Across the great ocean, on the Starfall Continent.
In the heart of the Starfall Continent during the night, within the Shamanism sacred land known as the Ancestral Valley, the Great Wild Rite once again faced the risk of collapse following the complete annihilation of Kudoshum, the second Death Lord of the Nether Coffin Order. The ritual, which had been barely sustained after the first disruption, was now suspended once more.
Yet despite the dire circumstances, the final Death Lord of the Nether Coffin—the “Silent Bishop” Fabrizio—refused to abandon the effort, choosing instead to continue guarding the central ritual site of the Ancestral Valley.
“Scheming mortals... do not gloat too soon… it is far from over…”
With a raspy cry, the skeletal bishop garbed in decaying robes hovered above the ritual site’s center, persisting in its efforts. It retracted the divinity it had previously granted Kudoshum for soul-splitting, reinvested it into the Withering Barrier, then recalled its summoned frostbone skeletons. These no longer attacked the True Spirit Giant proactively but instead lined up in defense around the ritual field, clearly intending to hold the position to the bitter end.
“Your schemes have failed! Begone from this sacred domain, lapdogs of the Evil Spirit!”
Seeing Fabrizio’s actions, the voice of the True Spirit Shaman echoed through the space, followed by the enormous True Spirit Giant pressing its advance toward the ritual field.
As the ground quaked, the giant clashed once more with the frostbone skeletons. Meanwhile, the True Spirit Shaman continuously summoned soil, lightning, and storm from the land and sky to bombard the ritual field. But the newly reinforced Withering Barrier deflected all of it, preventing anything from reaching inside.
“…It looks like that thing still isn’t willing to back down. Didn’t its plan already fail?”
From a clearing in the distant woods, Nephthys gazed toward the scene in confusion. Beside her, “Kramar” replied grimly.
“Perhaps... to that heretic, it does not yet feel like a dead end...”
“Indeed. We can’t let our guard down yet. If it’s still holding out like this, it might have something else up its sleeve,” added the soul of Rachman.
Hearing this, Uta furrowed his brow slightly. A tinge of worry on his face, he turned toward the Eastern Great Shaman, who was also watching the battle with intense focus.
“Eastern Great Shaman, could you ask the True Spirit Shaman. Does the Great Wild Rite still stand a chance of succeeding?”
Uta asked, and the Eastern Great Shaman—linked spiritually to the True Spirit Shaman—relayed the answer, soul-flame flickering in his eyes.
“Though 90% of the ritual has been completed and sufficient spiritual resonance accumulated to summon a deity, without completing the final, most critical step, the Evil Spirit’s goal cannot be fulfilled…”
“The final step?” Uta asked.
The Eastern Great Shaman nodded and explained.
“Yes. The earlier stages of the Great Wild Rite are primarily to gather spiritual resonance. The final step is to pinpoint the Soul Eagle’s exact location within the Nether Realm, then send the resonance there to awaken and summon it.
“According to the True Spirit Shaman, we had begun this final step before the ritual was interrupted—the moment that dog of the Evil Spirit disguised as Pasadiko began the process. Although the sudden disruption caused some turbulence, it remained manageable, and the True Spirit Shaman could extrapolate the Soul Eagle’s location from what had been started.
“But that’s no longer the case… That vessel who was receiving the ritual has now perished, and this second interruption has further destabilized the rite. The turbulence is now too great to determine the Soul Eagle’s position.
“Now, it is incredibly difficult to complete the ritual. Not to mention that the Evil Spirit’s lackey is too preoccupied fending off the True Spirit Shaman’s attacks to conduct such a massive rite solo via soul-splitting. Even if it could, the instability level makes perfect summoning impossible. The Soul Eagle will not respond.”
Relaying the True Spirit Shaman’s words, the Eastern Great Shaman replied solemnly. Uta let out a small sigh of relief upon hearing this. Meanwhile, the soul of Harald spoke bluntly.
“The Soul Eagle… the one the Emperor failed to behead all those years ago. Why would these parasites’ lapdogs want to summon that thing?”
He mulled it over, then asked the Eastern Great Shaman. After a brief moment of focus, the shaman responded.
“According to the True Spirit Shaman’s speculation, the Evil Spirit King… likely wishes to seize control of the Soul Eagle in order to invade the Great Soul once more…”
“To control the Soul Eagle… is that enough to invade the Great Soul?”
Nephthys asked curiously. This time, Uta nodded with a furrowed brow and elaborated.
“It’s possible… In ancient legend, the Soul Eagle is described as the herald of the Great Spirit—its most faithful agent, capable of appearing at the Great Soul’s side at any moment. It can even enter the Great Soul’s being to repair anomalies and eliminate threats.
“So if the Evil Spirit King manages to control it after it’s summoned, it could parasitize the Soul Eagle to bypass the Great Soul’s internal wards and directly invade the core once more—finishing the foul work it failed to complete millennia ago…”
Reflecting on what he’d learned, Uta nodded slowly. The Eastern Great Shaman, standing beside him, also gave a slight nod of agreement.
“To control a divine being… and seize the cycle of life and death in this world… Hmph. Truly fitting of an evil god’s scheme. Anyone aligned with the evil gods must be completely purged!”
“Kramar” scoffed coldly and declared with conviction. Nephthys, meanwhile, looked back toward the ritual site in the distance. Exhaling lightly, she muttered.
“Hah… Thankfully, it looks like their plan has failed for now. As long as the Soul Eagle isn’t summoned, none of this can proceed.”
“Indeed, Miss Thief,” said Kapak.
“So now we’ll just see how long that servant of the Evil Spirit King intends to hold out.”
Nephthys nodded slightly, returning her focus to the battlefield, trying to discern how long the skeletal bishop would keep resisting.
But… if the other side truly believed their plan had failed, why were they still holding on like this?
A sudden unease stirred in Nephthys’ heart, giving rise to a sense of foreboding.
…
Under the cloak of night, at the center of the Ancestral Valley, within the Great Wild Rite’s ceremonial field.
Amid the ceaseless roar of howling wind and crackling thunder, the skeletal bishop floated silently above the barren ritual ground, within the bounds of the Withering Barrier.
At this very moment, Fabrizio was simultaneously maintaining the stability of the Great Wild Rite—left without Kudoshum’s leadership—and silently gazing at the ancient dragon-horned helmet in his skeletal hand. As the soul-flame in his eye sockets flickered, he rasped in a low whisper.
“Never did I imagine... the plan would come to this. In the end... it has to be you.
“A strategy once thought foolproof… to think it would reach this point. Is all of this... fate’s arrangement? Does the revival of the ancient Revelation also herald destiny?
“No... it’s not like that. The one who scripts this world’s fate is neither Radiance nor Revelation—it is the Nether Realm, the Nether Realm that belongs to the Lord Father…”
As he murmured like one lamenting, Fabrizio crushed the helmet in his hand. The corroded dragon-horned helm crumbled instantly into fragments that scattered into the air above the Great Wild Rite array, accompanied by glimmering specks of crystalline blue frost.
Then, the ghostly fire in the bishop’s black eye sockets flared dramatically. He spread his arms wide and shouted in a commanding voice.
“Come forth… heed my call! Dragon of the North… Emperor of the Frozen Seas… King of Frost! Awaken from your slumber through the ages!
“In the name of the King of the Underworld—shatter your tomb, return from death! Witness the world you once yearned for! Continue the conquest you once craved!”
At the bishop’s high-pitched cry, the Great Wild Rite array beneath him suddenly burst into radiant light. An ancient, distant aura emerged from within, and the clouds above began to churn. Snowflakes began to drift from the heavens.
“…It’s snowing?”
From a distance outside the ritual field, Nephthys reached out her hand and caught a softly falling snowflake. She then looked curiously toward the faraway battlefield, where the True Spirit Giant was still commanding the natural elements against the ritual site.
“Is the True Spirit Shaman… also using frost to break through the defense?”
She asked aloud, puzzled. The people around her all wore similarly confused expressions, none giving a direct reply. Only Harald—the ancient warrior’s soul—stared wide-eyed at the sky with an expression of disbelief, his voice murmuring in shock:
“This… this aura is… impossible… it can’t be! How could this aura appear again… this is…”
With trembling hands raised, Harald stared at the snow-laced sky, muttering incoherently, his demeanor becoming increasingly erratic. Beside him, Rachman asked seriously.
“Aura? What aura are you talking about? Speak clearly.”
Startled by Rachman's question, Harald paused for a moment, then opened his mouth again.
“This is—”
BOOM!!
Before he could finish, an earthshaking sound exploded from within the Ancestral Valley, causing everyone present to jump and immediately turn toward the source of the sound—to the north of the valley. Upon seeing it, the Northern Great Shaman cried out in alarm.
“The Dragon Mound has erupted!”
At the northern gorge among the four fissures of the Ancestral Valley, the massive pile of stones that had once sealed the gorge’s mouth had exploded outward with tremendous force. In its place, something else was revealed beneath the rubble.
A massive geoglyph, comparable in size and style to the Great Eagle geoglyph in the eastern part of the valley. Composed of bold, abstract lines, this geoglyph depicted a terrifying, winged dragon baring its claws and fangs!
“ROAR!!!”
Suddenly, a distant roar of immense power echoed through the entire Ancestral Valley. No one could tell where it came from, but it vibrated through every soul present. Upon hearing it, all three Great Shamans—Nephthys included—and every Crimson-rank soul felt dizzy and disoriented, nearly losing their footing. A deep, soul-piercing chill rushed through their entire bodies.
And if even the Crimsons reacted this strongly, the White Ash-rank Shamans and Kapak were faring even worse—shaken to their very souls, their spiritual forms destabilized. One by one, they collapsed into unconsciousness. Fortunately, the three Great Shamans responded quickly. Once they stabilized themselves, they cast wide-range soul-soothing techniques, calming and protecting the others so that they only fainted without suffering more severe soul damage.
“Damn it, this is unbearable… What… what the hell is this…?”
Holding her head and shivering, Nephthys forced herself to stay upright, gritting her teeth. Harald, whose spiritual form was still flickering, continued murmuring in shock.
“This is… the Emperor’s aura…
“He… is returning!”
Just as Harald finished speaking, the geoglyph in the northern part of the Ancestral Valley suddenly lit up with a radiant ice-blue glow. At the same time, a powerful windstorm swept through the skies above. What had moments ago been light snow transformed into heavy, thick flakes. Accompanied by howling winds, the snow became a raging blizzard. Countless specks of white filled the entire night sky.
The blizzard rapidly expanded outward from the Ancestral Valley as its center, engulfing nearly the entire heartland of the Starfall Continent. Snow blanketed the ground, piling atop treetops and rooftops, freezing the land in moments. An endless white expanse of snow and ice spread rapidly across the land.
At the center of the storm—the Ancestral Valley—the temperature was plummeting at an astonishing rate. After crossing below freezing, it continued to plunge to levels no living being could endure. Even Nephthys began to falter.
“Achoo! It’s so cold… If this keeps up, we’ll die out here!”
“…This temperature is… troubling…”
Just as the valley plunged into this lethal cold and plants began to wither en masse, the ground beneath the forest clearing where Nephthys and the others stood suddenly split open. From within, a thick tree trunk burst forth, growing into a massive tree. Moments later, it spontaneously ignited—enshrouded in roaring, otherworldly flames.
This giant, blazing tree radiated heat and light that stabilized the temperature in the clearing, keeping it from plunging into fatal levels. It saved many present—especially the unconscious shamans—from freezing to death.
“This is the True Spirit Shaman’s power… he’s protecting us!”
Seeing the burning tree, the Southern Shaman exclaimed. Nephthys, normally the most resistant to cold among those present, was now hugging herself, stomping her feet, and shivering uncontrollably.
“Wh-What the hell just happened? Why is it suddenly so cold? Harald… you mentioned the Emperor’s aura—don’t tell me you mean that Northern Emperor? The one who’s both a dragon and a ruler?!”
Nephthys asked frantically. It was the Eastern Great Shaman, still linked to the True Spirit Shaman, who answered her with a grim expression.
“It is indeed him… the King of the Frozen Seas, the Lord of Calamitous Cold… the very one who once crossed over from your continent.
“I can feel it now. He is awakening. He is returning to this world.”
The Eastern Great Shaman spoke solemnly. A faint haze of confusion lingered in his eyes. It was clear that the will of the True Spirit Shaman was directly speaking through his body.
“The Northern God of Frost from ages past? Wasn’t he already dead? In your legends, didn’t he get slain?”
Rachman asked with a grim expression. Borrowing the shaman’s body, the True Spirit Shaman gave a direct answer.
“Death does not mean the end—especially not for the gods of Silence. It’s true that the Lord of Calamitous Cold was slain back then, in a joint strike by Suun the Soul-Burier and Nab the Wordbearer. But that did not mark his complete annihilation. The divine power still dwelling in his corpse has never truly faded. If left unchecked, he could very well return from death in his skeletal form.”
The True Spirit Shaman explained in earnest, and Nephthys, still confused, spoke up again.
“Return in skeletal form… Are you saying even gods can become undead? If that’s the case, why didn’t they just ensure he was fully destroyed… utterly obliterated?”
Continuing the exchange, the True Spirit Shaman responded after a moment of thought.
“That… was dictated by divine oracle. The Soul Eagle and the Soul Tongue once proclaimed that utterly destroying a god would accelerate the birth of that god’s successor. To prevent an even more catastrophic god—perhaps one even worse than the Lord of Calamitous Cold—from being born and bringing renewed disaster to this land, our ancestors chose not to obliterate him entirely.
“According to legend, after slaying the Lord of Calamitous Cold, Suun and Nab gave an oracle to the ancient shamans, commanding them to ‘bury’ his remains. This so-called ‘burial’ was essentially an alternate form of sealing. Through a grand funerary rite and a god-bestowed soul-soothing ritual, they granted the dead god rest within his tomb, ensuring his eternal slumber.
“For gods of Silence, rest can be achieved through ritual burial. And since Suun personally presided over the soul-soothing, the Lord of Calamitous Cold’s sleep remained undisturbed. Every generation of True Spirit Shamans has included the Lord in their essential rituals—at fixed intervals, they held rites to stabilize his rest. This had continued for thousands of years… but no one expected that one of the Evil Spirit’s followers would awaken him.
“Even if the revived Lord of Calamitous Cold is now only an undead being—a pale shadow of his former self—his power still vastly exceeds what we mortals can resist.”
The True Spirit Shaman concluded gravely. After a moment, Nephthys asked another question, still bewildered.
“Then how did that guy manage to awaken the Lord of Calamitous Cold? Isn’t the ritual to awaken a god supposed to be complex and massive? That guy couldn’t even keep the Great Wild Rite intact—how could he suddenly awaken another god?!”
She spoke in disbelief. The True Spirit Shaman, face still grave, replied.
“That servant of the Evil Spirit… used the Great Wild Rite to awaken the Lord of Calamitous Cold.”
“What? Wasn’t the Great Wild Rite meant to awaken your Soul Eagle?”
Rachman exclaimed in shock. The True Spirit Shaman nodded solemnly and explained further:
“Yes, originally it was for summoning the Soul Eagle. But with some adjustments to the ritual procedure, it became possible to awaken another being instead.
“The Great Wild Rite had already amassed a vast amount of spiritual resonance—only the final step of pinpointing the Soul Eagle’s position in the Nether Realm remained. After two interruptions, pinpointing was no longer viable. But I could sense that the servant of the Evil Spirit used some other means to forcibly bypass that step.
“He must have used some external medium. Something deeply connected to the Lord of Calamitous Cold, a high-level relic. By destroying that medium, he briefly obtained the Lord of Calamitous Cold coordinates and redirected the entire Great Wild Rite to that location, thereby awakening him!”
The True Spirit Shaman explained this carefully. Fabrizio’s method was actually quite simple. Since the Soul Eagle Suun couldn’t be reached normally, he used a relic obtained by the Nether Coffin Order—something of deep connection to the Lord of Calamitous Cold—to complete the final step of the Great Wild Rite. The ritual’s accumulated spiritual resonance, originally intended to awaken Suun, was rerouted to revive the Northern Dragon, pulling him from his grave.
Upon hearing this, Kramar’s expression darkened, and he spoke seriously.
“So… you're saying that right now, an ancient being nearing divine stature is awakening. What do we do about this? As the leader of the Starfall Continent, do you have a plan? We’ll help however we can…”
“I’ve been doing everything I can to stop that servant. But it’s useless. He reinforced the Withering Barrier with the power of decay. Breaking through now is impossible… The return of the Lord of Calamitous Cold… cannot be stopped!”
The True Spirit Shaman’s tone carried a tinge of despair. And just as those words fell—
BOOM!!!
A deep rumble echoed once again from the northern reaches of the Ancestral Valley. The earth trembled violently. Amid the roaring blizzard, great tracts of frozen land began to heave and churn. With thunderous noise, the earth cracked apart.
As the shaking intensified, more and more massive rifts split across the snowy ground. When those rifts joined into a massive chasm, something slowly began to rise from within.
Sharp bone spines—dozens of meters long—emerged, rising in neat rows. Beneath them, vast, segmented bones began to surface—colossal joints connected one after another.
The chasms widened further with every quake. More gigantic, pale bones rose. Then, a massive claw—just its talons were over ten meters long—thrust from the abyss and slammed into the ground. A nearby hill exploded, and from within it, a colossal dragon skull emerged, twisted horns crowning its head. Behind it, a corpse so enormous its spine could reach the heavens unfolded, spreading titanic bone wings—wingbones long and barren of any membrane.
A dragon. A pale, skeletal dragon. Ancient beyond reckoning. The undead draconic remains of the King of the Frozen Sea crawled up from the depths like a revenant torn from its tomb. As it fully returned to the world, ice-blue ghostfire lit up within its hollow eye sockets. Countless flames of soul-flame flickered around its decayed frame.
Swinging its long, jagged bone tail, the enormous bone dragon—over 800 meters in length, larger than mountains—opened its jaw and, from its voiceless maw, let out a soul-roaring scream.
“ROAR!!!”
As the roar of the soul quaked through space, everyone in the Ancestral Valley instinctively covered their ears and focused all their will on stabilizing their souls, desperately avoiding direct sight of the colossal divine corpse in the distance. The soul-roar alone nearly shattered the souls of the unconscious shamans. Were it not for the three Great Shamans pouring all their strength into preserving and soothing those around them, this single roar would have wiped out the backbone of the entire Shamanic Church.
Within the Ancestral Valley, the many wild spirits were unable to resist the pressure of the dragon's soul-roar. Trembling in fear, they instinctively huddled together, clustering tightly to stabilize their souls and prevent being scattered by the overwhelming resonance.
“A dragon… a skeletal dragon? It came out… so that’s the so-called King of the Frozen Sea…”
Nephthys murmured in disbelief, squinting into the blizzard. On the other side, Rachman also spoke in astonishment.
“An ancient god from the previous era… Can one really return in a body of bones? Even if it’s only a divine remnant, is it not being suppressed by the rules of the Nether Realm?”
“Damn it… Even at a time like this, the Nether Coffin can still pull something like this off? Just how many preparations did they make?”
Kramar muttered through clenched teeth as he stared at the scene. Meanwhile, Harald, in stark contrast, was visibly thrilled.
“Hahaha!! It’s real… it’s really the Emperor!! Even if it’s just a remnant, to witness the Emperor’s form again, it’s magnificent!!
“Rise again and trample the earth! Reconquer the world beneath your feet!”
Witnessing the undead dragon emerging from its tomb, the True Spirit Shaman immediately went on high alert. He commanded the True Spirit Giant to cease its assault on the ritual site and instead turned it toward the massive skeletal beast looming in the north like a range of mountains. Though he dared not attack, he still held a defensive posture.
What the True Spirit Shaman didn’t anticipate was that even caution—any trace of vigilance—could be interpreted as a form of latent hostility. The just-awakened undead dragon detected this subtle intent. Having finished its initial soul-roar, it turned its massive skull toward the tiny True Spirit Giant in the distance, then casually raised a bony claw. A cold blue light shimmered from its surface as it slammed the claw to the ground.
In an instant, a freezing shockwave spread rapidly outward from the point of impact. The snow-covered land instantly froze over with thick, solid ice. As the wave spread, everything—gorges, mountains, forests, rivers—was sealed in a glacial prison.
“Not good!”
Realizing the danger, the True Spirit Shaman acted immediately. He cast mass banishment upon every remaining wild spirit in the Ancestral Valley, exiling them to the Nether Realm. All Shamans below Crimson-rank were forcibly transformed into their spiritual forms and sent into exile as well. The remaining Crimsons and above soared into the sky, fleeing upward to escape the incoming frost.
After completing the emergency evacuation, the True Spirit Shaman—sensing the deathly cold rapidly approaching—severed his soul from the wild spirit of the Ancestral Valley. And then, in the next moment, the freezing wave reached the True Spirit Giant. It was instantly encased in thick ice, completely immobilized.
In a matter of moments, the glacial wave released by the undead dragon had swept across the entire Ancestral Valley. Even mountains, rivers, and forests over a hundred kilometers beyond the valley’s edge were touched by frost. The wild spirit of the valley was utterly frozen. Though the True Spirit Shaman escaped in time, he lost the support of the sacred land and the ability to manifest as the valley itself.
“So… so strong! Everything’s frozen in one move! How are we supposed to fight something like this?!”
Soaring through the sky, Nephthys stared in horror at the endless, bone-chilling expanse of white that had replaced the valley below. Everyone else—except Harald—wore deeply troubled expressions as they looked toward the bone dragon, more massive than any mountain. None could offer a solution.
Faced with such divine force of natural calamity, Nephthys and the others had no countermeasure. Even Dorothy, observing the scene from afar, felt her scalp go numb.
“The Northern Emperor… Inut?! That bunch from the Nether Coffin actually had the means to unleash that thing? They used a pre-prepared medium to redirect the spiritual resonance meant for Suun… This was their backup plan?
“And that medium tied so deeply to Inut… Where did they even get something like that…?”
Seated in place, Dorothy held her forehead in frustration. She’d anticipated the Nether Coffin’s plans might include contingencies, but she hadn’t imagined the tolerance would be this absurd. Perhaps even more resilient than the Eight-Spired Nest.
Now deeply troubled, Dorothy scrambled to think of countermeasures—but she also felt it clearly: in the face of such absolute power, no strategy mattered. With Inut’s resurrection, the situation on the New Continent was no longer one that clever schemes could resolve.
Just as Dorothy despaired over the impasse, another development stirred within the Ancestral Valley. The skeletal dragon, having frozen the land and erased the threat of the True Spirit Shaman, did not press the attack. Instead, it cast a scornful glance at the gathered Crimsons, then spread its wings.
Between its exaggerated wing bones, faint ghostly blue membranes began to manifest—replacing the flesh it once had. With a sweep of its wings, the undead dragon began to rise slowly into the air, seemingly intending to leave.
“It… it’s ignoring us! Thank goodness!”
Nephthys felt a flash of relief. But just as the undead dragon began to lift off, a new disturbance suddenly arose.
“Don’t be in such a hurry, Inut… You now belong to the Lord Father. Submit to the King of the Underworld…”
From the center of the Ancestral Valley, where the Great Wild Rite site once stood, came a hoarse, low whisper. It echoed through space—Fabrizio’s skeletal form now floating atop the frozen totem pillar, the once-glowing ritual array beneath him now dimmed.
The undead dragon, on the verge of departure, turned its skull silently toward the sound, staring at the skeletal bishop at the heart of the ritual. And seemingly displeased by the bishop’s words, it let out a furious roar.
The soul-shaking bellow echoed once again across the valley. From the dragon’s maw, a beam of icy blue ghostlight began to gather, growing ever brighter. A dreadful pressure radiated from its form—so oppressive that all living and dead beings alike were seized by fear. It was clear to all that the undead dragon was about to attack Fabrizio!
“Northern Dragon… Let me teach you the meaning of loyalty…”
Faced with the overwhelming force, with the annihilating chill bearing down on him, Fabrizio murmured softly. At that moment, he summoned all the divine power of the King of the Underworld into his grasp. As the Withering Barrier shattered, an even higher-order divine force descended, directly imposed upon the skeletal dragon.
Suddenly, the space around the undead dragon shimmered with the sudden appearance of countless illusory chains. These thick, spectral chains rapidly coiled themselves around the undead dragon, entangling and binding its enormous body from head to tail.
The instant the divine chains wrapped around it, the icy blue light building in the dragon’s throat was immediately extinguished. Roaring in fury, the undead dragon struggled violently against the restraints, trying to rip the chains apart.
For a time, the dragon's frantic thrashing shook the mountains and fractured the frozen earth. But no matter how it fought, the chains only grew in number, and none of them broke. The dragon could only watch helplessly as its body was wrapped tighter and tighter. Meanwhile, Fabrizio shot rapidly toward it.
“The trap originally meant for the Soul Eagle… has worked on the Lord of Calamitous Cold…”
The True Spirit Shaman murmured through the mouth of the Eastern Great Shaman. Indeed, what was now happening to Inut was the very trap that the Nether Coffin Order had secretly prepared for Suun.
Due to Kudoshum's covert interference through Pasadiko, this iteration of the Great Wild Rite had been tampered with. Unknown to all, the Nether Coffin had modified the rite by embedding divine-level mechanisms that would set a hidden trigger in whatever entity was summoned.
This “trap” was extremely subtle. The summoned target wouldn’t sense anything wrong, because what had been placed inside them were only minuscule, seemingly meaningless spiritual pathways. These would lie dormant with no effect—until the right moment. Then, activated by further interference from the King of the Underworld’s divinity, they would allow more of His power to directly control the summoned being.
The effectiveness of this control was tied to how deeply embedded the King of the Underworld’s divine essence was. Originally, this mechanism was prepared specifically for Suun, the Soul Eagle. However, controlling a complete deity like Suun wouldn't have been this easy. The Nether Coffin Order’s true plan had been to trigger rituals such as the Corpse Consumption Ritual or Earth Grievance from Frisland to weaken Suun, then detonate the planted trap and force him under the King of the Underworld’s control—ultimately using him as a gateway into the Great Soul.
But due to a string of unexpected events, Suun was never summoned. Instead, the divine undead Inut had emerged. And unlike Suun, Inut—being only a divine corpse—was nowhere near his full power. Thus, the trap planted for Suun could be triggered without needing any weakening. Inut was already vulnerable.
“You despicable rats! What are you doing?! Remove those cursed chains! Release the Emperor!!”
On the frozen land, Harald shouted in fury as he watched the undead dragon writhing in bondage. A massive battle axe materialized in his hands—he was clearly about to rush to the dragon’s aid.
But just as he moved, a Silence ritual array suddenly lit up beneath his feet. Its powerful force locked him in place, freezing him mid-step.
“What the…?”
Struggling in rage, Harald looked back—and saw the spiritual form of the True Spirit Shaman seated upon the ice, radiating overwhelming spirituality. Beneath others in the Ancestral Valley—both living and dead—the same kind of array appeared and grew in brilliance.
“This is not the time for confrontation… We must retreat—do not resist…”
With a wave of his hands, the True Spirit Shaman made all the arrays beneath them flash brightly.
“Banishment…”
As he whispered, all spirits encompassed by the arrays vanished. The living with physical bodies were first transformed into spirit form, then banished as well. In a flash, Nephthys, Rachman, the three Great Shamans, Kramar, and other Crimson-rank entities were all banished willingly—everyone except Harald.
“Damn it… Let me go! I’ll make those bastards pay!!”
Haral roared, resisting the banishment with all his might. But his resistance was short-lived. Unable to match the True Spirit Shaman’s power, he too vanished in a flash of light—banished from the physical realm.
Once everyone had been banished, the True Spirit Shaman looked again to the north, where the undead dragon continued to thrash, entangled in a writhing web of chains. Though its roars of fury grew louder, its movements were weakening, its resistance waning.
After one last glance at the dragon, the True Spirit Shaman activated a ritual array around himself. In a gleam of light, he too vanished, completing a full strategic retreat. Using the moment when Fabrizio was entirely focused on controlling the dragon, the shaman successfully banished every friendly spirit—living or dead—above Crimson-rank to the Nether Realm.
Not long after, the undead dragon—still struggling—finally began to tire. Its thrashing slowed, and even its roars grew faint.
When it at last fell still, the chains wrapped around its body began slithering like snakes. They shifted intelligently, repositioning themselves to avoid restricting major joints or mobility. And though the restraints remained, the dragon made no further attempts to resist.
Eventually, nearly every chain converged toward one point—its broad chest. There, just above the massive breastbone, the semi-illusory chains merged together. With a grotesque transformation, they reshaped into a new form.
A colossal skeletal lock.
Shaped like a human skull and dozens of meters across, the massive lock served as the anchor for hundreds of chains that bound the undead dragon. The moment this lock took shape, the icy blue glow vanished from the dragon’s eyes.
“Rise, Northern Dragon! Serve your true king!”
Standing atop the dragon’s spine, Fabrizio shouted.
And then, from within the eye sockets of the chest-mounted skeletal lock, two ghostly green flames lit up. The dragon’s body began to move again. This time, it did not struggle. It opened its wings, roared once, and rose into the sky.
At this moment, the once-proud and invincible overlord, the King of the Frozen Sea, the Northern Emperor Inut, had been reduced, in utter humiliation, to the King of the Underworld’s puppet.
Seeing that the undead dragon was now fully under control, Fabrizio finally allowed himself to relax a little. Though the plan to summon the Soul Eagle had failed, at least the backup—Inut—had been summoned and subjugated. While Inut alone wasn’t enough to invade the Great Spirit, the effort hadn’t been in vain. The enormous cost had yielded something.
Now that he had control, Fabrizio wanted to use the undead dragon’s power to purge the remaining enemies in the valley. But upon scanning the surroundings, he realized there were none left. They had escaped.
“Hmph… Ran off quickly enough…”
The skeletal bishop scoffed. He knew they had fled to the Nether Realm, and he could still track them with the undead dragon. But it would be a waste of time. Pursuing those defeated enemies wasn’t worth the effort. He had more urgent things to do.
Standing atop the undead dragon, Fabrizio soared skyward, piercing the clouds. When the 800-meter-long dragon spread its wings above the cloudline, even the moonlight was eclipsed.
High above, the dragon turned east and surged forward. Fabrizio was flying to reinforce another battlefield.
In the King of the Underworld’s eyes, there were still more gains to reap from Frisland.
…
Meanwhile, in Aransdel, Dorothy stood from her suite balcony, gazing solemnly toward the dark western sky.
“…This is getting… a little too dangerous now.”