Eastern Pritt, Tivian.
At dusk, within the central royal city district of Tivian, the young Duchess Anna paced slowly through her chambers in the Solitary Cloud Palace, troubled thoughts clouding her mind.
“How strange… Where did Teacher go? Why is there no response at all? Could it be…”
Worried and restless, Anna muttered aloud as she walked, countless ominous scenarios flashing through her mind.
“Teacher hasn’t responded this whole time… Could she have run into something unexpected? Didn’t she say she already took care of the attackers? Then why is this happening… Now that I think about it, when she said goodbye to me earlier, she did seem a bit strange… oddly careless, not like her usual self. Did something already go wrong back then?
“No… I can’t just let this go. If something’s happened to Teacher, I have to act—now.”
Just as she turned and hastily stepped out of her room to order a search for Dorothy, the sound of hurried footsteps came from behind. A palace attendant quickly approached and respectfully bowed with one hand over his chest.
“Lady Field, Her Majesty has already departed for the Crystal Palace. Please proceed to join her immediately.”
Hearing this, Anna froze for a moment. If Dorothy was truly in danger, then the entire city of Tivian might be compromised. Holding the secret coronation under such circumstances was risky—perhaps postponing it would be wiser.
“For safety’s sake, it would be best for Her Majesty to remain in the palace for now… Everything else can wait until we find Teacher Mayschoss…”
So Anna thinks, addressed the attendant.
“I understand. I’ll head there now. Has everything at the Crystal Palace been prepared?”
“All arrangements have been completed.”
“Very well. You’re dismissed.”
She spoke calmly, and the attendant bowed again and left. Anna turned her gaze forward and began striding swiftly down the corridor toward the palace exit.
“It’s getting late… I need to join Her Majesty at the Crystal Palace as soon as possible.”
Glancing out the corridor window at the setting sun, Anna quickened her pace. Her expression carried no trace of hesitation.
…
Tivian’s Eastern District, nightfall.
On a bustling street, beside a road filled with passing carriages, Nephthys munched on a street snack as she strolled leisurely, glancing at shop windows with idle curiosity, seeing if anything caught her eye.
Though today was the queen’s coronation—a grand occasion for most—Nephthys, having seen more than her share of large-scale events, wasn’t particularly interested.
She had watched the royal procession in the morning, then gone straight home. If Dorothy hadn’t suddenly summoned her for help that afternoon, she would’ve spent the day lying around reading novels.
When Dorothy called, Nephthys had been quite resentful. Lazy by nature, she didn’t dare disobey Dorothy’s orders, so she rushed out with Misha from the Serenity Bureau toward Dorothy’s location, grumbling all the way about the troublesome cultists. Thankfully, they hadn’t gone far before receiving a message that Dorothy had resolved the issue and no longer needed backup—what a relief.
Nephthys parted ways with Misha but didn’t go straight home. Since she was already out, she decided to wander a bit. After picking up a snack, she’d been strolling around aimlessly ever since.
“Hmm… Nothing really catches my eye today. I don’t feel like buying anything… Pritt’s fashion designers really are too conservative. Nothing fresh or exciting…”
She munched on her fried fish stick as she stared at the display in a shop window, unimpressed.
She used to enjoy shopping for hours on this very street. Now, she got bored within minutes.
“I’ve traveled abroad too much the past two years… After seeing so many styles in other countries, Pritt’s brands just feel… average. Too safe, too dull. Falano’s fashion definitely has more flair…
“Sigh… Seeing too much really dulls your appetite. Whether it’s food or clothes, I feel harder to please than I used to… I miss the days when I could happily browse this street for hours…”
As she pondered this, Nephthys reflected on how broadened horizons had so effectively changed her outlook—and wondered what other areas of her life might’ve shifted as well.
“Maybe… the mystical world, too. I used to think Crimson-rank was incredibly rare and powerful, and that I’d need to be at least twenty-five—or maybe thirty—to reach it. But here I am, nineteen and already Crimson. I thought it was rare, yet lately I’ve seen tons of Crimson-ranks in Tivian and even on the New Continent. I’ve even spotted several Golds… Maybe I overestimated Crimson’s value…
“At this point, Crimsons are like Pritt fashion—good enough to fool the newcomers.”
As she wandered and mused, having just finished another fish stick and growing bored, she was about to head home when a stranger’s voice called out behind her.
“Miss, please wait a moment. May I ask you a few questions?”
Startled, Nephthys turned after swallowing the food in her mouth. She saw a young man standing there.
He wore formal attire, was handsome, and carried himself with composure. His neatly combed brown hair swept to one side, and he greeted her with a polite smile. Just from a glance, Nephthys could tell he was a man of excellent bearing, which put her in a good mood.
“Questions? Sure, go ahead~” she said playfully.
The young man politely asked, “Miss, do you happen to know… Davis Boyle?”
“…Davis? That’s my grandfather’s name,” Nephthys replied curiously.
The young man’s expression relaxed with a hint of relief as he continued, “Oh… So you’re his granddaughter. May I ask—would it be possible for you to take me to him?”
“Hmm… I’m afraid that’s not possible. My grandfather passed away quite some time ago. I can’t take you to him. Is there something you needed from him?”
Nephthys shook her head. The young man looked a bit disappointed, but then went on.
“I see… That’s unfortunate. Actually, my ancestors had some dealings with Mr. Boyle. When they were young, they lent him a valuable treasure. Due to various circumstances, they never got it back. I came to Tivian this time to find that heirloom for my family… I thought I’d be searching for a long time, but I didn’t expect to run into one of Mr. Boyle’s relatives so soon. It’s just a shame that he’s already passed…”
As he spoke, Nephthys nodded thoughtfully and replied.
“A treasure, huh… My grandfather did have a habit of collecting rare antiques. He probably did borrow a few from others… Do you know what the item looked like? Maybe I’ll recognize it.”
She tapped her chin, thinking. The young man pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
“This is a simple sketch and description of the item. Please take a look and see if it’s familiar.”
“Ooh, a drawing…”
Nephthys accepted it with curiosity and opened it to study the image carefully. After a moment, she said with recognition.
“A gold scepter… Ancient North Ufigan design? Oh, that one! Yeah, I remember it. That thing’s in the underground vault of my new house.”
“Oh? In your vault? That’s wonderful news. Miss Boyle, would you be willing to take me there to see it?” the young man asked hopefully. Nephthys pondered and then replied cautiously,
“I could… But you’re not just going to walk in and try to take it, right? I mean, you say your ancestor lent it to my grandfather, but that’s just your word. If you think I’ll hand it over just because of that, you’re dreaming.”
Feigning wariness, she narrowed her eyes. The young man chuckled and responded.
“Don’t worry, Miss Boyle. I do have documentation proving it belonged to my family. But even if you don’t accept that, I’m prepared to buy it back with a generous sum. Of course, I’ll need to verify it first.”
Hearing this, Nephthys’s eyes lit up.
She immediately beamed and said, “You’re willing to pay? Then great—let’s go take a look! My house isn’t far from here. Come on, come on~”
She turned and began leading the way. The young man followed, smiling quietly as he walked after her.
…
Night fell over Tivian. A hazy crimson moon hung high in the sky, casting a surreal glow over the sleeping city.
The streets were cold and empty, wide avenues shrouded in mist. Pale white fog seeped into every corner. All the buildings lining the road had their doors and windows tightly shut, not a single light glimmered from within. Only a few dim streetlamps struggled to illuminate the fog-covered streets, their efforts largely in vain.
From within the thick mist, the only sound came from a procession of seemingly ordinary carriages—large black coaches, identical in appearance, traveling in an orderly line down the road. Mounted guards surrounded the convoy on all sides, and the lead rider navigated ahead by the faint glow of lanterns, guiding the caravan along the correct route.
Inside one of the rear carriages, newly crowned Queen Isabelle sat in a modest black gown adorned with silver trim. She stared at the fog beyond the window and frowned.
“What thick fog… We picked this day so carefully. The weather was fine earlier… I didn’t expect it to turn like this come evening…”
“That can’t be helped, Your Majesty,” Anna said, seated opposite her.
“Tivian weather is famously unpredictable—changing in a blink. Still, fog is better than other things that might’ve happened…”
Isabelle sighed lightly.
“That’s true… I only hope Her Excellency the Divine Child won’t mind…”
“She won’t, Your Majesty. She is generous. Please don’t worry too much. Just keep yourself composed.”
Anna reassured her. Hearing this, Isabelle steadied herself, straightened in her seat, and began waiting patiently.
She sat calmly, eyes closed, listening to the rhythmic clatter of hooves and wheels outside. After a while, the sounds began to slow and finally came to a stop—replaced by a voice calling from outside the carriage.
“Your Majesty, Your Grace… we have arrived.”
Isabel opened her eyes. Across from her, Anna had already risen and opened the carriage door with a smile, extending her hand.
“Come, Your Majesty…”
Taking a deep breath, Isabelle took Anna’s hand and stepped out of the carriage onto solid ground. Before her, shrouded in mist and gleaming with light, stood a massive building—a grand palace made entirely of glass.
This was the East District’s World Plaza, and the building before Isabelle was the Crystal Palace—the centerpiece of the recently concluded Pritt World Expo, and also a concealed Mirror Moon Temple, the site of her second coronation ceremony.
“Go ahead, Your Majesty. Her Excellency has been waiting inside for quite some time…”
Looking up the stairs toward the crystalline palace glowing with prismatic hues, Isabelle, guided by Anna, slowly ascended.
With each step toward the wide open doors of the Crystal Palace, Isabelle’s footsteps grew more resolute. The trailing hem of her carefully prepared evening gown swept behind her, adorned with starlike silver accessories. Below the staircase, Anna and the assembled nobles all knelt in solemn reverence, offering blessings as their queen ascended to receive divine authority—so that she might rule Pritt with rightful legitimacy.
Focused and composed, Isabelle completed the climb and arrived at the threshold of the Crystal Palace. There, deep within the hall upon a complex magic array, stood a lone figure—just as the Glorious Archbishop of Pritt had awaited her earlier that day in the Hymn Cathedral.
With determined steps, Isabel entered the palace. The distant figure gradually sharpened in her eyes.
The figure was petite… noble… resplendent. She wore an opulent ceremonial gown, silver hair elegantly styled. Though her face was hazy, Isabelle felt a deep conviction—this was the one who would bestow honor upon her, the divine emissary of the true god.
Without hesitation, Isabelle approached and knelt in reverence before the figure. Hands pressed together in solemn prayer, she bowed beneath the lofty gaze of that sacred presence. Then the figure spoke in a commanding tone.
“What gives mortal kings the right to rule the land of men?”
“Because the gods above grant kings their authority,” Isabelle answered respectfully.
“And to whom do the lands of mortals ultimately belong?”
“To the gods,” Isabelle replied.
“Then to whom does the land of Pritt belong?”
“To You.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I come to request the right to govern this nation… this land… in Your name.”
“Very well.”
The figure nodded slightly in satisfaction. With a wave of “her” hand, a floating parchment scroll materialized in midair, accompanied by a feather quill. They drifted down before Isabel.
“Then sign this contract, young queen. Acknowledge that Pritt belongs to Me. I will crown you in return… so that you may rule in My name.”
The voice echoed in Isabel’s ears. Her eyes flickered with brief confusion—but it quickly passed. She refocused her gaze on the floating contract.
“…As You command.”
Still in a slight daze, Isabelle reached for the feather quill, preparing to sign her name on the scroll already inscribed with countless clauses. As the pen touched the page, a faint smile crept onto the lips of the figure before her.
BOOM!!!
Suddenly, the sky flashed with divine light—a thunderclap so loud it shook the heavens. In that instant, the entire Crystal Palace turned white.
Startled, Isabelle froze just as she was about to sign. A sharp, splitting pain surged through her skull, making her gasp and drop the pen. Clutching her head, she stumbled back several steps.
“Ugh… what is this…”
The sudden headache vanished as quickly as it had come. But as it faded, so too did the haze and glamour that had clouded her vision. A veil of illusion dissipated.
The figure she had knelt to before now sharpened in her eyes—not silver-haired, not wearing a lavish gown, not petite… not even female.
What stood before her now was a completely different figure.
A tall young man in his twenties, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit with polished black shoes and a matching bowler hat. He held a black cane, and his neatly combed blond hair framed an impeccable, handsome face. A monocle sat over his left eye. He looked every bit like a young heir to a wealthy family—refined and aristocratic. But right now, that refined face wore a clear expression of displeasure.
“Tch. That old corpse-crawler… messed it up at the worst possible moment,” he muttered coldly, observing Isabelle’s shocked reaction.
“Who… who are you?”
Isabelle asked, stepping back, still bewildered.
“Me? Just an ordinary merchant, Your Majesty. No need to panic.”
He smiled smoothly as he bent to retrieve the fallen parchment.
“Let’s renegotiate the terms of our little contract, shall we?”
As he stepped toward her, a sudden gale burst from behind Isabelle, slamming toward him like a thunderous surge.
“Stand back, Your Majesty!”
With the force of a storm, a small figure in ancient armor leapt forward—riding Pritt’s very winds. Amid a shattering cascade of glass, the armed silhouette of the young duchess appeared once more—standing guard before her queen.
…
The fog-drenched “Tivian”.
In the city’s inner district, farther from the eastern plaza and nearer the heart of the capital, at the very spot where that thunderous bolt of divine lightning had just struck, two figures now floated mid-air in confrontation—one old, one young.
The elder was a mummified-looking man, his features gaunt and stern, eyes squinting beneath heavy lids. The younger was a sharp-featured girl in a well-fitted suit, her expression calm and poised. Around them lay a field of rubble—buildings torn apart by the shock of battle.
“Not only did you awaken within the fate I arranged,” the old man said in a deep, disdainful tone, “you even had the strength to awaken your deluded companions… I admit, I underestimated you. You despicable thief of the Divine Scribe’s power… you’re certainly not like those other mediocre fools.”
Floating across from him, Dorothy responded plainly.
“There may have been a misunderstanding before, Prince Hafdar of Tomb Sands. The divine authority I wield is not stolen—it was passed to me by the final Heaven Anointed Sage, Viagetta. I am the one prophesied millennia ago by the Divine Scribe—His inheritor. Not some petty thief.”
“Nonsense!”
The old man—Hafdar—was visibly shaken and snapped in fury.
“The Divine Scribe never fell! Why would He choose an inheritor!? He merely sleeps in eternity! His power may be scattered, but it has never left His supreme throne! Any who seek to seize it are blasphemers—and you are the greatest of them all!”
His voice rasped with emotion, raw and intense. Hearing this, Dorothy frowned slightly.
“His fall was confirmed—by Viagetta herself. Are you questioning her testimony?”
“Of course I am! Her and Shepsuna both! Their poisonous claims that the Divine Scribe has perished and we must welcome a ‘new era’—rubbish! Lies from traitors hoping to hoard His power for themselves! But the Divine Scribe sees through it all. He spoke to me—warned me. Traitors lurk everywhere. None can be trusted. I will bring calamity to all who betray Him! They will pay!”
Hafdar spread his arms and shouted fervently. Dorothy’s face darkened further.
“What? You’re saying you heard the Divine Scribe’s voice?”
“Of course! I’m not like those cowards. For thousands of years, I never gave up trying to awaken Him. And finally… He answered. After centuries of silence, He has returned—and granted me His wisdom once more! This body and this power—they are the proof!”
He raised his withered hand before his face in reverence. But Dorothy, after a moment of silence, spoke seriously.
“You’ve been deceived, Hafdar. That’s not your god… That’s not Heaven’s Arbiter…”
“What do you know, you filthy thief?!”
Enraged, Hafdar pointed at Dorothy and roared,
“I’ve spent millennia attempting to awaken Him! You think I wouldn’t recognize His will? Don’t dare question my judgment!
“And don’t get cocky. You may have regained your senses, but you’re still in my world—you won’t escape. Frankly, dying in the role I scripted for you would’ve been the easier end…”
His voice lowered into a murmur. The fog around them began to thicken. Dorothy saw the ruins and buildings nearby become drowned in mist. Even Hafdar’s figure faded from view, his voice fading with it.
In the end, Dorothy’s vision was filled with nothing but fog… and the looming silhouettes of massive buildings—half-real and dreamlike. The sight reminded her of the Bewildering Mist in dreams…
“So this is… the Gold-rank ability of the Bewitching Path. Turning not individuals, but entire worlds into stories… Dragging targets into an Anecdotal World with a simple profiling, where they unconsciously perform their roles in a given script until the story ends… And even if someone wakes up early—they’re facing the entire world…”
She analyzed the situation calmly. She, along with Nephthys, Anna, Isabelle, and others had all been dragged into this semi-real inner realm via Hafdar’s narrative projection. It was modeled on Tivian—a fabricated world built from the city’s real urban legends.
Gold-rank Bewitching Path Beyonders had greatly enhanced profiling abilities. Once a single target was profiled, they could quickly affect others through contact—Anna and Isabelle were both public figures, and today, on Coronation Day, they’d interacted with countless people. It was easy for Hafdar to subtly profile them. Once they were caught, Misha would likely be affected next. And through Misha, Nephthys—who had only just gone out today—could also be roped in.
As for Dorothy, her profiling was probably initiated during the fight with the Aurum Gargoyles. Combat, after all, is also a form of “interaction,” and can be used as a profiling medium. The Gargoyles had long been Hafdar’s pawns. Attacking Dorothy served two purposes: profiling her through combat, and lulling her into thinking the divine memetic attack was the extent of the threat.
Now, Hafdar had clearly drawn from Tivian’s most infamous urban legend: the “Night Demon.” Using this legend, he created a story space where the Night Demon would serve as his killing instrument. Everything in the realm—down to the fog around Dorothy—was tailored to enhance the Night Demon’s lethality. The dense mist was drawn from the myth of the "Fogborne Killer,” fully severing Dorothy’s sight and sound. But the Night Demon—being of Hafdar’s script—suffered no such limitation.
From the mist emerged a tall, bloodstained figure cloaked in crimson. His broken blade glinted faintly. Without a sound, he charged at Dorothy from behind—utterly silent, completely hidden.
But Dorothy had more than sight and sound.
Floating around her were fine grains of iron sand—forming a wide-area sensor net. Electromagnetic waves radiated silently outward from her body. The mist of this tale could never compare to the Dream Sovereign’s Bewildering Mist.
Sensing the ambush, Dorothy raised her hand—and a dazzling arc of lightning shot forth, striking the Night Demon squarely. His body ignited, engulfed in flame.
But only for an instant.
Within a second, the flames on the Night Demon’s body extinguished. The charred marks vanished. His form restored to pristine condition—as if nothing had happened—and he continued his rush, unfazed.
That was this world’s rule: the Horror Immortality of the Night Demon. Just as horror film monsters never truly die, the Night Demon here could not be destroyed. Within the confines of the story, he was unkillable. Any damage he sustained would instantly be undone—without even draining additional spirituality, as Chalice powers might.
But Dorothy remained unmoved, hovering calmly in place.
She didn’t fear the Night Demon.
Because surrounding her now… were faint, illusory chains—swirling and forming in the air.
No gestures. No flight of projectiles. No ensnaring process.
The moment they appeared, those phantom chains instantly coiled around the Night Demon, binding him completely. He could not move an inch.
However, in the public imagination, the Night Demon had never been caught. And so, within Hafdar’s narrative, he was supposed to be uncontainable. After only a moment of restraint, the Night Demon vanished on the spot—leaving only the phantom chains behind.
But the very next instant, when the Night Demon reappeared somewhere else in the mist—those same illusory chains shimmered and snapped toward him again. They re-materialized around his body, binding him anew the moment he escaped.
Again and again he flickered, trying to flee.
And again and again the chains found him.
In the distance, Hafdar—eyes half-lidded in the fog—finally opened them a little, surprise flashing across his face.
“That’s… the Divine Scribe’s power…? But how is this thief still able to wield it? Didn’t I disrupt the Scribe’s will and scramble her divinity!?”
Shocked, Hafdar’s thoughts raced.
Meanwhile, Dorothy remained composed, watching the Night Demon struggle and fail repeatedly.
These weren’t ordinary chains.
They were Fatebinding Chains—a gift granted to Dorothy through the Heaven’s Arbiter’s divinity, empowered by divine threads. Infused with Radiance Church doctrine, they were a natural counter to all heretical powers and folklore-based anomalies. The chains’ bindings were absolute.
“Just as I thought… The only way to deal with twisted tales like this is with divinity. Good thing Mom helped me out this time…”
That’s right—Dorothy was now actively using the divinity of Heaven’s Arbiter.
She had used just a sliver of it to empower the Fatebinding Chains and seal Hafdar’s Night Demon. And more than that—it was this same divinity that allowed her to resist Hafdar’s profiling and remain conscious within the narrative space.
The earlier divine interference? It was no longer stopping her.
Dorothy had broken free. And now, it was her turn.
The divine interference that had disrupted Dorothy’s use of her divinity worked by embedding a memetic image into her consciousness, using that image as a medium to block divine connection. Theoretically, if Dorothy could forget that specific image, the interference would dissipate and she could regain access to her divinity.
The problem was—Dorothy had already attempted this. She had used self-profiling techniques multiple times during her battle with the Aurum Gargoyles in an effort to hypnotize herself and erase the memory of that symbol, but she discovered it had become a memory stamp—a piece of information impossible to forget.
Still, Dorothy didn’t give up. She sought another route.
Dorothy’s willpower was different from that of most people. In her mental archive, there existed a memory shadow zone—a section of her memory she herself couldn’t access, a dark area where crucial memories had been hidden. She knew something important was sealed there, but she couldn’t reach it.
That memory shadow zone had been placed there by none other than the Mirror Moon Goddess herself. After the Glamorne incident in which Dorothy advanced to Crimson-rank, this shadow zone had abruptly appeared within her consciousness, sealing away some critical piece of information.
And Dorothy had used that very shadow zone to block the interference. In simple terms, once she realized she couldn’t forget the memetic image, she instead linked that image to the sealed memory from her Crimson-rank advancement. Through self-hypnosis, she relocated the memetic symbol into that shadow zone—burying it in the obscured memories tied to that night.
More precisely, Dorothy forcibly reassigned the memory’s position in her archive, anchoring it to a specific point within her sealed memories—thus effectively “hiding” the interference within the shadow zone, shielded by the Mirror Moon’s own divine power.
While she couldn’t erase the symbol, she could seal it—and by doing so, protect her conscious mind from its influence.
Thus, as early as her battle with the Aurum Gargoyles, Dorothy had already unsealed her divine power. But since the situation hadn’t yet called for divine intervention, she simply chose not to use it.
After restoring her divine capabilities, Dorothy immediately sensed Hafdar’s profiling attempts. But she didn’t expose him—instead, she played along, using her own divinity to enhance her profiling aura and create a false persona for Hafdar to interact with: one who appeared unaware that she could use her godly powers.
Meanwhile, her true self remained hidden deep inside, watching Hafdar like an observer in a theater, silently waiting to see what he was planning.
It’s worth mentioning that Dorothy’s true persona was actively monitoring Nephthys and Anna via the information channel. When she realized Anna had likely been profiled, she deliberately ignored Anna’s prayer. She even watched through Nephthys’s eyes as someone stopped her on the street, asking about a golden scepter—and that was when Dorothy made the connection.
Hafdar.
Among all the powerful beings linked to such an item, Hafdar was the most directly associated. He was also a former high-ranking Beyonder of the Bewitching Path. His current abilities matched the interference style perfectly. From that moment, Dorothy had already deduced who her enemy was.
Now, witnessing Dorothy suddenly wielding her divine power, Hafdar’s expression darkened. He turned silently to gaze eastward.
In the mists beyond, Hafdar knew… his powerful ally was capable of reshaping the tide of battle.
…
In the story-world’s Tivian, within the grand Crystal Palace.
A howling storm raged through the hall. The sturdy crystal walls shattered in the gale, shards flying everywhere. What had moments ago been the solemn site of Isabelle’s secret coronation was now a battlefield.
Awakened by Dorothy’s divine guidance, Anna, Duchess of Pritt, had donned her ceremonial battle armor. With the Heaven’s Arbiter’s divinity reinforcing her body, she bore a war banner and a long lance, transformed into a Storm Knight. After blasting Queen Isabelle to safety, she now charged into the Crystal Palace, spearheaded into a duel with the man who had shed his gentleman’s mask.
Confronting her advance, the man remained composed. With a flick of his wrist, a cube emitting a yellow glow appeared in his hand. The cube unfolded, releasing a radiant light that condensed before him—forming a solid brass wall.
“Bell-Forged Brass Wall…”
Anna’s storm-lance crashed into the barrier. The high-speed spiraling winds at her spear tip drilled into the brass, emitting shrieking sounds and throwing sparks everywhere. The brass wall deformed rapidly—unable to withstand the pressure.
Still, the man remained calm, not even flinching. He even offered a compliment.
“The youngest Guardian Duchess of Pritt—Anna Field, was it? Seeing you in action is quite something… Such formidable elemental power. I must say, I’m impressed.”
He sounded like a merchant appraising a fine product. Calmly, he raised his hand as Anna, silent and furious, poured all her might into a final thrust—shattering the brass wall completely.
Just as her lance was about to pierce his chest, he snapped his fingers.
Snap…
Instantly, the storm wrapping her spear vanished.
Gone.
Her weapon became a mere flagpole.
Startled, Anna still surged forward with the momentum of her charge—but the man casually blocked the now-ordinary weapon with his cane and deftly retreated.
“My wind—where did it go?!”
Anna stared at her powerless spear, shocked. The man smiled.
“Your wind? Oh, I have it now…”
With another flick of his wrist, a new sky-blue cube appeared in his hand.
“I paid a fair price to buy it from you.”
He opened the cube. A torrent of wind howled out, surrounding his cane and spiraling around it like a tempest drill. The howling winds hardened into a spearpoint.
Then, without warning, he lunged.
His cane—now a weapon wreathed in a roaring storm—stabbed toward Anna. She narrowly evaded, and the attack struck a metal pillar behind her, shredding it instantly. The unleashed wind continued forward, ripping through obstacle after obstacle, blasting a massive hole through the Crystal Palace.
The entire structure groaned under the impact.
“What power… Quite the bargain.”
“…What kind of sorcery is this?!”
Grinding her teeth, Anna slashed with her spear, sending a flurry of wind blades at him. But the man waved his hand—and the blades disappeared without a trace.
“This is no sorcery, my lady. Everything in this world… bears a hidden price. With the right payment, one can purchase ‘anything’.”
As he murmured, another cube appeared. He opened it—dozens of wind blades burst out, swarming toward Anna at high speed. She leapt into the air to dodge, but the blades continued tearing through the palace, slicing cleanly through buildings outside.
“You’re quite nimble…”
Watching her flight, the man summoned yet another cube—this one ice-blue.
But he didn’t open it right away.
Instead, he turned to the west—toward his ally’s distant battle.
“What an interesting product…
Let me rent it—just once. Let’s see how it feels.”
He snapped his fingers again.
In that instant, somewhere in the real world, deep within a secret vault, countless treasures vanished without a trace.
And in the story-world—on the fog-choked battlefield—Dorothy suddenly felt something change.
“What is this…?”
She had been battling Hafdar, but now…
Her spiritual thread—the power she relied on from the Spiritual Threads Path—was gone.
Without warning, she could no longer use the spiritual thread.
Losing the ability to use spiritual thread meant that Dorothy’s divinity had lost its vessel of amplification—the Fatebinding Chains instantly failed. The illusory chains wrapped around Hafdar’s Night Demon vanished in a blink, and the immortal killer, now freed from restraint, charged toward Dorothy at full speed.
Meanwhile, back in the Crystal Palace, the man summoned yet another small cube—this time, a deep purplish-red. He opened it simultaneously with the ice-blue cube.
From the ice-blue cube, a wave of intense cold rapidly expanded outward. Everything it touched was instantly coated in a layer of frost. When it swept over Anna, her movement noticeably slowed. From the purplish-red cube, countless glowing red threads shot forth like serpents, streaking straight toward her.
This was no mere spell. It was the direct rental of Dorothy’s spiritual thread ability—not just a technique, but the entire ability, forcibly borrowed using the power of the God of Commerce.
Already pressured by the barrage of wind blades, Anna now found herself sluggish from the freezing aura and forced to dodge not just blades, but the incoming threads. In a moment of misstep, two spiritual threads successfully latched onto her.
“Damn—!”
She immediately sensed the forceful control exerted through the links. Her movements faltered, her body hesitating for a split second. Internally, she knew this was bad. And in that moment, the former Dark Coin Noble of the Dark Gold Society, now wielding the God of Commerce’s power, smiled faintly as he tightened his grip on the storm-wreathed cane.
But just then—a blazing bolt of light shot in from afar. It pierced the Crystal Palace’s shattered glass and burst into the hall. The intense radiance cast deep shadows across every object and structure inside.
From the shadow of the man who was about to strike—
—a small figure with a black ponytail and cold expression slipped silently into the scene, sword in hand.
Before the man could even react, she lunged from his shadow and slashed at close range!
Dressed in a tightly fitted combat suit, it was none other than Artcheli, one of the Church’s Seven Living Saints—the Cardinal of Secrets. She had arrived through the shadows and entered the field via her Shadow Step!
Though Dorothy had regained her divine power early on, she hadn’t directly confronted Hafdar or the mysterious man head-on. Instead, she had played along with their “story” for quite a while. The reason? To stall for time—to give her reinforcements the chance to reach Tivian.
Long before, Dorothy had already sent word through various channels to Holy Mount, alerting them to the danger in Tivian and requesting they deploy cardinals immediately.
And now—the reinforcements had arrived!
Although Hafdar’s story-world existed within a semi-inner realm where normal cardinals couldn’t easily enter, Artcheli was different. Her abilities possessed border-interfering properties, allowing her to pierce through the veil and infiltrate this sealed domain.
And now—she was here.