On a hilltop near Lake Starbind in the outskirts of Glamorne—
At this moment, an old man stood alone amidst the breeze blowing in from the lake.
His hair was sparse, his eyes bulging, deep wrinkles etched across his pallid face. His body was thin and stooped, cloaked in a loose, dark robe embroidered with patterns of thorns and spiders. His bony hands leaned upon a rotting wooden staff, and his cloudy eyes gazed solemnly over the broad expanse of water.
This old man was none other than one of the high-ranking members of the Eight-Spired Nest, known as the Priest of Fangs. Now, he stood atop one of the hills overlooking Lake Starbind, peering across the lake with intense focus—as if hoping to unearth some hidden treasure from its surface.
He had stood there unmoving for tens of minutes, untouched by the wind, motionless as decaying wood.
“Ha… still at it, huh? Staring out over the lake in broad daylight—what exactly do you think you’ll find? You’d be better off saving your energy for the night.”
A woman’s voice rang out from behind him.
At the sound, the Priest of Fangs—who had been as still as dead wood—slowly turned around, looking toward the source of the voice. There, he saw a tall woman approaching.
She had long, wavy black hair and dark red eyes. A wide-brimmed hat shaded her face, and she wore a dark dress adorned with spider-silk patterns. Her lips were painted a vivid red, her eyes rimmed with heavy liner—her face striking and full of allure.
“We’ve been searching for days and still haven’t found the entrance. So far, we’ve focused our efforts at night, but we’ve come up with nothing. I was thinking perhaps it’s time to try a different approach—conduct some daytime searches,” he said quietly, still staring out over the lake.
The woman responded with a cold laugh.
“Daytime searches? Don’t be ridiculous. You think that moon-bitch’s secrets would reveal themselves under the brilliance of the Source of Light? Operating during the day is a waste of energy. If we try to cover the lake with blood mist during the day, with all the boats and people around, our control will drop dramatically. And if we don’t find anything quickly, the cost in spirituality and blood won’t be worth it. Our recovery won’t keep up with consumption. What happens if we deplete ourselves and then get hit with an ambush?”
Her dark red pupils narrowed slightly, a dangerous glint flashing within them.
“Don’t forget—based on intel from Tivian, we’re not the only ones who know about this place. The royal family, the Black Dog Bureau’s vigilance faction… even that mysterious Heaven’s Arbiter Sect might have caught wind of this. If any of them seize the chance to strike, the consequences could be devastating… Boade.”
There was a warning tone in her voice as she addressed him. Boade—the Priest of Fangs—paused at her words. His mind flashed back to Tivian, months earlier, when he had seen a bolt of lightning tear through the sky. Back then, he hadn’t known what kind of power could summon such thunder, until news later arrived from North Ufiga: the Heaven’s Arbiter Sect had reemerged.
“The Heaven’s Arbiter Sect… Why would a group whose activities are confined to North Ufiga suddenly intervene in Pritt’s affairs? Aren’t those undead remnants of the First Dynasty too busy fighting each other to meddle in the Land of Windstone…?”
Boade muttered, contemplative. The woman, however, replied evenly.
“Most of those thousand-year-old dead things are already mad. It wouldn’t be surprising for them to do anything. But their motives don’t matter. What does matter is getting the job done—finding that moon-bitch’s temple and dragging it out of this cursed lake. No mistakes allowed.”
She continued with a serious tone.
“If we follow your suggestion and use blood mist during the day—just think. The lake’s crowded with boats and people. It’d be harder to maintain control. And if we still don’t find the entrance after all that effort, our spiritual reserves will be drained. Then at night, we won’t even be able to cover the lake properly, and those hidden threats could take advantage. Based on intel from the Night Demon, the ones we should be more worried about aren’t the cultists—but the vigilance faction within the royal family. If they infiltrate at full strength, and we don’t have the blood mist in place, we won’t be able to stop them.”
She stared seriously at Boade as she spoke. Hearing her analysis, Boade paused, then sighed.
“You’re right, Gossmore. We shouldn’t waste our spirituality trying to blanket the lake during the day… But that doesn’t mean we give up entirely on daytime investigation. We can still send a few people to poke around—maybe they’ll find something.”
“Whatever. Just use your own people. Don’t touch mine.”
Gossmore said with a wave of her hand, clearly disinterested. She added with a dismissive tone.
“Don’t expect me to give you anything.”
Boade frowned slightly at her attitude.
“Gossmore, the Nest sent the two of us here for an important mission. We’re supposed to work together. What’s wrong with asking your people to help?”
“Work together?” she sneered.
“You’ve got things twisted. I wasn’t sent here to take orders from you—I’m here as your ‘failsafe’. To make sure you don’t screw up again like you did back in early spring. The Nest had to clean up your mess for months.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Don’t forget who I am. You’re a priest. I’m a Witch Handler. The fact that I’ve been assisting with your night operations is already me giving you more respect than you deserve. And now you want to order me around too?”
Striking a mildly arrogant pose, Gossmore glanced at him out of the corner of her eye with a look of contempt. Boade clenched his staff a little tighter, clearly restraining his temper, before replying.
“I acknowledge your status, Gossmore. But you must also understand—if something goes wrong with this mission, not even your title will protect you from repercussions.”
“Go wrong?” Gossmore scoffed.
“As long as I conserve my spirituality and ignore your stupid ideas like deploying blood mist during the day, nothing will go wrong. I already told you—my role here is to cover this operation. As long as I’m here, even if two or three Crimson-rank agents from the vigilance faction sneak in, we have nothing to fear…”
“So even if something does go wrong during this operation, it won’t be because of me—it’ll be because you’re too useless. If you fail to find the gate, and everything ends up at a standstill… then all of it will be your responsibility. After all, locating that moon-bitch’s temple is your task.”
With a note of mockery, Gossmore addressed Boade, clearly emphasizing the difference in their roles for this mission. Hearing her words, Boade fell silent. He stared at the tall woman before him with a solemn gaze, unable to find a rebuttal.
“…I’m going to begin preparations for tonight’s search.”
He said this plainly, and then turned around—his body dispersing into a cloud of blood mist that quickly vanished into the air.
Watching his departure, Gossmore nodded in satisfaction. She then turned her gaze toward the vast lake before her, watching the many boats drifting across its surface, their silhouettes mirrored alongside the sun and surrounding mountains.
“To think he actually wanted to search for that moon-bitch’s secret in broad daylight… what on earth is going through that old man’s head?”
With that muttered comment, Gossmore, too, dissolved into a mist of blood and disappeared, leaving the hillside once more in perfect silence.
…
At that same moment, on the broad waters of Lake Starbind, amidst the pleasure boats and fishing vessels, a small boat slowly drifted along. Sitting atop it, alone, was a man in a trench coat and short-brimmed hat—none other than Dorothy’s corpse marionette, Ed.
From a grassy area by a lakeside grove, Dorothy remotely controlled her corpse marionettes as they scouted all across Lake Starbind, searching for the so-called Shadowless Gate. Her puppets disguised themselves as tourists or fishermen, rowing casually over the calm waters.
Sitting there in the grass, Dorothy extended her senses through the multi-vision of her scattered marionettes, carefully observing the lake and its surroundings.
According to her previous deductions, the entrance to the Temple of the Moon lay within the reflected images of various moon phases on the lake’s surface. Since the Eight-Spired Nest controlled Lake Starbind during the night, Dorothy’s only feasible option was to pursue the gate associated with the moon phase that only appeared in daylight—the New Moon, corresponding to the Shadowless Gate.
And just a few days ago, the crescent moon that had previously hung in the night sky had vanished completely—the time of conjunction had arrived. Today was the New Moon, the only day that month Dorothy could attempt to find the Shadowless Gate.
To find it, she would have to locate the New Moon’s reflection on the lake. But since the New Moon resided in the daytime sky and was utterly drowned out by the sun’s brilliance, it was impossible to see its reflection directly. Fortunately, Dorothy had another method besides sight—calculation.
Though she couldn’t see the New Moon’s reflection, she could calculate where it should be. By referencing the positions of the moon’s reflected images she’d previously observed from the summit of Mount Lakeview and factoring in where the New Moon should appear in the sky, Dorothy had determined the reflection’s likely position. She had already sent Ed rowing toward it.
Before long, the marionette Ed had brought the small boat to the designated spot and came to a stop. Dorothy had him scan the surrounding scenery—lake, sky, sunlight—then begin examining the water itself. After a thorough inspection, nothing unusual appeared around the boat; the surrounding water was crystal clear.
Seeing this, Dorothy immediately deployed her fish corpse marionettes, which she had scattered throughout the lake, and sent them toward the calculated position of the New Moon’s reflection. They soon arrived beneath Ed’s boat, but even after a detailed underwater sweep, nothing unusual was found.
Dorothy’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Nothing? Did I calculate it wrong? Is the gate not here after all?”
Anxious, she recalled the time she had attempted to enter the Temple of Revelation Runes in Yadith—back then, she hadn’t used a marionette to enter the Inner Realm barrier.
“Looks like… there are some things I’ll have to do myself after all.”
Murmuring to herself, Dorothy made up her mind. She stood from the grass and headed toward the lake.
Some time later, disguised as a girl out boating with her father, Dorothy and a marionette posing as her “father” paddled out to the calculated reflection point. Holding a parasol to shield herself from the sun, Dorothy once again began to scan the surrounding water for signs of a “gate.” But this first attempt yielded nothing. Just as she was wondering how to continue the search, a strange sensation stirred within her.
Sitting in the gently swaying boat, Dorothy reached into her small bag and retrieved her magic box. Opening it, she pulled out an object—a fragment of black jade, a trophy she had looted from Withered Wing back in Moncarlo.
At this moment, the piece of black jade was radiating a faint silver glow. And as if resonating with it, the Concealment Ring on Dorothy’s finger—left behind by her mother—also began to emit a similar light.
Seeing this, Dorothy was struck by sudden recollection—there was still another line in the riddle-prayer: The gate through the mirror requires a key.