In the current world, within the dark and empty expanse of space, the once-blue planet had already been consumed by a murky green hue. With the descent of the Lord of Plague, the entire planet was engulfed in deadly plague almost instantly. The air, thick with lethal pathogens, permeated every corner of the world. Wriggling mycelium and maggots covered all cities, and even the vast oceans had turned green, reeking of an unbearable stench.
Had the wills of the world not been silently relocated beforehand, this wave of plague would have turned all beings into the puppets of the Lord of Plague. Yet even in this dire situation, many powers on the planet were still fighting back against the forces of corruption.
On the battlefield of South Ufiga, millions of Sacrament Knights, having shed their heavily decayed equipment and original bodies, were reborn into semi-illusory anecdotal projections, returning once more to the material world. Their spiritual essence from another world, under the influence of a certain Lantern divinity, condensed into armor and weapons radiating golden light and affixed themselves to their forms.
With translucent bodies tinged in pale violet and golden wargear ablaze with light, the fearless Sacrament Knights returned to the battlefield in response to a divine summons, their transcendental forms clashing once again against the corrupt foes. They chanted sacred names as they slashed through plague-enhanced beasts... vermin... and sea monsters.
Like the ordinary Sacrament Knights, several cardinals who had joined the fray also underwent dramatic transformations. On the vast western seaboard, a colossal water serpent, now tainted with lethal, corrupt pathogens, had temporarily gained the upper hand against the fire dragon knight. Its highly corrosive body of filthy water began eroding his armor and sword, severely weakening his power.
However, just as a holy beam of light pierced the dirty, murky clouds of plague and shone down upon him, the fire dragon knight’s blazing wings transformed into radiant wings of light. The sacred light they radiated coated his weapons and armor, rendering them immune to the water serpent’s corrosion and restoring their brilliance.
Wielding a sword forged from Saint Steel Vessels, the golden-armored dragon let out a roar and launched another assault. When the purifying blade slashed into the serpent’s vile body, countless pathogens and the water itself were simultaneously vaporized and incinerated. The serpent howled in agony.
Meanwhile, deep in the northern forest front, a grotesque giant insect, bloated and warped by the plague, broke through the Annihilation Nun’s defenses. Its stinger-like limbs, coated in deadly bacteria, pierced through the body of Cardinal Amanda. But just as she was about to be transformed into a puppet by the overwhelming infection, her impaled, expressionless form vanished—and reappeared above the grotesque insect, now sprouting wings of light from her back.
Before the monstrous bug could react, Amanda—projected anew into the real world as an anecdotal being—unfurled her luminous wings and conjured countless radiant spikes, which rained down like spears from above. They pierced the creature’s body completely, driving it violently into the earth. Then, using those light-spears as needles, Amanda forcefully channeled divine power into the creature’s body, dismantling, warping, and reconstructing its internal structure.
“Thank you... scion of the Holy Blood…”
Watching the scene unfold below, Amanda offered a whispered prayer. In that moment, she somewhat understood how Vania felt. Who could say how much worse this world might still become?
Thanks to Dorothy’s many interventions, the Radiance Church had become deeply influenced by her. While the lower ranks remained unaware, those cardinals who had glimpsed fragments of the truth were immensely relieved that Dorothy truly seemed to share a profound connection with the Radiance deity they worshipped. Being affected by Dorothy’s power no longer felt so unacceptable.
“Why… why hasn’t the feeble Radiance perished yet…? Why can it still wield such power under the might of the Lord of Decay…?”
On the eastern front, shrouded in a plague fog as thick as sea mist, the direwolf Gaytt clutched his freshly-healed abdomen, staring in fury and confusion at the black-haired girl hovering ahead, wings of light on her back.
“With a brain as animalistic as yours, there’s no way I could explain anything too complex…”
Suspended mid-air, Artcheli responded coldly to her opponent, further enraging Gaytt.
“Then die!”
With a furious roar, Gaytt—now more than twice the size he used to be thanks to the plague—charged at Artcheli with overwhelming force. Every inch of his skin and hair glowed with radiant light. Though the plague mist dimmed the glow somewhat, it still rendered him into a silhouette without shadow.
Because the dense plague fog interfered with orbital support from Alberto, Gaytt could fully leverage his "shadowless light" technique to pressure Artcheli again.
But as he rushed her once more, Artcheli remained composed in the air, then suddenly flared her radiant wings. A brilliant burst of light erupted from her.
Compared to Gaytt’s glow, Artcheli’s was vastly brighter and more intense—so much so that even the thick plague mist couldn’t suppress it. Her radiance vastly overpowered Gaytt’s, making his own glow appear dim and feeble in comparison.
“My eyes—!”
Momentarily blinded by Artcheli’s light, Gaytt lost his vision. But this hardly affected him—his nose was a thousand times keener than his eyes. He could still hunt perfectly well.
However… the battle wasn’t that simple.
Because of the massive disparity in light intensity, Gaytt’s glowing form now cast a shadow—something that should have been impossible with his “shadowless” state. Like a sunspot: while it appears dark, it still burns intensely. It’s only dim in contrast to the surrounding brilliance.
Under Artcheli’s blinding light, Gaytt’s body now cast a discernible shadow—and from that shadow, the attacks came.
“RAAAAARGH!!!”
With a single thought from Artcheli, countless shadowy weapons erupted from Gaytt’s own shadow, piercing him from behind. Roaring in agony from the unexpected ambush, his huge body collapsed backward—into his own shadow.
The merciless shadow, like a bottomless bog, swallowed Gaytt whole, leaving not a trace behind.
When the light of her wings finally faded, all that remained was the plague fog—and Artcheli, floating coldly in its midst, staring at the spot where Gaytt had vanished.
Her body continued to corrode from the surrounding plague, but the affected parts quickly dissolved and regenerated under a pale violet glow.
Since both the Sacrament Knights and the Cardinals were only projections of their true selves housed in ritual worlds, these anecdotal bodies could swiftly regenerate from any damage, even full destruction. A new projection could always be cast.
However, even with such support, it wasn’t enough to resist the Afterbirth Cult’s forces. So Dorothy, in her capacity as a descendant of Hyperion, directly bestowed the divinity within the Staff of Radiant Decree as blessings upon the Radiance cardinals and army.
The regular knights received divine blessings, while the cardinals were granted fragments of divine power. Although the Radiance Cardinals possessed some degree of “Elect” qualifications, they were no true scions like Dorothy, nor as compatible with divine power. And the sacred staff’s divinity was limited. Thus, while their power surged considerably, it still did not reach the level of angelic apostles—but it was enough to handle the current situation.
With endless support from the story world, the Sacrament Knights became an immortal legion, regaining the upper hand on this plague-ridden battlefield. Their advance now seemed unstoppable.
However… not all people resisting the fallen god’s power could benefit from the blessings of the other world.
…
West of the main continent, Starfall Continent.
The great plague spreading from the east had likewise blanketed this ancient land. Its rugged wilderness and forests were shrouded in murky green mist. Stimulated by the warped force of life, countless plants across the continent began mutating rapidly into ever more dangerous organisms.
And yet, in the heart of Starfall Continent, there was a single patch of land untouched by disease. Deep within a frozen tundra, where four colossal cross-shaped ravines converged, there stood a massive, bizarre protrusion—towering amidst the dense plague fog.
This was a colossal stone mountain, over a thousand meters tall and incomparably grand. Shaped like an inverted hemisphere pressed into the earth, its surface was smooth and rounded. Covering its curved exterior were countless metallic strips, interwoven in intricate patterns, forming mystical runes etched across the mountain’s skin.
This immense mountain stood within the dangerous green plague mist. Inside it was a vast, hollow space—an open valley formed by the convergence of the four ravines. At the center of the valley stood an enormous totem pole.
Centered around this pole, ancient and unadorned ritual arrays extended outward. Shamans from countless tribes across the continent had gathered and now sat cross-legged upon the array. Atop the totem, in spectral form, the True Spirit Shaman led them in conducting a sacred and ancient ritual.
Outside the Ancestral Valley, on a cliffside, another ritual array had been laid down. Unlike the central Silence array within the valley, this was a Stone array. At its center sat a stout, armored, and bearded man. Eyes shut tight, he concentrated all his focus. Through the array beneath him, he maintained a connection to the metallic strips covering the exterior of the great stone mountain, striving to keep the rune system stable and functional.
“So strong... too strong... the power of the Lord of Plague is overwhelming. My creation... is being corrupted…”
Furrowing his brows, the man within the array muttered in distress, sweat pouring down his face like rain, as if bearing a tremendous and exhausting burden.
At that moment, outside the array, grains of sand and gravel began to rise into the air under an invisible force. Gathering together, they twisted into the expressionless face of a human.
“Hold on... no matter how powerful this corruption becomes... we must endure long enough. For the sake of the Forge Lord’s mission, and for the fate of this world... steadfast stone must endure...”
The sand-formed face spoke solemnly to the man inside the array. The two of them were now carrying out a vital mission—resisting a god.
To counteract the global impact of the divine war, Dorothy had transferred nearly all sentient minds from the material world into her crafted story world. But not everyone could be evacuated—some had to stay behind.
For example, the shamans of the Shamanic Church performing the Great Wild Rite in the Ancestral Valley. Dorothy’s anecdotal projection could not fully replace their true self, and in certain mystical operations, only the physical body could serve. Only the true body could conduct large-scale rites like the Sacred Garrison Ritual—and the Great Wild Rite was no exception.
The shamans of the Shamanic Church could not complete the rite through projections alone. Their bodies had to remain at the sacred site in the material world—within the Ancestral Valley. If the Plague Vulture’s disease reached them, there would be nowhere to hide. Therefore, someone had to remain and protect them.
That duty fell to the twin Gold-ranks of the White Craftsmen’s Guild: Whitestone and Yellowstone.
When the inescapable tide of plague surged from the southeastern skies, Whitestone—who had long been preparing within the valley—acted swiftly, raising massive amounts of earth and stone to form a towering mountain that completely encased the ritual grounds. Then Yellowstone infused his power into the already-solid mountain, reforging and reinforcing its structure from within.
Thus, when the plague descended, the Ancestral Valley had already been sealed away by the mountain barrier the two Golds had forged. The shamans conducting the Great Wild Rite were spared infection—for now. But this defense was not permanent. The Lord of Plague’s pestilence was not so easily stopped.
Even now, the mountain barrier was being ceaselessly corroded by the divine plague. Whitestone and Yellowstone fought to resist it, but the structure continued to decay. Fortunately, at the current rate of degradation, the Great Wild Rite could still be completed before the barrier gave way.
…
The fog of corruption blanketed the land. High above, near the edge of space—where the plague mist had yet to fully reach—a fierce, magnificent battle was unfolding.
In the sea of plague mist stretching to the planet’s curvature, deadly divine energies churned the fog. Under immense divine force, the lethal green miasma morphed into enormous avian and insectoid shapes. Tens of millions of these plague constructs burst from the sea of mist and flew upward toward a single radiant target.
That target—a blazing, electric form, dazzling as the sun—roared with continuous thunder as it hurled bolts of lightning in every direction. The crackling arcs lashed out, scattering or vaporizing the oncoming constructs.
At the dawn of the divine war, this devastating thunderlight had descended upon the Lord of Plague’s rotting form in unstoppable fury. The grotesque vulture-like body, formed from countless swollen maggots, was instantly consumed in the searing light. But this was merely a façade. Once the bird-shaped mass had been annihilated, the Plague Vulture’s will dispersed into the plague mist that blanketed the planet’s surface.
No matter what forms the fog took or what tactics it employed, the storm of thunderlight seemed completely untouchable. Even when submerged in the ocean of miasma, the lightning remained unextinguished.
But this was only an illusion.
The Lord of Plague’s power corrupted everything—not only living beings, but inorganic matter, even energy itself. Though the lightning scattered the miasma, each strike brought it into contact with the plague. And each arc of lightning allowed the infection to creep into the very heart of the electric being.
The thunderlight entity was being infected. With each successful strike, its contamination deepened. As the battle wore on, the corruption spread further within.
Sure enough—after dispersing countless plague constructs, the lightning entity’s attacks began to slow. Its brilliant white glow subtly shifted, tinged now with a faint, eerie green.
Eventually, after smashing yet another wave of constructs, the corrupted lightning form began to tremble and discharge erratically, no longer directing its energy with purpose. The bolts lashed out wildly, missing their targets.
Its glow faded, and a thin membrane of flesh began to form over its surface. The light was enveloped completely, transforming into a pulsating, greenish heart-like orb. Within, a stubborn light flickered dimly, but even that soon died.
The once-blazing thunderlight had turned into a smooth sphere of flesh.
Then, across the orb’s surface, pustules bulged and burst. From the festering wounds poured countless plump maggots, suspended in mid-air.
Finally, the fleshy orb dissolved entirely, leaving behind only a writhing mass of maggots, squirming in the air. The thunderlight had been utterly consumed, replaced by a repulsive swarm.
But this wasn’t the end.
The maggots began crawling in unison toward a central point, attempting to merge—but suddenly froze, locked in midair. Thin glowing red threads appeared at the tops of their heads, extending upward before fading into transparency, vanishing somewhere unseen.
As soon as the threads appeared, the maggots shriveled rapidly, as though their flesh and blood were being violently drained by some unknown force. In response, another force hastily tried to replenish them, preventing their total collapse.
The maggots were parasites controlled by the Plague Vulture’s will. After infecting the thunderlight entity and converting its energy into flesh, the god had birthed parasites inside its body, letting them consume the target from within.
But when the Vulture attempted to absorb the thunderlight’s essence through these parasites—extensions of its divine self—it discovered that the parasites had begun acting against its will.
The essence it sought was being siphoned through some mysterious channel. Even its own power was being drained.
“!”
Stunned, the Plague Vulture realized that its strength was leaking through the very parasites it had birthed. The creatures, meant to harvest enemy power, had become gateways through which its own divinity was being stolen.
The god immediately began tracing the source, only to discover that the draining force was traveling through the same mysterious red strings now tugging at its parasites—fighting it for control.
Seeing the situation, the Plague Vulture immediately launched a counterattack. It began pouring more of its divine power into the control threads that were connected to the parasites.
The Plague Vulture understood well that the enemy’s true self—or rather, the core of the enemy’s mind—was not housed within the lightning-form it had just infected. But those threads... those spiritual threads were undoubtedly linked to the enemy’s main consciousness. As long as it could follow the threads back up the line and infect them, it would be able to contaminate the enemy’s primary will.
That was the essence of the Plague Vulture’s power: as long as there was contact... as long as there was a path... as long as there was a connection, infection and transmission were inevitable. And these spiritual threads were the ideal pathway. Following them upward, spreading without pause, it would surely be able to reach and infect the enemy’s divine mind.
However, the moment the plague truly began ascending the threads, it realized things were far from so simple. These threads didn’t lead in a straight, unbroken line toward the destination. There were branches... intersections... countless divergent paths!
Each thread, en route to the command terminal, splintered into billions—trillions—perhaps an uncountable number of threads. These threads intertwined and layered, forming a vast, boundless labyrinthine network. The Plague Vulture’s infection, upon entering this network, immediately lost its way.
It was huge... This labyrinth of threads was unimaginably vast. Even if the Plague Vulture tried to spread its plague through every channel within it, it couldn’t fill the entire maze. It couldn’t even see the edges. The Vulture’s plague could normally spread across an entire planet in mere moments, but in this network... it was endlessly lost.
What’s worse, the network itself was constantly changing. Some paths vanished while new ones formed. One path might connect to another—only to turn into a dead end seconds later. The changes were rapid and unpredictable. The plague might manage to infect one region, only to find it had become a closed-off dead zone the next moment.
It couldn’t reach the end—no matter what it did. Trapped inside this infinitely sprawling spiritual maze, the Plague Vulture discovered that it could never reach the endpoint, the enemy’s core mind. Even if it tried every possible route simultaneously, the maze kept multiplying its forks, overwhelming its focus. The threads were connected to the enemy’s main will, and the maze did indeed lead to that consciousness—but the Vulture could never reach it. Worse yet, its divine power was being steadily drained by the threads themselves.
Due to this stalemate, the Plague Vulture suffered a massive power loss. The thick plague clouds cloaking the planet visibly receded. Realizing that continuing would only worsen things, the Vulture immediately changed tactics and severed its connection to the divine parasites—cutting off the threads to stop the drain.
The moment the Plague Vulture cut its link, the bloated parasites suspended midair by the threads rapidly shriveled and withered into fragile husks. The threads connecting to them recoiled, twisting and interweaving until they formed a small humanoid shape.
“Oh my... you're giving up already? If you had just followed those threads and infected my will, you'd have won~”
High above the sky, Dorothy reappeared and looked down upon the dense plague fog below with a faint smile. This exchange had earned her a small victory. She had even managed to siphon off some of the Plague Vulture’s divine power—too dangerous to use directly, so she stored it in Beverly’s realm, where a specially made containment vessel waited.
In the prior battle, Dorothy had transformed her body into lightning. The Plague Vulture had indeed infected that body—but not her will. Her consciousness resided within the Throne of Fate in the Divine Throne Domain, not the physical body in the material world.
The parasites created from the Plague Vulture’s divine power had spawned within the lightning-form and consumed it. But those same parasites had been secretly linked to Dorothy’s spiritual threads. So once they devoured the lightning-form, they were no longer under the Plague Vulture’s control.
Instead, Dorothy used those divine threads to turn the parasites into conduits—absorbing the Plague Vulture’s divine power through them. When the Vulture attempted to follow the threads to infect Dorothy’s will, it became trapped in her infinitely complex thread-maze.
Dorothy’s spiritual threads were no longer simple pathways—they were an enormously complex network. Though the threads bore both Chalice and Revelation attributes, they were primarily Revelation-based. Their size, number, and complexity reflected Dorothy’s vast spiritual capacity. Now approaching the level of a God of Revelation, her mental power far surpassed the Plague Vulture’s, rendering its infection completely ineffective against the labyrinth.
After the clash, the two exchanged words again. The Vulture sensed Dorothy’s smugness in her actions and responded with disdain.
“I’ll admit you’re clever, young arbiter... but don’t forget—our personal duel changes nothing. The real outcome lies in what’s happening on the ground…”
“And the main star of the current world… is within my domain.”
The plague fog in the upper atmosphere shifted into a vague shape of a bird and, with a sharp cry, issued a declaration to Dorothy. As it did, great changes were unfolding on the plague-covered planet below...
…
Beneath the sunless plague sky, on the battlefield of South Ufiga, the Sacrament Knights—existing as anecdotal projections—had been blessed with Lantern divine power and were advancing in an unstoppable wave toward the Blood-Limb Temple in the heart of Ufiga.
Under the push of the undying Radiance Holy Army, the Afterbirth forces were being crushed like dried weeds... until the unexpected happened.
The fallen Afterbirth Cult Beyonders, no matter how grievously they had been defeated, stood up again moments later. Covered in fungal tendrils, they rose with blank eyes and resumed fighting, blindly swinging weapons to halt the Radiance Holy Army’s advance.
Regardless of rank or strength, the Afterbirth soldiers had become immortal under the plague fog’s influence. No matter how many times they were struck down, the infection revived them fully. They rose again and again, tireless puppets of disease. Even the previously destroyed three Gold-rank Afterbirth generals returned...
“Damn it! Why won’t this bastard die?!”
On the eastern plains, Artcheli—wings of light at her back—gritted her teeth at the scene before her. The direwolf Gaytt, whom she had shredded into paste, had reformed under the plague’s influence. Now a gaunt, fungal-ridden, pustule-covered beast exuding the stench of rot, Gaytt’s eyes were dull—he was nothing but a puppet controlled by the infection.
Such scenes unfolded across every front. Beyond the undying Afterbirth soldiers, the battlefield now crawled with soldiers born directly from the plague.
In the dense forests, interwoven fungal threads sprouted into noodle-like humanoid soldiers, shambling onto the battlefield...
From dark, damp crevices hatched countless insects, swarming into aerial battle...
From the depths of the sea, bloated cancerous masses of flesh merged into obese abominations. Crawling onto land, they searched for enemies with shambling steps...
The Plague Vulture, as a god of longevity, wielded the essence of overgrown life. Disease, at its core, was malformed excess. Now, the god used this surplus life force to forge its soldiers, granting Afterbirth warriors undying bodies to repel Radiance’s advance. With the Vulture’s sudden interference, the Sacrament Knights’ once-unbreakable momentum was abruptly halted.
Realizing the advance was fully stalled, Dorothy waved her hand and summoned massive thunderstorms across the planet, casting down endless lightning to bombard the surface. But her thunderbolts were heavily eroded by the thick plague mist in the atmosphere—diminishing their power so much they could no longer affect the battlefield below. Dorothy’s brow creased slightly.
“So... you’re abandoning the attack on me, and shifting entirely into defense—to respond to the ground situation?”
Seeing the Vulture’s maneuver, Dorothy immediately understood. The Vulture had attempted a direct assault on her. But realizing it couldn’t win quickly—and might even lose—it shifted tactics, retreating into a fully defensive posture to consolidate its influence on the planet.
The Vulture’s goal... was to defend the node tied to the Mother of Chalice’s ritual—the Blood-Limb Temple—from being breached. After learning Dorothy wasn’t easily dealt with, it chose to turtle up, focusing everything on fortifying the temple and no longer initiating attacks.
Among the three Afterbirth gods, the Plague Vulture—unlike the aggressive Gluttonous Wolf—was the god of longevity, a symbol of undying persistence. Its defense far surpassed its offense. Of the trio, it was the strongest in this regard. Once it bunkered down, even Dorothy had difficulty shaking it. As long as it could hold the temple long enough for the ritual to finish, its goal would be achieved…
And in this defensive stance... it could also interfere with another of Dorothy’s plans.
“Out of options, young arbiter...? I suspect... you’ve placed your hope in the Western Continent’s ritual for the dead... But unfortunately for you... you won’t be reviving the Soul Bearer.”
The Plague Vulture continued speaking from the skies to Dorothy. Her eyes widened slightly at the words—and in that instant, the Plague Vulture surged its influence over the western continent.
No longer locked in direct confrontation with Dorothy, the Plague Vulture was able to divert more power to corrode the great mountain barrier atop Starfall Continent. In a short time, the mountain that protected the Great Wild Rite began showing serious abnormalities.
Obeying the Plague Vulture’s will, the concentration of plague mist surrounding the mountain rose sharply. The metal runes inscribed across the mountain rapidly began to decay. Dense, wriggling fungal threads crawled across its surface, invading the mountain’s interior and prying apart solid rock. With this sudden increase in pressure from the Plague Vulture, Whitestone and Yellowstone found themselves overwhelmed.
“This is bad… we can’t hold on much longer…”
“Why… is this corruption so strong?!”
Clearly, the Plague Vulture understood what Dorothy’s side intended. It knew she wanted to awaken the slumbering Soul Eagle at this critical moment and thus seize divine superiority. So the Vulture now focused its efforts on destroying the great mountain barrier—while simultaneously preventing the Sacrament Knights from capturing the Blood-Limb Temple, it also aimed to sabotage the Great Wild Rite and cut off Dorothy’s hope of powerful reinforcements.
In response, Dorothy immediately unleashed countless bolts of lightning and even summoned divine holy flames to bombard the plague mist smothering the planet. These attacks had some effect—but not nearly enough. She couldn’t stop the Vulture’s corrosion of the mountain.
“Open—”
Finally, with a sharp and terrible sound, the great mountain barrier covering the entire Ancestral Valley on Starfall Continent collapsed. The two Golds could no longer withstand a god’s will. Their defenses crumbled in an instant.
The mountain fell. A storm of dust erupted skyward, and the Plague Vulture seized the chance to surge its plague mist forward, attempting to flood the sacred site of the Shamans, infect all the shamans, and prevent the descent of the Soul Eagle.
However... once the mist surged in, it found that something was different—another solid barrier now stood in its way.
“?!”
As the dust of the fallen mountain cleared, the Ancestral Valley was once again revealed to the sky. A gentle brass-golden glow shimmered in the sky above the valley. This massive radiance had formed into the shape of an ancient bell, enveloping the entire Ancestral Valley and blocking the divine plague from entering.
“Ah... the great power of the Mountain Sovereign... once again protecting the continuation of this world…”
Gazing at the brass glow above, the sand-formed face of Whitestone whispered weakly. The great mountain formed by himself and Yellowstone had only been the first line of defense. The second was the artifact of the Lord of Stone—
Originally belonging to the Dark Coin Noble, the nameless bell infused with the divine nature of Stone had been reforged and strengthened by Beverly at Dorothy’s request, then handed to Whitestone and Yellowstone as a secondary defense to ensure the Great Wild Rite proceeded smoothly.
Even though it was only an artifact—even enhanced by the God of Craftsman—it could not contend with a true deity. But it could at least buy some more time.
And now, the Rite required only a little longer. If all went smoothly, it would be completed before the Mother of Chalice’s ritual was done!
“May the Great Soul bless us…”
At the Great Wild Rite site, atop the giant totem pole, the True Spirit Shaman let out a breath of relief after glancing at the brass-golden shield protecting them. He continued guiding the shamans below in carrying out the ritual.
The golden light shimmered while thin cracks formed across it under the constant plague assault. At the mouth of one of the valley’s ravines, a large abstract eagle sigil on the ground began to glow ever more brightly.
“So... a divine armament of the Stone domain… I see… this is your trump card? It’s quite effective…”
Within the plague fog, the spectral vulture muttered to Dorothy, high in the stratosphere. At the moment, the Plague Vulture was being forced to manage three simultaneous threats: defending against the Sacrament Knights, resisting Dorothy’s pressure, and attacking the Ancestral Valley.
Even though it had adopted a defensive stance, Dorothy’s attacks still tied down the bulk of its divine power, leaving very little to spare for invading the Ancestral Valley. At this rate, the Great Wild Rite could be completed.
And yet, the Vulture's tone held no hint of panic.
“But... we are not out of cards either…
“You think... you’re the only ones who can call on outside help? Thanks to you… some once-prideful fools have finally lowered their arrogant heads before our Great Mother…”
Fixing its gaze on Dorothy, the Plague Vulture murmured darkly. As its words fell, a corner of the multiverse surged with cataclysmic upheaval.
“——————!!!”
In the Nether Realm, a piercing shriek suddenly erupted—a soul-wrenching wail like the screams of billions of dead echoing at once, rippling across the entire plane.
“Ugh… such… deep hatred…”
The shriek reached the Great Wild Rite site, and many of the shamans clasped their ears and fell to the ground in pain. Yet even that could not dull the torment—this was a scream that tore at the soul itself.
The True Spirit Shaman’s form flickered. Trembling, he sensed the force ripping at his spiritual essence. It was a power he had heard of… had recently felt...
“This is... the Evil Spirit King…
“The Evil Spirit King… has returned…”
In the depths of the Nether Realm, above the Nether River, a colossal soul flame floated like a setting sun. Inside it: a massive, incomplete skull—missing a third of its cranium, half its jaw, and its nasal bones, with fragments of bone drifting in the fire.
This shattered skull was the one letting out the guttural howls that shook the plane—and even bled into the Great Wild Rite, which was tightly linked to the Nether Realm. With such interference, the rite could not continue.
It was the King of the Underworld—the one grievously wounded and driven back by Dorothy. The former tyrant of Starfall Continent, God of the Silence domain… now fallen.
Foreseeing that once the divine cycle resumed and the Arbiter of History fully awakened, his fate as a broken fallen god would be sealed, the once-prideful Evil Spirit King had finally agreed to join forces with the Chalice heretics… adding his might to usher in an age of ruin.
Though he had not regained his former strength, he could still wreak havoc in the Nether Realm. So long as he remained, the Great Wild Rite would not proceed smoothly…
“Shut up… you clown…”
Just then, as the King of the Underworld howled unrestrained across the Nether Realm, a heavy, regal voice resounded through the shadows. With it, a cold beam of light shot from the darkness.
It struck the King of the Underworld’s skull—right at the mouth—instantly freezing it in solid ice. The spirit form fell silent, unable to utter another word.
Dazed, the King of the Underworld turned to look in the direction of the attack—just in time to see that icy beam arc back, returning into the outstretched hand of a figure clad in frost-covered gauntlets.
Cracked, bone-white armor of enchanted ice formed the body of a proud warrior-king. A frost-etched warhammer shimmered with runes in his grasp. Twin dragon horns crowned his helmet. Though his armor bore heavy battle damage, his valiant presence was undiminished. A tattered cloak of dragon wings fluttered behind him. From beneath his helm, two piercing blue lights gleamed.
“We meet again… defeated warlord…
“Today, I, alone, shall crush your arrogant title of King of the Underworld into dust…”
Facing the Evil Spirit King stood the former Northern Emperor—the Ice Sea King… Inut.
And with those words, he formally announced his participation in this grand divine war.
…
“The howls from the Nether Realm… seem to have stopped, hm?”
High above the material world, Dorothy—still summoning lightning into the plague fog below—smiled lightly. It was her response to the Plague Vulture’s earlier words.
“What happened down there, I wonder? Could it be… that someone in the underworld can rival the so-called King of the Underworld? Oh, mighty Lord of Plague…”
At her playful jab, the Plague Vulture said nothing. Total silence. It had not expected that the once-arrogant Northern Emperor would act so quickly… so decisively.
“…Hmph.”
With a low snort, the Plague Vulture’s emotions dipped, then settled. It had considered the Northern Emperor might act, but hadn’t expected it this soon…
Still—its Nether Realm arrangements weren’t everything. In another domain, it believed its allies would face no more opposition…
…
Dreamscape, the Forest.
Regardless of the divine turmoil ravaging other realms, the forest glade of the Dreamscape remained serene. Verdant grasses swayed gently. Towering trees shaded the land. Illusory bubbles drifted lazily. The atmosphere was quiet and deep.
All across the Dreamscape, the scenery was nearly identical—except in one forbidden region, where a thick mist covered everything.
Before that mist, within the forest, came the sound of countless soft cracks—tiny black spiders scurried madly between the trees.
A graceful, shadowy figure stood among the spiders. Facing the mist, she curved her lips into a thin smile.