Under the night sky over Lake Starbind, with the full moon high above, Gossmore—eight-limbed and eight-eyed—was speeding across the lake’s surface, flying rapidly toward the distant, nearly-crippled Moon Mirror Golem. Though she was still soaked in blood, her wounds had mostly healed—thanks to injected stimulants and supplements, the damages Dorothy had previously transferred to her had now been largely recovered.
Her gaze cold and grim, Gossmore flew low across the lake at high speed, the shockwave of her motion rippling across the water and leaving a trail of surging waves in her wake. With Francesco defeated and no other opponents seemingly capable of stopping her, she now flew directly toward the temple, determined to bring an end to everything that had transpired this night.
Standing atop a fallen section of the Mirror Moon Golem, Aldrich looked toward the oncoming Gossmore with a deep frown and sighed softly before speaking.
“I’d already decided to stop here… but I suppose I’ll lend you one last hand.”
As he spoke, Aldrich activated the Mirror Moon Golem once more. However, with his spirituality already at the safe limit he’d set for himself, pushing any further would dip into reserves he needed for emergencies—so rather than fully reactivating the golem, he merely triggered its wind-manipulation ability, unleashing countless invisible wind blades to intercept Gossmore.
In an instant, a barrage of razor-sharp wind blades hurtled toward Gossmore like a rainstorm. She swiftly twisted and spun through the air, dodging blade after blade while the howling of the wind tore past her ears. She shattered a few blades with her blood spikes, but fortunately, these projectiles—being sustained external attacks—didn’t transmit pain. Just like when Aldrich used the tornadoes earlier, the Golem itself wouldn’t be damaged by taking hits.
Compared to Francesco’s fireballs, the Golem’s wind blades were faster and more numerous. Even Gossmore had to devote considerable focus and movement to avoid them. Occasionally she would get grazed, but the wounds were minor—the blades simply didn’t pack the kind of raw power necessary to bring her down like the fireballs could.
Even while dodging, Gossmore continued advancing toward the golem. Though the storm of wind blades slowed her somewhat, she was still rapidly closing the distance.
BOOM!
“Urgh!”
The sudden blast caught her completely off guard—there had been no visible fireball, no projectile to track, and the Golem’s wind blades weren’t supposed to explode.
Though dazed, Gossmore quickly surveyed the area for the attacker—yet found nothing. She retrieved her severed arm, reattached it, regenerated her injuries with unnatural speed, and pressed forward—still under assault from wind blades.
But not long after, another explosion tore through her abdomen, nearly blowing her out of the air once again.
“What… is this?!”
Her wide eyes burned with fury and confusion. Where were these blasts coming from? She sensed no other projectiles besides the wind blades!
In truth, these surprise attacks were magnetic bombs deployed by Dorothy in tandem with the Moonlit Water Hag’s hallucination ability. From within the temple, Dorothy had ordered her marionettes onshore to craft magnetic bombs using iron shards and explosives, then used magnetism to launch them at Gossmore. Normally, these bombs were slow—too slow to threaten Gossmore. But with the illusion effects added, that changed everything.
As Aldrich launched a storm of wind blades at Gossmore, she instinctively focused all her energy on those. Subconsciously, she assumed wind blades were the only threat. That was when Dorothy released the bombs. Simultaneously, the Moonlit Water Hag distorted Gossmore’s perception, hiding any projectiles that weren’t wind blades. The bombs closed in undetected—and exploded right beside her. The wind blade barrage restricted her movement, allowing Dorothy a rare chance to accurately aim.
The two surprise attacks left Gossmore battered and furious. But she wasn’t foolish—after being ambushed twice, she began to piece things together.
“This is… an illusion! The same illusion as before! That monster is at it again!”
Having regenerated again, Gossmore crafted several blood needles—but rather than hurling them at the golem, she stabbed them into her own body.
Instantly, she was wracked with pain far more intense than ordinary wounds, but as a high-ranking member of the Eight-Spired Nest, Gossmore was long accustomed to pain and suffering. She withstood it quickly—barely even making a sound.
“Hah… hah… under the Queen of the Deepweb’s cruel blessing… there is no place for illusion…”
In the Eight-Spired Nest, it wasn’t just criminal prisoners who were tortured. The organization’s ruthless hierarchy saw superiors often tormenting subordinates—not as punishment, but for amusement. High-rank Beyonders tortured mid-rank, mid-rank tormented low-rank, and all of that suffering fell upon the lowest slaves. Every member who climbed from low to high rank had endured layer after layer of abuse. As a Witch Regent, Gossmore had even undergone extreme agony imposed by the Spider Queen Herself during sacred rituals.
So, for her, this level of pain was nothing. She could even use the searing agony to stimulate her spirit and resist hallucinations.
Sure enough, after stabbing herself, the magnetic bombs became visible. With a grim grin, she clenched her teeth and pressed on toward the Golem, enduring the wind blades. Her pain-induced trance made her mentally unstable and slower to react—she began taking more hits—but none of the wind blades could kill her.
By weaponizing pain to anchor her mind, Gossmore counteracted Dorothy’s illusions and continued advancing. However, all the confusion had already cost her precious time. And while her mental shock therapy kept the hallucinations at bay, it also severely impaired her combat efficiency. Her advance toward the golem was noticeably slower.
Within the Mirror Moon Golem, inside the balance chamber where the ritual had once taken place, Dorothy now sat in silent meditation before the statue—one that bore a face strikingly similar to her own. Her eyes closed, she focused intently.
Dorothy was preparing to attempt something daring—a bold invocation using her Bizarre Author abilities to manifest a legend, one that had once spread across all of Pritt.
“Once, Arthur and his companions slew evil spirits on the banks of Mirror Lake. When the head of the creature hit the ground, the waters rippled—and from within rose the Lady of the Lake. Moved by the warriors’ courage, she bestowed upon them three gifts, offering them a choice…”
“Once, a foolish farmer became infatuated with a secluded princess who lived in a distant castle. Though he had never seen her due to heavy guards, he had heard of her beauty. While gazing into a mirror one day, inspiration struck. That night, he went to the lake she often visited, hoping to glimpse her reflection…”
“Once, deep in the forest lived a proud and powerful tiger king, who ruled over all beasts, believing himself peerless. Until one day, a fox told the tiger he had seen a beast of equal might reflected in the lake…”
From Dorothy’s lips flowed legend after legend—folk tales from every corner of Pritt, each with its own flavor and theme: some praised kingship, others spoke of love, absurdity, punishment, or moral lessons…
These legends from various eras of Pritt were recited rapidly by Dorothy’s voice. Some were tales she had heard in childhood, others from earlier memories, and still others came from the research materials collected by Duke Barrett. Though their content varied widely, they all shared a singular common thread:
The Maiden of the Lake—or rather, the Lady of the Lake. This recurring figure appeared throughout the folktales of Pritt. In countless stories, she aided kings in ascending their thrones, guided star-crossed lovers to union, toyed with the arrogant, punished the greedy and vile, and warned those blinded by pride or delusion.
Her image appeared with high frequency throughout Pritt’s ancient and modern myths. Though the Radiance Church had long attempted to erase and rewrite such tales, trying to purge the Lady of the Lake from popular memory, the legend was too deeply embedded in the cultural roots of the Pritt people. Even after centuries of doctrinal suppression, remnants of her lore persisted. In modern-day Pritt, while her name had faded from major cities, the stories still thrived in small towns and rural villages—stories Dorothy had often heard in her youth.
To the average person, the Lady of the Lake was no more than a fable. But for those familiar with Pritt’s hidden histories, her origin was well known—she was a remnant echo of the once-mainstream faith in the Mirror Moon Goddess, the deity that had ruled these lands long before. Since the dawn of the Fourth Epoch, the Radiance Church had worked tirelessly to erase the mythos of the Mirror Moon Goddess.
Yet could such a deeply rooted belief truly be erased?
After being forcibly stripped of divine and religious context, the faith did not vanish, but transformed. The image of the Mirror Moon Goddess became the Lady of the Lake, a folkloric being still whispered about throughout Pritt. The people, unwilling to forget their goddess yet unable to defy the mighty Radiance Church, held onto her quietly in the form of this maiden. But time erodes all things. What once was sacred lore became mere folktale.
And it was because it had become “just a legend” that Dorothy could now use it.
At this moment, Dorothy recited the numerous tales of the Lady of the Lake collected by Barrett from all across Pritt. From them, she extracted a shared archetype, intending to manifest her through her powers as a Bizarre Author.
As Dorothy rapidly chanted legend after legend concerning the Lady of the Lake, faint translucent threads began to emerge in the air above the ritual’s balance chamber. These threads slowly converged, weaving together the form of a maiden.
Dorothy was crafting a body for the Lady of the Lake using stories—a single tale would not be enough. She needed countless overlapping versions to distill a consistent identity. Drawing on all remaining fragments of Lady of the Lake folklore across Pritt, she was attempting to manifest an Anecdotal Being strong enough to contend with Gossmore.
Of course, a mere folklore manifestation would still not be enough to defeat Gossmore. But Dorothy suspected that what she summoned… would become more than just an anecdote.
Finally, she finished reciting the last of the stories. The Anecdotal Being she had woven took full form—hovering in the air was a girl who looked about seventeen or eighteen. She wore a white gossamer gown, her skin pale as snow, long silver hair flowing freely, barefoot, and her face still blurred.
Dorothy did not immediately issue commands to the figure. Instead, she quietly stood and lifted her gaze to the full moon, visible through the chapel dome above.
“Queen of the Night Sky… I have recreated your greatest remaining legacy in Pritt. If you truly are watching… perhaps this can serve as your vessel…”
As she whispered to the moon, Dorothy’s thoughts drifted to the soft silver light she had glimpsed in her dreamlike state during her advancement ritual. She believed—that gentle glow must belong to someone.
No sooner had her words fallen than the surroundings began to tremble. The ground shuddered, and the Mirror Moon Golem convulsed unnaturally.
“What…?”
Aldrich, still controlling the Golem, suddenly discovered that he had lost control. The immense construct, previously slumped in the shallows, rose on its own, floating under some unknown force. Its limbs retracted, its structure reshaped—the Mirror Moon Golem was transforming back into the cathedral.
“Whose power is this…?”
Aldrich murmured in awe. Meanwhile, Gossmore, seeing the transformation from a distance, gritted her teeth and sped up.
“Don’t you dare pull any more tricks!”
Incredibly quickly, the Golem resumed its cathedral form. But instead of returning to rest on the lake, it hovered in the air, bathed in moonlight.
Inside the balance chamber—now reverted to the sanctuary—Dorothy sat stunned as she saw gentle silver light stream down from the open dome above, surrounding the Lady of the Lake’s form. The light seeped into her.
Immediately, the Anecdotal Being began to glow with soft silvery radiance. Her once-blurred face became visible—it was identical to the goddess statue… and to Dorothy herself.
Now bearing a face, the Lady of the Lake slowly turned to look at the astonished Dorothy and spoke, her voice cold and serene, yet inexplicably soothing.
“To divinity, the convergence of tales is but a tether to strengthen bonds—not a vessel to hold or extend them.”
Hearing those words, which seemed to resonate deep within her, Dorothy paused, then asked.
“…Then what is the vessel?”
She gazed at the figure. The girl only smiled faintly—then, all at once, her body dissolved into countless threads of silver light, which surged into Dorothy.
Before she could react, Dorothy was surrounded. In that moment, her consciousness was bathed in clarity.
Within that emptiness, Dorothy saw her body rising, wrapped in silver. Her clothing vanished, her long silver hair falling freely. Her petite frame began to grow, visibly aging by three or four years in seconds.
The silver light around her became soft veils that clothed her bare form. Her skin began to shine like crystalline mirrors, undergoing a mysterious transformation. The outer layer of her flesh left behind its mortal nature, becoming mirrored facets with countless angular reflections.
BOOM!
Suddenly, the great doors of the sanctuary shattered with a thunderous crash. A blur moved faster than the eye could follow—Gossmore burst into the cathedral, hurtling toward the silver radiance.
“Die!!”
With a long, needle-like blood spike in hand, Gossmore thrust her weapon toward Dorothy’s hovering form, aiming to pierce her through completely.
But just as the blood spike was about to strike—
A vast, infinite darkness exploded outward, swallowing everything around it.