On the boundless, desolate wind-eroded wasteland, external changes had transformed the terrain into a massive factory. But now, the signs of that factory were slowly disappearing.
The mechanical roar that once filled the entire world was gradually quieting. The scalding steam that had spewed from the fissures in the ground was fading and receding, while the colossal brass pillars that had burst forth were inch by inch withdrawing into the earth.
Above the plains, the overwhelming steel sky—the mechanized firmament—ceased its flashing red warnings. The massive interlocking gears slowed, their revolutions decelerating. Thick black clouds reappeared above the wasteland, once more concealing the machinery in the heavens until not a trace remained.
At last, when the final gear vanished from the sky, the entire wind-eroded wilderness returned to silence, reverting from a mechanized realm back to its original state. The traces of the factory were completely gone. At the heart of the world, the brass cage surrounding the throne was slowly lowering. The broken figure of the knight still sat alone and unmoving upon it.
Before the throne, the witch lifted her head, looking toward the cloudy sky that had once revealed the mechanized firmament. Sensing the majestic power rapidly withdrawing from the space, she smiled and spoke.
“A pleasant transaction. Let’s both… abide by the contract.”
After seeing the immense divine power of steel recede, the witch slowly lowered her head, locking her gaze on the plain throne now unguarded by any barrier. She looked at the knight who remained unmoved to the very end—and the smile on her lips grew even wider.
“A thousand years… finally… you are mine.”
She stepped quickly toward the throne.
As she moved, her smile twisted, becoming grotesque and distorted—her mouth opening into a horrific spider-like maw.
“Now… for the next one…”
…
Eastern coast of Pritt, Tivian.
In broad daylight, millions of Pritt’s citizens were still in slumber. The storm and rain that had ravaged the city were gradually subsiding. Beneath the illusionary dream forest in the sky, the raging storm dragon was still wreaking havoc. The long dragon of wind, having charged forth from the sea, howled as it shot toward the grotesque moth in the sky—entangling and shredding it with its body.
“——!!”
With a silent scream, Gu Mian’s body was finely shredded and pulverized by the ferocious blade-like storm. Even as a near-complete Apostle, Gu Mian had no defense against the sudden strike of the storm dragon. Once its divinity-based defense against perception was neutralized, his frail body stood no chance against such raw violence.
After all, this was the top-tier destructive power of a Wind Elementalist. The Moth Apostle, which focused on spiritual and mental domains, was no match in terms of brute force.
“Moth… ahh… Why… is this happening…?”
As he writhed in agony and confusion, unable to understand how his enemy could attack while directly perceiving him through his divinity, Gu Mian could only watch helplessly as his body was torn apart by the wind. The speed of destruction had far outpaced any hope of regeneration. In this desperate moment, he could only resort to a final gamble.
As his abdomen, chest, arms, and wings were pulverized, Gu Mian caused his neck to suddenly swell—then explode—launching his only remaining piece: a faceless, eyeless head. It hurled it toward the dream forest's border, now just meters away. If the head crossed that boundary, he could activate the Dreamscape teleportation and escape to the Sacred Cocoon.
Even if only the head makes it, that’s enough!
“You won’t escape…”
As if purely by instinct, Anna—from within the body of the storm dragon—perceived Gu Mian’s intent. She immediately commanded the dragon to rapidly grow and swell, expanding its range of destruction. The growing storm surged toward the last remaining fragment of Gu Mian, determined to annihilate him completely.
The storm dragon’s speed far exceeded Gu Mian’s last-ditch effort. Under normal circumstances, Gu Mian had no chance of outrunning it. There was no way he could survive and return to the Dreamscape.
But—this was under normal circumstances.
A twist no one could have foreseen occurred suddenly and inexplicably: the storm dragon, commanded by Anna, abruptly dissipated. The raging storm above Tivian disappeared without warning—abruptly, unnaturally, and utterly. All wind stopped.
In the still skies, Anna, still maintaining her commanding stance, opened her eyes wide in shock.
“What… huh?!”
Just as she tried to summon her power to resume the attack, a searing pain exploded in her head. She clutched it, unable to continue.
“This… this is a will… A will from the source… Not just from this country… but from the power itself…”
Holding her head in agony, Anna murmured. In her opened eyes, a dark red gleam began to appear.
Witnessing this, Dorothy—still in dragon form below—was momentarily stunned, then swiftly acted. She forcefully deactivated Anna’s Heroic Spirit Armament, severing her links to Pritt’s legal authority and the Storm Path. The ornate armor that had adorned Anna’s body dissolved in a flash of light, and she lost consciousness, plummeting from the sky.
…
At the final moment, just before being torn apart by the storm, Gu Mian had already fallen into despair. The border to the forest was so close, yet completely unreachable. That final meter felt like an insurmountable chasm.
But fate is fickle.
In that last instant, the deadly storm vanished entirely. No trailing winds, no lingering aftershock—just silence.
Stunned, overjoyed, and trembling with renewed hope, Gu Mian waited for the moment he would cross the boundary.
“Roar!!”
But in that same second, from the side, came a roar—one all too familiar. Turning his attention, Gu Mian saw a colossal dragon—his natural predator—soaring toward him with jaws wide open, ready to swallow the last remaining piece whole.
The joy that had surged through Gu Mian’s heart turned instantly to despair once more.
Yet—at the final second—the dragon missed.
Its immense body shot past Gu Mian, jaws snapping but catching only empty air. And then, Gu Mian realized: the dragon’s eyes had been tightly shut.
It hadn't found a way to resist his divinity—it had simply guessed.
A blind strike.
And this time, it missed.
“Moth… thank you for your blessing!!”
Gu Mian’s internal emotional curve flipped yet again. From despair to ecstasy. Gratitude and elation surged within him. Having narrowly avoided annihilation, he finally reached the boundary.
The dragon’s failed strike meant no further attacks could be made.
Amid a swirl of dreamlike distortion, Gu Mian activated the Dreamscape teleportation gate and vanished completely—without a trace.
…
“The portal is open. He’s through.”
In Pritt’s sky, the black cat—his eyes previously closed—spoke solemnly after sensing the Dreamscape’s fluctuations. Dorothy, still in her dragon form, swiftly descended, catching the falling Anna mid-air. With precise control, she landed Anna in a safe position—avoiding the sharp spines on her back. Her heart, however, was heavy.
“Seems… luck wasn’t on our side…”
The moment Anna’s problem surfaced, Dorothy acted quickly to salvage the situation. But because of the Moth’s divinity, she couldn't directly perceive Gu Mian. All she could do was attack areas where he might be.
Unlike Anna, Dorothy lacked a massive, wide-range offensive method. After expending her three uses of Unrelenting Force, she couldn't unleash another large-scale attack in time. No preparation window remained. All she could do was rely on her fangs and claws—a blind strike.
Her earlier calculations had only given a general location. With over 90% of Gu Mian’s body destroyed by Anna, his remaining form was far smaller and had shifted under the influence of high winds. Her prior targeting was no longer accurate. With no time to recalculate, Dorothy had to guess.
But this time—luck didn’t side with her.
“What happened?! Why did the wind stop?! We were so close!”
The black cat, floating beside Dorothy, exclaimed in disbelief—his tone urgent and full of regret. Dorothy, in her dragon form, answered solemnly.
“Corruption… It came from the apex of the Storm Path. Even this country’s legal framework is being eroded. The Peak of the Storm—it’s the very source of this nation’s authority.”
“The Peak of the Storm… You mean the Wind Knight? Something happened to Him?!”
“Yes,” Dorothy said gravely.
“Most likely, the Spider Queen has already obtained what she wanted… from this nation.”
She looked up at the illusionary forest in the sky. In the distant depths, the faint white glow of the Sacred Cocoon was barely visible. But in the heavens now, there was no sign of Gu Mian.
Not even a fragment.
The situation… was now clearly spiraling toward the worst possible outcome.
…
Meanwhile, on the other side, having narrowly avoided the dragon’s bite, Gu Mian crossed the boundary into the Dreamscape and immediately activated dream teleportation. After a blinding flash of color, he arrived in the depths of the Dreamscape—at the destination he had long yearned for.
Within the shadowy forest, between towering giant trees, shrouded in faint mist, a sacred, translucent cocoon hung suspended. Hundreds of meters tall, the cocoon was wrapped in countless glowing white threads strung between the surrounding trees. Just one glance at it could fill the soul with dizzying awe and longing.
“O Moth… I have endured endless trials… and finally, I have arrived…”
Now only a disembodied head, Gu Mian drifted down slowly from the sky, aiming to land atop the Sacred Cocoon. Suddenly, the faceless head split open into countless dense compound eyes—sickeningly clustered and grotesque, each one radiating boundless fervor and desire.
Behind him, a temporary body had begun to regrow—a small, fragile form with wings flapping rapidly, carrying Gu Mian toward his final destination.
At last, after untold suffering, the moth reached the "light source" he had dreamed of for centuries. As he finally settled upon the Sacred Cocoon, uncontrollable ecstasy surged within him.
Centuries of planning, centuries of longing—this was Gu Mian's moment of harvest. The Blackdream Hunting Pack had existed solely for this purpose. Their legacy would end here… and a new chapter would begin. A new era. A new god.
“Awaken! O Moth—vanquish the twin nemesis and be born into this world! Let all be returned to dream!
“All… will know happiness because of you…”
Standing atop the Sacred Cocoon, Gu Mian began the final awakening rite.
But just as the ritual neared completion, a raspy, chilling woman’s voice rang out abruptly in his mind.
“Ah… so you've arrived. You’ve worked so hard… Noka.”
“Who?!”
Startled, Gu Mian froze—and to his horror, he discovered he could no longer proceed. His body had become paralyzed, frozen in place.
He suddenly realized—a powerful will was invading his mind. His body refused to obey. Something was overriding it.
“Who are you!? Who are you?!”
Furious and panicked, Gu Mian roared inside his thoughts, his mind unraveling. The raspy voice responded again with mocking amusement.
“Who am I? Now that’s a curious question…”
As Gu Mian’s internal panic spiraled, the invading force intensified. His body began to change. Within his countless compound eyes, pupils with eight radiating spikes began to form—one after another.
At that moment, Gu Mian finally understood.
“The Lady of Pain…”
With disbelief and trembling voice, he muttered.
“Why… why can you infect me…? Why are you… inside my will…?”
“I have nothing to do with you! Why?!”
Nearly hysterical, Gu Mian’s internal cries grew erratic. The voice continued, tinged with cruel satisfaction.
“Nothing to do with me? Heh… That’s just what you believed. Our connection… began a long, long time ago.”
“Long ago…?”
Gu Mian echoed. A terrible realization began to form.
“Who do you think it was that first infiltrated the Butterfly's Dreamland, tampered with your meditation ritual, led you to the ‘Moth’s’ will in your dreams? Who gave you the symbiotic secret arts and the ancient moth scale powder for your transformation…?”
“If not me—then you wouldn’t exist today… Noka.”
The mocking voice echoed in his mind as more and more of his eyes grew spiked pupils. The Eye of Spider was overtaking all.
Gu Mian’s will was now faint, flickering under the crushing pressure. His initial joy was now wholly consumed by despair. At the edge of annihilation, he uttered his last question.
“The symbiosis rite… the moth scale… all from you? You tampered with it from the start? You planted your influence in my body long ago?”
“That’s right. It was all mine. I even went to great lengths to make you think it was the Moth’s gift…
“All of it… for this day—to bring me here.”
The ethereal voice drifted through Gu Mian’s fading consciousness. In mere moments, he had swung from ecstasy to despair.
And now—there was no return.
“Moth… no…”
The moment Gu Mian’s will disappeared completely, all of his eyes transformed—each bearing the eight-spiked pupils of the Lady of Pain.
A new mutation began.
Crimson markings spread across his body. From his bloated, regrown form, spider-like legs burst forth, stabbing into the Sacred Cocoon. His previously featureless head split open into a grotesque spider maw. From a warped moth, he… or it became a hybrid monster—half-moth, half-spider.
Then it turned its many eyes downward—toward the Cocoon.
For the Spider Queen, today's target… was not just one.
“You… are mine too…”
With those final words, the creature sank its fangs into the Sacred Cocoon.
At that moment, the entire Dreamscape began to quake. Screams rang out across the dreamscape, echoing in agony. From the bite mark, crimson tendrils began spreading rapidly across the Cocoon’s surface, contaminating it.
Across the Dreamscape, creatures shrieked. Fantastical flowers and grass withered and hardened into thorns.
In the real world, throughout Tivian’s alleys and avenues, millions of citizens suddenly opened their eyes. Their vacant gazes stared skyward. Around the edges of their pupils, eight sharp spikes were slowly forming.
In a daze, like sleepwalkers, they all began to speak—in unison.
“Hail… Hail… Hail…
“Hail the Lady of Pain… the Lord of Nightmares… the Witch of Calamity Winds… the Throne of the Night Sky awaits you…”
Endless, monotone chanting echoed from the mouths of Tivian’s citizens. Above them, the dream forest in the sky began to stain crimson. Storm winds surged again, bringing dark red rain that blanketed the skies—and began to spread toward all of Pritt.
“Ah… ahhh… The Pain… the scourging power… it’s devouring the Sacred Cocoon… it’s the Spider Queen’s evil… why is this happening…”
Next to Dorothy, the floating black cat began to twist and writhe under the weight of a mysterious power.
In the northern ruins, once part of the cathedral district, Gaskina—locked in another battle with Artcheli—looked to the crimson skies and Dreamscape upheaval, laughing wildly.
“Hahahaha! Praise the Lady! Your doom has come!”
Not far from her, Artcheli stood in grim silence. Her silver-glowing eyes dimmed under the shifting sky.
At this moment, the Spider Queen’s influence surged exponentially, affecting not just the Pritt royal family, but the city at large. The divine presence of the Mirror Moon Goddess—once dominant—was now rapidly receding. This shift had direct consequences for those within the Crystal Palace.
“Ugh… aaah! My head… it hurts… why… why is this happening?!”
On the floor of the Crystal Palace, Saria the little fox, who had just completed a critical interrogation with King Charles IV, now clutched her head and curled up in pain.
Elsewhere, something even graver was unfolding.
“The great enemy… has returned…”
Clutching his forehead, eyes wide, King Charles IV of Pritt fought to resist the overwhelming control invading his body. Having suffered once before, he was ready this time. Before he could be turned into a puppet again, he chose final resistance.
Splurt!!
With his last trace of will, Charles IV summoned a blade of wind and slashed his own body. Arteries, even his neck, ruptured with razor-sharp incisions. Blood gushed as he collapsed in a pool of red.
King Charles IV—by suicide—had prevented the Spider Queen from using his body a second time.
Beneath a crimson sky, under the murmured worship of dreamwalkers, amidst a blood-red storm…
Tivian had fallen into its darkest hour.
The situation had plunged catastrophically—possibly the worst since the war began. And yet—
Dorothy, still in her dragon form, soared through the bloody wind and storm. Though the crisis was dire, her eyes held no despair—only grave focus.
Because she knew…
This is not yet the end.
Even if the Spider Queen had struck, she was not yet out of moves. One piece—one arrangement she had made long ago—was now the final hope remaining.
“Now… it’s all up to you…”
…
Let us turn back time, just slightly—back to an earlier moment.
When the grand opening ceremony of the World Expo was still underway… When the city of Tivian remained abuzz with festivity… Yet already, trouble had begun to stir in Charles IV’s secrecy ritual, casting ripples that would reach the sealed grounds above the cathedral district, where Gaskina was held. At that time, the border between dream and reality had not yet blurred. The dream gates remained shut. The fog of confusion had not yet cloaked all of Tivian.
High above the city, Misha—former captain of the Serenity Bureau and royal knight of Pritt—was riding the wind at high speed, en route to a designated location.
After decoding, alongside John, a secret letter left by their ancestors detailing the hidden history of the Wind King’s Rebellion, Misha had immediately relayed this information by an unusual method to a certain “Scholar” of the Rose Cross Order. Without delay, she took to the skies, flying directly toward the unfolding battlefield.
However, partway through her flight, Misha received an emergency message from “Scholar,” instructing her to first divert to another location before entering the battle. She complied without hesitation, flying straight toward a site in East Tivian, not far from the main expo grounds.
Before long, Misha arrived at her destination: a hidden residential building near the expo’s main venue. Quickly entering a specified room, she found a scene she recognized.
Inside the dim room, a ritual was being prepared. Only a few candles flickered in the corners, offering faint illumination. Wisps of incense drifted through the air, while ghostly soul-fires floated midair, emitting a cold, pale light. A large, complex Silence ritual array was drawn across the floor—far more intricate and massive than any soul-summoning formation Misha had seen before.
At the center of the array hovered an ancient goblet etched with skull motifs. A few elegantly dressed men and women—likely Tivian nobility—lay unconscious in the corners. Across the circle, a woman in white robes and a face veil sat calmly. Misha recognized her—she was a powerful Silence Beyonder from the Rose Cross Order, one who had previously helped Misha fake her death by cutting her link to the Serenity Bureau’s spirit channelers.
“Hurry. Time is short. Lie down in the formation—we begin at once.”
The veiled woman, Nephthys, spoke sternly as Misha entered. Without hesitation, Misha lay down inside the array.
“What exactly are we doing?” she asked, some anxiety in her voice.
“Seeking… memories of the past.”
Nephthys answered calmly.
As she spoke, a shadowy figure began to appear behind her—a tall, regal man in exotic northern armor, with a curved blade at his waist and a majestic bearing. He was the spirit of King Rachman, founder of the Addus-Baruch Dynasty of North Ufiga.
After the Rachman Mausoleum Incident, his spirit had been ferried to the New Continent’s Resting Grounds, where it recuperated. Only recently had he fully recovered, able to manifest again.
Just earlier, Dorothy had contacted Kapak and the Old Shaman of the Tupa Tribe, requesting they coordinate with Nephthys to summon Rachman’s spirit to Tivian for this ritual.
“Let us begin.”
With a deep breath, Nephthys looked down at Misha lying before her. Rachman nodded and leaned forward—merging with Nephthys’s body.
Immediately, Nephthys’s eyes changed, becoming calm and authoritative. She reached out, touching Misha’s arm, and slowly closed her eyes to initiate the soul-based ability.
At the same time, the Goblet of Nether Guidance suspended in the ritual began to glow faintly.
“Show yourself before me… the memory of bloodline…”
Muttering softly, Nephthys channeled her power through the Goblet and Rachman’s spirit. She sensed the flesh and soul within Misha—and beyond it, a distant connection, a tunnel stretching far away.
Without hesitation, she cast her will into that tunnel.
What followed was like a roller coaster. Her consciousness sped through a narrow corridor at blinding speed. All around her, images flashed past—castles, people, wars, manors—fragments of history racing by.
At last, the “journey” ended. The torrent of images faded, replaced by a stable scene.
Nephthys now sensed herself within another realm—a vast, underground chamber. Dozens of meters wide in both directions, the dark space was partially ruined.
In front of her, a few armored figures stood—knights clad in ancient plate armor, dating back centuries. Bloodstains marred their gear, and battle damage was clear.
In their midst knelt a grim-faced nobleman in ornate armor, holding a man in his arms—pale-skinned, black-haired, cloaked in a noble’s robe. This man, clearly wounded, had wide eyes and blood leaking from mouth and eyes. He clutched the armored man’s hand tightly and spoke in a trembling voice.
“Just in time… Baldric… I’m glad you chose to trust me…”
The dying noble, King Geoffrey the Black Venerator, spoke in broken gasps to Baldric—the armored man—who, alarmed, responded.
“Geoffrey… what happened? What’s going on here?”
“A great enemy… I was betrayed by them. All my calculations, all my caution… I still didn’t foresee this. Before them, even those I trusted most were compromised…
“I’m dying. But for Pritt’s sake, this ritual must continue. We must use it to properly channel the power of the night sky into this kingdom. This secret… must be kept forever…
“There is only one stage left. You must finish it… in my place…”
Still gripping his former enemy’s hand, King Geoffrey’s bloodshot eyes locked onto Baldric. Baldric hesitated, then turned to the knights behind him—also glancing toward where Nephthys stood in spirit—and barked an order.
“Wait here. No one moves without my command.”
“Yes, sir!” the knights replied in unison.
Nephthys now realized—she could see “her” hand saluting among them.
She was watching through someone else's eyes.
This wasn’t just any place. This was the hidden ritual chamber beneath the ruins of Salforston, the royal capital of the Roaring Lance Dynasty, dating back over five hundred years—to the time of the Wind King’s Rebellion.
Here, in this secret place, Mad King Worsioff had once performed the great Secrecy Ritual. And now, through memory and ritual, Nephthys was witnessing it all—unfolding anew.
This— was the very site where, centuries ago, King Geoffrey the Black Venerator, heir to the Secrecy Throne, had attempted to complete Mad King Worsioff’s unfinished secrecy ritual. According to mystic history, this was where Geoffrey had ultimately been betrayed by the Eight-Spired Nest, interrupting his ritual. It was Baldric, arriving afterward, who managed to complete it—marking the beginning of the new lineage of Pritt's Secrecy Sovereigns.
That… was the power of Rachman. As a Soulblood Knight, Rachman possessed the ability to draw upon the power hidden within ancestral bloodlines—an ability that also allowed him to access long-buried secrets.
Through possession by Rachman and the guidance of the Goblet of Nether Guidance, Nephthys had contacted Misha, using her bloodline to trace memories back over 500 years and observe a key moment from the perspective of Misha’s ancestor, Ampere. It was Ampere who had witnessed this very event—and now, Nephthys was seeing through his eyes.
Once Dorothy discovered that something had gone wrong with Charles IV’s secrecy ritual, she immediately began investigating where the mistake had occurred. She remembered that Kapak had recently informed her that Rachman’s recovery was nearing completion, and that gave Dorothy the idea to have Nephthys utilize Rachman’s power to directly probe the memories of someone involved in the Wind King’s Rebellion, hoping to uncover vital clues.
Nephthys had previously tried reading the memory of a royal bloodline, but the lingering influence of secrecy power made it impossible to access Baldric’s own memories directly. It seemed that the secrets guarded by the Secrecy Sovereigns could only be revealed through their own volition. Though the sealing power had been broken, residual effects remained. Thus, Dorothy chose a different approach: to access Ampere’s viewpoint via Misha’s bloodline.
After giving orders to his knights, Baldric moved aside with Geoffrey to hold a secret conversation. Meanwhile, Ampere—whose vision Nephthys now shared—continued faithfully standing guard, observing the ritual chamber.
Through Ampere’s eyes, Nephthys saw rows of elaborate statues on either side of the hall, many damaged and crumbling. The stone floor was cracked and littered with rubble. Above, the arched ceiling bore a massive dome, ringed with lunar phases depicting waxing and waning moons. In the center of the dome was a circular skylight, through which sunlight beamed down onto the ritual floor in a perfect circle.
Beneath that light, a massive, intricate Shadow ritual array was etched into the ground. The circle of sunlight landed directly in its center. Around the array were lunar symbols matching the ceiling’s design, and each symbol—especially at the full moon position—was ringed with incense ash. Opposite the full moon was a towering statue of the Mirror Moon Goddess, now cracked and broken. This secret chamber, like the city above, had been damaged in the civil war that brought ruin to Salforston, capital of the Roaring Lance Dynasty.
After carefully examining this ritual site, constructed by the Mad King, Nephthys saw Baldric return with the secret entrusted to him, and—within this very chamber—he completed the Secrecy Ritual, declaring his new role as Pritt’s Secrecy Sovereign.
Finally, Nephthys exited the memory and returned to the present.
Outside the window, the glowing mists were being pierced by sunlight. The bewildering fog was beginning to disperse.
“Huff… huff…”
“Are you alright? What did you just see?”
Misha, rising from the ritual array, looked at Nephthys, who was still slightly breathless.
Swallowing hard, Nephthys responded plainly.
“I saw… many things. For now, you should go and support the others. I’ll rest here a moment.”
With that, Misha nodded and didn’t press further. She took off through the window, flying toward the central expo grounds to join the battle there.
Nephthys, now alone beside the ritual, took a deep breath. Then she closed her eyes and began praying—relaying the memories of Ampere, seen through Misha’s bloodline, directly to Dorothy.
At that moment, Dorothy—who was still coordinating with Anna and Saria to complete the legal ceremony—received Nephthys’s report and immediately began parsing the details. Though Ampere’s memory had only recorded the layout of the ritual site, Dorothy nonetheless detected something unusual.
The circular lunar phase pattern, the ritual circle, and the full moon symbol had been placed in the position of highest reverence—directly opposite the Mirror Moon statue, surrounded by the most incense ash. The dome architecture strongly resembled the Mirror Moon Temple Dorothy had seen before in the Lake Starbind of Glamorne. Recalling the characteristics of that sacred site, Dorothy immediately deduced what had gone wrong with Charles IV’s ritual—confirming her suspicions:
It was the timing.
The ritual was conducted at the wrong time.
The Secrecy Ritual, deeply tied to the Mirror Moon, was meant to draw upon and amplify her influence. Naturally, it should have been held during the Holy Hour of the Mirror Moon.
Which was—of course—the night of the full moon.
But the day of the World Expo’s grand opening, and Charles IV’s coronation… was the furthest possible point from a full moon. It was a new moon day, the Mirror Moon's weakest moment.
In truth, when King Geoffrey had conducted his ritual, he had been betrayed by someone he trusted most. His mind was poisoned and partially corrupted by the Spider Queen, and when he passed on instructions to Baldric, he made a crucial error—telling him to hold the ritual on the same day and hour he had used.
But Geoffrey had deliberately chosen that time to mislead the Eight-Spired Nest. He hadn’t started a new ritual from scratch, but was continuing the Mad King’s nearly completed one, which required no strict timing. To throw off his enemies, he had selected the least likely moment—the farthest point from a full moon.
Even so, he was still betrayed. Poisoned. In a confused, hypnotized state—prompted by a mystical artifact—he forgot his reasons and passed on the wrong time to Baldric.
Though Baldric might have found the timing strange, he saw the ritual succeed and didn’t question it further. In truth, he had only completed the Mad King’s work—not an original, full ritual.
Thus, five hundred years ago, the Spider Queen had planted a deadly time-bomb, designed to explode now, during the first ritual led entirely by the Hyacinth Dynasty.
And she didn’t just wait for it to detonate—she ordered the Eight-Spired Nest to attack Charles IV’s doomed ritual with everything they had, regardless of the cost. Even if it destroyed the Eight-Spired Nest, it was worth it.
Because the Queen knew: Charles IV, and the strange "Revelation" force that protected Tivian, were extremely perceptive. If she hadn’t created a dramatic distraction, they might have scrutinized the ritual too closely—and uncovered the time-bomb.
So, the Eight-Spired Nest’s all-out assault, as well as other schemes like the Dreamscape ambush, were necessary distractions. Yet all those efforts paled in comparison to the Queen's true masterplan—one woven over five centuries.
In this grand game, the Spider Queen had treated the entire Eight-Spired Nest as sacrificial pawns—used to cover her killing blow.
She had even abandoned a bargaining chip more valuable than the entire Nest to win the Machine God's concession.
Compared to that? The Nest was nothing.
Now, the Queen held a decisive upper hand.
And facing this near-hopeless checkmate, Dorothy, too, fell silent in thought.
“The holy hour… of the night…”