, and prepared himself to face whatever came next. His homeland was changing rapidly. His mentor Uta was also preparing to reclaim his rightful position as the Western Great Shaman. Kapak reminded himself to take the coming trials with utmost seriousness. … Pritt, North Tivian. After finishing her afternoon tea, Dorothy leisurely had her corpse marionette servant tidy up her spot, paid the bill, and departed the teahouse. Waiting just outside was a carriage that had been parked there in advance. The coachman beside it, standing respectfully, had clearly been waiting for quite some time. Upon seeing Dorothy exit, he immediately opened the carriage door. Dorothy boarded and settled comfortably inside the cabin. Once seated, she instructed her marionette coachman to start the carriage and leave the area. As her carriage rolled through the mist-shrouded streets, Dorothy listened to the distant chimes echoing through the fog and watched the pedestrians on either side of the road, their faces dark and gloomy. Occasionally, mounted patrols passed by warily on horseback beside the carriage. Many shops on the street stood closed, their shutters down. The impact of the divine disaster couldn’t be fully hidden. Citizens of Tivian, after being bombarded with troubling news in the papers and witnessing their own share of strange incidents, had become rife with conspiracy theories—doomsday prophecies being the most popular. Under the influence of these apocalyptic rumors, the city’s general morale began to deteriorate. While church attendance skyrocketed, many struggling citizens, gripped by “end of days” anxiety, began indulging in reckless behavior. The visible decline in public security, with robbery and other crimes sharply rising, forced many stores to shut down and brought increased patrols onto the streets. The political unrest following the recent announcement of King Charles IV’s death only further destabilized the situation in Tivian. “This kind of mass hysteria… could it be partially caused by remnants of the Spider Queen’s power? The new Queen is about to be crowned… and this is the state of things she’ll inherit. Hopefully she can get something done.” Watching the scenes unfold outside, Dorothy reflected that the upcoming coronation of Queen Isabelle would symbolize Pritt’s emergence from the grip of the divine catastrophe. As she contemplated these matters, her carriage moved steadily north, away from the city center. After some time, she finally returned to Green Shade Town. Disembarking at the eastern gate of the Royal Crown University, Dorothy sent her marionette driver off to park the carriage in a rented stable and walked alone along the damp and quiet town roads. She first made her way to House No. 32. After knocking and waiting a few seconds, she sighed upon confirming that, as always, no one was home. Shaking her head, she turned to House No. 17, pulled out a key, and let herself in. Though she had been away for quite some time, her living room remained warm. Logs crackled cheerfully in the fireplace, radiating heat that drove away the chill. One of the corpse marionette servants she had left at home respectfully came forward to take her coat. “Whew… good thing my marionettes can now operate at such long range. Even while I was in the city, they kept the fire going. Otherwise, starting it up again would’ve been miserable in this cold...” Relaxing into the sofa and feeling the warmth seep into her, Dorothy exhaled deeply and gazed into the flames. After a few moments, she sat up straight, opened the small pouch she carried, and took out her magic box. From within, she removed a wooden case. She placed the case—marked with the Radiance Church’s emblem—on the coffee table, opened it, and took out a few thin, old tomes. These were the latest batch of mystical texts sent to her by Artcheli—materials the girl had gathered from the Historical Scripture Department to replenish Dorothy’s lost spirituality following the events in Frisland. After returning the previous batch, Dorothy had requested these new ones. “Being on good terms with the Church really does have its perks… So many texts, and I didn’t even have to pay for them. Too bad Beverly’s still gone—I have to run into the city myself to fetch these now…” Looking at the books in her hand, Dorothy sighed internally. Her trip downtown hadn’t just been idle wandering. She had gone to the White Craftsmen’s Guild outpost to collect her shipment—the afternoon tea was just a convenient break afterward. With Beverly still missing, any important item sent via the guild had to be picked up in person. “Sigh… who knows when that woman will return. This really is getting inconvenient.” Dorothy couldn’t help but feel a touch of nostalgia. Shaking it off, she began poring over the newly acquired mystical texts, quickly scanning their contents. As she read by the fireside, Dorothy swiftly finished going through all the materials Artcheli had sent. Most of them were of little significance to her current studies, but a few piqued her interest. … The first was titled “The Adventures of Gobbi the Great Boaster”—clearly a children’s fairy tale just from the name. Written in Cassatian, its author and date were unknown. It recounted the wild tales of a sailor named Gobbi and his supposed seafaring adventures. In the story, Gobbi boasted of visiting various mysterious islands populated by bizarre peoples and creatures, including: A nation of giants, where all residents stood dozens of meters tall and ordinary humans were like mice to them. A nation of tiny folk, none of whom reached higher than Gobbi’s shin. A land of iron men, entirely mechanical. A beast kingdom populated only by animals. The tale, reminiscent of Gulliver’s Travels, at first seemed like nothing more than a mythologized version of ancient races and supernatural phenomena at sea. Dorothy initially dismissed it—until she reached the part about a place called “The Eastern Kingdom.” Described in Gobbi’s voice, this Eastern Kingdom was home to a miraculous group of “alchemists.” These alchemists created strange, round pills that could extend life—or even grant immortality. Besides concocting elixirs, they crafted powerful and strange tools, which they used to fight each other. Though the tools came in many forms, most preferred sword-like designs and even flew upon them. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂 In this land, these mighty alchemists ruled everything and organized themselves into factions via a master-apprentice lineage system. They were, according to Gobbi, the strongest group he had ever encountered. Dorothy was stunned. The more she read, the more familiar it all sounded. “Pills that grant long life or immortality… powerful alchemists… flying swords… master-apprentice factions... “This… this is basically cultivation! These alchemists—could they be cultivators? The pills are obviously elixirs, and the tools are magic treasures. Swords as flying weapons? That’s totally normal for cultivators. And that structure—sects and disciples... “This so-called Eastern Kingdom—why does it scream Xianxia? Has this world ever had a cultivation-like system? This is absurd...” Finishing the “Eastern Kingdom” chapter left Dorothy deeply unsettled. It brought to mind every cultivation novel she’d read before. Previously, she had assumed all these fantastical lands were distorted echoes of ancient nonhuman races—giants from the First Epoch, dwarves from the Second, and so on. But if that were the case, what was the prototype for the Eastern Kingdom? Nothing in this world’s known mythos matched the aesthetic of “cultivation.” Where did this imagery even come from? And yet, all mystical texts—no matter how bizarre—were usually rooted in something, however faint. So what was the origin of these cultivation-like descriptions? Did such a system once exist in this world? Did Gobbi perhaps visit another world entirely? Or was Dorothy simply projecting the idea of cultivation onto something completely unrelated? “Maybe… I’m just overthinking it...” Unable to find a logical explanation, Dorothy dismissed the thought for now. The second text that drew her attention was titled “Pseudo-History of the Elves.” Written in the imperial tongue of the previous era, its author was unnamed, but likely a historian from the old Empire. This historian specialized in the elven civilization of the South Ufiga in the Second Epoch. The content of the text consisted primarily of his attempted restoration and translation of a damaged Elvish document, along with his own analysis and commentary. The text described a legendary Elven king named Urhega, who expanded the Elven Empire with great ambition and prowess. According to the fragmented document, Urhega united the scattered Elven city-states, established a centralized empire, defeated the tribes of the grasslands, and marched north to conquer the human kingdoms. He even crossed the ocean to defeat the merfolk and spread elven influence into the northern continent, where he challenged and ultimately subjugated powerful nations belonging to races such as dwarves. Eventually, the Elven Empire reached an unprecedented peak—ruling at least two continents, subjugating countless kingdoms of other races, absorbing their gods into its own pantheon, and compelling them to submit to the benevolent might of the World Tree. For thousands of years, the world was dominated by elves... This was the core content of the mystical text and the entirety of the Elvish document it translated. After reading it all, Dorothy sat stunned. “What the heck? Were the elves of the Second Epoch really this powerful? Not only did they defeat their old rivals on the grasslands, they even marched north and conquered the human nations? And the ‘human nations’ mentioned here—surely they don’t mean the First Dynasty? Are they saying the Elven Empire subjugated the First Dynasty? And even conquered the main continent? Was the Second Epoch actually dominated by elves?” Dorothy was taken aback by what she read. In all her prior exposure to mystic history, the elves had always been limited to the southern parts of the Ufiga continent. There was no mention of elves outside of that. But in this document, they were portrayed as dominant conquerors—subjugating the First Dynasty, and even inviting Heaven’s Arbiter into their pantheon, forcing him to submit to their gods. She was deeply puzzled by this account. But since this mystical text was fundamentally a translation of a document, her confusion lessened somewhat when she reached the translator’s analysis at the end, though it also gave rise to new questions. “...The content of this document is highly dubious in terms of authenticity. Though written in fluent High Elvish, the material is grossly distorted. Based on current archaeological evidence, Elven civilizations of the previous epoch never extended their influence north of the Barrier Mountains, let alone to a level capable of subjugating the First Dynasty. No signs of large-scale Elven conquest have been found in First Dynasty ruins—certainly nothing relating to the northern oceans or lands. “According to the fifth excavation of the Root Basin, while King Urhega may have unified the Elven city-states at one point, there is no conclusive evidence that they ever decisively defeated the enemies on the Great Grasslands. The document itself uses the calendar of the Sacred Tree, dated to Year 1772, but all Elven ruins found on the southern continent only date up to Year 1124. “Clearly, this document belongs to the realm of literature rather than historical record. Though it may have been penned by an elf, its contents are not to be taken as fact. It is likely the work of a contemporary admirer of King Urhega—something akin to a poetic fantasy of an idealized future. Although inspiring, its value as historical reference is minimal...” After reading the translator’s final assessment, Dorothy rubbed her chin in thought and began to ponder. “So this is a ‘literary work’ from Elven society rather than an actual historical record? Like a glorified self-indulgent fantasy novel, imagining a glorious future for the elves? Honestly, the writing's a bit dry for a ‘literary work’—no lyrical flair at all. Maybe it’s a translation issue... “I wonder how common this kind of ‘literature’ was among the elves. Still, even if this document exaggerates heavily, it might contain some truth. For example, the existence of King Urhega seems genuine. According to the translator, this figure likely did exist as a leader among the Elven nations—just not as powerful as the text makes him out to be.” Though she still had some lingering doubts about this so-called “Elven literature,” Dorothy didn’t dwell on it further—because her thoughts were already absorbed by the final mystical text in the batch. This last piece was the one Dorothy had been most focused on from the start. It concerned someone she had always been particularly interested in: Hyperion. It was a poetry collection—not entirely centered on Hyperion, but rather a compilation of poems from various cultures and styles, some secular, some esoteric. Only one of the poems referenced the Emperor of Light. “…When the Emperor ignited divine flame atop the Spear of Heaven, burning the firmament… I once asked the Emperor: is your journey done? He beheld the chaos of divine powers in this world... “When the Emperor turned the sun into an arrow atop the frozen cliffs, and struck down Calamitous Cold… I asked a second time: is your journey done? He described the greatest kingdom this world would know… “When towering palaces rose upon every inch of the land, and all realms bowed… I asked a third time: is your journey done? He promised everlasting prosperity to all life… “Even though the defiant divine forces, upon their fall, all prophesied the collapse of this kingdom, the downfall of the gods, and the end of the world... “No matter how deeply a divine being loves this world, it shall one day bury all that it cherishes with its own hands… for the world must fulfill its destined end… “The Emperor fought against the fall, yet He knew that divine fall and the birth of evil gods were merely surface symptoms, not the essence... “The Emperor denied all prophecies… He tried to write this world’s fate with His own hands—even if it meant opposing the invincible, eternal, formless thing… even if it meant becoming an enemy to the world He sought to save… “Until that final foe is vanquished, the Emperor’s journey shall not end...” This… this was the part of the poetry collection that fascinated Dorothy most—the part concerning Hyperion. Though the poem’s author was unknown, the figure described as “the Emperor” was undoubtedly the Radiant Savior: Hyperion. “If this account is true, then what Hyperion ultimately opposed… was this thing called ‘fall’? The corruption that transforms gods into evil gods... “So even when he stood unmatched, with no visible crisis on the horizon, Hyperion still chose to risk everything by fusing opposing divine traits… was it all to resist the fall? Fusion of opposing spiritualities grants a god resistance to falling… is that the answer Hyperion found from his divine perspective? “And in the end, did Hyperion fail due to flawed preparation—or was it the backlash of this corruption?” Dorothy furrowed her brows, her expression grave. This poem led her to reevaluate what she thought she knew about the divine fall. “So… what exactly is this ‘fall’? Why is it that even beings as powerful as Heaven’s Arbiter, the Great Soul, or the Emperor of Light are powerless before it—forced to take drastic, desperate measures that nearly always end in tragedy? “The poem’s author clearly knows a lot. According to them, fall leads to the world’s end. And at its core… it seems to be an intangible thing—not something gods can easily comprehend, touch, or strike. “Evil gods are a symptom—fall is the root. If this poem is true… then what lies beneath that surface symptom?” Dorothy stared into the fire, her mind churning with countless thoughts and questions. She wanted to follow the trail of ideas through to their conclusion—but found that without further clues, all her deductions were too speculative. “Sigh… enough of that…” She shook her hands as if to dispel the mental fog. The conflict with the Nether Coffin Order had only just ended, and she hadn’t rested nearly enough. She didn’t want to fry her brain with unanswerable questions just yet. After finishing and analyzing all the mystical texts, Dorothy placed them back into the wooden case and began to consider when she might next receive new ones from the Historical Scripture Department. According to Artcheli, she had left for another assignment immediately after delivering these... The Nether Coffin Order’s upper echelon had been nearly wiped out, and their deity gravely wounded. The entire occult network that shielded the cult via divine favor had effectively collapsed. The Church wasted no time striking while the iron was hot. In the rules of divination, the lower the rank of the diviner compared to the target, the exponentially greater the cost. For a mortal to divine a god, the cost in resources was astronomical. However, a deity could use its own divine rank to grant its followers a limited degree of divinatory shielding. Large cults relied heavily on this. The high-ranking members—typically Crimson-rank or above—were protected by divine rank barriers. Without parity in rank, the Church couldn’t just brute-force their way into tracking cult leaders or major strongholds through conventional divination. But now, that protection was gone. And as for the members and strongholds below Crimson-rank, they had to rely on Crimson- or even Gold-rank members of the cult to perform anti-divination for protection. But anti-divination at this level was far less efficient. Such cultic Beyonders often found themselves in direct divination battles with state-level occult agencies and Church departments. Marginal members of these cults, lacking any divinatory shielding, were left completely exposed. Now that the King of the Underworld had been so severely wounded that even His divine-rank shielding could no longer function, the remnants of the Nether Coffin Order were effectively completely naked before the Church, which possessed a massive pool of mystical resources. Everything about the cult—its personnel, its locations—became totally transparent. There was nowhere left to hide. In recent times, Artcheli's Court of Secrets had joined forces with the Court of Inquisition and the Court of Holy War, along with a host of national secret police forces across the world. Together, they launched a massive sweep of every Nether Coffin Order stronghold or member revealed by divination. Over the past period alone, they had purged more than a thousand sites—large and small—and arrested nearly one hundred thousand people, from entry-level agents to mid-level personnel. They also seized a vast amount of mystical materials. “At this rate, Artcheli and the others are going to wipe the Nether Coffin Order out completely… It seems like they’ve already arrested so many people that the secret-police prisons across all the nations are about to overflow. Even when they were hunting the Eight-Spired Nest and Blackdream Hunting Pack, it didn’t reach this level. Looks like the Nether Coffin Order really was bigger than both of those groups combined.” So Dorothy thought. In terms of scale alone, the Nether Coffin Order was likely second only to the Afterbirth Cult’s Triumvirate. Of course, that’s counting all three Afterbirth factions together—any one of them individually would still outclass the Nether Coffin Order. “But still, with all the people Artcheli’s arrested, how is it they haven’t caught Deer Skull yet? Wasn’t that guy part of the Nether Coffin Order? He didn’t show up at all during the divine catastrophe involving the King of the Underworld, and now he’s nowhere to be found. Divination can't locate him either. Just where the hell did he run off to?” Dorothy frowned thoughtfully. She had originally hoped that once Artcheli caught Deer Skull, she could send Aldrich a message of congratulations. But after the divine disaster, the only Crimson-rank cultist captured from the Nether Coffin Order was a single Curseword Master—the very one who got struck by her lightning in Aransdel that night, suffering ritual backlash and ending up paralyzed. Aside from him, every other traceable Crimson-rank member of the Nether Coffin Order had already perished in battle. But Deer Skull, who certainly should have been among them, had vanished without a trace. He hadn’t participated in the cult’s general mobilization that day, nor had he appeared afterward. The only logical assumption was that he had already left the cult before the operation and found protection under another organization backed by a god-level being with divinatory shielding. “He really bailed just in time, that old rat… I wonder who took him in. There aren’t many cults left these days with actual evil god protection…” After briefly considering the Deer Skull issue, Dorothy shifted her thoughts back to Artcheli. It was clear she’d be extremely busy for the foreseeable future. So it wasn’t likely Dorothy would be receiving another batch of mystical texts from her anytime soon. “So maybe I should just go to Holy Mount and pick them up myself? I mean, technically, I’m now kind of like the Radiant Savior’s niece, right? As the ‘Holy Niece,’ the Cardinal Council should give me some face…” Dorothy considered this for a moment—but then remembered that the Staff of Radiant Decree still hadn’t fully recovered, meaning she couldn’t activate her Radiance Scion form. Without that form, it would be hard to awe the Church’s Saints into easy cooperation. And although her relationship with the Church was currently amicable, visiting in her unaltered state still carried some risk. Unless absolutely necessary, she wasn’t going to take that chance. “Ughhh~ never mind… forget it for now. I’ll just take a proper break…” Stretching out with a big yawn, Dorothy decided to shelve the idea of personally visiting the Historical Scripture Department. She resolved to stop overthinking things and take some well-earned rest instead of constantly running her brain on overdrive. She placed the wooden case of mystical texts back into her magic box. Seeing that there was still some time before dinner, she half-lounged back on the sofa and picked up the newspaper on the coffee table to pass the time. This time, Dorothy didn’t bother with the political or current events pages. Instead, she flipped to the entertainment section—there was a report on newly published books, and she was curious how the public and media were reacting. … Tivian, Eastern District. Somewhere in East Tivian, a mist-veiled street carried an ordinary carriage slowly along its path. Inside, Nephthys, clad in a long coat, was slumped weakly in her seat, looking utterly drained and listless. “Haaah… finally got it all done… liberation’s in sight at last…” “I didn’t think a simple leave of absence for the New Continent would pile up this much coursework. That new professor is… well, thank goodness the dead always know more about history than the living.” Leaning against the seat of the carriage, Nephthys let out a long breath. In order to help with the situation on Starfall Continent, she had taken an extended leave of absence. But during that time, the university had officially appointed a new professor to replace the ailing Professor John. Apparently, the new professor had been eager to prove himself—his lectures were more intense, and the coursework had increased dramatically. As a result, when Nephthys returned to class, she found herself buried in overdue assignments. For the past few weeks, Nephthys—despite being a newly advanced Crimson-rank Beyonder—had been frantically catching up on all the missed work. Dorothy had never cared about her mundane academic progress, so Nephthys was left drowning. At one point, she even began to feel that these assignments were more painful than fighting cult conspiracies. At least when dealing with evil gods, she could follow Dorothy’s lead—no matter how difficult the situation, it would always work out in the end. But schoolwork demanded independent judgment, with no all-knowing mentor she could just message for help. It was, in a way, far more exhausting. “Studying for exams is harder than becoming Crimson-rank…” That was an actual thought that had crossed her mind after nearly passing out from writing all day. Several times she’d been tempted to ask Dorothy for help, but ultimately decided that such worldly matters weren’t worth bothering her mentor over. Just earlier, Nephthys had gone to a cemetery on the outskirts of town to perform a summoning ritual. She managed to call forth a group of older ghosts from the Nether Realm to help with her assignment on Tivian’s urban history. About ten modest, ordinary spirits had been summoned—nervous and quivering before this powerful being who commanded souls—only to find themselves helping a high-ranking Beyonder finish her homework. After being thanked, they were dismissed in a haze of confusion and relief. With her task nearly done—just a bit of final cleanup remaining—Nephthys returned to her recently acquired East District villa. Upon entering, she glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. “…I almost forgot. The time’s nearly up.” She said this quietly to herself, then made her way to the dining room on the first floor instead of heading back to her study. There, she triggered a wall sconce mechanism, causing the china cabinet to slide aside, revealing a hidden doorway. Nephthys stepped through the secret door and descended a staircase into the basement. At the center of the room stood a golden scepter, embedded into the ground. It was the heirloom artifact protecting the Boyle family. According to the date, today was the day to replenish it with Revelation spirituality. Usually, this task fell to the family’s steward, who would purchase a spiritual storage item from outside. But since Nephthys now had an abundance of Revelation spirituality herself, she handled it whenever she was home. Approaching the golden scepter, Nephthys quickly grabbed it and closed her eyes, ready to inject her spirituality as usual. But just one second after the process began—something strange happened. A faint, vague voice began to echo in her ear—indistinct, distant, barely perceptible. Nephthys frowned slightly and listened carefully. The voice… it sounded like a name. A name that seemed to be… Viagetta.