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

The roots of the Tree of Sacred Spirits glimmered with a soft golden fluorescence under the moonlight. Xia Asorant kneeled on one knee at the top of the tree crown, his God Ancestor form entangled by countless translucent threads of fate. These threads, inscribed with golden runes, attempted to sew him into the peculiar light orb at the trunk's center. Each time he struggled, a crack formed on his left shoulder, the price of the “Prisoner of Fate.” "An interesting fellow indeed." God Ancestor Shea sneered at the void. In the next instant, pale flames ignited without warning at his fingertips, burning away the fate threads entwining him in an instant. Suddenly, a vague sense of déjà vu flickered in his mind about the infinite mark hovering over Lynn at the time, yet no matter how much he tried to recall, the pertinent fragments of memory eluded him. Having lived for tens of thousands of years, Shea knew that over such long stretches of time, many memories inevitably faded with the passage of time. He was keenly aware that despite having crossed the river of time by hundreds of millennia, which had significantly weakened his powers, he remained unmatched in the current world's temporal dimension. To his astonishment, a young boy of only the second tier had briefly possessed the power to rival him. Reflecting on his own extraordinary journey, God Ancestor Shea, whose emotions had long since worn thin across the temporal spectrum, found himself unusually irked. When he had been at the second tier, he had never wielded abilities like Lynn's. Though it was apparent that Lynn had borrowed external power, the source of such power was baffling even to Shea. The thought of someone existing in the same era as his former self, yet wielding mightier means, was almost unacceptable. It was the pride of a God Ancestor. Had he not crossed the river of time spanning ten thousand years, reaching the limits of his operational time, he would have certainly sought to uncover the secrets that Lynn harbored. But now, time was scarce. No matter how powerful one becomes, fighting against time is an arduous affair. Thus, in the little time remaining, Shea had something extremely important to accomplish. As the world's protagonist, throughout the original novel, the God Ancestor Shea never once consummated with the elder princess, Hilllina. Although for a deity, sex and love were but ephemeral consumables, Shea's heart held an unfulfilled yearning. As an eternal deity, he shouldn't care about mortal emotions, yet every time he recalled Hilllina's clear eyes—known as the most beautiful woman in the Saint Roland Empire—his so-called divinity subtly trembled. Especially after having experienced Tia's betrayal, Shea grew exceedingly cautious. As the mightiest of gods, he vaguely sensed a disharmony with destiny, considering Lynn's peculiar fate-based methods in their earlier skirmish, which compelled him to take notice. With that in mind, Shea's form gradually faded into the void. In fact, as God Ancestor Shea's thoughts lingered on Hilllina, she was already on her way to the Tree of Sacred Spirits. At that moment, the spire of the Eldhocht Palace flickered amidst the tree crown’s golden light, with the ancient tree pulsating like a heart. Hilllina's fingers unconsciously traced the necklace bestowed by her grandfather, its cool gemstone resonating bizarrely with the sacred tree. In her twenty years of memory, the Tree of Sacred Spirits had never exhibited such an anomaly. The words echoed in her mind: "When the golden pillar of light pierces the sky, the savior hero will be born!" She suddenly recalled the corresponding content in "The Chronicles of Sino." It was her most beloved book. She adored the intrigue and wars, the heroes and iron-clad valor, the beauties and tenderness therein. This imperial princess, raised amidst court intrigues, still harbored a few pure fantasies, and now she felt like a princess saved by the hero in her tale, her heart racing. She instinctively smoothed the creases in her dress, as if she were about to meet the protagonist from the knight novels hidden beneath her pillow. The golden halo of the Tree of Sacred Spirits swayed in the night breeze, lending Hilllina's platinum hair a dreamy sheen. As she passed through the final tree shadow, the scene before her took her breath away—a golden-haired youth stood tall, moonlight outlining his handsome contours, his azure eyes glimmering with a tenderness she had never witnessed. For some reason, Hilllina's heart pounded wildly, overwhelmed by inexpressible emotions. The person before her seemed both familiar and strange at once, leaving her momentarily speechless. "Your Highness, long time no see." The gentle voice of God Ancestor Shea reached her, and Hilllina was taken aback. Though the youth before her appeared so familiar, she couldn't shake the vaguest sense of unfamiliarity. As he walked toward her, each step made the ground’s lights and shadows quiver. Hilllina's gaze fixed upon him, while her usual insight and rationality—the kind that could see through hearts—both curiously went offline, her breath slightly hastening. She wanted to halt the presumptuous behavior, but the words stuck in her throat, refusing to come forth. Ultimately, women are emotional creatures. What's more, she held considerable affection for this subordinate, who once saved her life and kept her company day by day. And at this moment, these affections coincided with certain speculations in her heart, under the illuminating splendor of the Tree of Sacred Spirits, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality. Looking at the golden-haired youth reflected against the towering tree, memories of the ancient prophecy returned, and speculation edged closer to reality. The youth before her, her faithful subordinate, Xia Asorant, was, in fact, the prophesied savior hero. But... how could this be? Just as Hilllina remained enmeshed in shock and confusion, the youth performed an unexpected act she could never have imagined. "For a hundred thousand years, I have awaited this moment." He kneeled on one knee before the woman. Simultaneously, the branches and leaves of the Sacred Tree burst forth with countless golden light points, cascading downward like shattered stellar rivers. Each particle etched delicate streaks of light in the night, forming a translucent golden veil that enveloped the two in this dreamlike starry rain. The sight left Hilllina frozen in place, such scenes she had only read in novels, reserved for the male and female protagonists alone. God Ancestor Shea lived up to his role as the original novel's dashing main character, adeptly accustomed to such situations. Raising his right hand, a ring embedded with a crimson gemstone floated quietly in his palm, entwined with intricate golden strings, exuding a mysterious luminescence under the moonlight. "Are you mad?!" Realizing the youth’s actions, Hilllina's mind momentarily went blank. Soon after, an unusual blush crept up her cheeks, spreading faintly to the back of her ears. In her more than twenty years, as a member of the royal family adhering strictly to palace decorum, she'd had little interaction, let alone romance, with males her age. Thus, such an abrupt maneuver caught her off guard. Their relationship had never surpassed that of superior and subordinate, perhaps possessing some ambiguity, far from reaching any romantic pinnacle. Yet inexplicably, Hilllina's heart now felt a tremor, as if something deep within her consciousness had begun to blossom. Reflecting on it, wasn't this precisely the perfect love tale between a knight and princess she had always yearned for? Hilllina's emotions were in utter disarray. She couldn't discern what her heart genuinely desired, subconsciously gripping her slender fingers. Witnessing Hilllina's reaction, God Ancestor Shea wasn't surprised. Considering the timeline, their relationship hadn't advanced much. Of course, that hardly posed an obstacle for him. The golden gleam in God Ancestor Shea's eyes flickered, and the Sacred Tree beside him radiated an awe-inspiring brilliance. Countless starlights surged like a tide into Hilllina's consciousness, unleashing a deluge of fragmented memories from the remote future—on one stormy night, God Ancestor Shea sheltered her with his cloak, rain trickling from his golden hair onto her trembling eyelashes; on a battlefield littered with deities' corpses, his blood-stained fingers gently brushed her blood-smeared hair, against a backdrop of blazing divine remains... And those tender whispers buried deep in her memories surged like a tide, relentlessly shaking Hilllina's understanding. "By the Tree of Sacred Spirits and the blood of the gods, I swear," Xia lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Hilllina, "will you be my bride?" Hearing these words, Hilllina's body trembled slightly. When she regained her senses, she found her left hand had, at some point, gently risen, reaching towards the golden-haired youth. At this moment, the ring in God Ancestor Shea's palm suddenly radiated a dazzling brilliance. Translucent petals unfurled slowly under the moonlight, each reflecting a starlit aura, resonating with the faint silver-white mark near Hilllina's collarbone. The gentle glow swept over her heart like a spring breeze, stirring ripples within her, as if myriad starlights pulsed through her veins, culminating in a soft sigh at her heart. That ring with the blood-red gemstone fit snugly onto Hilllina's left ring finger. According to the traditions of the Saint Roland Empire, when a woman wore a ring on her left ring finger, it meant she had accepted a proposal. With ease, God Ancestor Shea escalated the atmosphere to its peak, reaching the zenith of ambiguity between them. Naturally, God Ancestor Shea rose to his feet, intending to embrace Hilllina, who had become his fiancée. But before he could act, a hint of anger flickered in his eyes, which then dimmed. Just as everything was about to reach its culmination, the cursed time limit for his descent arrived. As the last thread of consciousness slowly detached from this form, God Ancestor Shea returned to his original time, ten thousand years hence. The glow of the Tree of Sacred Spirits gradually faded, and the youth's outstretched arm froze in mid-air. The divine brilliance retreated like a tide, leaving Shea's body to uncontrollably topple forward, crashing heavily onto the petal-strewn ground. Hilllina, still processing the sudden turn of events, continued to gaze at the ring on her finger, the rosy glow shimmering in her eyes. The unfamiliar fluttering she had never felt before spread across her chest, the tips of her ears tinged as if brushed by the evening's twilight. She remembered vividly the sensation of warmth streaming through her when the ring slid onto her ring finger, an indescribable feeling. After some time, Hilllina slowly calmed down, taking a deep breath to steady her racing heart. Looking at Shea lying motionless on the ground, it was indeed hard to reconcile this image with the Shea from moments before. However, through the future memory fragments transmitted by God Ancestor Shea, Hilllina gradually came to understand certain things. She also realized that what had transpired was not a mere dream but reality. Gently rubbing the ring on her left hand, a hint of joy and excitement surfaced in Hilllina's eyes. Though the youth now lay somewhat pitiful on the ground, his earlier posture of kneeling had left a deep imprint on her heart. On the other hand, the once almighty Shea was now too weak to lift a single finger. This was the residual effect of being possessed by a god across the river of time. He regaining control over his body and possessing all the memories of the evening's occurrences. While it was regrettable that he couldn't successfully embrace Hilllina, seeing the blush on her face and the ring symbolizing a close bond on her finger dispelled the gloom instigated by Tia's betrayal. After all, Tia was merely the saintess of the Silent Church. In contrast, Hilllina was the eldest princess of the Saint Roland Empire, destined to ascend the throne with his support. In Shea’s eyes, Hilllina was superior to Tia in every regard. Moreover, just before God Ancestor Shea vacated his body, he revealed a dark secret that left Shea utterly astounded. The ring given to Hilllina held hidden significance. A twin ring glimmered dimly on Shea's long ring finger. These rings, bound by divine blood and time itself, allowed them to sense each other’s emotions across time and space. Should Hilllina's affection for Shea waver in the slightest, the ring on Shea's finger would gradually dim. If she ever broke her vow and loved another man, Shea's ring would disintegrate into dust, taking with it the sealed divine power. In essence, the ring served as a monitoring device, constantly surveilling Hilllina's feelings toward him. After Tia’s precedent, God Ancestor Shea refused to repeat the past mistakes. In some ways, it wasn’t genuine affection for Hilllina, but more a surge of possessiveness. At the altar, with her lashes lightly fluttering, Tia felt the silvery moonlight coursing along the gilded patterns, pooling within her body. These were remnants of the silver power from the Goddess of the Moon, Beatrice, aiding her in repairing her broken form. The next moment, her consciousness began to awaken. Simultaneously, the magic array embedded in the cathedral's dome rippled like invisible hands shredding silver foil, sending specks of light trickling onto her pale cheeks. In seconds, Tia realized where she was. This was the Moonlight Altar within the Silent Church, a place she rarely trod even as the maiden of the church. She lay on a moonstone-crafted bed, where crystalline clusters were like solidified galaxies, each facet refracting distorted moonlight. Surrounding her were numerous figures standing densely packed. On the outer perimeter were knights clad in silver armor from the Inquisition, and closer were familiar faces in white clerical robes. One glance confirmed that these were all high-ranking members of the Silent Church. Such a scene Tia had never witnessed as saintess, and Sister Gretel stood beside the church elites, all their eyes converged on her, injecting a sense of panic. Though awaken, she remained in a dire condition, unaware of how long she had slept. What exactly happened? In the next instant, dizziness overtook her, prompting Tia to clutch her forehead as a flood of memory fragments surged forth. The Moonlit Codex, Beatrice, a demonic youth, chaos, guardianship... The final memory paused on a battered Lynn. Gradually, she recollected everything that transpired that night. A fragile heart pounded violently within her. She was certain her past self, descended from ten millennia in the future as the Goddess of the Moon, Tia, had entirely vanished now, leaving only a vestige of Beatrice's divinity coursing through her. With her consciousness regained, she pondered over the epic battle involving God Ancestor Shea, the witch, and Lynn, leaving the outcome unknown to her, for mere waves from the battle had rendered her unconscious. Contemplating this, her heart missed a beat, instinctively seeking her beloved. Even as a god’s host, battling mere ripples could have easily killed her on the spot. That guy, being so fragile, does it mean... Frenzied, Tia clambered to her feet, overwhelmed with intense sorrow, suppressing her breath and ignoring the onlookers. Unexpectedly, this small act astonished everyone present. "Your Highness, you..." A middle-aged man at the forefront, draped in ceremonial robes, stern and imposingly authoritative, grasped his moon angel-embellished scepter tightly, hesitating to speak. His name was Stel, the Arch-Abbot of the Glossatin Church District, wielding more power across the Silent Church than anyone except the moon goddess. Moreover, he was one of the rare males in the church. Rumors claimed he bore half-elven lineage, evident from his elongated, pointed ears. Perhaps that’s why the aesthetic-idolizing deity Beatrice chose him as the pontiff. Witnessing Stel's movement, Sister Gretel took two steps forward, her aging eyes fixed sharply on Tia, filled with intricate emotions. In a certain sense, the young woman before them had recently been chosen by her as a vessel for Her Lady the Goddess. Yet now, a complete reversal seemed to have occurred. On the other side, Tia quickly realized the situation upon noticing the expressions of those present. All eyes were filled with hesitation and reverence towards her, as if trying to confirm a certain suspicion in their hearts. The reason was simple. The Moonlight Codex was a ritual initiated by the corrupted Beatrice to seize Tia’s body. However, since no church member had witnessed it, nobody knew whether the ritual had succeeded, nor did they know if the Moon Goddess Beatrice had indeed supplanted the former saintess Tia. This uncertainty weighed on everyone in the church. Yet, as devout followers of the Moon Goddess, including Archbishop Stel, none dared inquire further at this moment, for doing so would be seen as blasphemous and offensive to the deity. Realizing this, Tia drew a deep breath. Perhaps freed from the previous fate of death, or perhaps the events of that night had accelerated her growth—whatever the reason, faced with this scenario, she didn’t exhibit any trace of panic or vulnerability as she once might have. As the church’s saintess, her comprehension of divine scriptures surpassed ninety percent of the cardinals. Those arcane texts were as transparent as crystal to her. Thus, in terms of divine phenomena and historical understanding, Tia wasn’t inferior to Archbishop Stel in some respects. However, she knew that what happened with the gods was beyond the imagination of these people. The notion of slaying a god seemed too absurd. Even she, if not a firsthand witness, wouldn’t believe such a thing possible. Thus, all the high-ranking church officials present, including Sister Gretel and the Archbishop, assumed that with the Moon Goddess Beatrice's might and position, despite any minor disruptions in the process, she had ultimately succeeded in taking over Tia’s body. As devout loyalists of the Moon Goddess, they held unfaltering belief in Her supreme power. While ordinary followers speculated on the significance of the moon's changes that night, these devout believers considered themselves enlightened, viewing it as a sacred miracle of the Moon Goddess, worthy of divine reverence. There was no reason for them to think the Moon Goddess could fail. From their perspective, the girl before them had ceased to be the Silent Saintess Tia, and had become the embodiment of the Moon Goddess whom they reverently worshiped. No one truly knew what had taken place that night. No one at all. Realizing this, Tia's anxious heart settled halfway. She understood quite well what she needed to do in her current situation. Not merely to preserve herself, but mainly to see Lynn as soon as possible. Lynn hadn't broken free from being wanted, and she herself was weak, not even at the fourth tier. Even if she were a demi-god at the sixth tier plus her identity as the Silent Saintess, it would be challenging to aid Lynn in the imminent turmoils planned by strong adversaries. For the second time in her life, Tia felt her own insignificance. The first time, of course, was at the Moon Rift. She must acquire greater power, only then can she help him! Such a thought emerged abruptly in her mind. Tia wasn't foolish; she naturally perceived that the current situation wasn't merely a trial but also an unprecedented opportunity for her. An opportunity to... wield control over the Silent Church. With that in mind, Tia rose from the moonstone altar and instantly amplified her performance. The fear and confusion previously on her face vanished, replaced by an aura of high, cold majesty and authority. What she needed to do was simple. She had to impersonate Beatrice, pretend that she had been overtaken, and face the church’s leaders in the guise of a deity. Only by doing so could she gain direct or indirect control over the Silent Church, granting her a voice potent enough to influence the shifting tides of the imperial capital’s deceitful currents. The more unequivocally authoritative she appeared now, the more she cemented her identity. At this moment, dawn broke, a sliver of morning light piercing the stained glass, casting a holy aura upon Tia's face. She lightly tiptoed, stepping towards the altar, bathed in the pure, bright moonlight. Archbishop Stel displayed utmost devotion, bowing deeply the instant Tia stepped off the altar, and the core members of the Silent Church immediately followed suit. Although the Silent Church, alongside the Church of Providence and the Church of Plenty, was among the three great churches of the Saint Roland Empire, it had been struggling in recent years, with its follower count growing sluggishly, continually encroached upon by the other two churches. As Archbishop, Stel faced immense pressure. Despite his efforts at implementing countermeasures, progress remained limited. Yet now, with the goddess' descent, those previously insurmountable obstacles would surely vanish. It was a liberating sensation for Stel, beyond words! "Praise the Goddess!" Stel raised his arms, acknowledging the great presence before them, setting the tone for the entire affair. He lifted the scepter adorned with the twelve-winged angel, and the holy light at its tip burst forth, projecting a sacred moonlight totem onto the cathedral's dome. Outside the cathedral, countless followers kneeling in anticipation of receiving divine guidance also began singing hymns in exaltation. The boundless strength of faith converged into a silver thread, channeling its entirety into Tia’s body. She perceptibly felt her power rising at an astonishing pace. This was the power left within her by Beatrice. Tia was astounded. However, recalling that her future self would become the second generation Moon Goddess, she fell silent. Regardless of her current inner turmoil, the performance must go on. And judging by the results, she had already captivated all the church’s high-ranking officials with her performance. ...Except one. Sister Gretel! Though already bowing humbly with those around her, a sliver of doubt lingered in her gaze. Within the Silent Church, no one understood Tia better than Sister Gretel, having raised her since she was a child. Her suspicions lingered. For, upon awakening, one’s expression is a subconscious reaction, unable to be feigned. And Tia's strange demeanor upon waking remained vivid in Gretel's mind. After much consideration, drove by her loyalty to the Moon Goddess, she decided to step forward and voice an untimely comment. "Your Ladyship, your aura seems somewhat..." Weak. She couldn't bring herself to utter such blasphemous words. Yet the statement alone was enough to offend the goddess. Caught up in excitement, Archbishop Stel hadn’t anticipated Gretel’s audacity, turning angrily toward the aged nun. What are you doing?! What do you intend?! Just as Archbishop Stel prepared to reprimand Gretel for daring to challenge the goddess' majesty, Tia acted first. She had long noticed the peculiarity in Sister Gretel's behavior and made preparations accordingly. In the past, living under Sister Gretel's shadow, she would never have entertained thoughts of defying her. But now, with her beloved’s safety above all else, those former psychological shadows became insignificant. In the next moment, Tia raised her hand gently, and the entire cathedral was swept by a continuous surge of pure moon essence, her movements infused with divine energy. In an instant, a rift of starlight split the cathedral's dome as moonlight materialized around Tia, emitting a stunning white halo. This was the residual power of Beatrice, manifested by Tia. The loftier in stature an entity, the better they could sense its vast power and become humbler before it. Feeling the divine aura, Stel trembled, an expression of awe spreading across his face as he lowered his head further. Sister Gretel’s expression froze in place. The next moment, moonlight cascaded down, coalescing into words at her feet: "The humble shall gain eternity!" This scene, akin to a divine miracle, left everyone present in awe, driving them all to prostrate themselves on the ground, fervently praying to the great Moon Goddess, Beatrice. Archbishop Stel, in particular, felt an urgent desire to silence Sister Gretel forever for her impetuosity. "Oh, great Goddess!" Sister Gretel deeply regretted her reckless behavior, her face blanching instantly, "I have neither desecrated nor offended you. Please forgive the sins of your devout follower..." At this moment, everyone bowed in fear and reverence, not daring to meet the deity's gaze directly. Seeing this, Tia chose not to press further, understanding that she was merely acting and did not possess the full power of a deity. It was crucial to exercise restraint here. "Praised be the Goddess!" "Eternal is the Silence!" "Glory be to the Lunar Throne!" Archbishop Stel, his hands raised high, continuously paid homage to Tia, his expression one of fervent devoutness. Simultaneously, the first rays of sunlight pierced the blood-red clouds, bathing all of Glossatin. Yet, as they touched the cathedral's dome, they transformed into a cascade of silver moonlight, pouring down to illuminate the central statue of the Moon Goddess. "When moonlight pierces the statue, and lies become holy words, the true war only just begins..." Listening to countless followers outside the cathedral singing hymns, Stel stood with a damaged copy of the "Silent Canon". His face was calm and composed. Now, she had essentially seized control of the massive entity that was the Silent Church, and the beam piercing the Moon Rift would thread her web of power and strategy. At the same time, back in the Bartleon Manor: "Brother..." Eleanor knelt on the carpet by the bed, her tears soaking her collar. She clung tightly to Lynn's coat, as if afraid that letting go would cause him to vanish again. The young man lay on the bed, his body stained with blood, his face pallid, utterly motionless, as if asleep in death. His body was riddled with deep, bone-revealing wounds, and as they healed, they were scorched anew by an invisible force, leaving behind ghastly traces. No one should have been able to recover from such grievous injuries. Had it not been for the princess sustaining Lynn’s last breath with her power, he might have perished at the Moon Rift. Previously, Lynn had endured severe injuries during the Soren Mountains incident, but even then, he had not been in as dire a state as he was now. "How could this happen..." Afia's eyes were brimming with tears, her hands instinctively clenched. Morris stood silently by, his gaze complicated. He had never seen Lynn so frail; even when facing level 0 seal artifacts, the youth maintained a nonchalant grin as if everything were under control. Now, he appeared like an empty shell, hollowed of its soul. Amidst the chaos, only Ivyst never released her hold on Lynn’s hand. Her luxurious gown soaked with blood, dark red stains bloomed like gruesome flowers along her hem. "Don't..." Her voice trembled with a plea, her shattered figure a mere shadow of herself. Ivyst clutched Lynn against her with alabaster fingers, determined to bind the man who vanished of his own accord into her very core. She appeared a lost girl, terrified her cherished love would slip beyond her reach in the next instant. Lynn's barely perceptible breaths brushed past her neck, awakening Ivyst to the silent tears already soaking his shoulder. The healing light flickered unsteadily in her palm. Already in poor health, her face grew even paler as she healed Lynn. Yet, Ivyst remained obstinate, unwilling to let go. Why must she always be left alone... Her heart felt barren with longing. After their parting in the Soren Mountains, she had thought she would never meet him again, yet here he was, recklessly hurting her once more. Ivyst gazed despondently at Lynn's colorless lips, trembling fingers tracing the ghastly wound on his chest. This scar was deeper than any before, rimmed with ominous pale flames. Even dousing it with the treasured Moon Elixir elicited an unsettling sizzle. Memories flashed vividly and sharply in her mind. The weakest among them at the Moonlight Codex, yet he unhesitatingly shielded those he cherished. Ivyst clenched her slender fingers tightly, nails digging into her palms, warmth trickling down, indistinguishably mixed with Lynn’s blood or her own. "Leave, all of you." When Lynn's body grew colder, Ivyst abruptly addressed everyone present. Eleanor gazed tearfully at the woman before her, wanting to speak, but ultimately, supported by Afia, she left the room. Once everyone had departed, she stared at the unconscious Lynn, tenderly caressing his pale cheek, as a lover might. "Rest assured, Master will not let you die." Her whispers echoed in the room, dissolving gently into the air. After an unknown passage of time, Ivyst leaned down, her smooth forehead pressed against Lynn's, her lips whispering an arcane incantation. The next moment, a crimson glow emanated around Ivyst, her blood dripping into Lynn’s mouth, while her complexion visibly ashened. This was a life transfer technique, verging on the taboo, yet Ivyst employed it without hesitation when all paths closed off. Each drop of blood drained her parched vitality, though she seemed impervious to the agony, only gripping Lynn tighter. Her fingertips trembled, heart clutched by an unseen force. Yet, over time, a faint flush emerged on Lynn's once pale face. A battle raged within him. The causal punishment of the "Prisoner of Fate" and Shea's supreme power ceaselessly pressed upon Lynn, reducing him to a wavering candle in the wind. Yet, Ivyst's actions extended the fight, continuously fueling him with life. Fortunately, God Ancestor Shea’s lingering power was weakened by the temporal torrent, and the strange power of the "Prisoner of Fate" was not intended to doom him. Thus, what should have been a fatal end for Lynn was diverted through Ivyst's exhaustive healing, pulling him back from the brink. Tonight, the Bartleon Manor was destined for a sleepless night. Meanwhile, Glossatin was far from as peaceful as it seemed. The fact that Lynn Bartleon, the prime suspect in the serial killer cases, appeared at the Silent Church couldn't be concealed. Reports spread rapidly throughout the imperial capital, fueled by those with vested interests. Due to the astonishing incidents during the Moonlight Codex, numerous forces, including the court, the Church of Providence, the Punishers, and the military, turned their gaze to the Bartleon Manor, eager to discern what truly transpired that night. "He dared to show his face so openly!" "Is the Third Princess insane to harbor a murderer!" "It is said the Silent Church was enveloped by forbidden power that night, even startling the Church of Providence’s archbishop..." While the precise details remained unknown, witnesses saw Ivyst return to her manor with a grievously injured Lynn. As the primary suspect in the grafted body serial killings and for publicly attempting to murder the Fourth Prince Joshua, speculation ran rife that he was connected to the tumult within the Silent Church. In response, the court was enraged, with Saint Roland VI demanding Ivyst surrender Lynn immediately, threatening treason charges. Other factions sprang into action, the Punisher organization and military mobilizing elite forces to surround Ivyst's manor. A tense situation unfolded, with no one daring to act as the first aggressor, everyone cautious. The next day, beneath the noonday sun, Saint Roland VI’s chief palace attendant rode to Bartleon Manor’s gates. As he unfurled the gilded edict, the parchment gleamed blindingly under the sunlight. "By the command of His Majesty, Third Princess Ivyst is ordered to immediately surrender ‘the Grafted,’ Lynn Bartleon, or…” The captain of the guard's voice was calm yet filled with menace, “be judged as a traitor and executed without mercy." Yet, as he finished reading the contents of the parchment, a silver-bladed holy arrow suddenly cut through the air, embedding itself precisely three inches before the captain’s feet, creating a deep crater. The captain of the palace guards froze, alongside the Punishers and military personnel gathered at the gates of Bartleon Manor, all looking up. Afia stood atop the bell tower, holding a longbow artifact, its strings still trembling. Different from her previous innocence, since Lynn's grievous return, she had become silent and withdrawn, her emerald green eyes now brimming with icy intent. Clearly, faced with the envoy from the court, she acted under the explicit orders of Third Princess Ivyst to dare such a bold and defiant gesture. This action caused every onlooker's eyes to narrow, fully aware of its implications. "The Princess said…” Afia spoke softly, yet her words echoed across the entire manor, “if you don’t want to die, then get far away.” Like a bolt of lightning, her words exploded among the various forces watching. "Crazy... the Third Princess has gone mad!" A military officer responsible for command gasped, nearly dropping his binoculars. Among the members sent by the Punishers and the three churches, high-ranking clerics exchanged looks of shock. They understood well the gravity of defying Saint Roland VI’s orders, openly harboring a nationally enraging murderer meant. It not only equaled forfeiting the royal election but also gave everyone reason to strike against her! Battling the army, it spelled rebellion! Outside the manor, the densely packed military forces stirred, restless and unsettled. Meanwhile, the news of Ivyst openly opposing the royal family for Lynn spread like wildfire throughout all of Glossatin. Even as night descended, the unrest continued to simmer. Glossatin hadn’t been so lively in ages. Atop the highest spire of Eldhocht Palace, Saint Roland VI stood alone, the night wind ruffling his golden robe, his white beard blowing gently in the breeze, yet his gaze never wavered from the besieged manor in the distance. No one knew what was on his mind at that moment. It was only known that the situation surrounding Third Princess Ivyst and the traitor Lynn was a dead end unlike any before. How to break this deadlock? No one could fathom it. At the same time, in the manor's underground chamber, Ivyst gently caressed Lynn's cheek with her bloodstained fingers. The chaos outside seemed inconsequential to her; her world was reduced to this comatose youth. Lynn's injuries this time were far beyond what she had envisaged; for three days, she poured her heart and soul into healing him, using all high-grade pharmaceuticals and recovery artifacts without regard. Yet, Lynn showed no signs of awakening. "Did you hear?" she smiled with devastating beauty, though it seemed forlorn, "The whole world calls me crazy..." But what of it? No matter what, as long as I have you, it is enough. Even if the end means opposing the world. So, wake up soon, Master’s most beloved puppy. Ivyst nestled her face against his chest, listening to his faint heartbeat. Perhaps due to overexertion, compounded by her severe wounds from the Moon Rift, she finally succumbed to exhaustion, falling asleep beside the youth. The room plunged into unprecedented silence. Time passed slowly. At some moment, the boy cradled in Ivyst’s arms slowly opened his eyes. Lynn felt as though he had awakened from an impossibly long dream. During those three days, near-continuous skirmishes erupted between the various forces surrounding Bartleon Manor and Ivyst's subordinates, both sides exercising restraint to keep each clash limited in scale. Yet despite this, as dawn broke, the once lush lawn in front of the manor was stained red with blood, replaced with a ghastly crimson swamp. Dew mixed with blood formed dark crimson droplets on the grass, and a lone crow alighted on a bloodstained statue, its beak smeared with bits of unknown flesh. Morris, Afia, and the others fought fiercely. Even Rhine Augusta, who previously held a grudge against Lynn for his pranks, charged bravely alongside Greya, his right arm wounded, looking nothing like a noble young master, but both disheveled and fierce. After days of fierce battle, few remained unscathed; Morris stood atop the manor, overlooking the scene, finding it beyond words. The previously lush grass was now a bloody mire, with tracks preserved—deep military boot prints, barefoot fleeing imprints, and blood trails from dragging the injured. These imprints formed paths leading to death. After the afternoon skirmish, a rare calm ensued, with no further assaults from the forces besieging the manor. Until the last rays of sun vanished beyond the horizon, the entire lawn fell under an eerie dark red hue. Those embroiled in the events knew well that another sleepless night awaited. As night enveloped the land, the earth began to tremble. At first a slight quiver, like distant thunder, growing more violent over time until the brass bell in the tower swayed wildly, sounding an ear-piercing alarm. "They’ve finally come," Morris stood atop the bell tower, eyes reflecting the advancing dark line at the horizon. It was a torrent of thousands of cavalry, the dust whipped up by their hooves forming a moving sandstorm in the night. When the first cavalry formation halted three hundred yards from the manor, the surrounding oak forest shivered. The armored cavalry's black armor gleamed coldly in the morning light, their breastplates adorned with the golden Saint Roland emblem that burned the eyes. "It’s the Iron Thorn Legion," Afia appeared beside Morris with a flicker, her voice grim, "The main force that suppressed the Northern Rebellion, I didn’t expect His Majesty to deploy them." Moments later, Greya appeared behind the group with a complex expression. Never had he thought that his princess would dare such extremes, implicating even the Augusta family. No one saw any hope of breaking the deadlock... or perhaps, there was still a chance. If Lynn were here, he would surely find a way out of this predicament. Just as he had countless times before. Sadly, with his life uncertain now, as his friend, Greya had tried countless times to inquire, but Ivyst’s people blocked him each time. Staring at the fearsome and steely legion, Greya’s face turned pallid. Everyone knew the final moment was upon them. Morris stood by the window, observing the army constructing siege engines, whispering, "They’re setting up trebuchets... and magical cannons..." It appeared Saint Roland VI was serious. Worse yet, Ivyst, who hadn't rested for days, succumbed to her wounds and fatigue from tirelessly cleansing Lynn’s body of the causal punishment, falling into a deep sleep. Chaos reigned in the manor; without Ivyst, the sixth-tier demigod to lead them, they knew they could not withstand an hour under the imperial assault. Minutes would suffice for the cavalry to flatten the manor, extraordinary powers notwithstanding. And then, survival would be improbable for anyone here. Morris suffused with shadow energy, Afia licking her sharp claws, Greya gripping his bloodied sword, while Mirany calmly arranged her suitcase, affixing the last vial of lethal poison to her belt... Even Rhine didn’t flee, rotating the family crest ring toward his palm, his expression grave: "The Augusta family has never betrayed allies... But this time, I represent only myself." It was clear that everyone was prepared to face death. As they exchanged glances, an indescribable smile crept onto their faces. Perhaps they had their differences, divided into factions while pledging allegiance to the princess. Yet even now, no one chose to flee, remaining steadfast in their loyalty until the final moment. In the distant darkness, countless magical cannons, charged with extraordinary power, radiated a dazzling light. With a single command, they could unleash a thunderous assault from above, reducing the entire manor to a sea of flames. If someone were here, they would surely realize that this inevitable deadly trap was also, in some sense, a punishment from the world's will. Those who were originally meant to perish in the Soren Mountains would once again be consumed by the correction of history, unable to defy it. It was supposed to be like that. "Do you guys feel it too? It's suddenly a lot quieter outside." In the oppressive silence, Greya spoke up. Everyone froze for a few seconds before they all simultaneously noticed the anomaly. For some reason, the space outside the manor, which had been filled with the sounds of impending conflict, suddenly fell eerily silent, as if the turbulent world had been restored to tranquility. Morris was the first to peer out the window, and what he saw caused his heart to jolt violently. His bloodshot eyes were glued to the scene outside, his bandaged hands clutching the window frame so tightly that splinters embedded into his skin unnoticed. Following him were Afia, Mirany, and other female members, struck dumb as if hit by lightning. Their eyes gradually welled with tears, hands subconsciously covering their mouths as they began to sob quietly. Greya struggled to suppress his pounding heart, and he swung his fists vigorously in the air. I knew it... I damn well knew it! Reaching the scene faster than death, it had to be a miracle! It had to be the miracle named Lynn Bartleon! Outside the manor, on the battlefield wrapped in lingering night fog, a tall figure calmly walked toward the amassed army.