In the distance stretched an endless sea. Though the roar of the waves was beyond earshot, the mere sight of the ocean filled Stan Tito’s mind with the rhythmic melody of the tides.

“Ah!”

“It’s the God-Descended City!”

The familiar city, the familiar scent of sea breeze.

It all filled him with nostalgia.

Though he hadn’t been gone long, it felt as if he’d been away for many years.

As he walked forward, he saw crowds of people gathered before a field of stone mounds of various sizes outside the city – the burial grounds of the Trilobite Men.

Stone upon stone, the burial mounds rose from the earth in a tapestry of sizes, creating a vast and solemn necropolis.

People gathered there with sorrowful expressions, mourning as they passed by and placing a stone on top – a custom of the Trilobite Men to remember the dead.

The returning Child of Fortune asked: “What’s this?”

Someone answered: “We’re mourning relatives who died recently in the beast disaster, those unfortunate souls who perished in the calamity.”

For ordinary people, the beasts were seen as natural disasters, as divine punishment.

Stan Tito: “All of these?”

The person nodded: “All of them.”

Stan Tito looked at the overlapping burial mounds, counting at least hundreds, if not thousands.

The joy and excitement of returning home instantly dissipated: “The disaster was just the beginning; the suffering continues.”

He had witnessed firsthand the destruction and calamity brought by the beasts, and now he saw the pain and torment in the aftermath.

He no longer felt like entering the God-Descended City and went directly to Tito Town.

He wanted to see the people of his hometown, although not many in Tito Town had known him before – he was just an unremarkable craftsman’s son.

However, when he returned, he found that this once-prosperous town had become a ghost town.

Empty and abandoned.

Not a soul in sight.

He walked through the empty town, feeling bewildered.

Outside the town, he found an old man who used to live in Tito Town.

“Where are the people from the town?”

The old man replied: “Most of the craftsmen were conscripted to repair the collapsed palace. The rest scattered, some seeking refuge with other branches of the family.”

“No one wants our goods anymore, and we don’t have our own fishing grounds. We had to find other ways to survive.”

The old man sighed heavily. “Tito Town… it’s gone.”

With Tito Town’s prosperity fading, everything else vanished with it.

A bitter laugh escaped Stan Tito. “Her Majesty the Queen is gone,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief, “and yet they rush to repair the palace?”

The old man answered: “The Queen may be gone, but didn’t they say a new king has emerged recently?”

“The lord of the God-Descended City wants to curry favor with him, rebuilding the palace to welcome the new king’s arrival.”

“They say only this can maintain the glory and nobility of the God-Descended City!”

Stan Tito: “Henir?”

The old man nodded: “That’s right, that’s the name.”

Stan Tito couldn’t understand: “Henir has just ascended the throne, how could he have time to come to the God-Descended City and care about them?”

The old man shrugged: “The affairs of the great, how could we understand?”

Stan Tito laughed, but it was an ugly laugh.

“Is it the beasts that brought destruction, or is it greed and desire that invited disaster?”

Under the craftsman’s skilled hands, a stone slab as tall as a person gradually took shape. Chisel and hammer worked in harmony, transforming the raw stone into an exquisite carving.

The craftsman poured his heart and soul into the artwork etched upon the stone slab.

The picture depicted a somber scene: at the foot of the city walls, people wept and mourned for their lost loved ones in the cemetery.

The city within was in shambles, nearly half of it destroyed by the beasts, still not fully repaired.

Yet no one paid attention to the broken streets and houses; everyone was busy rebuilding the palace in the center of the city.

Slaves carried stones up the steps, craftsmen hung in mid-air constructing the towering Yesael Palace, while nobles with overseers and guards critiqued from below.

In one picture, it displayed the full spectrum of life.

The sorrow of the common people, the lowliness of slaves, the toil of craftsmen, the arrogance of nobles – all vividly portrayed.

Before, he had always reproduced the masterpieces of the ancients, but this time he finally had his own work, a piece truly possessing his own soul and will.

With his life’s first creation in hand, Stan Tito walked into the empty, abandoned town.

In the center of the town, where the ancient castle of the Tito family once stood.

A huge pit had been dug with many holes, each leading to deep caves underground.

The priests from the God-Descended City had dug the place inside out, taking almost everything they could to the God-Descended City, enshrining them in Yesael Palace and the Yinsai Temple.

Every brick, every stone, every flower had been taken away.

Nothing was left here except for a deep pit.

Yet in Stan Tito’s heart, this place remained sacred.

This was the burial place of the great poet, the place where God’s messenger Polo and the Star Queen had perished. What was noble and sacred were not those relics and stones, but their will.

He wanted to place his artwork here, dedicating it to the once great poet, his most revered ancestor.

He followed one of the caves, heading deep underground.

It grew darker the deeper he went, until finally he saw a huge underground cavern, completely submerged in seawater.

He knelt on the ground, bowing towards the depths.

“To the Great Poet,” he said solemnly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, he resolutely placed his artwork into the seawater.

The stone slab sank to the bottom, creating ripples.

“Plop!”

A clear sound came from the water, the ripples spreading to the distance as if touching something.

Suddenly, he saw golden light flickering in the water.

Following that, a Sun Cup blossomed amidst the light, illuminating the entire water surface and cavern.

Stan Tito felt a sudden dizziness, and then he found himself no longer in the original place, but on a seashore.

He saw a sea of flowers surrounding an elegant small house and yard.

“The relic of God’s messenger Polo and the Star Queen.”

“Is this an illusion?”

This wasn’t his first encounter with illusion magic performed using the Sun Cup; he immediately sensed it.

The flower bushes once full of Sun Cups were long gone; this could only be an illusion.

Stan Tito walked through the illusory flower sea towards the yard, entering the house.

The house was much larger inside than it appeared from the outside, with shelves piled high with bone plates like mountains, and stone tablet paintings hanging on all four walls, recording ancient epics and mythological scenes.

He looked at the shelves and opened one of the bone books strung together.

“Bestowing of Power.”

Stan Tito was stunned; this was a divine technique that only a few among the royalty could master.

He opened the next one: “Forbidden Technique?”

At first, he didn’t understand what it was, but upon opening it, he instantly felt as if he had touched something terrifying and quickly closed it.

This was the forbidden technique left by Schlode Xilong, the first High Priest of the Sky Temple and the most ancient high-level priest.

In the end, he and King Yesael both died from this forbidden technique, and even the Crown of Wisdom was lost because of it.

Suddenly, a figure appeared behind him, sitting quietly by the window, watching Stan Tito.

“Someone has finally come?”

Stan Tito was startled by the voice and quickly turned around.

Backlit, he couldn’t clearly see the other’s appearance.

But he felt the figure before him was somewhat familiar: “I am Stan Tito.”

“Who are you?”

The other replied: “I am Tito.”

“This is the memory illusion I left behind, containing my memories and power.”

“Only those with pure hearts can unlock it.”

Stan Tito’s eyes widened in shock as he stepped closer, the figure’s features coming into sharp focus.

The sightless eyes, the scarred face – there was no mistaking who stood before him.

“Great Poet,” he gasped, his voice trembling with awe. “Saint Tito?”

He called out in shock, his emotions so intense that he involuntarily took a few quick steps forward, but then immediately stopped out of reverence.

He looked at his ancestor and asked.

“Why did you leave these behind? Is it because you left some kind of mission?”

The great poet sat quietly by the window, looking out at the garden: “Everyone’s mission comes from their own heart, not from others.”

“This is a library, containing everything I left behind in my lifetime.”

“I just didn’t want some things to be forgotten, so I preserved them.”

As the words fell, everything around suddenly shattered.

Stan Tito realized he was still standing in the dark cavern.

But when he looked down, he found a Sun Cup had appeared in his hand.

The flower cup bloomed, and a golden phantom spiraled out, its finger touching Stan Tito’s forehead.

“Bestowing of Power.”

Stan Tito inherited the memories and power left behind by Saint Tito.