In the sepulcher of the Rachman Royal Mausoleum within Dead Eagle Valley, Dorothy and Nephthys stood on the frigid floor. They observed the dark surroundings with the help of floating lanterns, gazing at the confession written in dried blood on the chamber’s wall. Nephthys couldn’t help but widen her eyes and mutter.
“These… these bloodstains aren’t part of the original wall carvings. Are these a will? Left behind by these remains? Were they… people from the ancient Baruch Dynasty?”
Having barely made out the blood-written text, Nephthys exclaimed in astonishment. Dorothy, standing beside her, silently nodded and then began to speak slowly.
“Mm… judging from what’s written here, these corpses should be the so-called Six Palace Priests of Baruch. They were essential figures in the Royal Sacrificial Ritual of Baruch, conducting the rites that opened Rachman’s mausoleum and selected each Baruch king…”
Sweeping her gaze over the skeletons on the ground, Dorothy analyzed. Having read the royal ritual texts, she clearly understood that, according to Baruch tradition, every king had to undergo the Royal Sacrificial Ritual to inherit the throne. According to legend, the heir apparent had to confront the soul of the First King Rachman within the mausoleum, where Rachman himself judged whether the successor was worthy. At first, Dorothy thought the requirement to face the First King’s soul was just a myth—but now, things seemed far less simple.
“The Baruch Dynasty grew riddled with corruption in its later years—internal strife, external threats, the people in misery—leading to revolts and ultimately, the dynasty’s fall… For the royal family to decline into the likes of Ma’ad and Mazarr, I always thought this so-called confrontation with the First King was just a ceremonial formality. The successor would simply pay respects in the mausoleum, and that was it. But now it appears Rachman’s soul really did rigorously test each king—to the point that during the sixth generation’s ritual, over eighty candidates were rejected. The result? A succession crisis in Baruch, and these palace priests had no choice but to enact some kind of blasphemous ritual…
“What that ritual entailed is still unclear. All we know is that most of the Six Priests perished here in this sepulcher. Yet somehow, the ritual was carried out regardless, allowing the Baruch line to continue—until its end. Given what we know of its final years, we have to question whether the last few kings were truly selected by Rachman.”
As she paced through the tomb, Dorothy’s mind spun with speculation. Meanwhile, Nephthys curiously surveyed the chamber, eventually turning back to Dorothy.
“Miss Dorothy, based on the message written in blood, this King Rachman seems like he was actually a pretty decent ruler. He tested over eighty candidates and didn’t choose any—that shows a sense of responsibility, right? Why don’t we open this coffin and call out his soul? Maybe he could help us deal with that old man from Kapak’s hometown waiting outside.”
Nephthys offered the suggestion brightly. Dorothy, hearing her, felt a spark of temptation. She knew hiding in the sepulcher was a temporary measure; they couldn’t stay here forever. According to the royal texts, once the ritual time elapsed, the chamber doors would automatically open. That Crimson-rank Nether Coffin Order’s shaman was definitely still waiting outside. They needed a strategy before that happened, or they were done for.And Nephthys’s idea was, in theory, viable. Rachman was a Crimson-rank undead. From the wall confession and Addus folklore, he was remembered as a wise and virtuous monarch—someone who could be reasoned with. If they told him the shaman outside wanted to capture him like some Pokémon and train him, and Rachman’s soul was still rational, then chances were high he’d agree to help them.
However… that was assuming Rachman was still sane.
To Dorothy, it seemed possible Rachman had once been lucid, but after that sixth generation’s blasphemous ritual, things might’ve changed. Who knew what that desecration had done to his soul? There was no telling whether the entity within the coffin was still the wise king.
She had overheard Mohn and Shihab’s conversation before. Mohn was deeply wary of “awakening Rachman’s undead improperly,” firmly opposing Shihab’s plan to blast the sepulcher open with explosives. His concern was that Rachman might awaken abnormally and become a danger to everyone. As a member of the Nether Coffin Order, Mohn must have known something was wrong with Rachman’s soul. And now, his concern had become Dorothy’s. She feared that waking Rachman might just mean unleashing yet another enemy.
After weighing Nephthys’s suggestion, Dorothy finally responded.
“Awakening Rachman’s soul… that’s certainly one option. But for safety’s sake, I need to confirm something first.”
As she spoke, she drew out an ordinary coin and, after uttering a short divination chant, tossed it into the air.
“Is it risky to awaken Rachman’s undead now?”
The coin fell and landed on the back of Dorothy’s hand. Ever since Ma’ad and Robert had fallen together, Falano had revoked divination protections over the Baruch royal line. The anti-divination ward once set in Yadith for the Baruch Dynasty had been seized by the revolutionaries, with its resources carved up by the aristocracy. There was no longer any mystical shielding for this ancestral tomb.
Dorothy slowly lifted her hand. Both she and Nephthys stared at the coin, heads up. A sign confirming danger.
“So… so there really is danger? But wasn’t King Rachman supposed to be one of Addus’s wise monarchs?”
Nephthys was stunned by the result. Dorothy’s expression also showed regret as she retracted the coin.
“He was a wise king… several centuries ago. He’s been dead for so long, and after that ritual, who knows what he’s become? We can’t pin our hopes on him anymore.”
So saying, Dorothy put the coin away and walked over to the stone coffin. She carefully studied the complex formation etched around it. After memorizing it, she sat cross-legged nearby and pulled out her Literary Sea Logbook from her portable magic box. Opening it on her lap, she flipped to a particular page and began writing.
But after a few strokes, she sensed something was off… the writing didn’t sink into the page. Dorothy’s brow furrowed.
“What’s going on? Why isn’t the Literary Sea Logbook reacting?”
Puzzled, she began checking for problems with the logbook. Eventually, she identified the issue.
Not only had her Literary Sea Logbook failed, but she also couldn’t sense the corpse marionettes outside the chamber. Her information transmission-based mystical abilities had been blocked—by the chamber itself, crafted from Netherfrost Stone. She couldn’t use the Logbook to communicate outward, nor control the corpse marionettes beyond the walls. It was as if this room, sealed in Netherfrost Stone, had become an isolated realm.
“Mystical isolation… I never imagined this material, Netherfrost Stone, would have such effects. No wonder even the Nether Coffin Order had such trouble opening Rachman’s sepulcher—it’s not just durable, it’s got a powerful mystical isolation effect. Who even knows what kind of process it takes to make this stuff… if I could get a piece to sell, it’d probably fetch a good price.”
Now that she understood why the Literary Sea Logbook had failed, Dorothy wasn’t panicked. She calmly stowed the book and closed her eyes, silently praying.
“O great Aka, please convey my message to Sister Vania. I wish to establish real-time communication with her.”
After finishing her prayer, Dorothy transmitted the content through the communication channel to Vania. Not long after, she heard Vania’s voice.
"Hello... is this Miss Dorothea? May I ask what’s the matter?"
"Oh, it’s nothing. I contacted the wrong person by mistake—sorry about that..."
"Uh... this sacred prayer communication can be misdialed?"
"Yes, yes. I’ve been staying up late lately and got distracted—called the wrong name. Alright then, I’m still busy here in Addus, so I’ll hang up now. Take care of yourself in Kankdal."
"Oh... I understand. Thank you for your concern, Miss Dorothea..."
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Dorothy nodded in satisfaction after ending the call with Vania. She had now confirmed that while Netherfrost Stone could block mystical effects, it couldn’t obstruct the system’s communication channels. Compared to the Literary Sea Logbook’s mystical functions, this was evidently a higher-level communication mechanism.
After confirming the communication channel still worked, Dorothy sighed in relief. She then closed her eyes again and contacted another recipient.
"O great Aka, please convey my message to Madam Sadroya. Ask if she recognizes the meaning of this array..."
Once the prayer was complete, Dorothy sent the diagram of the formation around the stone coffin, along with the prayer request. She then quietly awaited a response from this former Silence Beyonder of the Nether Coffin Order. Before long, Sadroya’s response echoed in Dorothy’s mind.
"I am glad to share knowledge with a fellow believer in truth. Regarding this array, it does seem familiar, but I can’t recall it clearly right now. I’ll need to consult the mystical texts I carry with me. This will take a little time—please wait."
Sadroya replied this way. After hearing her, Dorothy didn’t press further but instead turned to another matter.
The reason she asked Sadroya about the formation was to determine whether Rachman could be safely awakened. But Dorothy hadn’t placed all her hopes in that possibility alone. She needed to come up with other strategies to counter Chabakunka.
And to devise any strategy, one must understand the enemy. Dorothy now planned to research the background of that old shaman from the New Continent. And for matters concerning shamans of the New Continent, it was best to consult an expert.
Concentrating again, Dorothy closed her eyes and began a new prayer.
"O great Aka, please deliver my message to Kapak and have him inquire about a few things from Shaman Uta..."
…
New Continent, Tupa Tribe Encampment Near the Eastern Coast
In the bustling encampment of the Tupa Tribe, countless brown-skinned natives moved between the tents. The vast camp was filled with people. Along its outskirts, many had set up stalls to trade. Judging from their clothing, most were from tribes other than the Tupa.
Thanks to Dorothy’s repeated use of Shaman Uta’s spiritual communion, the tribe had increasingly benefited from trade with her. As valuable goods worth thousands of pounds began arriving from Tivian, the whole tribe was filled with joy. Industrial-world food, medicine, weapons, and tools were warmly welcomed—each an item that improved their quality of life.
Disinfectants, antibiotics, and bandages saved many lives. A vast supply of firearms allowed more warriors to be armed and defend their home. Canned food, though limited, gave the people a taste of novelty. High-quality crop seeds promised a better harvest. Strange and novel tools from the industrial world were curiously studied.
News that the Tupa Tribe had obtained large quantities of goods from white people quickly spread to surrounding tribes. Many of them came with their own specialty goods, seeking trade. Merchants from other tribes, seeing so many people gathered, began setting up impromptu stalls and exchanged goods freely. The Tupa camp became a bustling trade hub, and their influence began to expand.
At one side of the camp, on a clearing crowded with people, a heap of steel parts—cans, gears, wheels, iron pipes—lay scattered. A group of Tupa tribesmen stood around them, chattering as they tried to guess their use.
Beside the pile, the young tribesman Kapak sat on the grass, frowning at an assembly manual filled with illustrations and Pritt words. Though he recognized each word individually, he couldn’t understand them as phrases. After a long while, he still couldn’t figure out how to assemble the machine.
"Hiss... Just assembling a steam engine is this hard? The person who invented this must’ve been a genius..."
Scratching his head, Kapak muttered. Just then, a voice rang out in his head, making him startle.
"Hey, Kapak! If you’ve figured it out, say so—we’re ready to help."
Beside him, a tall man called out. Kapak stood up and scratched his head apologetically.
"Uh... sorry. I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ll need to take it back and study it overnight. No building today—please pack things up."
Kapak apologized to the surrounding crowd. Amid disappointed murmurs, he quickly left and walked toward the central hill of the camp.
Soon, he arrived at the great shaman’s tent atop the hill. After a brief pause, he lifted the flap and entered. Inside, he found old Shaman Uta smoking on a rug. Without turning, Uta spoke.
"You’ve come..."
"Yes, Master Uta. I have a few questions I’d like to ask..."
Kapak said respectfully.
Uta turned and smiled faintly.
"Your questions… hmm, let me guess—they’re about that servant of Aka. Scholar or Thief, perhaps?"
"Eh? Master Uta… how did you know?"
Kapak said in surprise.
Uta waved his pipe. A small lynx spirit—Soulwhisker—flew out from the corner of the tent and began circling above, fur bristling, flailing its limbs in frustration as if it had just been through something infuriating.
"That thief girl’s encounter—Soulwhisker has already informed me. I never expected that on a continent even farther than the Eastern Lands, one could run into a big shot from the Soul Desecration Cult..."
"Soul… Desecration Cult?"
"An organization formed by shamans who betrayed the path of the Great Soul. They are a disgrace to all shamans of this land. They trample the old teachings, use shamanic power to defile spirits, and submit themselves to powerful spirit-desecrators. They wallow in depravity..."
"Desecrators…?"
"That’s what we shamans call them. In the Eastern Continent, they’re known as the Nether Coffin Order..."