Outskirts of Tivian, Gale Fortress.
Beneath the heavily guarded military fortress, within the Serenity Bureau headquarters—the central hub of Pritt Kingdom’s secret police—a solemn atmosphere hung heavily in the spirit summoning chamber.
Dim lighting illuminated the not-so-spacious and shadowy room. At the center of the chamber’s floor, a white Silence array was drawn, surrounded by a ring of lit candles. Before the array sat a small offering table, upon which lay a few accessories and several simple female ornaments. Around the setup, several figures had gathered.
Among them stood a robed and hooded attendant and several mid-to-high-ranking officers of the Serenity Bureau. Most prominent among them was Prince Harold, dressed in the uniform of a Pritt general. As the head of the Serenity Bureau, his personal attendance at such a small-scale ritual added immense weight to the proceedings.
Harold stood in place, his expression focused as he watched several subordinates arranging the ritual setup. His presence silenced the others, who stood quietly in place. Once the preparations were complete, a subordinate jogged over and whispered a report before withdrawing. Harold then turned his gaze toward the robed attendant.
“You may begin,” he said.
The robed attendant gave a slight nod to Harold before walking to the front of the array and sitting cross-legged before the offering table. He began to chant in a low voice, reciting obscure incantations. Under the guidance of the spirituality he provided, the sigil array before him began to emit a faint glow.
As the glow rose from the array, tension visibly spread among everyone present. All eyes were locked on the center of the formation, and the heavy atmosphere grew even more intense.
The incantations continued to echo through the small space, until finally, after an indeterminate length of time, a faint shadow began to take form within the array’s light. It grew clearer and clearer, eventually taking on the shape of a woman.
“Misha… Are you truly dead?”
“Yes, Lord Harold. The current me… has already passed away.”
Hovering within the spirit summoning array, the royal female knight Misha answered in an ethereal voice, her translucent form bearing the dazed look common to the summoned dead. Upon hearing the spirit personally confirm her own death, a wave of grim expressions spread across the room. Clearly, this was devastating news.
After the recent Cold Cliff Prison riot had been quelled and the aftermath assessed, Misha—who had been assigned to the site—was nowhere to be found. Despite extensive efforts to locate her, no trace was found. With worst fears gnawing at them, they had resolved to attempt this ritual… and now, it confirmed the outcome.
Harold stared at the spectral form of his trusted subordinate, emotions churning inside. But this was not the time for grief. He paused briefly, then continued his questioning.
“Do you remember how you died?”
“I died by activating a Flame-Sacrifice Sigil in desperation, to prevent my body from falling into the hands of villains after death.”
Still bearing that dazed expression, Misha replied softly. Harold immediately pressed for more details.
“Who were these so-called villains? Who forced you into such a state?”
“I don’t know… I didn’t witness any of them using obvious Beyonder abilities. At the time, I had already been gravely injured by a powerful explosion and lost most of my combat capacity. Even if they only had ordinary weapons, I couldn’t resist.”
“Tell me more about the explosion.”
“It was caused by an entire vehicle loaded with explosives. The cargo was disguised as supplies bound for Cold Cliff Prison, transported by several imposters posing as Cold Cliff guards. But the vehicle broke down en route and was stranded in the middle of the road. After Mayschoss and I finished our task in Cold Cliff and were heading back, we encountered them. Mayschoss went to speak with them while I stayed behind. Then the impostors began to flee, and Mayschoss gave chase. At that point, the explosives in the vehicle detonated. I was caught in the blast and severely injured.”
Expressionless, Misha recounted the events leading to her death. As Harold listened, his face grew darker. During her account, he glanced toward Gregor, who stood off to the side, bandaged and dejected.
“So, those people… they specifically came to kill you? That entire truck bomb was meant for you?”
Harold asked again. Misha paused briefly before replying.
“That can’t be said for certain. From what I overheard, they seemed surprised by my presence. Using the explosives to injure and eliminate me didn’t appear to be part of their original plan—just an improvisation. I think their actual goal was to bring the explosives to Cold Cliff, but I don’t know what they intended to do with them…”
Listening to her answer, Harold fell into thought. Misha’s information helped clarify things: her death had not been a targeted assassination but rather the result of being caught up in a broader plot—specifically, the riot at Cold Cliff Prison.
That riot had been orchestrated to coordinate with an external rescue operation. It was clearly the work of a secret society, aiming to extract captured allies. Explosives were even used to breach prison walls. The truck of explosives was likely intended for that, but Misha’s sudden appearance had led the group to change their plan on the fly, using the bomb against her instead.
Though he now understood the heart of the incident, Harold’s mood did not improve. He continued questioning Misha, seeking more details about the event, until the summoner finally began to falter and could no longer maintain the ritual.
“…Sigh. I never imagined that this would be our final farewell. Your passing is a tremendous loss, both to me and to the Bureau. Rest in peace. I will ensure your family is well compensated.”
Harold sighed as the spirit before him began to fade, the main questions now answered. Misha responded softly.
“…To no longer serve by your side is my greatest regret, Your Highness.”
With those final words, the spirit summoning ritual came to a close. Misha’s soul was guided back into the Nether Realm, specially escorted into its depths by the Serenity Bureau’s summoner. As her soul vanished, Harold could not help but let out a mournful sigh.
…
Within the vast city of Tivian, in an ordinary building, a wide room with sealed doors and windows housed another “Silence” sigil array drawn upon the floor.
At the front of this array sat a cloaked figure. She wore a loose-fitting robe, a veil, and a hood, with gloves covering her hands—her entire body wrapped in layers of concealment. Aside from the curves of her silhouette indicating she was female, no other identifiable features could be discerned.
In the faintly perfumed air of the room, the mysterious veiled woman sat cross-legged before the Silence array, eyes closed in what seemed to be deep meditation. On the opposite side of the array lay another woman dressed in civilian clothing—if one looked carefully, they would recognize her as Misha, apparently asleep.
Suddenly, the meditating woman seemed to sense something and abruptly opened her eyes. At that moment, the array beneath her began to glow faintly, and Misha’s soul slowly emerged from the formation, floating into the air.
Gone was the dazed look she had worn earlier at the Serenity Bureau. Now, reappearing once more, Misha’s expression was solemn. Upon her return to the physical world, her gaze shifted toward the body lying nearby. Without hesitation, her spirit quickly drifted toward it and merged back inside. The body that had appeared to be sleeping stirred, and Misha slowly opened her eyes and sat up.
“How was it, Miss Misha? How did things go over there?”
The veiled woman spoke softly as she watched Misha awaken. Misha, still clutching her head, gently replied.
“Everything went fine... Including His Highness, everyone at the Bureau now believes I’m dead. And since they believe it, that mole inside the Bureau has no choice but to believe it too...”
As she spoke, Misha stood up and looked again at the veiled woman beside her.
“Thank you, friends of the Rose Cross Order. At last, I’ve escaped from under the noses of the Eight-Spired Nest. Without your help, I really don’t know how I could’ve fought back against them.”
“There’s no need for such gratitude. As it happens, we’re also in need of dealing with the Eight-Spired Nest a little. Since our interests align, lending a hand was only natural.”
The veiled woman responded coolly, to which Misha chuckled.
“Heh, I wonder what those spider bastards did to offend a secret society like yours... I truly didn’t expect the Rose Cross Order to not only be elusive and strange but also have such powerful spirit-handling mystics. You’re far better than those second-rate types our Bureau hires. Don’t tell me your order specializes in Silence?”
“What kind of mysteries our society delves into isn’t a matter worth discussing now,” the veiled woman replied, deflecting the question.
“Rather, Miss Misha, what do you plan to do next?”
Unbothered by the evasive answer, Misha responded frankly.
“I’ll find a hidden base in the city to lay low. Once I’ve settled in, I’ll resume investigating the Eight-Spired Nest. You’re welcome to collaborate if you wish. But I’ve already come this far—there’s no way I won’t see this through to the end with those spider creeps.”
Hearing that, the veiled woman smiled.
“Then I wish you luck…”
With that, the woman bid Misha farewell. After disguising herself, Misha left the room, descended the stairs, and silently vanished into the distance. Once the room had fallen silent, the veiled woman let out a soft sigh, then gently removed her veil—revealing the face of Nephthys.
“Thank you again for your help, Elder Uta.”
After unveiling herself, Nephthys spoke solemnly in Spirit Glyph to the empty room. In response to her words, a ghostly figure separated from her body and hovered in the air before her—it was the spirit of the Tupa Tribe’s shaman, Uta.
“No thanks are necessary. You’ve removed one of the great defilers among us who betrayed the ancient teachings. For all who still hold to the old ways, that’s a great favor. What I’ve done to repay that is but a small token.”
Uta’s spirit spoke calmly to the familiar Nephthys. Then his form began to fade, drawn by a distant summoning.
“With this matter complete, I shall take my leave. Farewell, friend of Tupa from a distant land.”
With those parting words, his spirit vanished into the air, returning to the homeland of the New Continent. Nephthys silently watched his departure before turning to examine the ritual site.
“Mmm~ All right, now I just have to clean all this up and it’s done. Ugh, I didn’t expect so much work as soon as I got back…”
Stretching lazily, Nephthys grumbled briefly, then began to clean up the traces of the ritual. As she worked, across the street in a carriage, Dorothy exhaled in quiet relief.
“Good… We’ve finally wrapped up the Serenity Bureau’s summoning business. Now, no one should have reason to doubt that the knight lady is truly dead. Having a strong Silence Beyonder on our side really is a blessing—especially one like that shaman, who specializes in spirit summoning and control…”
Sitting in the carriage, Dorothy mused to herself. In a world where the mystical was real, faking one’s death inevitably meant confronting the possibility of a summoning.
If Misha were truly dead, those watching her—be it the Eight-Spired Nest or the Serenity Bureau—would surely try to confirm it via summoning. The Eight-Spired Nest, aiming to disguise her death as collateral in a prison riot, wouldn’t initiate a summoning. That task would fall to the Serenity Bureau.
But Dorothy wasn’t worried about that. On her side, she had multiple White Ash-rank Silence Beyonders, including a New Continent shaman with exceptional necromantic skill. Compared to the Black Earth-rank summoners hired by the Bureau, he was far superior—countering them was effortless.
Using her usual method, Dorothy reverse-summoned Uta the shaman’s spirit to Tivian, letting it possess Nephthys and grant her his power. Then Nephthys used her Soul Contractor ability to extract Misha’s living soul from her body. Through Uta’s shamanic skills, they first placed Misha’s soul into the Nether Realm, allowing her to sense the summoning ritual and respond to it.
Summoned by the Serenity Bureau’s ritual, Misha’s spirit emerged accordingly. But since her soul was still under Uta’s control, the ritual’s influence clashed with his. And because Uta’s skill exceeded that of the Bureau’s Black Earth summoner, the ritual failed to dominate her, allowing Misha to speak freely—unlike typical spirits, who could only speak the truth and had no agency.
Moreover, Misha’s responses were scripted in advance—fully aligning with the Eight-Spired Nest’s perception of the event. They wouldn’t find anything suspicious.
Using this strategy, Dorothy successfully handled the Bureau’s summoning. Both the Serenity Bureau and the Eight-Spired Nest were now convinced Misha was truly dead.
This first operation upon returning to Tivian had yielded significant rewards. First, she’d helped Misha escape, gaining a new ally in the fight against the Eight-Spired Nest. Second, she helped Gregor complete the task assigned to him by the Nest. They would now use their unique influence over the Bureau to promote him, granting him higher standing in both factions. And third… Dorothy had also obtained some direct benefits from Misha herself.
As these thoughts swirled, Dorothy reached into her magic box and rummaged for a moment before pulling out three old books.
These books were mystical texts that Misha had smuggled out of the Serenity Bureau’s vault the day before their operation, as a gift at Dorothy’s request. Dorothy’s current spirituality level was just shy of the threshold for advancement—these texts contained enough spirituality to make up the difference.
Now, the only thing she lacked… was that elusive temple.