Xiuborn had died, yet he had not completely perished.

He had transformed into a ghost form.

Originally, the Ghost Race were merely derivative beings created by the Little Person in the Bottle for sacrifice and deprivation of mortals. They emerged as playthings, irradiated by the Little Person in the Bottle’s power.

The lowest-level ghosts lacked wisdom and could not even be considered first-rank Ability bearers.

All wisdom-related power had been extracted from them. Their bodies retained only fragments of spirituality and past memories. Rather than a true species, they more closely resembled transparent books inscribed with memories.

In the previous era, after the final battle at Sacred Mountain, Asai released all ghosts, and this type of being vanished from the world.

Yet now, Xiuborn clearly retained his consciousness.

He was no ordinary ghost.

“What has happened to me?”

“Am I not dead?”

Looking down at his chest, he saw a luminous object within.

He recognized it immediately as the Divine Artifact he had received earlier.

He had kept the small artifact with him recently, hoping to understand its purpose and power.

The artifact had caught his soul at death’s threshold, but could not restore him to life.

He existed in an uncertain state between life and death.

“No!”

“That is my body.”

As he looked down, he saw beneath his form a charred black corpse.

Horror and confusion overwhelmed him as he tried to understand his situation.

At that moment, he suddenly saw a beam of light shining down from above.

When he raised his head, he beheld a gap between reality and illusion.

Within it stood a massive, broken door.

The door bore intricate, mystical patterns that formed both a great tree and a map of branching paths.

It appeared ancient and weathered, exuding an aura of profound age.

Interwoven chains bound the great door, as if to prevent anyone from easily accessing what lay beyond.

Suddenly, Xiuborn realized this was God’s creation.

The bone hand served as the sole key to this door.

This door did not exist in the mortal realm. Only those who possessed Polik’s Right Hand could find it within the gap between reality and illusion.

In Xiuborn’s mind, he stood at the threshold of God’s domain.

“Have I been summoned by God?”

Excitement surged through Xiuborn despite his countless questions.

He wanted to ask his God why such catastrophe had befallen the City of Avel.

They had maintained such devoted faith in God, yet why had they met with such an end?

Xiuborn ascended swiftly through the air. The earth had lost its pull upon him, and the sky seemed to contain invisible steps.

He passed through the boundary between illusion and reality.

The Door of Truth had not been summoned to the mortal world. Instead, Xiuborn had left the mortal realm for the edge of illusion.

He watched as the clouds, sky, and sun all vanished, leaving him in an unknown realm of darkness.

He climbed upward through the darkness.

Finally, he arrived before the Door of Truth.

Matching the massive door stood a shattered pedestal floating in the void.

Countless stone fragments drifted in the darkness, testament to the unfathomable ages this divine door had endured to reach such a state of deterioration.

To the right of the pedestal stood a “person.”

Yet the moment Xiuborn saw him, he wondered if “person” could truly describe such a being.

The figure had not been there moments before Xiuborn’s arrival.

Tall in stature, bone armor covered his entire body and face.

He wore robes far more elegant and intricate than Snake People garments, seemingly without seams. The patterns adorning them rivaled the divine attire from mythology.

But as Xiuborn drew near, he saw the figure’s body was transparent.

Xiuborn also noticed the figure’s missing right hand.

He suddenly looked at the bone hand supporting his own transparent form and understood something.

That hand had belonged to this being before him, a species entirely different from the Snake People.

A “person” who had died countless years ago.

“Who are you?” Xiuborn asked.

The figure replied with a vacant, bewildered expression.

“I am Polik, a ghost.”

“A follower of Asai.”

Polik’s ghost glided forward until he stood at the center of the door.

He spread his arms toward Xiuborn and called out in a loud voice.

“Person of another era, do you wish to inherit this truth and knowledge?”

As the ghost of Polik finished speaking, the chains on the Door of Truth began to shake.

The tightly bound divine door suddenly revealed a small gap.

Light flooded out from within, enveloping both Polik’s ghostly form and Xiuborn in its brilliant radiance.

In that instant, countless images and memories flowed past Xiuborn. This place seemed to contain all the knowledge of another era, another civilization.

This knowledge transformed into clouds and seas.

Yet at the core of everything existed a world of illusion, like a solitary island.

Finally, Xiuborn beheld this illusory world frozen in time.

Polik seemed to traverse time itself, arriving in an era two hundred million years past.

Time no longer flowed here. Everything remained fixed in place.

The people, objects, and stories of this place, everything that had once occurred, had been preserved by an immense power.

It felt as though a supremely great being refused to leave this time period.

This being wished to remain in this era forever.

The primordial earth stretched vast and desolate, a barrenness beyond anything Xiuborn had ever witnessed. He believed no life could possibly exist in such a world.

Yet in this world stood a city far surpassing anything the Snake People had built.

An ancient city that, to them, traced back to the very origin of time.

This city had long ceased to function.

It had completely severed its connection with the outside world, and for millions of years, no new knowledge or truth had reached this place.

The deity who controlled this realm had fallen into silence through endless ages.

But Xiuborn heard countless voices calling out a name, like waves crashing from all directions.

“God of Knowledge and Truth.”

“Asai, who defeated and slew the Evil God.”

“The being who initiated the era of mythology, the seeker of truth who unveiled the mystery of eternal life.”

“Anhofus.”

“He opened the evil box, then closed it himself.”

These were the memories and calls of a race that had created an ancient civilization in another era, crying out to their deity.

The voices struck Xiuborn with overwhelming force, but in that moment, he suddenly regained his senses.

He found himself still standing before the great door.

He had not entered the world within.

Everything he had witnessed came through that small gap, showing him reflections of what lay beyond.

He could feel it.

One step forward would grant him immense power, give him another chance at life, allowing him to break free from death’s grasp.

But he also knew that single step forward meant betraying his faith.

A deep terror seized Xiuborn’s soul.

He finally understood with absolute certainty that this was not the realm of the Creator.

He had truly entered the domain of an unknown deity.

His heart cried out.

“No, I am a follower of the Life Sovereign.”

“I am the temple’s chief attendant, the most faithful servant of God.”

“I absolutely cannot worship an unknown deity.”

He was a descendant of the Snake Mother, faithful to the Creator of all things and Sovereign of Life in this world.

In the end, he did not enter through the Door of Truth but fled in panic.

Polik’s ghost remained motionless beside the door, statue-like in his vigil.

He made no move to stop Xiuborn’s departure, nor did he offer any words of persuasion.

Xiuborn fled back across the boundary between illusion and reality, or what might be called the edge of the Dream Realm or Spirit Realm.

He reappeared in the mortal world’s ocean, standing upon the charred black ship.

Though he had stood before the Door of Truth for only a brief moment, much time had passed in the real world.

Day had turned once again to night.

He gazed at the scorched vessel covered in burn marks, completely blackened.

He looked at his own body, kneeling toward the bow in an attitude of pilgrimage.

Though his features were unrecognizable, through that face he could feel his own helplessness and despair from that moment.

“So I truly am dead.”

Xiuborn reached out, wanting to touch his corpse.

But his hand passed through his body.

As a ghost form, he could not interact with the mortal world at all.

Only then did he truly accept the reality of becoming a Witch Spirit.

He turned to look in other directions and saw corpses strewn across the deck.

His expression suddenly became rigid, his entire face contorting with effort as he spoke in a voice nearly breaking with tears.

“The others.”

“They all died too.”

At that moment, he spotted a figure wandering in a dark corner on the other side of the ship.

Like someone who had discovered a treasure, Xiuborn immediately rushed toward the figure.

He saw a middle-aged man wearing a crown, half-floating as he paced back and forth along the ship’s rail.

The man seemed to want to leave the ship but could not depart.

“My kingdom.”

“My City of Avel.”

He muttered these words repeatedly, pacing back and forth endlessly.

Xiuborn rushed forward excitedly, calling out loudly.

“My King!”

“You are still here?”

But his king had become nothing more than a ghost, trapped in fragments of memory, deaf to Xiuborn’s calls.

Xiuborn suddenly remembered Polik’s ghost’s words and spoke painfully.

“A ghost is merely a dead thing. Only a Witch Spirit receives God’s grace.”

More ghosts revealed themselves across the ship’s deck.

All who had boarded the ship—the royal family, nobles, temple attendants, soldiers—had perished. Everyone had lost their wisdom and physical form, becoming ghosts trapped aboard this vessel.

They all wandered the ship, muttering about things they could not let go in life.

Some showed anxiety, others unease, still others longing.

Xiuborn persistently questioned everyone aboard, but none could respond. Their presence only deepened the pain in his heart.

Xiuborn himself had become a prisoner on the ship, just like these ghosts.

Though he had fortunately become a Witch Spirit, he had not completed the final transformation.

He possessed no power now.

The only difference from the ghosts was that he retained his wisdom.

He could not interact with anything in this world. He could only watch helplessly as the ship drifted aimlessly across the sea.

Floating toward an unknown destination.

“No.”

“This cannot be.”

He looked into the distance. Though he did not know his exact position, he could determine the direction of the City of Avel by the stars above.

“I must return.”

“The City of Avel cannot simply vanish. Our nation cannot perish like this.”

“We are the descendants of Avel. Our nation that we worked so hard to build, our civilization that we established.”

“It cannot simply disappear.”

Finally, he made his decision.

He lifted his head toward the sky, and through the gap between illusion and reality, he once again saw that massive, broken door.

This time he did not approach passively or in confusion.

He had prepared himself.

Polik’s ghost still stood before the Door of Truth, but unless Xiuborn spoke first, he generally would not initiate conversation.

Xiuborn stood before Polik’s ghost.

“I have decided.”

“I will enter. I will obtain the power of a Witch Spirit.”

Polik’s ghost’s rigid body finally responded as he raised his head.

“The key lies within you, not me. You alone can open this door.”

As his words faded, the Divine Artifact within Xiuborn, Polik’s Right Hand, began to radiate light. The Door of Truth responded to its glow.

The door remained mostly closed, still bound by layers of chains.

A single beam of light pierced through the gap.

The chains served not to keep outsiders from entering, but to prevent the power within from leaking out.

This door, representing mythological power, had heralded disaster with each opening.

The light shone upon Xiuborn, and his form vanished within its radiance.

At last, he entered through the Door of Truth.

The light responded to Xiuborn’s will, carrying him into an ocean of knowledge and truth.

Countless images flashed past him.

Though he tried to grasp their secrets, he caught only fleeting shadows, blurred and indistinct.

This time, instead of seeing the city frozen in time, he found himself before a massive temple.

Yet this temple resembled not a place of worship but an immense library.

Endless rows of bookshelves stretched along both walls, laden with countless volumes.

However, these books were not recorded on paper pages, but on silk scrolls carefully arranged.

To the Snake People, this seemed incredibly luxurious.

Yet considering this was God’s domain, perhaps it was merely ordinary.

Stone tablets covered the temple walls, while bone plates and other sacred texts filled every alcove.

If not for the divine statue upon the altar, he would never have imagined this as a temple.

He saw many ghosts, all members of Polik’s family.

After death, they had all become part of the Door of Truth.

Xiuborn entered and repeated his words to a ghost before the divine statue.

“I wish to obtain the power of a Witch Spirit.”

The ghost standing beside the statue spoke: “Sacrifice yourself and offer everything to God.”

As it spoke, a power immediately wrapped around Xiuborn.

He felt something vital being drawn from within him.

In the mortal world, his corpse instantly dissolved.

He had sacrificed his physical form.

A power entered the Door of Truth, condensing within this temple until it finally transformed into a leather-bound book that descended.

The book fell into Xiuborn’s hands, and he immediately felt a surge of powerful ability flowing through his form.

The book’s name appeared instantly in his mind.

“Book of the Witch Spirit.”

His form gradually became solid.

Upon grasping this book, he gained the ability to influence reality and regained physical sensation.

This book was a Witch Spirit’s true form, the foundation of their magic and power.

It was created through the Witch Spirit’s sacrifice of their physical body.

Witch Spirits had no fixed form. After obtaining the Book of the Witch Spirit, they could transform between corporeal and incorporeal states.

Through the book and divine power, they could manifest incredible abilities.

Xiuborn had finally obtained what he desired. He now had the power to return to the mortal world and begin anew everything he wished.

As he raised his head, he suddenly noticed the mural on the dome above.

Clearly, the mural did not depict the deity enshrined within this temple.

The being in the mural seemed far greater and more unfathomable than the deity of this temple.

Xiuborn found this strange, for this was a temple.

Who would paint another being, not the enshrined deity, above the deity’s head?

It felt as though this figure was a deity worshipped by another deity.

“What is that?” Xiuborn asked curiously.

The ghost answered.

“He is Redlichia, the King of Wisdom.”

“The firstborn of Creator Yinsai, and the source of all wisdom and spirituality.”

“All beings who carry the wisdom bloodline descend from Redlichia, the King of Wisdom.”

Xiuborn had asked casually, but the answer struck him like a thunderbolt.

Before coming here, he had thought to merely humor this unknown deity, needing its power.

After all, he thought, how could this deity compare to the Creator’s power?

The Mother of Life was the Creator of all things, the most powerful being in this world.

This was fact to all Snake People, the foundation of their unwavering faith.

Yet here, in another deity’s domain, he heard a different answer.

His scalp tingled and his body went cold.

Those simple words sent his soul reeling, leaving him stunned.

His focus wasn’t on Redlichia, the King of Wisdom, but on those words.

“Creator Yinsai.”

His voice trembled as he asked: “What does this mean?”

“Creator? Yinsai?”

He shouted his questions, as if his entire faith had been overturned.

“What of Mother of Life Shelly?”

“What of the great Life Sovereign? What is She?”

The ghost replied: “The Sovereign of Life Ability, the deity to the left of the Creator’s throne.”

Xiuborn pointed at the ghost: “Deity to the left of the Creator’s throne?”

“Then what are you? Were you not created by the Life Sovereign?”

The ghost raised its hand, and the temple dome blazed with light.

Beyond the Crown of Wisdom at its peak stood an eternal star rising beyond the heavens.

As Xiuborn gazed upon it, he felt the weight of countless ages wash over him.

He witnessed all things perish, saw worlds crumble, watched suns fall.

Yet that being remained eternal and unchanging.

It was the supreme one, the origin and end of all things and spirits.

The ghost continued: “When heaven and earth first opened, all things began.”

“The divine descended into this world.”

“God Yinsai created all things, establishing wisdom and life.”

“The highest source of wisdom, the origin of all spirituality, is Redlichia, King of Wisdom.”

“He is the source of power for all wisdom kinds, the deity of all intelligent life.”

“The King of Wisdom divided his power, giving the world wisdom.”

“His sacrifice allowed everything to begin, bringing light to the world.”

The ghost’s voice seemed to traverse time, merging with countless Trilobite People from two hundred million years past, echoing through the temple.

“We are of the divine firstborn lineage. We once dwelled in the Creator’s garden. We once ruled this world.”

“We are…”

“The Trilobite People.”

Xiuborn stood frozen in the temple center, too shocked to speak.

After a long while, he seemed to finally grasp the meaning within those words.

He kept muttering that divine name while stumbling backward.

“God Yinsai?”

“Creator… Yinsai?”

He refused to believe it, crying out madly.

“What is this?”

“You are of the divine firstborn lineage, while we are merely the Life Mother’s servants and creations?”

“Our Creator is merely a deity to the left of the true Creator’s throne?”

“Another being created all this?”

Xiuborn ranted like a madman: “How can this be? How can this be possible?”

“We have never heard such things. Never heard any of this!”

“You must have fabricated this. Our mythology contains nothing of this!”

He fled in panic outside the Door of Truth, where he again saw Polik’s ghost.

Desperately, he asked: “Who is the Creator?”

Polik’s ghost gazed at him and answered with unwavering certainty.

“The Creator?”

“Of course it is God Yinsai.”

Xiuborn shouted in defiance: “I don’t believe it!”

“I will never believe this!”

He stumbled down from the Door of Truth, vanishing into the boundless darkness.

Sunlight fell upon him and the ship, yet Xiuborn felt an endless void within.

His heart seemed hollowed out, an emptiness that could never be filled.