(Meanwhile, on an unknown Mu family stronghold planet, Mu Fan)
After quitting life as an instructor at the Rodova Military Academy, Mu Fan returned to the Mu Clan's fold, resuming her duties as branch family head and the infamous assassin 'White Widow'.
However, in secret, she continued to be a member of the Cult of Ascension, with her very first act after coming back home being to make a call to the twelfth elder of the Evil Cult.
She knelt before an obsidian terminal shaped like an altar, behind which was a hidden communication mechanism that only she knew how to operate.
And after coming home, it was the place she used to establish contact, as she kneeled in front of the terminal, her assassin cloak draping across the polished black floor as glowing glyphs shimmered beneath her feet when she passed her mana through it.
Soon, the screen projected no face— only a dull crimson eye that flickered in and out of focus, as though watching her through layers of smoke.
A deep voice filtered through the comm-link next, as it sounded cold, slow, and devoid of haste.
"So… he did not show any outright signs of hostility after regaining his memories?"
The voice asked, as "No, my lord," Mu Fan replied softly, bowing her head lower, her tone reverent.
"He seemed angry at first. Perhaps overwhelmed. But… showed no signs of hatred. No open rejection of what he saw.
He did not reject the false memory we have planted in his mind, and his actions since then suggest that he has accepted it as the whole truth.
I don't think he realizes that we altered his memories."
There was silence for a beat.
Then, the voice returned—low and smooth, like gravel wrapped in velvet.
"Emotion is the burden of lesser beings. Pain. Betrayal. Anger. These are expected... but irrelevant and we can't let the future dragon be tangled in such a pointless mess"
Mu Fan said nothing. She knew better than to interrupt.
"If the boy resents us for changing his truth… if he feels manipulated or violated… it is of no consequence in the grand scheme of things," the voice continued.
"Whether the cult has its claws in him… or whether he believes he has his claws in the cult—none of it matters."
Mu Fan looked up slightly, her brows knitting faintly at the statement, but she still held her tongue.
"What matters," the voice said, growing firmer, "is that he walks the path of the Dragon. The correct path. As his denial will only delay the inevitable."
There was a subtle click as something on the other end was switched—perhaps a monitor or a data scroll.
"We are not raising him to be a weapon like the fourth elder is doing to his Dragon Candidate.
We are cultivating a savior.
The next Dragon of the Cult can't be a mere soldier. He has to become the embodiment of Ascension itself, as without a leader to rally around, the Cult will soon lose its purpose and belief"
Mu Fan inhaled slowly, then bowed once more.
"I feel confident that Leo will retrieve the scroll Noah dropped," she said quietly.
"He's finding his way to get into the Black Serpents Vault and although it may take him a couple of years or more, I'm confident that eventually he will find a way in for sure." she assured, as "Good," came the response from the other end.
"I don't have as much political clout as the Fourth Elder and if I'm to make him Dragon then he needs to have contributed significantly to the Cult to the point where nobody can deny his contribution.
Only after he's named Dragon can the 12 elders pass down their secret techniques to him, transforming him from being just another Assassin to the most dangerous man in the universe.
But for that to happen, he needs to prove himself first—" The elder said, as the transmission flickered once before cutting out.
The red eye vanished, and Mu Fan remained kneeling to her spot long after the silence had returned.
She was truly ashamed that she had given Leo an altered set of memories, whereby events that took place after he blacked out and found himself in an unknown infirmary ward, never actually happened.
However, with the twelfth elder deeming such manipulation necessary, she was forced to lie to Leo with a straight face…. And at least for now, it seemed to be working.
—------------
(Meanwhile, within the Universal Government)
The Universal Government's Emergency War Room sat buried beneath several layers of reinforced alloy and mana shielding, designed to withstand planet-cracking bombs and dimensional breaches alike. But tonight, the true pressure it faced wasn't from outside, but rather from within.
Dozens of high-ranking officials, Generals, Intelligence Chiefs, Sector Overseers sat around a black circular table, each with a holographic panel projecting live data streams, encrypted channels, and intergalactic threat assessments.
The lights were dimmed, not out of preference, but necessity, as no one wanted to look another in the eye.
The last forty-five days had been the most humiliating for the Universal Army in recent history.
"We've waited long enough," barked General Hauser, slamming his fist into the table so hard his own panel flickered. "The general populace is demanding blood. We have been silent for too long, locked in this endless hesitation while the media paints us as cowards."
No one interrupted.
His voice rose louder, veins bulging beneath his temple. "Forty-five days since the Sky-God Arena attack! Forty-five days of empty reports and hollow leads. All your so-called research and surveillance networks have led to nothing but dead ends."
He paused, eyes scanning the room.
"We look like bloody fools! I'm not sitting on my hands any longer. Give me a name. A planet. A stronghold. I'll blow it off the universal map and make headlines tomorrow. Let the universal populace know we're not doing nothing."
"Enough," said Commander Irelyn, her voice sharp enough to slice through metal. "We're not launching a retaliatory strike to 'make headlines.' Not unless we're striking the right target."
"Then where are your targets, Irelyn?" Hauser snarled. "You run Intelligence Division One. Find me a goddamn cult base!"
Irelyn didn't flinch. "We've traced thirty-seven flagged nodes. All led to dummy operations, false chatter loops, or vanished mid-transmission. Every time we close in, the trail evaporates. It's not incompetence. It's infiltration."
Her words dropped like stones.
"You're saying the Cult has… someone on the inside?" another general asked, his tone faltering.
Irelyn turned to him, her face cold. "Not someone. Many."
A silence stretched across the room— long, suffocating.
"We've begun internal sweeps," she continued, "but every department we probe reveals more red flags. The administrative branches. Judicial enforcement. Even our supply chains. Every place we look has Cult-friendly signatures embedded so deep we'd have to tear down the entire system to root them out."
A whisper of disbelief moved through the table like static.
General Korris, normally composed, leaned forward. "If what you're saying is true… then we've already lost the intelligence war."
"No," Irelyn said. "But we are fighting blind. We underestimated them. The Cult of Ascension isn't just a terrorist faction anymore. It's a parasitic ideology. It doesn't need to build new bases, it's already infecting existing ones."
"Then how do we retaliate?" asked another voice. "Who do we strike if we can't find the rot?"
That was the question.
And no one had an answer.
The projection at the center of the table shifted, revealing a list of known Cult sympathizer events— some twenty-seven planets with potential links, but none confirmed. A few had innocent populations numbering in the millions and striking any of them down would have catastrophic collateral.
"We need a scapegoat," Hauser growled. "We need to send a message."
"No," Irelyn snapped. "We need precision. Because the moment we hit the wrong target, we become the villains. And the Cult will use that to paint themselves as the resistance."
She stood, letting the weight of her next words settle.
"We cannot afford to fight this war like the last. This time is not about force. It's about finding a way to wipe them out for good."
The room sat heavy in tension.
Public pressure for retaliation was mounting fast, but in truth, the government couldn't even settle on a target— let alone strike one