Dead Eagle Valley, deep within the repeatedly bombed Royal Mausoleum.
Within the massive underground hall, Mohn stepped forward and sternly rebuked the Savior’s Advent Sect soldiers who were carrying explosives into the mausoleum chamber. The soldiers immediately tried to explain themselves, but clearly, Mohn wasn’t having any of it.
“Whatever the situation, now is NOT the time to pile explosives! Drop what you’re carrying—NOW!”
His tone was direct and commanding. Hearing this, the soldiers hesitated briefly before one of them, seemingly the squad leader, stepped forward and said,
“But… we’ve received direct orders from His Excellency Shihab.”
“I’m in charge here! Go tell Shihab that if he wants everyone to live through this, he’ll follow my orders. Drop those crates, or don’t blame me if I have to use force.”
Mohn’s voice turned from command into a threat. Hearing that, the soldiers exchanged glances, then slowly set their boxes down. In groups, they left the chamber. Before long, the Savior’s Advent Sect forces had fully withdrawn, leaving only Mohn behind.
Once the soldiers were gone, Mohn silently continued toward the center of the grand hall. He soon arrived at the heart of the massive Silence-path ritual array, flanked by towering stone pillars. At the center of the array was an iron oil-lamp-shaped goblet, engraved with a ring of skeletal motifs and etched in the traditional North Ufigan style.
This item was the Goblet of Nether Guidance, one of the ritual artifacts buried with King Rachman and, to date, the most precious relic unearthed. Using this goblet as the ritual core, Mohn had constructed the massive Silence-path array before him. Through it, he had been able to command the vast undead force that had protected Karnak until now.
But at this stage, even the thousand-strong undead force couldn’t stop Shadi’s overwhelming assault. Through his spiritual link to the battlefield undead, Mohn could feel Karnak collapsing on all fronts. It was clear that a complete rout was only a matter of time.Given that, there was no longer any point in using the divine artifact to support the crumbling defense. Instead, it should be used for something far more decisive.
With that thought, Mohn waved his hand, and instantly, the dimly glowing ritual array went dark. The floating Goblet of Nether Guidance dropped from the air. Mohn stepped forward, caught it, and carefully placed it back at the ritual’s center.
Then, he pulled out a large box of bone powder and began rewriting the runes and glyphs on the ground. After correcting several major inscriptions, he stepped back from the array. Studying the reconfigured formation, he took a deep breath—then knelt before it.
If Nephthys had been there, she would have recognized it instantly: this was the receiver array of a spirit summoning ritual, the very same taught to her by Uta.
With both hands open, Mohn began chanting solemnly. As his incantation echoed through the tomb, the formation once again began to glow faintly—then gradually intensified. Finally, with a blinding flash, the light vanished, and a semi-transparent spirit form emerged above the ritual circle.
The spirit was robed in coarse cloth, bearing totemic symbols resembling animal skulls. Around his neck hung several bone necklaces, one of which consisted of small skulls the size of fists. His face was that of a deeply wrinkled old man, with facial tattoos that glowed faintly in the spiritual realm. He wore a chieftain’s headdress made from beast bones and bird feathers—a figure exuding the aura of the New Continent.
“Lord Chabakunka…”
Mohn bowed deeply to the spirit. The entity known as Chabakunka looked down at him and spoke in a hollow, airy voice.
“Why so urgent? You requested assistance last night, but you didn’t say it needed to be this immediate…”
“My apologies, Lord Chabakunka. The situation has changed dramatically. The Revolutionary Army from Dorsa launched a full-scale assault far earlier than we anticipated. It’s as if our plans were leaked. The defense is collapsing rapidly. We don’t have time!
“Shadi’s forces are sweeping through Karnak. It’s only a matter of time before they seize both the city and this mausoleum. We must open the Sepulcher immediately, or it’ll be too late!”
Mohn’s tone was filled with urgency. The events unfolding far exceeded anything predicted, and Mohn had rushed into the mausoleum without even alerting his allies. He knew Shihab would almost certainly order the Sepulcher blasted the moment the assault began, so he had rushed ahead to stop it.
Thankfully, he made it in time.
Floating above the array, Chabakunka listened quietly. Then, he turned to look at the massive stone gate at the top of the stairs behind him. His voice, deep and resonant in the soul-speech, murmured.
“So this is… the king’s mausoleum?”
“Yes. This is Rachman’s Sepulcher. His soul rests behind that door. But the door is forged from Netherfrost Stone—incredibly durable and highly resistant to mystical forces. Only a proper ritual can open it. The ceremony is ready… but we lack the final key artifact. That’s why I’ve summoned you, to help us open it.”
Chabakunka stared at Mohn for a moment, then turned his gaze toward the Goblet of Nether Guidance at the array’s center. He spoke again, his voice calm but resolute.
“Offer up your body. With this divine relic as my core, I shall descend in strength, fully incarnated through you.”
“Yes…”
Mohn nodded solemnly. Rising from his knees, he stepped toward the towering spirit and opened his arms.
At the same time, the Goblet of Nether Guidance began to float again—lifted by invisible forces—then slowly merged into Chabakunka’s translucent form, fading from solid to spectral.
Once fused with the artifact, Chabakunka surged forward and his incorporeal body merged into Mohn.
Mohn’s eyes opened slowly. His gaze was no longer the same. A different soul now occupied the body—Chabakunka was in full control.
The possessed Mohn tested his new body, flexing joints and rolling shoulders. He walked to the center of the array, pulled a sigil parchment from Mohn’s robes, and lit it.
As the sigil burned, the bone dust forming the ritual circle began to swirl, mixing with soil and ash. The mixture floated upward and coated Mohn’s skin, transforming his outer form. The ash-gray dust formed a new outer “skin,” and with it, Mohn’s face vanished, replaced by the visage of Chabakunka.
After covering his body in gray dust to restore his true form, Chabakunka continued forward. Soon, he passed through the towering stone pillars and arrived at the base of the stairs that led to the massive stone door. There, a sacrificial altar stood. Ritual vessels were arranged with precision at various positions around it. But at the altar’s central position—there was nothing. In front of the altar stood six bronze column lamps, lined up in a row.
Chabakunka examined the surrounding ritual tools, then glanced at the stone door at the end of the stairs. After surveying everything with a variety of mystical senses, he finally fixed his gaze on the empty center of the altar and murmured.
“One artifact missing… A forged artifact shall suffice…”
As he spoke, he waved a hand and murmured an incantation. Several spirit-summoning circles manifested in the air around him, glowing faintly. From these formations, a torrent of undead spirits erupted—howling and swirling in the air, numbering in the hundreds.
Ignoring the murmurs of discontent from the spirits, Chabakunka waved his hand again, and suddenly, all the howls turned into screams of terror. The floating souls were yanked toward a single point by an invisible force.
In agony, the souls were stretched and twisted, compressed into thin, shimmering threads that wove together to form a long semi-transparent scroll, floating before Chabakunka. He gave it a cursory glance, then flung it toward the empty spot on the altar. The scroll hovered, unfurling itself into position.
Then, with both hands spread wide, Chabakunka began to chant in a high, echoing voice using North Ufigan. Using this “forged artifact”—a scroll made from over a hundred souls—he began the Royal Sacrificial Ritual.
As his chant echoed through the vast mausoleum, the first of the six bronze lamps lit up on its own.
One by one, the lamps would ignite as the ritual progressed. Once all six were lit, the sacrificial ceremony would be complete—and the stone gate to the Sepulcher would open.
Thus, deep within the mausoleum, Chabakunka resumed a ritual that had not been performed for generations—the royal rite of the Baruch dynasty. As time dragged on, the number of lit bronze lamps increased. When the fifth lamp ignited, a pair of hidden eyes had already locked onto Chabakunka.
Perched on a horizontal beam high above the central chamber, between two pillars, a figure in tight black garb and a face veil lay in wait.
It was Nephthys, who had just infiltrated the mausoleum and now watched the unfolding ritual in silence. Through her eyes, Dorothy observed everything.
“That guy… is performing the Baruch royal ritual!? But how—without the book? What’s that spirit scroll on the altar? Who the hell is this weirdo? And where’s Mohn from the Nether Coffin Order?”
Elsewhere, outside the mausoleum, on the opposite side of the Dead Eagle Valley, Dorothy lay hidden among dry shrubs, peering toward the blast-opened mausoleum entrance. She had used Nephthys’s and her corpse marionettes’ shared vision to monitor the situation inside. And what she saw left her deeply confused.
Dorothy had arrived at the valley using her electromagnetic flying carpet, crossing over 30 kilometers of undead-infested desert at high speed. Upon arrival, she concealed herself and dispatched her mini corpse marionettes into the mausoleum to investigate.
Because the electromagnetic carpet flew far faster than her bird-type corpse marionettes, she hadn’t been able to use them for forward reconnaissance. Only once she reached the valley could she dispatch marionettes to scout the mausoleum interior, leaving her unaware of what had happened there previously.
Now that her mini-marionettes were inside, what she saw was a gray-skinned old man she didn’t recognize performing a nearly complete Baruch Royal Sacrificial Ritual. There was no sign of Shihab, nor of Mohn or the Goblet of Nether Guidance—just this mysterious old man.
Confused but resolute, Dorothy considered interrupting the ritual. She didn’t recognize this man, but he wore shadow-resistant gear, Mohn’s robes, and could wield spirit scrolls, clearly someone related to the Nether Coffin Order. Whatever they were up to, it couldn’t be good. She figured: “Better to disrupt them than let it finish.”
Having made her decision, Dorothy began dispatching more corpse marionettes, coordinating with Nephthys to prepare for a full strike. But just as all forces were in place and ready to strike—she hesitated.
“This old man… I have almost no intel on him. If I move rashly and something goes wrong… What then? All the undead on the frontlines suddenly lost control and fled earlier… Could it be related to him?”
“But if I don’t act, the ritual will complete. There won’t be another chance…”
Faced with the unknown, the usually cautious Dorothy found herself paralyzed. But before she could act, something she observed outside the mausoleum made her pause further.
Through her marionettes’ eyes, she saw a group of men approaching under the blazing sun. At their head: Shihab, the top commander of the Savior’s Advent forces in Karnak, storming toward the tomb entrance with dozens of soldiers.
Storming down the blasted corridor, Shihab’s expression was furious. Upon seeing the familiar back and clothes of the figure inside the ritual hall, he exploded.
“You damned Coffin freak! What the hell do you think you’re doing!? My men are out there dying on the front lines waiting for your undead backup—and now they’re all going berserk?! You screwing with me!?”
Shihab stormed into the hall, cursing all the way. But Chabakunka didn’t react, continuing his ritual. The fifth bronze lamp was already lit.
“Fuck your ancestors! Answer me, you dead freak! Your undead are still running wild and killing my men! What the hell are you playing at!? Say something, or I’ll cut off your limbs and stuff them with camel shit before sewing you into a horse carcass!”
As Shihab advanced, his insults grew more vulgar, riddled with the "refined elegance" of profanity. At last, Chabakunka paused, the air around him suddenly darkening and tense.
“You piss-stained servant of a false god! May your whole family drown in camel piss! Are you mute? Want me to slice your face wide enough to speak—huh?”
Suddenly, the ritual stopped.
Chabakunka turned around.
When Shihab saw the unfamiliar, sunken face glaring at him, he froze—Where was Mohn? he wondered.
Before he could speak again, Chabakunka’s voice echoed coldly.
“Noisy.”
As the word fell, it was as though an invisible brush painted a great sigil in the air. A powerful Silence-path array bloomed beneath his feet, radiating intense mystical pressure.
Up above, where Nephthys lay hidden on the rafters, Soulwhisker bound to her bristled in alarm—making Nephthys arch like a startled cat.
“That… that’s the aura of a wild spirit!”