Suinhor City-State.

City of Fire Protection.

When word of a divine country hidden deep in Thunder Marsh reached Suinhor, the current Divine Blessed King summoned a boat passenger who had seen the cloud city to the City of Fire Protection.

This man, revered as both a king and a divine blessed one, was especially fascinated by the realm drifting above a sea of clouds.

Among the passengers on that boat were merchants, alchemist servants, and a scholar bound for the City of Lights.

In the end, it was the traveling scholar who reached the City of Fire Protection.

After a brief inspection, the scholar stepped into the royal garden clutching a small box.

Because it was neither a formal diplomatic reception nor the visit of a high nobleman, the protocol remained relaxed.

In the garden, the Divine Blessed King donned his armor and gripped a bow and arrow as he practiced aiming at targets.

The scholar quietly approached from behind.

“Great King of Suinhor, Divine Blessed One of the Blood Progenitor,” he said.

The Divine Blessed King lowered his bow and gestured for the scholar to sit down.

He treated the scholar with remarkable courtesy.

This courtesy was a tradition passed down from King Alpens, for Suinhor had long honored learned souls.

The king’s gravelly voice contrasted with the scholar’s wary demeanor.

“I heard you witnessed the realm of divine beings,” the king inquired. “Is it so?”

The scholar’s eyes lit up as he recalled the dazzling scene.

He described his journey to the Ten Thousand Serpents Royal Court, traveling from the Mountain of Life’s Origin down to Thunder Marsh, where fate granted him a glimpse of a forbidden sight.

He waved his hands excitedly, though his words could hardly capture the wonder he had witnessed.

“I can confirm it was truly a divine city,” he declared.

“I have seen artifacts left behind by divine beings, their style echoing that very city.”

The Snake People of Ruhe Beast Island simply dubbed these relics Divine Artifacts.

In reality, they were just tools left over from an earlier age.

At last, he unveiled the small box he had carried.

“I made this drawing on the day I left Thunder Marsh,” he explained.

“It may not capture the city’s holiness and grandeur, but if you are truly interested, please take a look.”

“It offers just a glimpse of the divine realm’s majesty.”

The Divine Blessed King had heard the rumors and summoned him specifically for the drawing.

Rumors may be spun, but without witnessing the original, no one could truly imagine its splendor.

“I will purchase it,” declared the Divine Blessed King.

The scholar’s hesitant eyes did not escape the King’s notice.

He understood that the scholar prized recognition over wealth.

So, the Divine Blessed King continued, “I promise to invite you and Master Breman to recreate every detail of it in the Temple of Fire Protection.”

“And your names will be etched in history alongside this artwork,” he assured.

Overwhelmed, the scholar could only exclaim, “Ah!”

Though he was convinced it was a divine realm, he had no inkling which divine being it belonged to.

He was merely mortal, after all, how could he fathom the myriad divine beings of the world?

Depicting the realm of an unknown divine being in a temple devoted to the Mother of Life and the Blood Progenitor seemed almost unfathomable.

Was it truly fitting?

But the King replied, “If my hunch is right, that cloud city is where the Blood Progenitor once lived.”

The scholar’s excitement bubbled over as he asked, “Could it be?”

All doubts vanished as the scholar joyfully unveiled his artwork.

Though not the most refined, his painting vividly captured the scene.

It showed a jungle afloat on water and a haze that blurred reality.

There loomed a cloud mountain bridging heaven and earth.

A break in the towering cloud mountain unveiled an ancient, mysterious city beyond.

The architecture was unmistakably Trilobite Man style, built entirely of stone.

It stood tall, magnificent and imposing.

Unlike the City of Life, stripped of mortal touches, this place carried the weight of history with every stone whispering tales of the Trilobite Men’s past.

The Divine Blessed King rose and nodded approvingly.

“Very good,” he murmured.

“It is indeed.”

Though curious, the scholar dared not question further.

Before departing, he asked, “Will Master Breman truly join me in painting the temple’s mural?”

In high spirits, the King burst into laughter, “Indeed it is!”

“Go now and prepare to create another mural that reveals divine wonders for all to see,” he proclaimed.

“I look forward to it!”

“It will be a masterpiece for the ages.”

After bidding farewell to the scholar, the King quickly changed his attire.

He headed to the temple and prayed devoutly to the divine being he honored.

“Ruler of the Blood Kingdom of the Deep Sea, Scarlet Witch, great Blood Progenitor, and Queen of the Most Ancient Race,” he said.

“Following your divine oracle, I have secured it.”

Inside the temple, ethereal blood-colored flowers bloomed and gently lifted the painting from his hands.

The painting vanished into a swirling blood mist as it sank into the deep sea.

It eventually reached the Blood Kingdom.

The Blood Kingdom now teemed with more inhabitants. Besides Vivien, Alpens, and Smerkel, many new Trilobite symbiotes had emerged.

Their forms had changed drastically as they evolved from Wisdom Ability users to Life Ability users, yet they had once been the most elite and powerful of the Trilobite Men.

They gathered in the Temple of Truth, gazing at the red-haired demigod seated on a throne of living flesh.

The red-haired demigod waved her hand, causing the painting to unfurl within the Temple of Truth.

“It truly is,” the Trilobite symbiotes exclaimed in excitement.

“It really is the God-Descended City,” they affirmed, for no one was a stranger to its legend.

“It is the descending place of Yinsai God and the King of Wisdom, the Mother of Life, the origin site that King Yesael sought for King Redlichia, the very place where everything began,” they recounted meticulously.

All the Trilobite symbiotes lifted their eyes to the ancient city depicted in the painting.

The sight of that cloud mountain and misty sea left them lightheaded, as if they had witnessed the very birth of existence.

Vivien stood silently, absorbed by the painting.

Whereas she knew little of the God-Servant City, the God-Descended City was etched in her memory.

Though many memories had faded, the stories of the God-Descended City remained vivid in her mind.

The places that left the deepest marks on Vivien were Cross City, the Temple of Truth, the God-Descended City, and the Sky Temple.

She spent her childhood in Cross City, her youth studying on the Island of Mist, and her later years in the God-Descended City.

The God-Servant City and Sky Temple had been the aspirations of her lifelong journey.

Through generations of sacrifice and the loss of countless companions, those places were finally reclaimed.

For her, the God-Servant City and Sky Temple symbolized unwavering faith, while the God-Descended City felt like a true home in adulthood.

Smerkel asked the Blood Progenitor, “Lady Vivien, shall we take a look?”

Alpens replied, “I doubt anything else remains besides that city!”

The demigod on the flesh throne tucked away the painting and said, “Knowing it endures is enough.”

Vivien stood up, “Sacred Mountain, God-Servant City, Pottery Temple, God-Descended City.”

“The servants of the Life Sovereign have safeguarded many relics of a bygone era!”

Vivien wondered if other forbidden zones might also guard hidden treasures.

Several dozen miles outside the City of Fire Protection.

Johan Town.

Snake People found that name nearly impossible to pronounce.

In the town lived an ancient family that had migrated here with Alcina during the age of the city-state’s forebears.

The Shana family was renowned for collecting mysterious “Divine Artifacts” and wielding odd powers of their own.

As a result, the townspeople revered them, though more often they trembled in fear.

At the town’s edge, the Shana family castle loomed beside a lake—a place ordinary folks dared not approach.

Local legend whispered that monsters lurked in the lake.

“Ha!” “Hya!”

A young man of about twenty practiced swordsmanship by the lake, sharpening both his body and combat skills.

It was a time-honored tradition among noble families.

Once his skills reached a threshold, the young man unleashed a burst of supernatural power. His sword summoned water that whirled around him like a raging tornado.

He stepped onto the water as if it were solid ground, sprinting across the lake’s shimmering surface.

An incomplete mark on the back of his right hand enabled him to harness supernatural energy through tools, even though he lacked natural power.

This young man was named Shana.

Though the family stone tablet bore a generational suffix, everyone simply called him Young Shana.

It was not unusual in town for farmers, blacksmiths, and carpenters to share the same name across three generations.

He was the sole heir of his generation.

Shana had both a father and a grandfather, but he grew up with his grandfather and rarely saw his father.

In fact, ‘rarely’ meant he had seen his father only once, when he was very young.

The details of that distant memory had long faded.

His grandfather explained that his father had embarked on a personal mission.

When Shana came of age, he would follow in his father’s footsteps.

It had been the family’s mission for countless generations.

His coming-of-age ceremony was set for the day after tomorrow.

That day, he would leave home to seek his destiny.

After his practice by the lake, Shana returned to the family castle. Its outer walls were adorned with paintings, its interiors decorated with colorful murals, and its deepest chambers filled with intricate carvings.

Some carvings even dated back a thousand years to Alcina’s era.

He paused before the first carving.

It depicted a sea of flowers with a vague, indistinct figure hidden among them. The small scale left the details shrouded in mystery.

Above the carving, two lines of text emerged.

He did not recognize the script, yet his grandfather had explained its meaning to him.

“When the Creator returns, it will be the time all gods awaken,” the inscription read.

“Who is the Creator? Is it the Mother of Life?” Young Shana once asked.

“You are not allowed to know yet,” his grandfather replied.

“When will I ever know?” he persisted.

“In time, you will know,” his grandfather assured him.

Shana lingered before the carving, the old conversation echoing in his mind.

Just then, his grandfather emerged from the inner chamber into the great hall.

A man who looked remarkably like Shana followed behind.

“Young Shana!” a voice called, followed by, “Your father has returned.”

Shana’s gaze snapped away from the carving as he looked up to behold the weathered, tired face of a middle-aged man.

He sensed their blood relation, although the man appeared dejected and far from the tall, heroic figure Shana had imagined.

This was understandable.

After many years on the road, such weariness was inevitable.

He called out, “Father!”

His father regarded him with puzzlement before turning to glance at his own father, Shana’s grandfather.

“This isn’t right…” he murmured, his words trailing off as he began, “Why is he…”

His father’s words fell silent when his grandfather interrupted.

“He is about to come of age and will inherit your mission,” his grandfather explained.

The father said nothing, merely nodding in resignation.

Shana noticed his father showed little warmth, lacking the excitement and joy one would expect at a reunion.

Standing in the great hall and watching his father, he wondered if his father truly disliked him.

A wave of dejection washed over him.

That night, Shana strolled by the lake, embracing the quiet solitude.

The lakeside shimmered in the moonlight, and the silence made him feel as if he were the only soul in the world.

Suddenly, a voice whispered from behind him.

“Do they still whisper about monsters in the lake?”

Shana turned to see his father standing there and gave a measured nod.

“Yes, they still do,” he replied.

But Shana never believed the rumors. Having grown up by the lake, he knew it held no monsters.

The lake’s bottom revealed nothing more than fish.

They strolled around the lake as the atmosphere gradually brightened.

Then Shana asked, “Did you find it?”

He wondered if his father had fulfilled the family mission during all those years away.

His father seemed to understand what Shana was asking. “I found it and I didn’t,” his father replied enigmatically.

Shana didn’t understand.

Either you found it or you didn’t.

What kind of ambiguous answer was this?

His father explained, “I discovered the secret I once sought but could not complete my mission.”

A glimmer of hope lit Shana’s face as he asked, “So, is it my turn now?”

He climbed onto a nearby rock and declared, “I will find what you couldn’t and complete every mission flawlessly.”

His father stood below, watching Shana’s bold declaration with a blank stare.

A smile crept across his father’s face as he asked, “Do you know what your task is?”

Shana shook his head. “But I know I will complete it,” he replied confidently.

His father fell silent, lost in thought and memory.

The relentless summer heat pressed down on them.

Without warning, Shana stripped off his clothes and plunged into the lake.

He swam with unbridled excitement, feeling his spirits soar.

Then a sharp metallic clang echoed from the shore, accompanied by a cold glint in the moonlight.

Shana turned back and saw his father holding his sword, its edge glinting under the moonlight as he inspected it.

After a refreshing swim, he climbed back onto the shore.

He felt much cooler now.

He quickly dressed again while his father called out.

“Nice sword,” his father commented. Then he asked, “Can you fight?”

Shana replied, “I’ve learned enough,” with a tone of quiet confidence.

His father tossed him the sword, shouting, “Catch!”

They began sparring, with Shana wielding his sword and his father fighting unarmed.

But Shana was no match. His father anticipated every move and effortlessly toyed with him.

Shana’s only Divine Artifact was his sword, but his father possessed many divine tools that had fused with his very being.

He unleashed the full power of each divine tool with effortless precision.

It was simply astounding.

In the end, no matter how hard Shana tried, he could not even graze the hem of his father’s clothes.

Then his father removed a ring from his hand and said, “This is for you.”

“It’s called the Steel Ring. Ordinary people can only use it to launch steel needles,” he explained.

“But after your coming-of-age ceremony, when you activate it and merge with its power, you will gain steel skin that renders ordinary weapons useless.”

This was the Shana family’s unique trait. They possessed no supernatural powers on their own.

Yet by merging with Divine Artifacts, they tapped into tremendous power.

Shana accepted the ring. “Is this a Divine Artifact you discovered out there?” he asked.

His father replied, “They aren’t called Divine Artifacts. They are Divine Artifacts.”

Shana didn’t grasp the meaning of the term, muttering in confusion.

“Divine Artifacts.” he repeated, still puzzled.

Yet Shana’s heart soared; he had spoken so much with his father for the first time, and the gift filled him with joy.

Growing up starved for affection, this moment kept him awake with excitement.

That night, he tossed and turned in bed, clutching the Steel Ring his father had given him.

He recalled how his father had been away for so long and still had not completed the family mission.

He vowed to prove his worth to both his father and grandfather.

On the day of the coming-of-age ceremony, the household servants set everything in order and then quietly withdrew.

The castle blazed with light as candles flickered on every level.

Grandfather, father, and Shana knelt beneath an ancient stone carving, reciting the adage passed down through generations.

“When the Creator returns, it will be the time all gods awaken.”

The three men – old, middle-aged and young – each uttered the sentence in a distinct tone.

Each carried its own emotion.

The young man was curious, the middle-aged confused, and the old man weathered by time.

His grandfather rose, watching the moon slowly climb above.

He rested his hand on Shana’s head, his eyes full of expectation.

“The time has come,” he declared.

Shana suddenly asked, “What am I supposed to find?”

He believed it was finally time for him to know.

Once again, his grandfather answered, “The divine will guide you!”

Shana pressed, “How am I supposed to search?”

His grandfather replied, “The divine will guide you!”

Utterly confused, Shana struggled to understand that this vague guidance was his mission.

He looked up, meeting his grandfather’s gaze.

“Shana,” his grandfather asked, “you will succeed, won’t you?”

Shana nodded and replied, “I will definitely succeed.”

In his grandfather’s eyes, Shana saw boundless expectation and longing.

That expectation carried a deep weariness, a longing fiercer than demons from the abyss.

It stirred Shana’s young heart.

He yearned desperately to complete the family’s age-old mission.

Yet, gazing into his grandfather’s eyes, Shana felt the question was meant for someone else entirely.

Midnight arrived.

A powerful force flowed from his grandfather’s hand into Shana’s body, and the incomplete mark on his hand slowly completed itself.

He absorbed the full family power and was now ready to leave and venture into the world.

Before dawn, Shana eagerly prepared to depart with the rising sun.

It was his first departure from home, and he felt that the distance brimmed with hope and possibility.

His steps were light, though he occasionally turned back as if reluctant to leave entirely.

Soon, he vanished like a wisp of smoke.

Shana left Johan Town while his father and grandfather watched him vanish from the lake’s edge.

His father asked, “Can he really do it?”

His father turned to the grandfather and asked, “Is everything we’ve done truly meaningful?”

The grandfather replied, “And what is meaning?”

The father cried out, “Then what is our existence for?”

The grandfather said with significance, “The divine will find us if He has already awakened.”

The father asked, “What if He never awakens?”

The grandfather fell silent, his eyes cold as he stared at his son.

After a long pause, he finally asked, “How long have you waited?”

The vast sea.

A group of small, silver-winged flying dragons crossed the Storm Sea like a flock of migratory seabirds, though in this era, birds had not yet been born.

Near the outer edges of the Storm Sea, Wing Demon nests still appeared, but deep in its core, even these fearsome creatures were absent.

Only an endless expanse of blackness remained.

It felt as if one were dragged into an abstract, otherworldly realm.

The world appeared smeared with black charcoal, layer after layer, a sight more terrifying than darkness itself.

It made the sky and sea seem to spin, while horrible sounds pierced the ears and spawned dreadful thoughts.

Fortunately, these silver-winged flying dragons were not human.

The silver-winged flying dragons circled amid the terrifying storm, continually soaring upward.

They hoped that climbing higher might let them escape the storm’s fury.

But although the storm eased at higher altitudes, a black, corrosive force persisted and grew even stronger.

“Whoosh!”

The spiritual power within the waves of silver-winged flying dragons was instantly shattered, crumbling into nothingness.

In the black clouds above, unimaginable horrors writhed and twisted.

They were spawn born of the Ruhe Beast’s breath.

Bound by the power of the Ruhe Beast and constrained by the will of the Mother of Life, they could not venture beyond its domain.

Yet when anyone dared to intrude recklessly into the Ruhe Beast’s domain, these horrors would unleash a terror and despair unlike any other.

This terrifying sight forced the silver-winged flying dragons to descend once more, where they discovered that the infernal world below was, oddly, safer.

Groups of silver-winged flying dragons traversed the Storm Sea, each wave growing weaker as if they were mere expendable creatures.

“Woo woo!”

They huddled together, their wings beating in unison to form a barrier that repelled the corrosive force.

They strove to shield the innermost of their kind from corrosion, preserving the last seeds of hope.

Humming as they flew in rapid formation, their sounds were quickly drowned by the storm’s roar.

After what felt like an eternity, the last silver-winged flying dragon emerged from the darkness, reaching the storm’s edge.

At last, the sky cleared.

Beyond lay not an infernal abyss, but a land bathed in sunlight, much like the outer edges of the storm.

The silver-winged flying dragon pressed onward, still far from its true destination.

It saw ships and scattered debris adrift on the sea.

Finally, it saw the continent.

Ruhe Beast Island.

It was also known as what Duma called the abode of the divine beings and the Origin Site of the Gods!