Chapter 249 Proposal (1.4w) - Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

The roots of the Sacred Tree glimmered with a pale golden fluorescence under the moonlight. Siya Asolante knelt on one knee at the tree crown's peak, his divine ancestor's body entangled by countless translucent threads of destiny. Those threads, glistening with golden runes, were attempting to bind him to the peculiar light mass at the tree trunk's center. With every struggle, a fresh crack marred his left shoulder—a price exacted by the "Prison of Destiny." "An interesting character indeed." The divine ancestor Siya sneered at the void. In the next moment, an unexpected pale flame ignited at his fingertips, swiftly reducing the entangling destiny threads to ashes. He suddenly recalled the infinite mark hovering above Lin En at that time, feeling a vague sense of familiarity, yet no matter how he tried to remember, the relevant memory fragments eluded him. Living for tens of thousands of years, over such an extensive timeline, it was inevitable for many memories to be thinned by the passage of time. Siya knew well that despite traversing a timeline of a hundred thousand years, severely reducing his power, within the current world's temporal dimension, he was still an invincible force. The young man's true form was merely at the second tier, yet he could temporarily wield power rivaling his own—a fact undeniably astonishing to Siya. Reflecting on his journey thus far, resembling a life with a cheat code, the long-diminished emotions of the divine ancestor found rare resurgence in unease. Even when he had been at the second tier, he never had such abilities as Lin En's. While it could be concluded that Lin En had borrowed external force, this power was so profound that even Siya found it incredible. He couldn't quite accept that someone from his past era could possess means surpassing his own. This was the pride of a divine ancestor. Were it not for the fact that he had crossed a river of time spanning a hundred thousand years and his time running out, he would undoubtedly have investigated Lin En's secrets. But there simply wasn't enough time left now. No matter how powerful, opposing time was exceedingly difficult. Thus, within the remaining time, he had one very important matter to attend to. As the world's protagonist, even in the original novel, up to the last moment, the divine ancestor Siya had never consummated with the first princess Hirina. Although, to a deity, sex and love were ephemeral consumables, there was undeniably a pang of regret in his heart. As an eternal divine being, he shouldn't have concerned himself with mortal emotions, but whenever he thought of Hirina's bright eyes, of the woman reputed as the most beautiful in the Saint Roland Empire, some semblance of divinity within him faintly wavered. Especially after experiencing Tia's betrayal, an immense caution blossomed in Siya's heart. Evidently, as the mightiest god, he faintly sensed a dissonance of destiny, recalling the bizarre destiny-derived techniques Lin En employed in their clash, which he couldn't ignore. With this in mind, Siya's form began to blur. In truth, at the very moment Siya's thoughts lingered on Hirina, she was also on her way to the Sacred Tree. At that moment, the spire of the Erohett Palace intermittently concealed and revealed amidst the tree's golden radiance; the ancient silent Sacred Tree pulsated like a heartbeat. Hirina's fingertips unconsciously traced the necklace her grandfather gifted her around her neck; the gem seemed to resonate with the Sacred Tree in an eerie symphony. In her two decades of memory, never had the Sacred Tree exhibited such disturbance. Words inscribed in her mind flashed. "When the golden pillar of light pierces the firmament, the savior hero shall arise!" She suddenly recollected the corresponding content from "The Chronicles of Hino." It was the book she loved most in this lifetime. She adored the strategic scheming and warfare, the heroes and iron-blooded tales, the beauty and tender romance. This princess, nurtured amidst the intrigues of the court from a young age, still harbored a vestige of pure fantasy, with her heart racing as if she were the princess in the book about to be rescued by a great hero. She unconsciously smoothed the creases on her skirt, as if preparing to meet the male protagonist from the knightly novels she secretly kept under her pillow. The golden aura of the Sacred Tree swayed in the night breeze, casting Hirina's platinum hair in a dreamy sheen. When she passed through the last shadow of the tree, the sight before her took her breath away—a golden-haired youth stood tall, the moonlight sketching his handsome outline, with azure eyes that shimmered with an unfamiliar tenderness she had never seen. For reasons unknown, Hirina's heart pounded, overwhelmed by an indescribable surge of emotion. The person before her felt both familiar and strange, rendering her momentarily speechless. "Your Highness, it's been a long time." Siya's gentle voice reached her, leaving Hirina somewhat dumbstruck. Though the youth appeared familiar, inexplicably, he evoked a sense of unfamiliarity within her. He walked towards her slowly, each step causing the light and shadow on the ground to quiver. Hirina's gaze fixed on him, her usual acumen in perceiving hearts and her rationality inexplicably faltering, her breath slightly erratic. She wanted to stop his audacious approach, but the words wouldn't materialize. After all, at their core, women are sentimental beings. Moreover, she harbored no small degree of affection for this subordinate who once saved her life and spent considerable time by her side. And at this moment, these feelings and a certain speculation in her heart seemed to subtly align, making it harder to distinguish between fantasy and reality under the Sacred Tree's radiant glow. Gazing at the golden-haired youth in harmony with the towering tree, and recalling the ancient prophecy, her conjecture seemed to gradually morph into reality. The young man before her, Siya Asolante, her devoted subordinate, was indeed the heroic savior foretold in the prophecy. But...how could this be? As Hirina remained immersed in shock and confusion, the next moment, the youth did something entirely unforeseen. "For ten thousand years, I've awaited this moment." He knelt on one knee before the woman at the forefront. Simultaneously, countless golden lights erupted from the leaves of the Sacred Tree, cascading like a shattered starry river. Every particle of light etched fine trails in the night sky, weaving into a flowing golden veil that enveloped the two in this dreamlike shower of stars. The scenery before her rooted Hirina in place; such a spectacle she had only ever read about in novels, reserved for the main characters. Siya, the divine ancestor and stallion protagonist of the original story, handled this with practiced ease. Raising his right hand, a ring embedded with a blood-red gem appeared quietly in his palm, its band wrapped with intricate golden threads, glistening with a mysterious luminescence in the moonlight. "You—you—are you out of your mind?!" Upon realizing the youth's intentions, Hirina's mind instantly went blank. Moments later, a distinct blush spread subtly from her cheeks to behind her ears. For over two decades, as a royal member adhering strictly to court etiquette, she barely experienced romance, let alone interactions with contemporaneous males. Thus, this sudden audacity indeed caught her completely off guard. Previously, her relationship with Siya had merely been that of superior and subordinate; any flirtation far from ascending to the realm of love. But for reasons unclear, Hirina suddenly felt a stirring emotion, as though something was sprouting deep within her consciousness. In retrospect, wasn't this precisely the perfect love between a knight and a princess she had yearned for and fantasized about all along? Hirina's heart was completely thrown into turmoil. She was unsure of her innermost thoughts, instinctively clenching her slender fingers. Meanwhile, witnessing Hirina's reaction, Siya was unsurprised. Given the current point in time, his relationship with his future wife certainly hadn't progressed to that extent. Naturally, this posed no real problem for him. Siya's eyes glimmered with golden light, and the Sacred Tree beside him suddenly erupted with an astonishing radiance. Thousands of starlights surged like a tide into Hirina’s mind, exploding fragments of distant memories deep within her consciousness. In a violent, rainy night, Siya shielded her with his cloak, rainwater dripping from his golden hair onto her trembling eyelashes. On a god-strewn battlefield, his bloodstained fingers lightly brushed her bloodstained hair—a backdrop of smoldering divine remnants... The gentle, whispered words concealed deep within her memories surged like tidal waves through Hirina's mind, challenging her perception relentlessly. "Let the Sacred Tree bear witness, and let the blood of the gods be my vow," Siya said as he lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Hirina. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my bride?" Hirina's body trembled slightly at his words. When she returned to her senses, she noticed her left hand had somehow lifted, slowly reaching toward the golden-haired youth. At that moment, the ring in Siya's palm suddenly radiated with a brilliant light. Translucent petals unfurled gracefully under the moon's glow, each one shimmering with a starlit aura, reflected by the silver mark subtly revealed on Hirina’s clavicle. The warm luminescence caressed her heart like a gentle spring breeze, causing ripples within her soul as if countless starlights flowed through her bloodstream, culminating in a soft sigh at her heart. The ring, embedded with a blood-red gem, easily slipped onto Hirina's left ring finger. According to the traditions of the Saint Roland Empire, a woman wearing a ring on her left ring finger signified acceptance of a proposal. Thus, with effortless grace, Siya elevated the atmosphere to its peak, the ambivalence between them reaching its zenith. Siya naturally stood, intending to embrace Hirina, now his fiancée. However, just before acting on this impulse, a flicker of irritation crossed his eyes, which then dimmed. Just as everything seemed poised to reach its climax, the cursed time limit of his descent finally came. With the last thread of consciousness slowly detaching from this body, Siya was pulled back to his existence ten thousand years hence. The Sacred Tree's glow gradually faded, and Siya’s outstretched arm froze mid-air as the divine radiance receded like tides, leaving his body to collapse uncontrollably forward, landing heavily on the flowery ground. Hirina, faced with this sudden turn of events, remained in a daze for a moment, her gaze still fixated on the ring on her finger, a rosy gleam swirling in her eyes. Unfamiliar fluttering sensations spread through her chest, even the tips of her ears taking on a sunset hue. She distinctly recalled when the ring slid onto her finger, a warmth coursed through her body—a feeling indescribable in words. It was unclear how much time passed before Hirina managed to calm down, taking a deep breath to steady her rapidly beating heart. Looking at Siya, now incapacitated on the ground, it was hard to associate him with his former self. Yet through the fragments of future memories transmitted to her by the divine ancestor, Hirina gradually came to understand some things. She too believed that what transpired was not a dream, but rather real. Gently caressing the ring on her left hand, a glint of happiness and excitement subtly surfaced in her eyes. Though the youth lying on the ground looked somewhat pathetic now, his kneeling posture from earlier was indelibly etched in her heart. Meanwhile, Siya, who had been omnipotent a moment before, now found himself so weak he couldn't even lift a finger. This was the aftereffect of being possessed by a god, traversing the river of time. At this moment, he regained control over his body, possessing complete memories of the night's events. Though slightly regretful not to have held Hirina in his arms successfully, the sight of her flushed face and the blood-red ring on her left hand representing their bond swept away the gloom borne from Tia's betrayal. After all, Tia was merely the saintess of the Silent Church. Whereas Hirina was the grand princess of the Saint Roland Empire, destined to ascend the throne with his aid. Thus, in Siya’s eyes, Hirina was superior to Tia in every regard. Moreover, at the last moment when Siyah's divine self left his body, he revealed a shocking secret to him. A secret filled with dark astonishment. The ring given to Hirina held a hidden mystery. At that moment, a companion ring on Siya's slender finger shimmered with a cryptic glow. These rings, bound by divine blood and timed by fate, could sense each other's emotions through time and space. If Hirina’s feelings towards Siya wavered, the glow of the ring on his finger would gradually fade. And should she ever betray her vows and fall for another man, Siya’s ring, along with the godly power within, would disintegrate into dust. In essence, this was a monitoring device meant to constantly assess Hirina's feelings towards him. With Tia’s case as a precedent, even a divine ancestor such as Siya wouldn’t dare repeat the mistake. In some respect, it wasn't genuine affection for Hirina, but rather a play of possessiveness. As Tia’s eyelashes trembled slightly, the silver moonlight traveled along the altar’s gold veins, eventually converging within her body. This was a remnant of the lunar goddess Beatrice’s divine power, working to restore her ravaged form. The next instant, her consciousness began to awaken. Simultaneously, the magic array embedded in the church’s dome rippled like silver foil crumbled by invisible hands, tiny gleaming specks raining gently onto her pale cheeks. Moments later, Tia finally realized her whereabouts. This was the Moonlight Altar within the Silent Church—a place even as the saintess, she rarely had access to. Now, she lay upon a moonstone-crafted bed, clusters of crystal nestled in the framework resembling a solidified river of stars, every facet reflecting and distorting moonlight. Surrounding her, a dense congregation of figures stood. At the outermost edge were the protector knights from the ecclesiastical tribunal, garbed in silver armor, whereas closer stood familiar faces clad in white church robes. Everywhere she looked, high-ranking members of the Silent Church met her gaze. Such an assembly, the sight of which Tia as the saintess had never beheld. Sister Gretel was positioned among the numerous church officials, and everyone’s attention unwittingly converged on her, causing a rush of anxiety. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep; even after waking, she found herself in a rather poor state. What on earth happened? In the next moment, a wave of dizziness struck her mind; instinctively, she clutched her forehead, followed by a flood of shattered memories. The Lunar Canon, Beatrice, demon youth, chaos, protection... The final memory froze upon the battered Lin En. Gradually, the events of that night unfurled within her mind. Tia's fragile little heart immediately began to race violently. Firstly, she was certain that the ten-thousand-year-old self who had descended into her was indeed the lunar goddess Tia, now completely vanished, with only a faint trace of Beatrice's divinity circulating within her. The divine ancestor Siya’s temporal arrival, his epic confrontation with the witch and Lin En, left Tia uninformed of the outcome, their combat aftermath alone rendering her unconscious. At this thought, her heart seemed to skip a beat, instinctively prompting her to search for her beloved. The mere residue of their clash was enough to nearly claim her life, even while possessed by a deity. That person, so frail... could it be... Panic-stricken, Tia clambered to her feet, overwhelming grief consuming her breath, disregarding the surrounding onlookers. What she hadn't anticipated was— This minor act instantly sparked everyone's astonishment. "Your Eminence, are you..." Especially the middle-aged man at the forefront, adorned in vestments and bearing a solemn, austere countenance, instinctively gripped the staff in his hand, carved with lunar angel reliefs, as if launching into speech, but held back. He was Stel, the chief archbishop of the Glossin Diocese and the most powerful figure in the entire Silent Church, next to the lunar goddess herself. He was also one of the few men within the church. Rumor had it, he carried half of the forest elf bloodline; this was apparent from his pointed, elongated ears. Perhaps this was why the aesthetics-obsessed, eccentric goddess Beatrice favored him as the pontiff. Seeing Archbishop Stel in motion, Sister Gretel also took a couple of steps forward, her aged eyes fixed intently on Tia, shimmering with complex emotions. In some sense, the young girl before Sister Gretel had recently been the chosen vessel for the goddess, and yet now, a transformation of roles just as significant as a reverse in allegiance had occurred. On the other side, as Tia noticed the questioning expressions of those around her, she instantly grasped the root of the issue. Everyone present gazed at her with a mix of doubt and reverence, as if trying to confirm a suspicion in their minds. The reason was straightforward. The Moonlight Rite had been a ritual orchestrated by a corrupted Beatrice to claim Tia's body. However, the entire process had occurred without any church member as witnesses, leaving everyone ignorant as to whether the ritual succeeded and if the true lunar goddess Beatrice had indeed supplanted the once-sacred maiden Tia. This remained an enigma to everyone in the church. Yet as devoted followers of the lunar goddess, not one dared to question the outcome—this, they believed, would be an affront to the divine. Realizing this, Tia took a deep breath. Perhaps due to freeing herself completely from her prior fate of death, or perhaps the events of that night had prompted a swift maturation, Tia did not display the slightest hint of panic or blunder in this situation. As the church's saintess, her study of divine texts far surpassed ninety percent of the cardinals, and what was cryptic knowledge to most was as clear as crystal to her. Thus, in some aspects, Tia's understanding of miracles and history was on par with Archbishop Stel. Still, she was certain that the events involving the divine were beyond anyone's imagination. The notion of deicide was far too fantastical. Even she wouldn't believe such an event occurred, had she not been a witness herself. Therefore, to the gathered high clergy—Gretel and the archbishop included—it was assumed that Beatrice, with her might and divine rank, would achieve her goal, despite minor hitches, and occupy Tia's body. As devoted followers, they staunchly believed in the goddess's supreme power. While the laypeople pondered the deeper meaning of the moon's transformation that night, these fervent devotees felt entirely aware—recognizing it as divine descent, a spectacle even the gods would not ignore. They couldn't fathom a scenario where the lunar goddess would fail. In their perspective, the girl before them was no longer the Tia they once knew, but the goddess they devoutly worshiped, the lunar deity Beatrice. No one knew precisely what transpired that night. No one knew. Upon recognizing this reality, a substantial weight lifted from Tia's shoulders. She was acutely aware of what needed to be done given her current circumstances. It wasn't merely about self-preservation; her foremost goal was to reunite with Lin En. Lin En remained a fugitive, and Tia’s own powers, being weak, rendered her incapable. Not even as a sixth-tier demigod, reinforced by her status as the sacred maiden, could she significantly aid him against the impending storm of adversaries. For the second time in her life, Tia felt acutely her own insignificance. The first had been during the Godmoon Gap. She needed to amass stronger power; only then could she truly assist him! Such thoughts suddenly surfaced in her mind. Tia wasn't a fool. She knew well that this predicament presented not just trials but also an unprecedented opportunity. An opportunity... to gain control of the Silent Church. With these thoughts igniting within her, Tia rose from the moonstone altar, prepared to act her role flawlessly. The fear and confusion formerly on her face vanished at once, replaced by a cold, dignified demeanor befitting her divine guise. Her task was straightforward. To embody Beatrice, pretending to have been possessed, and confront the church's leadership with the aura of a deity. Only through such display of authority could she directly or indirectly seize command of the Silent Church, granting her considerable leverage amidst the turbulent undercurrents within the imperial capital. The more undisputed her dominance appeared, the more concrete her newly assumed identity would become. As dawn broke and gentle light filtered through colored glass, casting a sacred glow upon Tia's face, she tiptoed gracefully towards the altar, an ethereal moonlight aura trailing behind her. Archbishop Stel exhibited utmost reverence, prostrating the instant Tia descended from the altar, setting a precedent for the core members of the Silent Church to emulate. Though the Silent Church was one of the three grand churches alongside the Church of Providence and the Church of Abundance within the Saint Roland Empire, it had long faced difficulties—its follower base expanding sluggishly and its domain shrinking under pressure from the rival churches. As the archbishop, Stel faced immense pressure. Despite employing various strategies, his efforts had yielded minimal success. Now, with a great deity manifesting on earth, the obstacles and difficulties that once loomed seemed certain to dissipate. This left Stel with an indescribable sense of elation. "Praise the Goddess!" With a fervent cry, Stel was first to acknowledge the formidable presence before him, setting the tone for all that followed. He raised his scepter, adorned with depictions of a twelve-winged angel, and divine light burst forth at the tip, projecting a moonlit totem across the chapel ceiling. Simultaneously, outside the chapel, multitudes of church members, prostrate and ready to heed the divine decree, were stirred to sing hymns of praise. An inexhaustible tide of faith coalesced into a silver thread, pouring into Tia, and she distinctly felt her power ascending at a staggering pace. This was the dominion Beatrice left within her. Astonishment flickered within Tia. Yet recalling that in the future—ten thousand years hence—she would be acknowledged as the second lunar goddess, she lapsed into contemplative silence. Regardless of her inner turmoil, the performance had to continue. From the surface, she had indeed captivated the gathered church higher-ups with her portrayal. All but one, that is. Sister Gretel. Despite humbly bowing with her peers, traces of doubt lingered within her eyes. No one in the Silent Church knew Tia as intimately as Sister Gretel, having raised her from childhood. Thus, doubt persisted. The emotions displayed upon initial awakening are instinctual, not contrived. And Tia's peculiar demeanor during her awakening remained fresh in her memory. Faced with a dilemma, Sister Gretel, driven by her loyalty to the lunar goddess, decided to step forward, albeit with a seemingly untimely remark. "Your Grace, it seems your aura is somewhat..." Weak. Such a blasphemous term, she dared not utter. Nevertheless, the suggestion alone could provoke divine ire. Archbishop Stel, riding his excitement, hadn't anticipated Sister Gretel's outburst, turning with frustration to observe the venerable nun. What are you doing?! What do you intend?! Just as Stel prepared to reprimand Sister Gretel for her boldness, Tia intervened. She had long noticed Sister Gretel’s odd behavior among the crowd and was prepared accordingly. In the past, shrouded in Gretel's shadow, Tia wouldn't have dared oppose her. Now, with Lin En's safety paramount, past inhibitions no longer held sway. In the ensuing moment, Tia lightly lifted her hand, and the entire chapel was enveloped by a cascade of pristine moonlight, every gesture imbued with divine resonance. Instantly, a rift of starlight cleaved the chapel ceiling, moonlight solidifying and entwining around Tia, radiating a dazzling white luminescence that stunned all. Unleashing the latent power of Beatrice within her, Tia seized the opportunity. The higher the hierarchy, the more they perceived the immense power within this display, bowing with even deeper reverence. Feeling a jolt from that divine aura, Stel's body trembled abruptly, his expression shifting to one of deep emotion, his already bowed head lowering even further. Sister Gretel's expression, too, was frozen as if caught in time. In the next moment, moonlight cascaded down, solidifying into words beneath her feet: "The humble shall inherit eternal life!" This miraculous spectacle left everyone present in awe, compelling them to prostrate themselves, praying devoutly to the Great Lunar Goddess Beatrice. Especially Archbishop Stel, who was now seething with the desire to silence Sister Gretel for her reckless behavior. "Oh, Great Goddess!" Sister Gretel was consumed with regret over her impetuous actions, her complexion turning ashen. "I meant no disrespect or offense. Please forgive the sins of your devout follower..." At this moment, everyone bowed low in fear and trembling, not daring to look directly at the deity. Seeing this, Tia chose not to press further. She understood she was merely acting and did not possess the complete power of a deity. Therefore, certain things had to be approached with moderation. "Praise the Goddess!" "Eternal silence!" "Glory to the Moon Throne!" Archbishop Stel raised his hands, fervently worshiping Tia, a devoted and fanatical expression etched on his face. Meanwhile, the first rays of sunlight pierced through the crimson clouds, illuminating all of Glostine. The sunlight fell upon the chapel's dome, where it transformed into silvered moonlight, pouring down into the statue of the lunar goddess at the chapel's center. "When moonlight pierces the sacred statue, when lies become holy words, the real war has only just begun..." Listening to the hymns sung by the countless faithful outside the chapel, Bishop Stel, holding the damaged "Silent Canon," rose and stepped forward. Tia appeared serene and composed. She had effectively seized control of the vast entity that was the Silent Church, and the light piercing through the Godmoon Gap would serve as the threads weaving her schemes of power. At the same time, at Bartleon Manor... "Brother..." Elinor knelt beside the bed on the carpet, her tears long having soaked through her clothes. She clung tightly to the hem of Lin En's garment, as though releasing it would mean losing him forever. At this moment, the young man lay on the bed, his body covered in blood, pale and motionless, as if lifeless. His body bore numerous wounds so deep they reached the bone, with grotesque scars that healed only to be burned anew by invisible forces. No one could revive from such horrific injuries. If not for the princess, who was using her powers to sustain Lin En’s final breath, he would have perished during the Godmoon Gap. Though Lin En had suffered severely in the Soren Mountains before, his current state was several magnitudes worse. "How did it come to this..." Affia, her eyes blurred with tears, couldn’t stop her fingers from clenching tightly. Morris stood silently to the side, his expression complex. Never had he seen Lin En so weakened. Even when confronting a Level 0 seal artifact, the young man had always worn a casual smile, as if everything was within his control. But now, he lay as a shell devoid of a soul. In this chaos, it was only Ives who remained holding onto Lin En’s hand. Her opulent gown was drenched with blood, dark red stains blooming grotesquely across the hem. "Don't..." She prayed with a trembling voice, her form shattered beyond recognition. Ives clutched Lin En's back with her slender, porcelain fingers, as if trying to blend him into her being. At that moment, she was a lost little girl, terrified that her beloved would drift to a place beyond her reach. It wasn’t until Lin En’s barely perceptible breath brushed against her neck that Ives realized her silent tears had soaked his shoulder. The healing light flickered sporadically in her palm. Though already in a frail state herself, her effort in healing Lin En made her complexion even paler. Yet, stubbornly, Ives refused to let go. Why is it always... her left to face it alone? Her heart felt hollow and withered. After their departure in the Soren Mountains, she thought they’d never cross paths again. Yet here he was once more, recklessly leaving deep wounds on her heart. Ives desolately gazed at Lin En's pallid lips, her trembling fingers brushing over the boy's ghastly wound. It was deeper than any he had endured before, its edges kissed by a malevolent white flame. Even when she applied her precious moonlight elixir, it hissed ominously as it vaporized away. Memories flared vividly in her mind, burning bright. During the Moonlight Rite, although the weakest present, Lin En had unhesitatingly shielded those he cherished. Ives suddenly clenched her slender hands, her nails digging into her palms, with warm liquid trickling down—whether it belonged to Lin En or herself, she couldn’t tell. "You should leave now." As Lin En’s temperature dropped once more, Ives spoke to those present. Her words took Elinor by surprise, her tear-filled eyes fixed on the woman before her, as if preparing to argue, but in Affia’s gentle guidance, she slowly vacated the room. Once everyone else had gone, Ives gazed forlornly at the unconscious Lin En, tenderly caressing his pale cheek with the touch of a lover. "Rest assured, Master will not let you die." Her murmured assurance lingered in the room, gradually dissipating into the air. Time slipped by until Ives leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Lin En’s, softly chanting an esoteric incantation. In the next instant, a red glow enveloped Ives, as she allowed her blood to flow into Lin En’s mouth, while her complexion visibly deteriorated. This was a forbidden life transference technique, one Ives utilized without hesitation amid desperation. Each drop of blood drained from her emaciated body, but she seemed immune to pain, only holding Lin En tighter. Her fingers trembled slightly, her heart gripped by an invisible force. Yet, as time passed, a faint blush began to return to Lin En’s ghostly face. Within him, an internal struggle unfolded. The causal punishment of the "Prison of Destiny" and the potent legacy of divine ancestor Siya exerted relentless pressure on Lin En, leaving him like a flickering candle about to be snuffed out. However, Ives’s actions stretched this battle, perpetually infusing Lin En with life. Fortunately, the residual power of Siya had been diminished across the temporal river, and the peculiar force of the "Prison of Destiny" didn’t necessitate his demise. Thus, despite what should have been certain death, Lin En was brought back from the brink by Ives’s exhaustive healing. This ensured that Bartleon Manor would witness a sleepless night. Elsewhere, Glostine was far from serene. The emergence of Lin En Bartleon at the Silent Church, first suspect in the serial killings, couldn’t be kept under wraps. Spread by those eager to embellish, the news swiftly engulfed the imperial capital. The dramatic events during the Moonlight Rite had been astounding, drawing the attention of numerous factions, from the court to the Church of Providence, the Revengers, and the military, all eager to uncover what transpired that night. "How can he be brazen enough to show himself?" "The Third Princess, that lunatic—is she covering for a murderer?" "It’s rumored that a forbidden power erupted within the Silent Church that night, even alarming the archbishop of the Church of Providence..." Though specifics were unknown, witnesses saw the gravely injured Ives returning with Lin En to her manor. As the prime suspect in the dismemberment murder cases and for publicly attempting to murder the Fourth Prince Joshua, speculation erupted regarding his connection to the Silent Church incident. The court was incensed, with Saint Roland VI demanding Ives surrender Lin En immediately, under threat of treason. Various factions moved decisively—the Revengers, alongside elite military units, besieged Ives's manor. The tension reached a precipice, though none dared incite the first act of aggression, each wary of the others. By the following noon, under the blazing sun, Saint Roland VI’s Chief Guard rode to the gates of Bartleon Manor. As he unfurled the gilded decree, the parchment shimmered brightly in the sunlight. "By the order of His Majesty, I command the Third Princess Ives to immediately surrender 'The Grafted Lin En Bartleon, or else," the Chief Guard's voice was steady but lethal, "face charges of treason, to be executed without mercy." But as soon as he read the decree aloud, a sacred silver arrow shot through the air, landing precisely three inches before his feet, creating a crater. The Chief Guard stiffened, and those from the Arbiter's and military forces surrounding Bartleon Manor looked up. Affia stood atop the bell tower, holding a sealed artifact longbow, its string still vibrating softly. Unlike her usual innocent demeanor, after Lin En's grievous return, she had become silent and withdrawn, her verdant eyes filled with icy resolve. Clearly, her audacious defiance was under the directive of the Third Princess Ives. This bold act caused everyone present to widen their eyes, keenly aware of its implications. "The princess says..." Affia's voice, though soft, carried clearly across the manor, "if you don't want to die, then scram." Her words echoed like thunder, sending shockwaves through the gathered factions. "Madness... the Third Princess has gone mad!" A military officer overseeing the troops was so startled that he nearly dropped his binoculars. Among the Arbiter's faction and members from the three major churches, high-ranking clergy exchanged shocked glances. They all understood what it meant to openly defy the orders of Saint Roland VI and harbor a murderer who enraged the nation. It was tantamount to withdrawing from the royal succession, giving everyone a reason to strike back at her! Challenging the army was nothing short of rebellion! Outside the manor, the amassed troops were stirred to restlessness, abuzz with unease. Meanwhile, the news of Ives standing against the royal family for Lin En spread like wildfire across Glostine. As night fell, the tumult persisted. Glostine had not been this lively in quite some time. At the highest point of Erohett Palace, Saint Roland VI stood alone. The night breeze flicked at his gold-embroidered robe, his silver beard flowing in the wind, though his gaze never left the besieged manor in the distance. No one knew what thoughts occupied his mind. What was clear was that surrounding the Third Princess Ives and the traitor Lin En was an unprecedented impasse. How to break through it? No one could fathom. Meanwhile, in the manor's underground chamber, Ives gently stroked Lin En’s cheek with her bloodied fingers. The chaos outside seemed irrelevant to her; the only world she cared for was the unconscious boy. Lin En's injuries were far worse than she had imagined. For three days, she poured her heart and soul into healing and sustaining him, using up her stockpile of high-grade potions and restorative seals without regard, yet Lin En showed no signs of waking. "Do you hear it?" Her lips curled into a beautifully tragic smile. "The whole world says I'm mad..." But what does it matter? No matter what, as long as I have you, it's enough. Even if it means standing against the whole world. So, please wake up, my dearest little puppy. Ives nestled her face against Lin En’s chest, listening to his faint heartbeat. Perhaps due to exhaustion and the severity of her previous injuries at the Godmoon Gap, a trace of fatigue and melancholy lingered in her eyes as she finally drifted into slumber beside him. The room fell into unparalleled silence. Time ticked by. At a certain moment, the boy cradled in Ives's arms suddenly opened his eyes. Lin En felt as though he'd woken from a prolonged dream. Over the past three days, conflicts erupted dozens of times at Bartleon Manor’s borders between various factions and Ives’s subordinates. Fortunately, both sides exercised restraint, keeping the clashes to minor skirmishes. Even so, in the dawn’s faint light, the once-emerald lawn at the manor’s entrance now lay ruined, blood soaking every inch, transforming the meticulously groomed aristocratic ground into a ghastly crimson mire. Dew mixed with blood congealed into dark red droplets on the grass blades, while a raven perched on a bloodstained statue, its beak still carrying shreds of unknown flesh. Morris and Affia were bloodlusted. Even Rhine Augusta, previously Lin En’s prank target and now staunch foe, joined Grea at the forefront of battle, fighting fiercely. Wounded on his right arm, he bore no semblance to a noble scion, appearing haggard and fierce. Few remained unscathed after days of vicious battles. From the manor’s highest point, Morris looked down, and the scene defied description. The fertile grass had transformed into a blood swamp, preserved footprints marking paths of death—deep impressions of military boots, light traces of barefoot flee, and long drag marks left by wounded being moved. These tracks formed crimson trails to death. After the afternoon skirmish subsided, a rare calm settled—those surrounding the manor restrained from launching another assault. Until the last sliver of sunlight vanished beyond the horizon, draping the entire lawn in an unsettling dark red hue. Everyone entangled in the turmoil knew it would inevitably be another sleepless night. As night cloaked the landscape, the earth began to tremble. Initially, the tremor was subtle, like distant thunder, but gradually it intensified until the brass wind chimes on the manor towers swayed uncontrollably, sounding shrill alarms. "They’re finally coming." Morris stood atop the bell tower, his eyes reflecting the approaching black line on the horizon. It was a torrent of thousands of cavalry, their hooves beating a sandstorm through the night. When the first cavalry phalanx halted 300 yards from the manor, the nearby oak forest quaked ominously. The black-armored heavy cavalry glimmered coldly in the morning light, the gilded crest of Saint Roland adorning their breastplates piercing the eyes. "It’s the Iron Thorn Legion," Affia appeared beside Morris in a flicker, her tone solemn. "This was the primary force suppressing the northern rebellion—His Majesty even called them here." A moment later, Grea appeared behind them, looking conflicted. He had not expected his Lord to dare such measures, knowing the Augusta family would face unprecedented repercussions. No one could see a way out... unless. Perhaps there was still a chance. If Lin En were here, he would undoubtedly uncover the single path to survival from such a dire predicament. As he had countless times before. Regrettably, Lin En's condition remained uncertain, and Grea, as his friend, had wanted to inquire countless times during the past days but was continually blocked by Ives's people. Gazing at the ruthless martial legion, Grea's complexion turned deathly pale. Everyone knew the final confrontation was nearly upon them. Morris stood by the window, observing the military’s fortification efforts, whispering, "They’re setting up trebuchets...and arcane cannons..." It seemed Saint Roland VI was prepared for decisive action. Compounding their troubles was Ives, who, after remaining awake for days due to severe injury and the relentless task of purging Lin En's causal punishment, had succumbed to sleep. The manor descended into chaos, with no one certain about their next move. Without the leadership of Ives, a sixth-tier demigod, they recognized their inability to withstand an imperial army onslaught for even half an hour. In mere minutes, regardless of so-called extraordinary powers, this manor would be trampled by the cavalry. When that time comes, no one here would survive. Shadow energy swirled around Morris, Affia licking her sharp claws, Grea gripped his blood-stained sword, and Milanie calmly sorted her satchel, fastening a final vial of deadly toxin to her waist... Even Rhine didn’t flee, rotating the family signet ring inward, his expression resolute: "The Augusta family never knows betrayal, only allegiance...but in this fight, I act solely on my behalf." It was clear that each of them had resolved to face death head-on. They looked at each other, sharing a smile that words could scarcely capture. Perhaps daily tensions lingered among them, dividing into different factions in their service to the princess. Yet, even now, not one had fled the battlefield, embodying loyalty to the very end. In the distant dark, the myriad magic cannons, infused with extraordinary power, began to blaze with dazzling light. With but a command, they could unleash a thunderous assault, turning the manor into a blazing inferno. Were someone else here, they'd undoubtedly recognize that this inescapable scenario was a manifestation of the world's will, a form of punishment. Those fated to perish in the Soren Mountains would once more be consumed by history's correction, defying fate is futile. At least, that should have been the way of things. "Do any of you feel that it's suddenly gotten much quieter outside?" In the oppressive silence, Grea suddenly spoke. The group paused momentarily, then, together, noticed the anomaly. For reasons unknown, where clamor once reigned, outside the manor had fallen into an abrupt hush, as if the once-noisy world returned to stillness. Morris was the first to glance out the window, the sight that met his gaze struck his heart with a powerful shock. His bloodshot eyes fixated outside, his bandaged hand instinctively gripping the window frame, oblivious to splinters embedding into his flesh. Next came Affia, Milanie, and the other women, standing rooted to the spot as if struck by lightning. Gradually, tears welled up in their eyes, hands covering their mouths as muffled sobs escaped. Grea found himself suppressing the wild pounding of his heart, his fist clenched fiercely in the air. I knew it... I damn well knew it! Faster than death's advance was, undoubtedly, a miracle! It had to be that miracle called Lin En Bartleon! Outside the manor, amid the fog-laden battlefield, a tall figure strode with composure towards the awaiting army.