Central Main Continent, Holy Mount.
At the towering summit of Holy Mount, within the Grand Chapel of the Holy Mount Cathedral, a high-profile collective judgment was underway. At the very top of the sprawling Radiance Church, six powerful Cardinals—each a Saint in their own right—had gathered for the formal trial of a white-robed nun.
This trial had been initiated by the Inquisition Cardinal, Kramar. From the beginning, he had been confident of victory, believing that with the evidence in hand, he could steer the proceedings and sentence the person he deemed guilty. However… after statements from the other cardinals—especially the Secrets Cardinal—the entire direction of the trial began to slip from Kramar’s grasp.
“The Saintess… an oracle…”
Seated in his ornate cardinal robes, Kramar bit down slightly as he cast a sharp, resentful glare toward the petite figure of Artcheli, who calmly spoke again.
“Don’t be ridiculous. In the thousand-year history of the Church… with the Court of Secrets rotating its leadership numerous times, there has never been a recorded oracle from the Saintess. Secrets Cardinal, surely you’re not fabricating excuses just to protect this guilty nun…
“Don’t forget—falsifying a divine oracle is an even greater crime than attacking a Saint.”
Kramar spoke with accusation and warning. But Artcheli, composed on her seat, responded with a serene expression.
“Unlike the Redemption Cardinal, I have no personal stake in Sister Vania. I’ve no reason to take any risk to protect her. I truly received an oracle that affirms her sincerity.
“Besides, just because previous Secrets Cardinals never received an oracle doesn’t mean it's impossible now. Yes, forging a divine message is a grave sin—but baselessly casting doubt upon a divine oracle carries no less consequence, wouldn’t you say?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she spoke. Hearing this, Kramar stiffened—then turned to the other cardinals who had yet to speak: Hilbert and Alberto.
“Holy War Cardinal… Foundation Cardinal… Asceticism Cardinal… You’re not seriously buying into this unprecedented claim of a divine message, are you? Do you honestly believe anyone outside the Pope could commune directly with the Lord?”
Kramar’s tone was firm, clearly trying to win support from the others. The masked Alberto was the first to respond, his voice calm and measured, without a hint of emotion.
“The will of the divine… is not something we can presume to judge. Since the Pope once permitted the Court of Secrets to exist outside the public Church, maintaining the secret veneration of the Saintess, that in itself affirms her legitimacy.
“In our doctrine, the Saintess is a true and unquestionable presence. Thus, the possibility of her issuing a divine oracle also exists. However… I do not understand the Saintess well enough to pass judgment.
“As for Sister Vania’s private contact with heterodox forces, I believe we need not pursue that too severely. The Rose Cross—or rather, Heaven’s Arbiter Sect—has shown neither clear heretical traits nor aggressive proselytizing. It is not accurate to classify them as hostile. After all… they likely possess an ancient ‘Revelation’ dating back to the First Dynasty.”
Alberto acknowledged the Saintess’s existence but refrained from declaring the oracle genuine. His answer revealed a neutral stance—he did not wish to take sides.
Seeing Alberto adopt his usual detached neutrality, Kramar frowned and turned to the remaining cardinal—Hilbert. The latter stroked his chin in thought before slowly speaking.
“Whether the Saintess’s oracle is real or not, we cannot be certain. Beyond the Pope, no one understands her existence better than the Secrets Cardinal.
“However… after Sister Vania received her oracle, she correctly used the Sacred Staff and summoned an incredibly powerful divine intervention. This reversed the crisis in Tivian and prevented Pritt from falling into the hands of the Lady of Pain. Considering that outcome benefited both the world and the Church, I am inclined to believe the oracle was genuine.”
Hilbert spoke candidly, clearly expressing support for Vania. He had personally experienced the fallout of failing to trust her warning during the Tivian incident, and comparing the disastrous consequences then with her later success, he had come to believe both Vania and Artcheli.
After all, he’d already paid the price for doubting her once…
“Fools…”
Kramar’s frown deepened into a scowl. He hadn’t expected Hilbert to side with Vania. As the situation at hand grew more unfavorable, Kramar looked once more to his final potential ally—the gaunt ascetic monk seated beside him.
“The Foundation Cardinal makes a fair point… If the Pope permitted the Saintess’s veneration within the Court of Secrets, then her existence must be real. The Pope only claims to be the mouthpiece of the Three Saints—not the Saintess. So it’s certainly possible that she might issue an oracle to others, bypassing the Pope entirely… It’s hard to say for sure.
“Therefore… unless the Pope gives a definitive ruling, I shall withhold judgment on this matter.”
With eyes nearly shut, Marco sat cross-legged, his hoarse voice calm and steady. Like Alberto, his response was a declaration of neutrality.
Seeing Marco—who usually shared similar views and supported him—choose to remain impartial, Kramar’s expression darkened entirely. He fell into silence, face grim, and his glare toward Vania was now laced with frustration and simmering rage.
In contrast, Vania, kneeling in the midst of the six cardinals, gradually relaxed as she listened to each of them speak. By the time Marco gave his response, she even exhaled softly in relief. Amanda, seated nearby, observed the situation and allowed herself a faint smile.
“It seems our fellow cardinals have more or less made up their minds. Why don’t we proceed to a vote now—to decide whether Sister Vania is guilty, and whether she deserves punishment…”
Following Amanda’s suggestion, Kramar asked Vania a few more ritual questions, to which she responded calmly and without flaw. Once questioning concluded, the cardinals began their vote.
In the end, excluding Amanda (who was disqualified from voting due to her earlier physical altercation with Kramar), five cardinals cast their judgments.
Alberto (Foundation Cardinal) and Marco (Asceticism Cardinal) both abstained, taking no official stance. Artcheli (Secrets Cardinal) and Hilbert (Holy War Cardinal) both voted that Vania was not guilty. Only Kramar (Inquisition Cardinal) insisted that Vania was guilty and should be severely punished.
Even without Amanda’s vote, the final result was 2 to 1—Vania was found not guilty, and would not face any charges.
The verdict brought a soft smile to Vania’s lips.
“By the Lord’s grace, I am deeply thankful…”
She bowed sincerely to each of the cardinals present. When she turned to Kramar, she met his icy glare without flinching.
Indeed, Kramar had never imagined that even without Amanda’s participation, the Cardinal Council would still fail to convict Vania.
“Hmph…”
Before the Council could officially conclude, Kramar, face dark with fury, gave a cold snort. Sweeping his gaze across the room, he rose with a flick of his sleeve and stormed out.
As Kramar’s figure retreated, Amanda and Artcheli exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes carrying subtle meaning. On the other side, Marco, sensing Kramar’s departure, opened his eyes briefly to observe him—then slowly shut them again, returning to his meditative stillness.
…
Holy Mount, Great Cathedral, Court of Redemption’s Private Office Area, Amanda’s Garden.
"Thank you again for coming to my rescue, Your Eminence…"
In a serene little garden filled with birdsong and blooming flowers, the white-robed Vania bowed respectfully to Amanda, who was still seated in the pavilion wearing her cardinal’s robe. Amanda let out a faint sigh before replying gently.
"I didn’t have voting rights this time. If you’re going to thank someone… you ought to thank the other cardinals first. Be it the abstaining Foundation Cardinal and Asceticism Cardinal, or the ones who supported you—the Holy War Cardinal and the Secrets Cardinal—you owe them a chance to express your gratitude individually. Especially the Secrets Cardinal. If she hadn’t insisted so firmly on affirming the authenticity of your oracle, it wouldn’t have gone so smoothly for you."
Amanda’s tone was calm but sincere. Vania nodded respectfully and replied.
"I will never forget the grace shown to me today by the other cardinals. If there is ever a chance in the future, I will surely repay it."
"There’s no need for repayment… It was you who, by wielding the Sacred Staff that day, reversed the crisis in Tivian. Thanks to that, we—these Saints of the Church—didn’t bring disaster upon the world during the Pope’s absence. In a sense, we’re the ones who owe you. As for me, I’m not looking for anything in return."
Amanda looked at her with a rare note of gravity, continuing:
"If I must ask for something from you, Sister Vania… then I only ask that you continue to act with a sincere heart for the sake of the Church. Even if you walk the edge between the Lord and the foreign gods, I hope that in the end… you still stand with our Lord."
Her tone was meaningful. Vania paused for a moment, then solemnly responded.
"Please rest assured, Your Eminence. I would never do anything that truly endangers the Church."
Amanda nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then went on.
"Even so… I never imagined that the Saintess, long treated as a symbolic figure of the Court of Secrets—would truly manifest and grant an oracle. Nor did I expect that the Saintess, acknowledged by the Pope himself… would actually be the Queen of the Night Sky. And the Rose Cross you’re in contact with—on top of their ties to the faith of the Heaven’s Arbiter—also seem to be linked with the Nation of Night. That’s the part I find most surprising. So… what exactly is the Rose Cross Order?"
Amanda's question carried a mixture of curiosity and concern. Vania answered plainly.
"The Rose Cross Order… is indeed very mysterious. Even though I’ve interacted with them, I haven’t been able to pierce their inner secrets. That said… I can at least be sure of one thing—they are not an evil cult. I can guarantee that their goals do not conflict with the Lord’s teachings. With their help, I’ve saved countless lives… they are nothing like what Cardinal Kramar accused them of being."
Her voice was firm and full of conviction. Amanda, sipping tea from a nearby stone table, responded thoughtfully.
"Given what we know so far, your assessment seems accurate. In terms of the current balance within the mysticism world, there shouldn’t be overt hostility between the Church and the Rose Cross. Kramar has simply been overly sensitive in this matter."
Amanda’s tone was calm as she sipped her tea. Vania took a moment to reflect on Amanda’s words, then spoke again.
"Your Eminence… regarding Cardinal Kramar, I… have some thoughts. I don’t know if it’s appropriate to say them aloud."
Hearing this, Amanda gave her a glance and gestured.
"Speak freely."
"Yes, Your Eminence… From recent events, I’ve sensed that Cardinal Kramar has been targeting me. I understand that this may stem from his official duties, and I do not fault him for fulfilling his role. But based on how he’s acted lately… has he perhaps gone too far? I can’t shake the feeling that Cardinal Kramar has grown… well, irrationally extreme."
Amanda paused briefly, then gave her measured response.
"For the Inquisition Cardinal, zeal is essential. Relentless suspicion is also necessary—at times, even madness is not entirely unwarranted. But all of that—zeal, scrutiny, even madness—must be founded on loyalty to the Church, to the Lord, and to the Holy See. And now… it seems Kramar has started drifting away from that. He appears more loyal to himself than to anything else. As Inquisition Cardinal, at this stage… Kramar really should have a broader perspective."
Her voice grew heavy. Vania, sensing something in her tone, asked.
"Then… does that mean Cardinal Kramar wasn’t always like this?"
Picking up on that implication, she looked at Amanda curiously. Amanda considered for a moment before answering.
"Mhm… From what I remember, the Kramar I once knew was indeed zealous—often obsessively suspicious and constantly questioning everything. But he was also deeply loyal to the Church and the Holy See. He possessed a basic grasp of the bigger picture and could prioritize when it truly mattered. My earliest impression of him was that—even if he was fanatical to the point of being hard to reason with, and constantly opposed me during Council meetings—he wasn’t doing it out of spite or ambition.
“He wouldn’t oppose simply for opposition’s sake. He certainly wouldn’t have resorted to compromising with heretics just for political gain. But now… it feels like power has gone to his head, and he’s begun to forget his true duty. That… is a clear and unsettling change from the man he once was."
Amanda spoke somberly, her judgment of Kramar firm yet regretful. Vania, listening, couldn’t help but ask.
"So the Inquisition Cardinal… wasn’t always this extreme? Then… Your Eminence, do you recall when this shift began?"
"When it started, huh…"
Amanda’s expression turned contemplative. She fell silent for a while, trying to recall, before slowly furrowing her brow.
"Strange… when did it begin?"
Her voice carried a hint of confusion, as if something vital had slipped through her memory. And across from her, Vania’s face also began to show a trace of doubt.
…
Eastern Coast of Pritt, Tivian.
In the daylight hours of Tivian, on a street-side café in the northern district, Dorothy, dressed in a white blouse with a small bowtie and a high-waisted black skirt, was seated in a third-floor street-facing booth, sipping her coffee while enjoying the view outside.
After savoring the taste, she withdrew her gaze from the street and looked across the table. Sitting opposite her was a blonde girl around the same age, wearing a dark-colored short trench coat and a slanted fedora. The girl, Anna, sat with a gentle smile as she looked at Dorothy.
“So, how has your experience been among the upper circles of Tivian these past few days? Getting used to it? How does it compare to Igwynt?”
Dorothy asked casually, and the girl named Anna tilted her head thoughtfully before replying plainly.
“Hmm… it’s been alright, teacher. Compared to Igwynt, Tivian’s upper circles are much more grand. The people hold higher status… and the etiquette is even more elaborate—interactions are more full of flattery and extravagance. Even small gatherings come with massive displays of formality—on a scale far beyond what Igwynt ever offered. I’ve only attended a few of what seemed to be the more important gatherings recently. But because Tivian is still in a special period, and many members of the royal family are still under restricted investigation, the overall mood among the attendees is tense and reserved. It’s hard to let loose at all.
“How should I put it… it feels like the nobles are there not to socialize, but to gather intel. Most of them are afraid the Church’s Inquisition might extend to them next. So even if the gatherings are grand, the atmosphere is stiff—far less enjoyable than those I attended in Igwynt. There’s rarely any central focus.”
Anna tapped her chin with a finger as she reflected aloud. Dorothy listened, then commented directly.
“Then let me guess… that rare ‘central focus’ must have been you.”
“Ah… well, I suppose you’re right.”
Anna laughed softly, then continued.
“To the nobles of Tivian right now, I’m far too much of a mystery. They can’t understand why someone of lowly viscount rank would constantly be by the side of the King’s soul, assisting in state affairs—and even have the clout to advise the Court of Secrets. They don’t know how I got this position, but they’ve convinced themselves that I must hold crucial insider information they desperately want. So naturally, they flock to me at these gatherings.
“Honestly, dealing with them is way more exhausting than the ones in Igwynt…”
Dorothy nodded as she listened to Anna’s slightly weary account, then offered a calm suggestion.
“You’re still technically just a viscount in title, and it's hard to directly brush off people of high rank. But don’t worry—once your formal investiture is complete and you’re publicly made a duchess, there’ll be plenty of people you don’t even need to acknowledge.”
She took another sip of coffee, then continued.
“By the way, when exactly is your investiture scheduled?”
“According to His Majesty’s wishes, it should be after the coronation of the new monarch. His Majesty doesn’t have much time left, and the succession of the new king is the top priority for all of Pritt. Everything else has to wait.”
Anna responded without hesitation. Dorothy nodded slightly, then asked more seriously.
“So… has Charles IV already made his decision on the new monarch?”
“Yes, he ultimately followed your advice, teacher. He’s decided to crown Princess Isabelle as queen. It doesn’t align with Pritt’s laws of succession, but His Majesty wishes to honor the will of the Night’s Emissary.”
“I see…”
Dorothy nodded thoughtfully. She had previously relayed her recommendation to Charles IV through Anna, and hadn’t expected him to accept it so decisively.
Her reasoning was this: Princess Isabelle had served as the main host during the New Moon Ritual, having been possessed by generations of past monarchs from the Hyacinth Dynasty. That ritual, a high-order divine descent, left Isabelle deeply intertwined with Pritt’s legalistic spiritual foundation. Even accounting for the reduction in legitimacy from violating succession law, Isabelle still held more symbolic authority than any of her siblings.
If Dorothy wished to continue leveraging Pritt’s legal mystic framework in the future, Isabelle was the best candidate. With her on the throne, Dorothy could more easily channel Pritt’s spiritual authority. Thus, she had recommended Isabelle’s succession to the king.
Though Isabelle lacked the traditional qualifications—having never been trained as a ruler, and with minimal governance experience—so long as she had Church support and Anna, an extraordinary Revelation Beyonder, assisting her, the political turmoil could be managed. Among the common people, Isabelle already enjoyed the highest royal favorability.
The only major uncertainty had been the Church’s stance. But given Dorothy’s growing influence over the Cardinal Council, securing their recognition wouldn’t be too difficult.
“Without realizing it, I’ve become someone whose words can shift the throne of a nation…”
Dorothy mused, a hint of amusement crossing her mind. Then Anna spoke again.
“There’s one more thing—His Majesty hopes you will personally attend Isabelle’s coronation and perform the crowning yourself. What’s your stance on that?”
Dorothy paused. She clearly hadn’t expected Charles IV to make such a request.
“He wants me to crown the new monarch? Well… I suppose that makes sense. A coronation is essentially a symbolic ritual of divine right. If Isabelle is to be the new ruler, then having me, the so-called Emissary of the Night Sky, act as the ‘divine representative’… it’s not unreasonable.”
Dorothy thought for a moment, then smiled and answered.
“For a public coronation, I’ll pass. That’s the Radiance Church’s domain—I have no interest in taking their spotlight. But if it’s a private, mystical ceremony, I wouldn’t mind participating.”
She replied calmly. After all, Pritt remained officially a Radiance Church nation. Publicly stealing the role of archbishop at a coronation would be a deliberate affront to the Church—and that wasn’t Dorothy’s style.
Besides, she had no plans for public appearances at the moment.
…
After exchanging brief updates with Anna, Dorothy said her goodbyes and left the café, stepping onto the bustling streets.
She boarded her carriage, which was driven by a corpse marionette, and began the journey back.
Inside the carriage, Dorothy retrieved her magic box and took out the Literary Sea Logbook. After flipping through its pages, she reached a communication page, upon which was written a line of slightly crooked Prittish script.
“Honored Scholar, regarding your previous inquiry, I have asked my master.
“According to his response… the Wild Rite site is not entirely unavailable. He is willing to personally visit the nearest Wild Rite altar and speak with the Grand Shaman there. Given that you previously eliminated a traitor from the Soul Desecration Cult, gaining permission shouldn’t be too difficult…”
Reading the message from Kapak, her contact among the indigenous Tupa people of the New Continent, Dorothy nodded to herself. She had previously discussed Nephthys’s advancement ritual with both Kapak and his teacher, Shaman Uta, and now it seemed she had received an initial reply.
“So the Wild Rite altar can be borrowed? That’s excellent news…
“I suppose this counts as recompense for helping eliminate Chabakunka back then. Not bad at all.”
Dorothy read on.
“Additionally, regarding the other ritual steps you mentioned, Master Uta responded as follows: Commanding the will of a thousand souls within one body is extraordinarily difficult. It poses an immense challenge to the ritualist’s mental strength—almost impossible alone. However, he can summon certain special wild spirits to assist. But these spirits are unwilling to travel far, so the ritualist will need to come here in person.
“As for the soul venturing into the deep Nether Realm—Master Uta says this is extremely dangerous. One careless moment could lead to being drawn toward a great soul’s call and wandering into a point of no return. Returning by one's own power is exceedingly difficult, and he has no good solution for this part.”
Dorothy sighed as she read, then reflected silently.
“So the thousand-soul ritual can be aided by special wild spirits? That’s very helpful. But as for the Nether Realm segment… it’s almost entirely up to Neph herself. With her willpower… can she really pull it off alone? Or would she even dare attempt something that dangerous?”
Though Nephthys had shown courage in many situations, Dorothy knew that much of it stemmed from knowing Dorothy always had her back. But this time, her soul would be descending into the depths of the Nether Realm—a domain where Dorothy could offer little support. Would she really go through with it, knowing the risks?
After all, Dorothy was well aware that Nephthys had no pressing external pressure or motivation pushing her forward.
“In any case, having Neph go to the New Continent is the right call. At least the resonance and thousand-soul steps can be completed there. The Nether Realm ritual can be postponed and done later if needed.”
With that thought, Dorothy began planning Nephthys’s journey to the New Continent in her mind.
For now, she didn’t rush to contact Nephthys with Kapak’s reply. She knew Nephthys had other priorities to attend to at the moment.
…
Somewhere in Northern Tivian’s suburbs, in a sparsely populated townhouse unit.
Deep within the apartment, inside a spacious room, a chill filled the air, seeping into every corner. The dim interior was illuminated only by several floating, ghostly green soulflames, casting a faint, icy glow over the sealed room.
Drawn on the floor was a complex Silence symbol, and hovering above it was the spectral form of an armored foreign warrior. At the edge of the array sat a girl in a gray robe, legs crossed, eyes closed in focused concentration.
The soul suspended above the ritual formation was Rachman, the former king of North Ufiga’s Addus. Sitting before him, conducting the ritual with utmost focus, was Nephthys—completing a soul-delivering ceremony to return Rachman to the New Continent.
Previously, Dorothy had requested Uta to send Rachman’s soul to Tivian so Nephthys could receive him via ritual in order to uncover ancient Pritt history. Now that the purpose was fulfilled, it was time to return Rahman to the New Continent, where the environment was more suitable for souls to rest.
Originally, the soul-delivering ritual should have been conducted much earlier. However, due to overloading her powers through the Goblet of Nether Guidance, and forcibly channeling her bloodline to commune with Uta and Rachman—calling forth a line of monarchs from the Hyacinth Dynasty—Nephthys had drained herself to the point of collapse. It had taken days before she recovered enough spirituality to attempt this ritual.
Uta, being a White Ash-rank soul and a spirit medium, could return easily on his own. But Rachman, a Crimson-rank soul and not a medium, required ceremonial assistance from both ends of the channel.
Seated before the symbol, Nephthys chanted with focused intensity. As her mystic incantations resonated through the room, the symbol began to glow faintly, then grew brighter. Rachman’s already translucent form became increasingly ethereal.
“Go…”
At the climax of the ritual, Nephthys unleashed a surge of spirituality. The array lit up in brilliant light, and Rahman began to fade—his form dissolving rapidly.
But suddenly, the light dimmed. The soulflames suspended in the air snuffed out, and the array reverted to its dormant state. The ritual was abruptly interrupted, and Rachman’s soul still hovered unmoving above the formation.
“What’s going on? Did the ritual fail?”
Rachman examined the surroundings, then checked himself before turning to Nephthys in confusion. She sat frozen for two seconds before replying.
“It… it seems like it failed. But how? What went wrong?”
Standing up, Nephthys began circling the symbol, inspecting every line and component, trying to locate the flaw.
“Strange… everything seems fine. Why would the ritual suddenly fail? Wait—Rachman, could you take a look too? Maybe I missed something…”
After checking everything herself and finding no fault, she asked Rachman to assist. He gave a wry smile and floated down to help. But even after thoroughly inspecting the setup, they found nothing amiss.
“The array is correctly drawn… the components are in place… I don’t see any issues here. The problem might lie on Uta Shaman’s end.”
Rachman offered his assessment, and Nephthys let out a breath of relief. Since this ritual was dual-sided, both her and Uta had to perform it in sync. If her part was fine, the issue must lie with Uta.
She closed her eyes and began praying to Aka, establishing a communication channel with Dorothy—asking her to relay the message to Kapak and Uta on the New Continent.
“The soul-delivering ritual failed?”
Dorothy, in her carriage, blinked in surprise as she received Nephthys’s message. She couldn’t recall any past instance where a ritual like this had gone wrong. Without delay, she sent a swift query to Kapak, asking him and Uta to check their side of the ritual.
Minutes later, a response arrived.
Everything was normal—no issues at all.
According to Kapak, Uta’s ritual had been perfectly performed, and he was slightly offended by the implication that his method might be at fault.
“Teacher says he’s been a shaman for decades and has never had problems with any ritual or formation. If there’s a problem, it must be on Miss Thief’s end.”
Kapak’s message echoed in Dorothy’s mind. Frowning, she relayed the answer to Nephthys, who was thoroughly shocked.
“What? No problems on their side either? Then why did the ritual fail?”
In the dim room, Nephthys voiced her confusion aloud. Rachman, too, became visibly concerned.
“Miss Dorothy, I can personally guarantee that there is nothing wrong with the ritual on our side. I’ve checked everything alongside Rachman himself. You may think I’m careless, but surely not he. If you still doubt it, you’re welcome to check it yourself through my vision.”
Raising a hand, Nephthys offered earnestly. Dorothy hesitated, then replied.
“Alright, let me take a look.”
Using Nephthys’s shared vision, Dorothy examined the ritual layout. As someone well-versed in related knowledge, she studied it thoroughly and found no visible faults. Nephthys even replayed her ritual memory, and Dorothy saw no errors in the procedure either.
“Strange… everything checks out. So why did the ritual fail?”
Dorothy fell into thought, tapping her chin as she began questioning Nephthys on more minor details—all of which the latter answered accurately.
One by one, Dorothy ruled out possibilities. She even wondered if some external interference in the Nether Realm had disrupted the ritual… But then, she remembered a seemingly basic factor and asked.
“Neph—did you have enough spirituality for the ritual?”
“Spirituality? Of course I—eh…?”
At first, Nephthys answered confidently, but midway through she froze. Her eyes widened as she patted herself down—then her expression twisted into one of deep embarrassment.
“U-uh… actually… i-it really was my spirituality. I seem to be… short. Aahhh—Miss Dorothy, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I forgot such a basic thing!”
Flustered, she covered her face in shame and shook her head. She couldn’t believe she had made such a beginner-level mistake.
It was as if a driver spent hours inspecting a car that wouldn’t start, even sending it back to the manufacturer for diagnosis—only to discover they’d forgotten to add fuel.
“Haaah… seriously…”
Dorothy was speechless. She knew Nephthys could be careless, but this careless?
“Neph, honestly—how do you forget something like that? And you’ve had several days to recover. Your spirituality should’ve returned by now. Are you sure you didn’t burn it on something else?”
Dorothy rubbed her temples, her tone a mix of disbelief and exasperation. Nephthys, looking like she wanted to crawl into a hole, quickly replied.
“I—I really don’t know why I’d forget something so basic! That’s never happened before. I always know my own spirituality state…
“And besides! Based on timing, I should have fully recovered today! I definitely didn’t use any powers these past few days—I promise! I might be sloppy with a lot of things, but when it comes to resting, I’m totally diligent! I would never waste spirituality while recovering—please believe me! If you want, I’ll even show you my memory!”
At that, Nephthys lifted her hand, stood tall, and declared with all seriousness. Dorothy’s expression softened—her frustration fading into quiet thought.
“That’s true… No matter how careless someone is, they shouldn’t misjudge their own spiritual reserves. Based on time alone, Nephthys should have recovered enough to perform the ritual. But now she’s suddenly short on spirituality—and she didn’t even realize it? Why…?”
Sitting in her carriage, Dorothy once again fell into deep contemplation.
…
Central Continent, Summit of Holy Mount.
Within the enormous cathedral—sprawling like a town atop Holy Mount—there stood a towering chamber in the Inquisition Wing, supported by several marble columns.
The room was laid with exquisitely crafted carpets. Around its perimeter stood stern-faced stone statues of clergymen, each wielding either iron hammers or scripture scrolls. The ceiling bore a massive mural: a solemn-faced male angel with wings spread behind him, one hand holding a balance scale, the other grasping a long-handled iron hammer. He was depicted striking down terrified mortals below. As the hammer shattered their flesh, grotesque monsters could be seen escaping from the broken human shells.
At one side of the room stood a large judge’s bench-like desk, behind which Inquisition Cardinal Kramar sat, his expression tinged with suppressed fury as he worked through documents on the desk.
Piled high in front of him were stacks of files, while behind him, an immense bookshelf overflowed with layer upon layer of archived books and records.
Kramar was flipping through and furiously scribbling across papers—until suddenly, he paused mid-writing as if something caught his eye. He picked up a document and studied it closely. Amid the densely packed text, a portrait of a nun appeared—it was Vania.
Holding the file, Kramar remained silent for a long moment. Then, with a cold snort, he set his pen down, stood up, and walked away from his desk. After taking another long look at the document by the window, he rolled it up, tucked it away in his robes, and strode briskly to the door of his office. Opening it, he exited without another word.
Once Kramar departed, the vast room fell into complete stillness. But the calm did not last long.
From the shadows in the corner of the room, a dark figure rose, coalescing into the form of a person. As the shadow gained color and clarity, the petite silhouette of Artcheli appeared in the chamber.
Standing in her colleague’s office, Artcheli silently stared at the closed door through which Kramar had just exited. After a brief pause, her gaze shifted elsewhere in the room—ultimately settling on the piles of documents atop Kramar’s desk, and then on the towering bookshelf behind it.