Dream Realm.

Yin Shen walked through the Sun Cup Flower Sea and stopped at the edge of the God-Given Land.

Endless streams of the Light of Wishes became golden waterfalls, flowing down from the island and pouring into the Divine Cup below.

The Divine Cup rotated slowly.

Text of all kinds and strange patterns continuously appeared on its outer surface.

The Divine Cup contained all existing laws. Inscribed upon it were the marks of all objects.

The Divine Cup held records of everything that had ever existed in this world or been created by human hands.

Among these were the Divine Artifacts.

They were also a type of object.

However, they were very special. They were listed as a separate category on the Divine Cup.

The Divine Cup continued its slow turn until the section listing the tool rankings came to rest beneath Yin Shen’s feet.

The top four remained unchanged. They were Stuen’s Emblem, the Divine Boat, the Spirit’s Hot Air Balloon, and the Abyss.

After sequence number 17, Abyss, and sequence number 18, Polik’s Right Hand, a new name emerged.

Beneath it, an interesting description appeared.

【Divine Artifact: The Destined Marionette】

【Sequence Number 19】

【The second-generation saint Stan Tito was a master craftsman who left behind a masterpiece called the Marionette of Fate. That ancient work vanished long ago in the passage of time, yet later generations still remember his story and legacy. This Divine Artifact was crafted based on Saint Stan Tito’s work. Its creator changed the name from ‘fate’ to ‘destined.’ This change signifies that it not only symbolizes fate but also represents an eternal covenant passed down through the ages.】

Yin Shen stood silently at the edge of the God-Given Land. It was unclear whether he watched the tool sequence rankings, the Dream of Law, or simply immersed himself in the brilliance of the golden waterfall.

At some point, the Dream Sovereign’s figure materialized beside Yin Shen.

She kept her head lowered, looking at the tool sequence rankings until that section of the Divine Cup turned completely away.

Hila suddenly thought of a question. It was one she had always been curious about but had never asked.

“God, what is the difference between tools and people?”

“Why are beings like Stuen and the Little Person in the Bottle also called tools?”

“They clearly possess wisdom and independent selves.”

To Hila, such beings seemed almost like life forms.

They had their own wisdom and independent will. Why, then, were they still tools?

Yin Shen spoke. “Because none of their Divine Blood was nurtured naturally through life’s birth.”

“Even though they gained wisdom and self-awareness, they never truly belonged to themselves.”

“Their wisdom comes from others. Their personalities do not belong to them. Their fates are controlled by others.”

“That is what makes them tools.”

Yin Shen’s words sounded casual, yet they clearly explained why such beings were classified as tools.

Within that single statement, he even subtly revealed the reason for their ultimate fate.

But Hila found this explanation far too cruel.

She believed that even tools, once they developed free will and wisdom, ceased to be merely tools.

“Perhaps when tools gain wisdom, it is destined to be a mistake!” Hila murmured, looking distressed.

“They should not possess true wisdom. They certainly should not be given life’s desires.”

“Such a law should be established, one forbidding tools from gaining wisdom…”

Yin Shen turned his head to look at Hila. He called her name. “Hila!”

Hila lifted her head, her golden eyes meeting Yin Shen’s gaze.

Yin Shen shook his head at her. “Not even Divine Beings,” he continued, “not even you…”

He paused, shaking his head again. “Can determine everyone’s birth and ending.”

“All you can do is act as you wish!”

“This is the right of Divine Beings. It is also their willfulness, the very loftiness of beings called gods.”

“You act willfully and I act recklessly because we possess power.”

“However, all we do may not necessarily lead to the ending we desire.”

“No one can know what the ending will be. No one can truly control all fates.”

Yin Shen stepped forward. His form dispersed into light, scattering into the Sun Cup Flower Sea.

“And it is precisely because of this… that the world holds infinite possibilities.”

Thunder Marsh.

Silver Fish Island.

Nearly a month had passed since Shana sent his letter.

Shana calculated that his family checked for mail monthly. They should have received his letter by now.

And they should have already sent a reply.

Shana left his temporary lodging and walked outside.

Camon was waiting outside, seemingly aware that Shana was leaving to launch his final operation. Camon understood this departure was key.

“The Lost Kingdom will appear again soon,” Camon noted.

Shana nodded. “I know.”

“I will handle everything quickly,” Shana said. “Then we can leave this place together.”

“But if there isn’t enough time,” he added, “we’ll have to wait until the next appearance.”

Thinking Camon might be growing tired of waiting, Shana tried to reassure him.

“Are you getting bored staying here?”

“It won’t be long now. We’ll succeed soon.”

Camon opened his mouth as if to say something.

But after they stood in silence for a moment, Camon finally spoke.

“Shana! Whatever you want to do, I will support you.”

“I will definitely help you complete your mission. I will cut down any enemies who block your path.”

Shana smiled and placed his hand on Camon’s shoulder.

“Haven’t you saved my life before?” Shana asked warmly. “We’ve faced death together at sea and sailed across the ocean to reach this place.”

“You’re not just my friend, Camon. You’re my brother.”

“I trust you!”

Shana finally set out, calling back as he walked away.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will definitely resolve everything.”

He walked backward for a few steps, waving to Camon.

Sunlight filled the island.

Fishing boatmen tended their vessels, women dried nets, and rowdy children played, occasionally bumping into Shana as he passed.

Shana boarded the boat, a leather bag at his side, its animal hide worn shiny with use.

Seeing the paper and pen in Shana’s bag, the boatman couldn’t help asking.

“Mr. Shana?” he inquired. “Have you finished your poem?”

Shana felt a flush of embarrassment. The poem was just an excuse, a pretext. He couldn’t really write poetry, nor was he a scholar.

“It still needs some time,” Shana replied awkwardly. “You know how it is. Great works always take time.”

The boatman nodded vigorously. “That’s right, that’s right!”

“My child really likes Master Shana!” the boatman continued warmly. “The little one is always saying they are eager to read Master Shana’s poem.”

Being called ‘master’ made Shana shift uncomfortably.

“I’m no master,” he mumbled.

The boatman laughed even louder. “You certainly will be in the future!”

The simple conversation stirred something within Shana.

He might not become a master poet, he thought, but if he could complete the mission the Divine Being had given his family, they would surely receive divine grace.

What kind of grace would that be?

Shana thought of the legendary figures who had helped Divine Beings complete missions in the past. What were they called?

Apostles? The word surfaced in his mind. Yes, we of the Shana clan… we are apostles of the Divine Being.

Shana suddenly felt his blood quicken, heat rising in his face.

He stood up abruptly, overcome by an intense desire for his family’s reply.

Just one more step.

Next time, I must get that thing from deep in the garden. It must be something the Divine Being lost long ago in the Most Ancient Ones’ capital.

The Divine Being must have lived there once. I wonder what they left behind?

As the small boat entered the dense water forest, Shana’s heart gradually soared with anticipation.

The two rowed toward a swamp forest on Thunder Marsh’s eastern edge.

The water here grew shallow, mostly less than half a meter deep.

Here, the forest grew even denser, making it impossible for the boat to pass.

Shana asked the boatman to wait in the outer waterway while he entered the forest alone.

Following an inner sense, he soon found the Rainbow Tree.

Shana passed through the illusory barrier. He stood beneath the colorful, flowering tree that grew half-submerged in the water.

He wiped his wet hands on his clothes. Then, reciting a short prayer, he reached into the tree hollow.

“I am Shana!” he declared softly. “O messenger of the gods, I beg you to deliver distant thoughts to me!”

Shana’s words were hurried, tinged with anxiety. He hoped, almost desperately, that his family and grandfather had provided the method he sought. His hand trembled slightly as he retrieved the expected reply from the Rainbow Tree hollow.

To be precise, it wasn’t a letter, but rather a contained image and message.

He opened a small box. Light immediately bloomed forth from within.

Within the light, an image formed: Shana’s grandfather, sitting cross-legged on a bench.

The old man held a wooden cane. He looked even older than when Shana had last seen him.

“Young Shana,” the image of the old man spoke, his voice raspy but clear. “I am glad you found the Yinsai Crown.”

“We have finally waited long enough.”

“But what we need is not the Yinsai Crown itself, but the Wisdom Stone set within it. You must obtain that stone.”

“The Yinsai Crown has three abilities. The first can temporarily turn the wearer’s body into spirit form, making them immune to most damage. However, without an owner, this ability has lost its meaning.”

“The second ability forms a barrier that blocks almost everything. Even powerful Fourth-Rank apostles cannot easily break it. Earlier, this ability, combined with ritual arrays, blocked your attempts to probe.”

“The third is a powerful counterattack ability. But again, without an owner, the conditions for its activation cannot be met.”

The elder’s image climbed down from the bench with his cane, drawing closer within the light, bit by bit.

“So now you face three challenges. First, crossing the flower sea formed by the Blood Mist Cups. Second, breaking the Yinsai Crown’s self-activated barrier. And third, overcoming the ritual array on the King of Yinsai’s tomb.”

“The Divine Artifact, the Yinsai Crown, has one obvious weakness. It does not react to life forms that lack the component of wisdom. It will not resist them.”

“This is because when the crown was forged, its power contained only wisdom, lacking spirit or knowledge components.”

Shana frowned, the meaning still unclear to him.

But the image of Shana’s grandfather quickly clarified. “The Ghost Race is a type of being completely lacking the wisdom component. They can ignore the Yinsai Crown’s barrier and simply take the crown directly.”

“The vast sea of Blood Mist Cups and the ritual array on the King of Yinsai’s tomb remain troublesome, it is true.”

“But I have provided you with an item of unimaginable power. It is the strongest artifact our family has ever found. It has deteriorated to barely a fraction of its former self and is hardly comparable to its past glory and might.”

“Using it as a core, however, extremely powerful ghosts can be created.”

“Such a ghost can surely resist the erosion of the Blood Mist Cups. It can pierce the ritual array on the King of Yinsai’s tomb. It will be enough for you to obtain the Yinsai Crown.”

Create ghosts? Shana’s thoughts raced. What does that even mean? What exactly are ghosts? And how are they created?

The grandfather in the image answered as if he had heard Shana’s unspoken questions.

The elder lifted his head. A cold light seemed to burst from his sunken eye sockets.

“Why, with people, of course.”

“My dear Shana!”

Shana froze instantly. He could not comprehend what ‘creating with people’ meant.

At that moment, the image abruptly cut off.

Light surged from the box into Shana’s forehead, carrying with it a dark ritual. Forbidden texts detailing sacrifice and ghost transformation flooded his mind.

Simply comprehending this dark ritual made Shana break out in a cold sweat.

He couldn’t imagine what kind of being could conceive such a ritual. It involved transforming many living people into ghost entities, then forcing the ghosts to merge and devour one another to create a single, ultimate ghost form.

To those capable of creating such rituals, humans clearly were not seen as people at all.

Humans were nothing more than raw materials, like Curled Ball Ferns harvested from a field.

The ritual itself spoke volumes of that lofty detachment and utter ruthlessness.

How can such a ritual exist?

Is this a ritual left by the Divine Being? No, no… impossible…

How could the Divine Being create something so terrible?

Shana remained standing beneath the Rainbow Tree, his face pale.

Only after leaving the Rainbow Tree’s protective barrier did he seem to return to his senses.

Shana looked down at the box in his hand. He saw a shard of glass nestled inside.

It was a fragment left behind after Anhofus, the Little Person in the Bottle, had met his end.

It was one piece remaining from the bottle Stuen had crushed underfoot.

In the current era, the fragments had scattered across Ruhe Beast Island. This piece had eventually been found by the Shana clan.

Though the Little Person in the Bottle had died and the Door of Truth had fallen into Asai’s hands, this bottle that once contained the Evil God still retained some of its power.

And the strongest aspect was not just the power within the shard, but the unique properties that remained.

Shana lingered for a long time in the swamp forest, wrestling with deep doubt and hesitation about his mission.

Half a day passed.

Finally, Shana gripped the box tightly in his hand. Head lowered, he started back toward the boat.

No!

This method… it absolutely cannot be right. Something is deeply wrong.

What does Grandfather mean by this?

Shana even began to doubt the nature of the Divine Being his family worshipped.

Would the Divine Being truly allow their apostles to do such things?

How could we commit such acts?

Lost in thought, he found he had reached the spot where the boat was moored.

The boatman still waited there. “Ah, you’re back,” he said.

Shana boarded in a daze. The boatman, noticing his troubled expression, asked,

“What’s wrong, Mr. Shana? Did things not work out?”

Shana lifted his head. He suddenly asked the boatman,

“What do you think the Divine Beings are… like?”

The boatman looked startled. He had clearly never been asked such a question before.

Ignoring the boatman’s surprise, Shana pressed on. “Could the Divine Beings… could they be evil?”

The boatman quickly shook his head, waving his hands in alarm. “You shouldn’t say things like that! It’s disrespectful to the Divine Beings!”

Shana fell silent. Neither of them spoke again for a long while.

The boat drifted onward, gliding past barren swamps and shadowy caves, weaving through the thick water forest.

Finally, they passed through a waterway where ancient trees bent and crossed overhead. They were nearing Silver Fish Island.

Only then did they realize that night had fallen.

The boat docked. Dusk still lingered, yet not a soul could be seen along the usually busy shore.

The boatman secured the boat before joining Shana on the landing.

The boatman frowned, his gaze sweeping the empty shore. An instinctive feeling told him it was far too quiet.

“Strange…” the boatman muttered.

“Why is it so quiet?”

Usually at this time, the island children would still be outside, either helping by the shore or playing noisily before heading home.

Shana, lost in his own world, had kept his head down. Hearing the boatman speak, he finally looked up, sensing that something was wrong.

He lifted a bewildered face.

“Yes,” he echoed slowly. “Where has everyone gone?”

The two walked toward the fishing village, climbing the steep, sloping path bit by bit toward the houses built on higher ground.

“Where is everyone?” the boatman worried aloud. “Why isn’t anyone home?”

The boatman peered into the windows of houses along the road. All appeared empty.

Pushing open the door of one house, the boatman stepped inside.

As soon as he entered, the boatman felt something wet and muddy beneath his feet.

The light inside was dim, making it difficult to see clearly.

He bent down, touched the substance, then raised his fingers to his nose and sniffed.

The boatman’s expression changed instantly.

He stumbled back, shouting, “Blood! It’s blood…!”

Shana ran over immediately.

He drew his sword.

A faint light glowed along the blade, pushing back the shadows and illuminating the small house.

They saw bloodstains splattered everywhere on the ground. The room was in disarray. A cold dread gripped Shana.

The two pushed open door after door. They found no one in any of the homes.

Many houses showed signs of struggle and had bloodstains, but still, no bodies could be found.

The boatman’s voice trembled. “How could this happen? What happened here?”

Shana’s mind felt numb. Who did this? he wondered frantically. Is anyone still alive? Why is there only blood, but no bodies?

The boatman choked out, “Yes, someone must still be alive… Someone has to be alive…”

The boatman suddenly seemed to recall something vital. He turned and ran desperately toward the center of the island.

That was where his own home was located.

Since Shana had been staying at the boatman’s house, and knowing Camon also lived there, Shana immediately ran after him.

Fear spurred them both onward, making them move with desperate speed.

However, when they reached the cluster of houses at the island’s center, the sight that greeted them made their faces turn deathly pale.

There, amid the densest cluster of houses, white threads crisscrossed everywhere in thick webs.

The threads seemed to emanate from an unknown source, weaving together into a vast, intricate net covering the central area.

An experienced Ability User, observing carefully, might have recognized that the net converged into the unmistakable pattern of a ritual array.

It was a ghost transformation ritual.

The ritual had already begun. It trapped the consciousness of all the dead islanders within its web, just one step away from merging them into a single, powerful ghost form.

Countless corpses hung suspended from the net.

Every single islander, regardless of gender or age, hung there. All had been killed without discrimination.

Each body was suspended by a thread, controlled like wooden puppets.

When the island wind blew through the village, the bodies swayed together eerily.

The entire scene presented a vision of utmost horror.

Meanwhile, the boatman finally located his children and wife among the hanging bodies, along with his elderly parents.

The boatman could say nothing. He collapsed to the ground, emitting loud, heartbroken sobs.

“Ah! Ahhh…”

He scrambled to his feet, trying desperately to reach his family’s bodies, but they hung too high in the air, far beyond his grasp.

He could only cry out in raw grief, stumbling and spinning aimlessly on the ground like a headless fly.

Shana collapsed onto the ground beside him, his head tilted back to stare up at the horrifying tableau, his eyes utterly blank.

Drip… drop. A drop of fresh blood fell from above, splashing onto the ground directly in front of Shana.

Shana slowly lifted his head, his gaze drawn to the source. He focused on one small corpse hanging directly above. It was the mischievous child he had encountered upon first arriving on Silver Fish Island.

And beside the child hung the body of his mother.

Shana’s expression instantly shifted from blank shock to utter ferocity. A boundless rage surged up from his chest, feeling as if it might consume him.

His face twisted in fury, contorting like a demon’s mask. His hair seemed wild and disheveled around his enraged face.

“Who did this?”

“Who did this?!” he roared, his voice cracking.

Shana scrambled to his feet, brandishing his sword and shouting into the darkness like a madman.

He commanded the nearby dampness, controlling water to rise up with him as he slashed furiously at the net in the sky.

But the net seemed insubstantial, his blade passing through as if it were nonexistent. It was completely untouchable, no matter how hard he struck.

“Show yourself!” he screamed. “Show yourself!”

“I’ll kill you! I’ll slaughter you!”

Shana suddenly thought of Camon. He spun around, shouting into the night.

“Camon!”

“Camon!”

“Where are you? Are you still alive?”

“It’s me, Shana! Camon… answer me!”

Just then, the moon emerged from behind the clouds. Its pale light fully illuminated the island’s center.

And with the moonlight, a figure stepped out of the darkness, standing calmly in the center of the horrifying net.

He was the weaver of this net. He was the culprit who had killed all of Silver Fish Island’s residents.

It was, indeed, Camon. The very person Shana had just desperately called out for.

At this moment, Camon’s expression was completely different from his usual self. Gone was the carefree openness. Gone too was the familiar greed and crudeness.

His face was utterly devoid of expression, exactly like the dead islanders hanging below him.

“Shana,” Camon stated flatly. “You’ve returned.”

Shana stared up at Camon, his mind initially unable to process why Camon was standing there, within the net.

But as the pieces clicked into place, the horrific truth became unavoidable. Even a fool would understand now.

Shana opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened it again, struggling for words.

Finally, he managed to choke out the question. “Camon… you did this?”

He spoke Camon’s name not just as an address, but as a question in itself: Was the being standing before him truly Camon?

Camon didn’t answer directly. Instead, he repeated the words he had spoken just that morning, when Shana was leaving the island.

“Didn’t I tell you already?” Camon’s voice was devoid of inflection.

“I told you I would definitely help you complete your mission. That I would cut down all enemies for you, clear away all obstacles.”

“The choices you cannot bring yourself to make, I will make for you.”

“The obstacles you cannot cross, I will help you overcome.”

“Shana, you are about to obtain the Yinsai Crown. You cannot stop now. You cannot hesitate.”

Shana stared, unable to comprehend how Camon knew everything. He had only just returned and hadn’t said a word about the grandfather’s instructions.

The timing didn’t make sense.

Camon must have already begun his work here before Shana had even received the message from his grandfather.

Shana recalled Camon’s words from that morning. He had never imagined then that they carried such a chilling, literal meaning.

“Are you working for my grandfather?” Shana demanded.

“Are you secretly part of the Shana family?”

“Why would you do something like this?”

“I thought you enjoyed playing the hero, taking down bad guys and hearing people cheer.”

“What happened to you, Camon? Have you lost your mind?”

“Camon, what are you doing?!”

Shana hurled question after question. He scarcely waited for answers, perhaps because his own heart was already screaming the terrible truth.

He kept asking, his voice rising with each query, as if trying to force the awful answers out from the depths of his own heart.

But Camon ignored him, turning his impassive gaze toward the boatman still sobbing and scrambling helplessly on the ground below.

He waved one hand casually. Several white threads materialized in the air, wrapping around the boatman and lifting him upward.

Shana reacted instantly, lunging toward the boatman.

“No!” Shana yelled.

“Stop!”

However, Camon simply raised his other hand. A single thread appeared above Shana’s head, instantly halting his movement and controlling him completely.

Shana found he couldn’t move a muscle. He could only watch in helpless horror as Camon’s threads drew the boatman up, hanging him like the others.

Shana screamed until his voice grew hoarse.

“No!”

“What are you doing?!”

“Camon, stop this!”

“Stop!”

The boatman slowly choked to death before Shana’s very eyes, dragged higher and higher into the air.

As he died, his body swayed close to his family’s. The lifeless forms seemed to lean into one another, almost as if locked in a final, gruesome embrace.

Or perhaps, in death, they found a final reunion.

In a way, the boatman fulfilled his final wish.

His dangling hand brushed against his wife’s arm. He touched his family one last time, hanging together among the dead.

Before Shana’s horrified gaze, Camon killed Silver Fish Island’s last living resident.

Camon spoke again, his tone still expressionless, utterly matter-of-fact.

“The islanders had seen too much,” Camon stated. “They couldn’t be allowed to live. Their deaths serve the purpose of the sacrifice. One more sacrifice is better than one less.”

Camon waved his hand again. The thread controlling Shana vanished.

Freed, Shana erupted in pure fury. He swung his sword, raising waves of water and riding the surge upward toward Camon.

Power flared from the Steel Ring on his hand. Another Divine Artifact hidden in his chest also activated.

Fueled by three sources of supernatural power, no ordinary Second-Rank Ability User could possibly match Shana’s strength.

However, his attack was futile. He couldn’t touch Camon at all.

Camon merely moved a single finger. Instantly, threads reappeared, ensnaring Shana once more and leaving him hanging helplessly in the air.

Shana hung high above the ground like a ridiculous puppet, his limbs dangling and swaying awkwardly.

Camon looked up at Shana, slowly shaking his head.

“Shana,” he said, his voice distant. “You cannot resist fate.”

“And I… am the same.”

Camon had hidden his true abilities for a long time. He had mastered not just conventional supernatural power, but a strange force Shana couldn’t begin to imagine.

Camon reached out one hand. Controlled by the threads, Shana moved stiffly, mechanically, retrieving the small box from his bag.

Camon reached over and plucked the tiny glass shard from the open box.

Camon looked at Shana. “The Ghost Transformation Ritual is prepared,” he stated calmly. “The sacrifices are ready.”

He paused, his empty eyes fixed on Shana. “Only one thing remains. You, Shana, are the final piece.”

Shana stared at Camon, utterly dumbfounded.

“If you’re this strong,” Shana stammered, “why didn’t you go directly to the God-Descended City? Why didn’t you go find the Yinsai Crown yourselves? Why put on this act with me?”

Shana’s teeth chattered as he spoke. Every muscle in his body felt rigid, locked by helpless fury and disbelief.

Incomprehensible emotions warred in his eyes, beneath a rage beyond measure.

“You people…” he finally spat out.

“Why toy with me like this?!”

“Do you find this amusing?” His voice cracked. “This was an entire island of people! Countless innocent lives!”

Camon slowly shook his head, still looking at Shana with those empty eyes.

“I couldn’t do that,” he replied simply.

“I am merely the threads, Shana. My role is only to guide and control.”

“But you… only you can find what the Divine Being has lost.”

Shana still didn’t understand. He stared at Camon, bewildered.

“Camon!” Shana pleaded.

“Who are you really?”

“I don’t understand you at all. Why did you come to my side? What was your purpose?”

Camon offered no real explanation. He only said, “This is destiny’s chosen path.”

His gaze remained like that of an emotionless machine, yet somehow it revealed a profound, deep coldness.

“You and I,” Camon said, his voice as cold and distant as his eyes, “are nothing more than the thread and the puppet.”

With invisible threads, Camon dragged Shana directly above the center of the ghost transformation ritual array. Then, he activated the ritual.

Strange light emanated from the glass shard at the array’s core. It washed over the corpses hanging in the sky, turning them an eerie grayish-black. Vast amounts of divine blood were extracted from them, merging into the glass shard.

The shard’s power grew noticeably stronger, its aura becoming stranger.

Under the shard’s radiating influence, transparent, ghostly figures began to emerge, one by one, from the lifeless corpses.

The ghosts immediately began to twist and intertwine, flowing together and merging into one another.

Finally, they fused completely, forming a single, massive ghost shadow tens of meters tall. Its terrifying dark form twisted and writhed in the air above the village, emanating waves of palpable, uncontrolled power.

Then, the glass shard detached itself from the array’s center. It flew swiftly upward and embedded itself gently in Shana’s brow.

His forehead immediately began to radiate an intense light.

Merging with the power of tools was the Shana clan’s unique, inherited ability, allowing them to borrow the power of such objects.

The massive ghost shadow howled and writhed above Silver Fish Island. Under some unseen command, it was finally controlled, slowly shrinking and flowing down into the shadow Shana cast on the ground in the moonlight.

Shana could feel the transfer.

He could sense the ghost’s terrifying power settling within him, now his to command. It was a power far beyond anything he could have previously imagined.

Yet even with this immense power now bound to him, he still could not break free from the control of Camon’s threads.

With the ghost settled within Shana, the ritual concluded.

The dense web woven across Silver Fish Island’s center finally withdrew. All the remaining threads flowed rapidly into Shana’s body.

Shana couldn’t resist this influx. He could only remain suspended, letting Camon control him.

The first hints of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, heralding the arrival of a new day.

Camon gently lowered Shana to the ground. He straightened Shana’s disheveled clothes and smoothed his hair with an unnerving tenderness, like a concerned friend or brother might. Then, he whispered in Shana’s ear.

“Go on, Shana.”

“Finish what you set out to do.”

He pulled Shana into a brief, stiff hug and patted his back.

It was as if Camon were genuinely seeing him off, offering a final, supportive goodbye.

Shana remained utterly silent. Perhaps at this point, words had truly lost all meaning.

Stiffly, mechanically, Shana turned and began walking toward Silver Fish Island’s shore.

He reached the shore and boarded the waiting vessel – the dead boatman’s boat – to head back out into Thunder Marsh’s depths.

Camon, still standing on the shore, suddenly called out to Shana one last time.

“Shana,” he asked, his voice carrying across the water. “Without fate’s interference… what would you truly want to do?”

He didn’t wait for Shana’s answer. Camon seemed to ask and answer the question for himself.

“If it were me,” Camon mused aloud, “I think I would want to be an adventurer. I’d want to see just how vast this world really is.”

“To see what the world outside is really like.”

For a fleeting moment, Camon’s corpse-like face seemed to show a hint of wistful expression. Then it vanished as he shook his head and called out to Shana again.

“But this… this is fate.”

Like a puppet controlled by invisible strings, Shana rowed the boat mechanically away from the shore, heading toward the place where the Lost Kingdom would appear in the sky.

As the early morning light grew stronger.

From the corner of his eye, Shana saw great fires spring up back on Silver Fish Island. Flames quickly engulfed the houses, turning the small fishing village into a rising sea of fire.

The hanging bodies of Silver Fish Island’s residents, along with every trace of their lives and humble belongings, were being consumed, soon to be reduced to nothing but ash in the inferno.

Images flashed unbidden before Shana’s eyes: the simple-hearted boatman offering a smile, the playful, laughing children, the kind faces of the island’s innocent elderly.

Shana opened his mouth, but only hoarse, choked sounds emerged, like the helpless noises of someone struck mute.

Though he could speak, these guttural sounds were all he could produce in the face of such overwhelming horror.

Silent tears finally escaped, flowing down Shana’s cheeks.

The boat moved further and further across the marsh.

He rowed into the familiar depths of the Thunder Marsh.

The weather was not good today. Thunder crackled ominously from deeper within the marsh.

Despite the gloomy sky, the Lost Kingdom still appeared through the clouds, arriving right on schedule.

As if guided by long practice, Shana skillfully entered the God-Descended City. He rushed into the Wisdom Palace and found his way quickly to the sea of Blood Mist Cups.

The massive ghost form immediately burst forth from his shadow, charging headlong into the iridescent flower sea.

Instantly, that sea of Blood Mist Cups stirred, reacting as if it were a single living entity.

Dense waves of blood-red mist surged forth, attempting to envelop the charging ghost.

Red power and the ghost’s dark power intertwined fiercely. The ghost’s form visibly grew chaotic under the assault.

But before the mist could completely overwhelm it, the ghost reached the tomb hidden deep within the flower sea.

Rays of light flared as the protective ritual array surrounding the Yinsai Crown sprang to life.

Boom! With immense spectral force, the ghost tore through the ritual array and ripped open the tomb of the Yinsai King. It lifted the heavy lid of the stone coffin inside.

Inside lay ancient remains, long since turned hard like stone.

The ghost reached into the coffin and carefully lifted the ancient crown from the figure’s stony head.

Even as a ghost focused on retrieving the crown, it seemed careful not to disrespect this king.

The ghost gently closed the coffin lid. Then, clutching the crown, it turned and burst back out through the swirling blood mist.

The blood mist grew even denser around it. The red, gorgeous cups seemed to sway faster, as if singing a consuming dirge in unison.

The ghost’s movements became slower and more sluggish. It seemed about to be completely devoured by the relentless blood mist.

Wooooooo! The ghost let out a final, sharp wail. It surged forward in one last desperate sprint, struggling back toward Shana’s side.

Wooooooo! Its howl seemed almost like a plea, urging Shana to take the prize it had obtained with such difficulty.

Shana stood waiting in the corridor. He reached out his hand and caught the Yinsai King’s crown as the ghost thrust it toward him.

With one final, long wail, the blood-red mist completely dyed the ghost’s form, extinguishing its dark light.

The ghost dissolved, remaining trapped forever within the sea of blood mist.

Shana held the Yinsai Crown, his fingers tracing its ancient form.

The crown of the Most Ancient King!

Is this what the Divine Being truly wanted? Is this the object our family has sought for generations?

The moment Shana’s hand closed around the crown, the Wisdom Stone set within it instantly turned to liquid. It flowed like quicksilver from the crown and merged seamlessly into his body through his hand.

An incredibly powerful force burst outward from Shana’s body. Fourth-Rank spirit power erupted from him, sweeping through the immediate surroundings like a shockwave.

Shana’s body surged with this newfound, incomplete Fourth-Rank power. It felt raw and dangerously unstable within him.

Everything had unfolded seamlessly, exactly as planned, as if every single step had been preordained.

As if it was all… Fate.

Shana turned and left without lingering.

He did not take the physical crown of the Yinsai King. He left the ancient object resting within the Wisdom Palace.

Outside, the clouds were already beginning to swirl and close together again.

The gate to the outside world was about to shut.

Shana no longer had time to slowly make his way back. Moving as if by precise calculation, he charged to the edge of the Lost Kingdom, reaching it just in time.

Without hesitation, he leapt down from the immense height.

He fell through the sky like a cannonball, plunging into the lake far below.

Giant waves erupted from the impact point. A powerful spirit barrier flared around Shana, protecting him from the crushing pressure.

Glug glug… Water pressed in from all sides. Masses of bubbles surged upward around him as he sank.

Shana simply let the lake water engulf him. He allowed himself to sink toward the murky bottom.

As he sank, dense, shadowy threads abruptly escaped from his body, writhing for a moment before vanishing into the water.

He was no longer controlled.

But he found he had no desire to move at all.

He wanted only to sink to the cold bottom of the lake and stay there forever. He wanted to refuse the horrible reality Camon had called fate.

He could not bear the thought of returning to see what remained of Silver Fish Island, the place that, for a short time, had seemed almost like a paradise.