Tivian, Eastern Coast of Pritt.
When the blazing sun in the sky erupted with an unprecedented holy radiance, the dreamlike fog that shrouded the city of Pritt was instantly dispersed. From the depths of illusion, the white sacred cocoon within the vast forest of ancient trees faintly emerged, suspended at the apex of the Dreamscape above the city—at the deepest point of all phantasms.
The moment the cocoon, housing both Moth and Butterfly, manifested, Gu Mian—who had just escaped the maw of the dragon—blankly looked upward. He spread his wings, mostly healed by now, and flew toward the sacred cocoon at the dream’s summit, beginning his final pilgrimage.
“We can’t let it enter the region where the Dreamscape’s influence is stronger! Otherwise, it can directly open a portal next to the cocoon!”
Seeing Gu Mian flying from the city ground toward the Dreamscape projection in the sky, the black cat apparition beside the dragon shouted urgently. As the dragon’s incarnation, Dorothy roared upon hearing the cat’s warning, spread her wings, and charged toward Gu Mian.
At this moment, the boundary between dream and reality in Tivian had already collapsed. The sky had become a projection of the Dreamscape, while the ground remained grounded in reality. Once Gu Mian reentered the dream projection above, it would gain the ability to leap straight to the cocoon’s side and fulfill its greatest desire.
Dorothy, now a dream dragon, roared as she rushed towards Gu Mian. Free from the confusion fog’s interference, she moved with greater speed and soon drew near. She opened her massive jaws, intent on swallowing Gu Mian whole.
Yet, facing this surprise attack, Gu Mian showed no intent to evade. His gaze never left the pure white sacred cocoon, as if praying toward it without pause. And the cocoon… seemed to respond to those prayers.
In that moment of haze and reverence, a soft radiance shimmered atop the cocoon deep within the Forest. Around Gu Mian, threads of faint white silk appeared out of thin air, rapidly coiling around it. In the blink of an eye, Gu Mian was enveloped in a floating, miniature white cocoon—its material similar to the sacred cocoon itself. And it continued to grow and expand.
Seeing this sudden formation, the black cat urgently warned Dorothy aloud.
“Be careful, Your Excellency! Those threads are divine constructs—you must not touch them! Gu Mian has resonated with the Moth in the cocoon and borrowed its power!”
The black cat’s explanation followed: the sacred cocoon had long been worshipped by the Blackdream Hunting Pack, and the Moth within had already grown stronger than the Butterfly, forcing the Dream Knight’s cocoon to activate its final defensive mechanism—releasing the confusion fog to sever the Blackdream’s connection.
Now that the fog had cleared, Gu Mian could once more commune with the cocoon. Through resonant prayers, it called to the Moth—stronger than the Butterfly—and borrowed its divine strength to complete this last pilgrimage.
In short, with Pan-Moth’s support overpowering the butterfly, Gu Mian had now obtained divine power as well!
Hearing the black cat’s warning, Dorothy immediately braked in midair, halting her assault just in time and avoiding contact with the cocoon-wrapped Gu Mian. As she soared past it, she growled in draconic voice toward the black cat.
“Is there any way to destroy that thing?”
“No... not that I know of… It’s incredibly dangerous. Maybe only a powerful divine attack could break it…”
Watching Gu Mian ascend rapidly and protected by the cocoon, the black cat spoke with growing urgency, while Dorothy momentarily fell into a dilemma.
“Divinity… huh…”
…
Elsewhere—Tivian East Suburbs, Grand Pavilion of the World Expo.
As the scorching holy light descended from the sky, the dense fog that had blanketed the World Plaza was blasted apart. Sunlight once again illuminated the vast main venue of the expo.
Where once there was a clamor of voices, now silence reigned. After the appearance of the pseudo-moth and the opening of the Dreamscape gate, the once-massive crowd, like the rest of Tivian, had all succumbed to slumber. Most had collapsed where they stood, unmoving, with only occasional distant rumbles breaking the stillness.
Amid the dispersing fog, a small figure darted across the venue. It was Saria, the girl who often roamed the Dreamscape in fox form.
“Huff… huff…”
Panting heavily, Saria was now sprinting across the main venue alone, headed for the Crystal Palace behind the VIP terrace.
When the situation in Tivian shifted due to the Silent Wardens going out of control, Dorothy—still engaged in battle within the Dreamscape—immediately suspected trouble on Charles IV’s side. She sent word through her information channel, instructing the little fox to check the Crystal Palace.
Saria had followed Dorothy’s command without hesitation. But after only a few steps, she encountered a hypnotic wave from the pseudo-moth. As a Nightmare, Saria had resistance to such hypnotic waves, but when the mist of the Dreamscape descended from above, she still became trapped. Only now, with the fog gone, could she resume her dash toward the palace.
At this point, Adèle—the star dancer once mesmerizing all from the center stage—had vanished. With the audience forced into mass slumber, the loss of their desire-powered resonance meant Adèle could no longer rely on her flower dance avatar to remotely stall the oncoming Marshal Kent of Pritt. After the mist ended, to draw Kent away from the crowd stage, she had no choice but to take to the skies herself and intercept him personally. Now, aside from the distant thunderous rumblings, no trace of Adèle remained.
Saria ran through the wide-open venue toward her destination—but her path was suddenly blocked. From the VIP terrace, several figures leapt down and charged toward her. Upon closer look, they were nobles of Tivian, closely related by blood to the Despenser royal family. Infected by the Spider Queen, they had originally planned to massacre the crowd here at the venue, but were suppressed by Adèle’s power. Now that Adèle had left to confront her enemy, these infected nobles were awakened by anti-hypnosis sigils pre-set on them by the Blackdream and resumed their actions.
These nobles were mostly Aeromancer Beyonders of the Black Earth rank, with two or three White Ash-rank elites among them. They flew through the air, emotionless, slashing sharp wind blades toward Saria.
In a panic, Saria dodged while using her dream-walking powers to pull many slumbering guards into her dream domain—those not of Despenser bloodline but still mystics. In dreams, they would now fight for her.
Thanks to the pseudo-moth’s interference removing the need for deep hypnosis, Saria could summon a large number of dream-walkers at once. She granted them minimal autonomy and power use, and soon they too wielded wind blades, clashing violently with the incoming infected nobles of Pritt. A wild storm erupted on the scene.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Saria slipped away again, continuing her mad sprint toward the Crystal Palace.
Although the dreamwalkers awakened by Saria were quite powerful, as a White Ash-rank Beyonder, her abilities remained limited. The number she could summon wasn’t enough to hold back all the corrupted Pritt nobles. Before long, a high-ranking White Ash noble, flanked by two others, broke through the chaos and rapidly closed in on Saria. As they approached, they launched a compressed air shell toward her back.
Just as Saria was about to be struck, another air shell—silent and invisible—shot in from another angle, colliding with the incoming blast. A violent shockwave burst out from the collision, sweeping in all directions. Saria was caught in the blast and thrown to the ground, her entire body stinging in pain.
“Ugh… that hurt…”
Gritting her teeth, Saria quickly got to her feet and looked up to the sky—only to see a woman flying swiftly toward her from the other side. Dressed in plain clothes, with short hair and a youthful face brimming with determination and spirit—it was Misha!
“You’re…”
“Forget everything else for now! Leave this to me—go do what you need to do!”
Misha shouted down at her. Without waiting for a response, she turned sharply and flew toward the corrupted nobles, launching into a fierce battle of wind and storm, intensifying the battlefield.
Swallowing nervously, Saria nodded and resumed her sprint toward the Crystal Palace. But she had only taken a few steps when the howling of fierce wind echoed again from afar. Glancing back, she saw another figure riding a violent gust, charging straight at her.
Golden hair streamed behind her, a luxurious gown flowed around her, and the face—once beautiful—was now icy and expressionless. Her crimson eyes gleamed, and she held a longsword in hand. Saria focused her gaze—and recognized Princess Isabelle.
“No way… even the princess…”
Seeing Isabelle closing in rapidly, Saria hastily prepared to counter with her ability. But before she could act, a black streak shot in from another direction, slashing at Isabelle, who had been flying low to the ground. Isabelle momentarily froze, then immediately halted and raised her sword to block.
With a sharp clang, she successfully parried the incoming blade. Her expression shifted slightly as she stared at her assailant—a masked Hunter dressed in a standard black uniform. A Hunter was present on this battlefield!
After the clash, the Hunter who attacked Isabelle turned to glance at Saria, who was now pushing herself up from the ground. Realizing something immediately, Saria no longer questioned the stranger’s identity and dashed off once again toward the Crystal Palace.
Seeing Saria flee, Isabelle attempted to pursue—but the Hunter resumed their assault, forcing her into continuous parries. The two now engaged in full combat, delaying her advance.
And beneath the Hunter’s mask, Gregor bore a conflicted expression as he fought a member of the royal family of the very nation to which he had once sworn loyalty.
Thanks to the prior aid of the black cat and the little fox, both Misha and Gregor had successfully resisted the pseudo-moth’s single-wave hypnosis. Once the fog lifted, they quickly made their way to the expo’s main venue, arriving just in time to assist Saria in blocking the enemy’s pursuit.
With their help, Saria was finally able to carry on with her mission. She surged forward at her top speed toward the Crystal Palace. It wasn’t long before she left the battlefield behind and arrived at its grand gates.
By then, the Silent Wardens who once stood watch had vanished without a trace. Seeing this, Saria charged straight in—and was greeted by a vast glass cathedral. In the central area surrounded by countless display platforms, beneath a magnificent glass dome, a massive magic array was etched into the floor. At its center lay an elderly man in regal robes, collapsed and motionless, a fallen crown resting beside him.
It was King Charles IV.
At this moment, he was the only soul within the entire Crystal Palace. Not a single Silent Warden remained at his side.
“Cha—um—Your Majesty… what happened to you?”
Saria paused for a moment but didn’t rush to inspect him. Instead, she asked softly in Prittish. At the sound of her voice, Charles IV’s hand twitched slightly. Weakly, he lifted his disheveled silver-haired head, his dazed gaze landing on the girl before him.
“Failed… it all failed… everything is ending… the inheritance ritual had an error… the secrecy has failed… the secret has been exposed to the enemy… it’s all over…”
Muttering in a dazed stupor, Charles IV looked pale and despondent. Hearing this, Saria blinked and pressed for answers.
“A secret? What secret? Hey, can you be clearer? What was exposed? Who found out? And can you still fight? If you can, then get out there and fight—someone’s stealing your damn country!”
But her outburst didn’t snap him out of it. Instead, his condition took a turn for the worse.
“Too late… it’s all too late… the secret has been uncovered… by my great Queen… She is about to descend upon this land once more… to deliver judgment upon all of Hibernian blood… for the sins owed across millennia…”
Still murmuring in a trance, Charles IV slowly rose from the ground, floating into the air. In his eyes, eight spiked patterns bloomed outward from his pupils, unfurling like a flower of thorns.
Having failed the secrecy ritual, Charles IV had lost its protective force. Now the Spider Queen—exerting her influence—had begun corrupting his mind. As he ascended, swirling gales began stirring within the Crystal Palace, rapidly intensifying.
Very soon, the Spider Queen was about to gain another combatant beyond Crimson-rank.
“No… it can’t be…”
Watching in shock as Charles IV transformed, Saria turned pale. Seized by panic, she bolted out of the Crystal Palace at full speed.
…
Holy Mount, Central Mainland.
Atop the towering peak of Holy Mount, where mists and divine glow interwove above the clouds, a colossal object hovered beside the great cathedral.
It was a steel warship—three to four hundred meters long, armed with dense turrets on either flank and rotatable main cannons aligned down its axis. Its thick plating was engraved with dark, sacred murals. Massive sheathed blades, like folded wings, were affixed beneath numerous secondary turrets on both sides of the hull. The towering command deck was designed like a cathedral, and its rigging flew pages of sacred scripture written in dense script.
This was the Saint Steel Battleship "World-Cleansing Flame", a temple-grade vessel under the Church’s Court of Holy War. Compared to the Court of Redemption’s Annihilation Nun, it bore many differences. Unlike the coffin-shaped Western structure of the Annihilation Nun, the World-Cleansing Flame resembled a massive greatsword—its turrets more numerous, its firepower denser. On either side of its hull were massive broad blades absent from the Annihilation Nun.
At this moment, the World-Cleansing Flame hovered above the Grand Cathedral of Holy Mount. All its crew members remained at their stations, alert and solemn, awaiting orders.
Suddenly, two figures ascended swiftly from the cathedral below, landing on the bridge-chapel of the battleship and entering through a special hatch that had already been opened, gently touching down on the floor within.
One wore an ornate, meticulously crafted archbishop’s robe; the other, a frail and ragged old man. They were none other than Cardinal Hilbert, of the Court of Holy War, and Cardinal Marco, of the Commandment Enforcers. Both had been selected to respond to the Tivian crisis. Upon their arrival, all crew around them saluted deeply.
“Full mobilization! Destination: Tivian, Pritt! Commence immediate departure!”
“Yes, Your Eminence!”
Hilbert wasted no words. His command was clear and firm, and his subordinates, long prepared, responded with equal decisiveness.
With that crucial command given, the entire Sanctified Steel vessel began to activate. With a rumble, radiant light burst from its frame—and the World-Cleansing Flame vanished from sight.
The World-Cleansing Flame was the most mobile and rapidly deployable among all temple-grade Saint Steel Battleships. It possessed a highly efficient Inner Realm Jump Engine, allowing it to leap directly into inner realms and back into the present world, utilizing the natural spatial rift between layers to achieve near-teleportation.
After entering the inner realm, it followed a pre-charted course. According to the plan, it needed to make two jumps through outer-layer inner realms. With about 30 seconds of navigation, they would reach Tivian.
However, as the World-Cleansing Flame finished the first segment of its inner-realm traversal and prepared to enter the next layer, something unexpected occurred.
They were supposed to jump to the border of the Furnace Realm, then travel a short distance before returning to the present world to arrive in Tivian. But after this jump, what appeared before Hilbert and Marco was not the expected Furnace Realm.
Instead, after the flash of light, they found themselves in a valley densely packed with enormous crystalline spikes. These towering crystals jutted from both sides of the valley, some hundreds or even thousands of meters long. Overhead stretched a dark purple canopy, ominous and strange.
“Navigator! Where are we?!”
Staring out at the eerie landscape, Hilbert shouted. A moment later, a subordinate at his side reported anxiously:
“Your Eminence… this domain is unrecorded in all our past maps! There appears to have been a miscalculation in the jump—we ended up here!”
Hearing this, Hilbert frowned and was about to rebuke them—but suddenly paused, as if sensing something. He fell silent, his expression hardening as he turned to stare toward the distance, where crystal groves gleamed ominously.
Thanks to his powerful Lantern perception, Hilbert had detected an abnormality in that direction. He could feel clear traces of lingering spirituality, and even divinity—evidence that a powerful ritual had recently taken place there, so great it could not be concealed.
“It seems… someone anticipated our inner realm jump route and conducted an interference ritual here—to draw us in,” said Marco sternly, standing beside Hilbert.
Just as his words fell, Hilbert gave an immediate order.
“Bombard that area!”
On command, several massive turrets rotated toward the abnormal location and fired. Explosions erupted within the crystalline forest, sending shards of crystal flying in all directions.
But amid the firelight, a shrill sound pierced the air. Under the effect of some unseen force, even the flame that could melt crystal began to rapidly weaken and fade. As the fire died down, Hilbert, Marco, and the entire crew saw something horrifying.
From within the shattered crystal grove, a colossal, terrifying figure loomed—silently staring at them.
It was a giant monster nearly fifty meters tall, with the upper body of a woman and a lower half that was a grotesque spider adorned with hypnotic patterns. Her pale, tattooed upper body had six arms, each wielding a massive blood-red weapon. Her face had eight petal-like cracks, from which eight eyes peered. Her long black hair streamed behind her like a curtain of darkness.
Seeing this, Hilbert froze and murmured quietly.
“An Apostle of the Lady of Pain… the Execution Spiderfiend…”
Unlike god-chosen vessels, Apostles are beings more deeply connected to deities, bearing a closer divine nature. The restrictions upon gods often pass down to their apostles, making it difficult for them to intervene directly in the present world.
However, in many inner realms, apostles are free to act. That gave the Spider Queen’s apostle the power to interfere with and intercept the World-Cleansing Flame during its inner realm transit. The massive ritual held here had been conducted by this apostle—to divert the Sanctified Steel Battleship mid-jump.
The Spider Queen had more than just Gaskina, her god-chosen vessel, at her disposal. While Gaskina was her best option for acting in the present world, in the inner realms, she had far more choices.
…
Tivian, North District.
Not long after the mist dispersed, on the ruins of the northern cathedral district, a violent clash of shadows and pain had just concluded. At its end, the victor appeared ready to deliver the final blow.
In a massive crater, amid the collapsed Bloodthorn Forest, Gaskina twisted her enormous form as she slowly approached her fallen foe. She simultaneously regenerated the wounds caused by her own shadow’s betrayal. The traitorous shadow had now returned to normal and no longer hindered her.
Step by step, Gaskina moved forward—lowering her gaze toward the small figure lying motionless on the ground before her.
Walking up to her recently defeated opponent, Gaskina plunged one of her six bloodstained blades into the ground. Then, using only two fingers, she pinched Artcheli by the neck and lifted her up. Staring at the girl's pain-clouded and disoriented eyes, she sneered.
“Where did all that bravado go, little Saint? Now you finally understand… who rules this execution ground.”
Looking down at the weakened and powerless Artcheli, Gaskina muttered with contempt. Though she had already secured victory, she didn’t rush to take Artcheli’s life—because she knew the girl now had a better use.
Artcheli’s powers were connected to the Mirror Moon Goddess. And through a series of usurpation rituals, the Spider Queen had seized the remnants of that connection lingering over Pritt’s lands. With this stolen bond, she could influence the Tivian royal family—and Artcheli herself.
“Come now… become one of us…”
As she murmured, dark red light gleamed from all eight of Gaskina’s eyes. The same glow soon surfaced in Artcheli’s gaze, and sharp thorn-like spikes began radiating from her pupils.
Through direct contact, Gaskina used herself as a conduit to channel the Spider Queen’s influence into Artcheli. Hidden beneath Artcheli’s clothes was a powerful Lantern sigil from Holy Mount, which had until now shielded her spirit from the Spider Queen’s corruption. But Gaskina’s direct infusion of divine power overwhelmed it, rendering the charm useless—it could no longer protect Artcheli’s mind.
“Ah… ah…”
A faint sound escaped Artcheli’s lips as her mouth opened slightly. The spikes in her pupils had spread extensively, and her once-vacant expression began to twist into a vicious grimace.
And just as it seemed Artcheli was about to be completely overtaken by the Spider Queen’s power—an unexpected change occurred.
For some unknown reason, the spikes spreading from her pupils suddenly stopped growing. Then, they rapidly retracted. The dark red light in her eyes vanished—replaced by a silvery-white radiance.
“What…”
Gaskina suddenly felt a sense of danger. She tightened her grip on Artcheli’s neck, trying to snap it immediately—but it was already too late.
“Slash!”
With a flash of black light, Gaskina’s arm—the one holding Artcheli—was severed, blood spraying forth.
Artcheli, freed from her grasp, flipped backward through the air and landed steadily on the ground. Her expression was now cold—unlike anything she had shown before—as she stared down Gaskina.
In her hand, a blade pulsed with dark energy. Her eyes were now completely black, and from those pitch-dark sclerae, her silver pupils shone like glowing rings—like radiant moons suspended in the night sky.
Seeing Artcheli’s transformation, Gaskina was stunned, then clenched her teeth and growled in hatred.
“You moon bitch…”
…
While the tide turned on Gaskina’s battlefield with Artcheli, elsewhere in Tivian, in the skies above—where seemingly nothing existed—a hidden transformation was taking place, one that would alter the course of the entire conflict.
One of the Church’s seven Saint Steel Battleships, the Twilight Devotion, under the Court of Secrets, remained cloaked in optical stealth, silently hovering in midair. Inside this invisible warship, a ritual of great importance was underway.
Within the vessel, hidden from view, was the grand temple chapel found aboard all temple-grade battleships. Inside, numerous sisters, monks, and agents of the Court of Secrets knelt in prayer, their heads bowed in reverence.
At the center of this holy chapel stood a cloaked statue of a woman—hooded, her form veiled, only her figure and flowing hair revealed. Her head was bowed, eyes closed—the statue of the “Saintess.”
This was the fourth holy deity, distinct from the Church’s widely venerated Three Saints of Radiance—the secret god worshiped by the Court of Secrets. The “Saintess” was, in truth, a residual embodiment of the Mirror Moon Goddess within the Radiance Church—a hidden identity of Mirror Moon.
Now, many of the monks and nuns aboard the Twilight Devotion were gathered here to perform a significant ritual—using the temple-grade battlestation as a sacred altar, they sought to amplify Mirror Moon’s connection to Tivian.
Of course, with the Spider Queen and Pan-Moth’s interference, this alone would not be enough. The crew knew the temple’s power would fall short. So they had brought something more.
Suspended above the altar, before the statue of the Saintess, was a black crown—its shape angular and minimalist, resembling a crown of thorns. It was carved from a jet-black gemstone, dark as night.
This was the Moon Crown.
Connected deeply to the Nation of Night and the Mirror Moon Goddess, the Moon Crown was a legendary treasure of the Shadow—said to control the Wistful Mist and open the path to the Nation of Night itself.
In her earlier battle against the dragon-mimicry Dorothy, Gu Mian had abandoned two Moon Crown fragments as decoys. Dorothy, upon retrieving them and combining them with the fragment she’d taken from Withered Wings, restored the Moon Crown to its complete form.
Faced with Gu Mian’s resonance-powered divine empowerment via Pan-Moth—a force she couldn’t directly counter—Dorothy devised another strategy: to increase Mirror Moon’s influence over Tivian, letting that divine pressure suppress Pan-Moth.
Knowing that the Saint Steel Battleships directly under the Cardinals doubled as temple-grade ritual platforms, and that the “Saintess” worshiped by the Court of Secrets was a concealed identity of Mirror Moon, Dorothy swiftly dispatched the fully assembled Moon Crown to the Twilight Devotion for use in a divine ritual.
She gambled that the Moon Crown would serve as the ritual’s core—a divine artifact or bestowed object capable of amplifying the altar’s effect. And she was right.
The Moon Crown integrated seamlessly into the ritual of the Saintess, dramatically empowering the temple’s function aboard the Twilight Devotion—greatly expanding Mirror Moon’s influence across the Tivian region.
The first result of this amplification was immediate: Artcheli, who had been on the verge of succumbing to Gaskina’s corruption, abruptly resisted the Spider Queen’s power—and broke free.
Even more, because Artcheli was a devout follower of the Saintess, she had a deep mystical connection with the Twilight Devotion’s ritual altar—allowing her to instantly draw upon its strength and undergo a miraculous transformation.
This outcome was unexpected. While Mirror Moon’s influence over Tivian had now grown significantly, it was still only enough to suppress the overarching power of the Spider Queen and Pan-Moth to a tolerable degree. It was far from sufficient to project divinity directly into this region. The reason Artcheli benefited so immensely was primarily because this Saint Steel Battleship originally belonged to her. The prayers of those monks and nuns aboard weren’t directed straight at Mirror Moon—but rather indirectly, via the Saintess.
Thus, the ritual aboard the battleship had a far more powerful amplification effect on Artcheli.
That said, this empowerment had not yet granted her divinity. For now, it only allowed Artcheli to recover and escape from Gaskina temporarily—it didn’t give her the power to defeat her outright. For Mirror Moon to begin projecting divine power into Tivian, her influence must be strengthened further, but at the moment, Dorothy had no idea how to do that.
High in the sky, Dorothy—still in her dragon form—continued to soar. When the ritual aboard the Twilight Devotion took effect, she glanced skyward and saw the mysterious cocoon surrounding Gu Mian beginning to blur and turn translucent. Clearly, Mirror Moon’s growing influence had begun to suppress Pan-Moth’s divine transmission, weakening the cocoon. This was Dorothy’s opening.
Mirror Moon, it seemed, could affect moths that hadn’t yet emerged from their cocoons.
Without hesitation, Dorothy let out a thunderous roar and launched herself toward the fading cocoon, aiming to intercept it. But just as she was about to reach it, a sudden mutation occurred: the cocoon exploded, and what emerged rapidly expanded.
Vivid, prismatic, hypnotic wings—enormous and radiant—unfurled once again in the sky above Tivian. They stretched outward in all directions. Slender arms twined with countless illusory tendrils, fingers impossibly thin and twisted. The creature had no face—no mouth or eyes—only smooth, blank flesh. Its lower body was gone, replaced by a massive, rune-covered insectoid abdomen.
This was the new Gu Mian, who had just broken free from his cocoon. It was no longer a small, humanoid creature, but a colossal form over fifty meters long—even larger than a fully matured pseudo-moth.
After his rebirth, Gu Mian turned his faceless gaze toward the oncoming dragon. Dorothy, seeing its dazzling form, suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of sleepiness, as if she would fall into a deep, eternal slumber at any moment—a sleep without waking.
In a moment of emergency, Dorothy turned her head away and let out a deafening draconic roar in another direction to jolt herself awake. Relying on her formidable mental willpower and aided by the black cat’s support in nullifying the effect, she barely resisted the drowsiness and avoided falling into eternal sleep.
Gu Mian had now evolved into something new. Now, anyone who made eye contact with it risked falling into eternal sleep.
“This is… apostolization… Damn it! Gu Mian used the divine power it just obtained to forcibly evolve—pushing itself a massive step closer to becoming a Moth Apostle!”
“It’s forcing its evolution using divine power, recklessly breaking through the barrier between dream lifeforms and apostles—that’s suicide!”
Beside the dragon, the black cat urgently analyzed the situation. Though Mirror Moon’s interference had now cut off Pan-Moth’s divine support, Gu Mian had already used that divine power to undergo a forced evolution.
Both Gu Mian’s and the pseudo-moth’s previous forms were considered degenerate versions of the lifeform known as a Moth Apostle—lesser, incomplete imitations. Gu Mian’s original form was already very close to becoming a true Apostle, merely lacking the divine essence. Given enough time and divine guidance, he could have completed the evolution naturally.
But now, with no time to spare, Gu Mian had triggered his evolution immediately, using the divine power to force himself into an Apostle-like form. Even after being cut off, he still retained some residual divinity.
The cost? Gu Mian’s life had entered its final countdown. From this moment on, it had less than ten minutes to live.
But ten minutes was more than enough for it to complete its final pilgrimage.
Now, anyone who looked upon Gu Mian would fall into eternal sleep. No one—not even the dragon—could stop it now.
“The situation… has taken another bad turn…”
“Looks like I’ll need more support…”
Dorothy thought grimly. Then, she began using the information channel to contact others.
…
East of Tivian, Eastern Sea of Pritt.
Unlike the sun-drenched skies over Tivian, the eastern sea of Pritt was now cloaked in black clouds, lashed by raging winds, monstrous waves, and a torrential downpour.
A giant cyclone churned above the Eastern Sea, whirling within vast cloud systems. Spanning over a hundred kilometers, this extraordinary storm, born of mystical influence, raged in destructive fury.
At the center of this roaring hurricane, within the clearly visible eye of the storm, Anna stood clad in ancient armor. She held high Pritt’s banner of resolve, standing between towering white cloud walls, holding the storm’s core in check—guiding and stabilizing its power so it wouldn’t spiral out of control.
After creating this tempest, Anna had been sustaining it for some time. During that period, both Harold and Spring had attempted multiple times to disrupt it with their powers, to either forcefully stop or disperse the storm—but all in vain. Against this tremendous elemental force, their Crimson-rank abilities were pitifully weak. Their efforts amounted to ants trying to shake a tree.
Anna remained fully focused in the storm’s eye. But just then, she seemed to receive a message from afar, and paused slightly. After frowning and thinking for a moment, she murmured quietly.
“Reinforce the effect… condense it further… gain control over this storm’s full force? Alright. I’ll try, Teacher.”
With that whisper, she closed her eyes. A faint violet light shimmered over her and then vanished. When she reopened her eyes, she felt a surge—her divine power had increased once more.
“Then come… Storm—heed my command!”
Holding her breath and steeling her resolve, Anna extended her control over the entire storm.
Previously, Anna had merely guided and maintained the hurricane—using clever methods to manipulate the terrifying natural force, like digging channels to redirect a flood.
What Anna sought to do now was no longer merely to channel the hurricane, but to fully command it—to transform this force of nature into her own power. Compared to simply redirecting a flood, this was like ordering a flood to obey her voice.
After another surge of divine strengthening, Anna focused with utmost seriousness as she tried to seize full control over the mighty hurricane she had summoned. Yet, the outcome was far from ideal.
Under her attempt, the already rampant storm grew fiercer. The savage and immense natural force became turbulent. The once-stable eye of the storm began to blur, and the surrounding wind wall started showing signs of collapse.
“Hah… hah… It’s no use, Teacher! This storm is still too powerful for me—I can’t control it!”
Still suspended in mid-air, Anna panted heavily, sweat pouring from her brow. She struggled to stabilize the storm while anxiously awaiting a reply.
Moments later, the reply arrived.
“What… You’re saying you’ll figure something out and I should hold on? Alright…”
Sighing faintly after receiving the message from the information channel, Anna steadied herself and waited.
…
Tivian, Eastern Suburbs, World Plaza.
Inside the Crystal Palace at the heart of the plaza, the scene looked like a disaster zone swept by a wild tempest. Saria, the little fox, stood in place, her hand pressed to her chest as she caught her breath, still shaken by what had just occurred.
Before her, seated weakly on the floor, was an old man in regal robes, hair disheveled, breathing heavily—King Charles IV of Pritt.
Not long ago, Charles IV had succumbed to the Spider Queen’s corruption and gone berserk. Just as he was about to strike Saria—and the others outside the Crystal Palace, Misha and Gregor—Dorothy completed the assembly of the Moon Crown, and the ritual of the Saintess was initiated aboard the Twilight Devotion.
With the arrival of Mirror Moon’s influence, not only was Pan-Moth suppressed, but the Spider Queen’s grasp on the region also began to weaken—allowing Charles IV to snap out of his trance and break free from the corruption.
“Hey… hey… Old man—Your Majesty—are you back to normal now? Are you lucid again?”
Saria cautiously asked the frail king, who raised his head in a daze and looked at her.
“Ah… little girl… do you need something?”
His voice was faint, but it was coherent. Hearing that, Saria lit up with hope and spoke firmly.
“Then could I ask a favor of you? Help us resist the Lady of Pain’s invasion!”
“Lady of Pain…? It’s too late… it’s already too late… She has obtained what She wanted. Even if I’ve returned, it’s all meaningless now…”
Slumped on the ground, Charles IV spoke with complete defeat. But Saria frowned and snapped at him sternly.
“Too late!? You’re still the king, old man! This is your country! How can you just sit there moaning that it’s too late!? That’s disgraceful!”
She pointed at him and yelled directly. Charles IV flinched at her words, then fell into a brief silence before speaking again in a daze.
“Then tell me… in this situation… what do you want me to do?”
Saria’s expression turned serious. She swallowed once, then declared firmly.
“I want you to fulfill the promise once made by your ancestor, Baldric the True Successor—to posthumously ennoble Arlin Field, the great knight who saved Prince Edward and rendered extraordinary service during the Wind King’s Rebellion.
“Arlin Field should have been granted the title of Duke long ago. He only declined it out of humility and guilt. It’s time to amend that regret.
“Now, Your Majesty, issue a decree to elevate Arlin Field to ‘Duke Protector of Pritt’, so that his descendants and all successors may bear that title!”
Saria’s tone was grave. Listening to her, Charles IV was momentarily stunned, a flicker of confusion passing through his eyes. He wanted to ask something, but in the end said nothing. Instead, he spoke solemnly.
“Guardian of Pritt, bearer of the Wind King’s Crown, sovereign blessed by heaven… hereby decrees—
“In honor of the humble knight Arlin Field’s boundless merit, he shall be posthumously granted the title Grand Duke Protector of the Kingdom of Pritt…”
…
As Charles IV spoke within the Crystal Palace, far out over the eastern seas of Pritt, the enormous storm suddenly began to twist inwards. It rapidly shrank toward its center, the terrifying natural force coalescing at a single point.
Back in the Grand Cathedral of Holy Mount, Amanda and Klamar were startled to see the wide-area cloud projection change—the once-sprawling storm, stretching across hundreds of kilometers, was contracting rapidly toward the eye of the hurricane.
“What… What’s happening?”
Amanda murmured in astonishment, staring at the image on the chapel floor.
And indeed, back at the storm’s center, the wind walls around Anna had already collapsed. The eye of the storm had dissolved.
Amid the howling winds, rain, and towering waves, Anna stood tall, raising her battle standard high. The chaotic winds around her now swirled in tightly, centering on the banner tipped with a spearhead.
In the skies above, Harold and Spring tried once more to stop her—but despite giving it their all, they couldn’t even make a dent in the raging storm that was shrinking with explosive force.
At the storm’s heart, her eyes wide, Anna stood amid the deafening roar. Facing the rampaging sky and sea, she declared with solemn determination.
“Storms that rage eternal between sky and sea!
I, Anna Field, Duke Protector of Pritt, command you—
Gather now into my blade! Smite evil and banish the false god!
“In the name of Pritt!”
As she spoke, her armor and garments began to glow, transforming into a more regal and magnificent form.
…
Across a vast, desolate plain, the sky loomed dark and oppressive. Countless wind-eroded rock pillars dotted the land. The cracked earth was silent, split by endless fissures.
It was clear that this land had once been ravaged by massive storms. But now, all was still—deathly quiet.
At one point on this plain, a simple stone throne stood. And on it sat a battered knight.
Once resplendent, his armor was now broken and dented. His helmet was cracked all over. His cape was tattered like a rag, stained dark with dried blood. The longsword resting between his hands was chipped in countless places.
This knight, who had clearly endured countless brutal battles, sat in silence upon the throne. Not a word. Not a motion. Alone in this windless wasteland, no one knew how long he had waited.
He had kept vigil here—solitary—for uncounted years. But today, an unexpected visitor arrived.
Wearing a wide-brimmed wizard’s hat and a fine cloak lined with soft fur, dressed in an elegant deep-red gown that accentuated her graceful form, with long black hair and pale skin, a beautiful witch strode slowly across the plain. She came to a stop before the knight.
“It’s been a long time… I finally found you.”
Lifting her head, the witch smiled faintly at the knight. In her wide-open eyes, each held four blood-red pupils.
“Arthur…”