Chapter 328: The Messenger

In Byam, inside a hotel in the dock district.

Ethan, who had been leaning against a chair in deep sleep, was suddenly yanked up roughly.

He steadied himself with a slight stagger and saw that Phoenix was already fully dressed, holding a suitcase, looking ready to flee. He couldn't help but ask:

"Mm—what happened?"

"People from the Storm Church are here, with clear hostility."

Phoenix spoke in a calm voice, one hand already resting on his shoulder.

"Huh?" Ethan froze for a moment, then asked with a hint of suspicion:

"What did you do?"

"... Are you coming or not?" Phoenix shot him a cold glance.

"Let's go!"

As soon as Ethan's words fell, he was brought into the Spirit World, and both their figures swiftly faded and disappeared.

Less than a minute after they left, Cordova Royer, a Punisher deacon of the Storm Church in the Rorsted Archipelago, led a squad of Punishers through the door.

A Punisher wearing gold-rimmed glasses surveyed the room, his gaze landing on the stove that was still quietly burning.

After a moment, he spoke calmly:

"Judging from the temperature and arrangement inside the room, they just left, at most two or three minutes ago."

"Impossible. After receiving the information, we've had someone watching this place the whole time."

Another Punisher member, whose temper was somewhat hot-tempered, frowned.

Cordova Royer waved his hand, stopping the team members' argument:

"At least one of these two is a Beyonder. I recall there's a pathway called Apprentice that can silently cross through obstacles and go anywhere they wish."

After carefully searching the room, he casually pointed out two team members:

"You two stay and watch this place."

"The rest of you, come with me to report back to His Excellency the Bishop. These two are very likely accomplices of that 'Arsonist' Al. Even if they're not accomplices, their identities definitely have considerable problems."

Fenerpot, a warehouse on the outskirts of Sevia.

After signing his name on the contract drawn up by the lawyer, Rekton directly paid the deposit to Boen.

The grain merchant immediately began gathering grain and transporting it to the warehouse.

Taking advantage of the fact that no one was around, Rekton quickly cleared an open space, took out ritual materials he had prepared long ago from a corner of the warehouse, and began setting up a sacrifice ritual to "the Fool."

After setting up the ritual, he gently rubbed his fingers together, producing several crimson flames to light the candles.

Then, after stepping back a distance, he began to chant in ancient Hermes:

"Fool who does not belong to this era, mysterious sovereign above the gray fog, the yellow-and-black King who holds dominion over good fortune."

"Your faithful servant prays for Your gaze;

Prays that You accept his offering;

Prays that You open the gates of the kingdom."

……

Above the gray fog, Klein, who had long been waiting here, immediately responded, extending his spirituality to touch the illusory door summoned by the ritual and opening it.

Amidst a faintly illusory creaking sound, that vague, hazy door composed of wind and light opened.

The items sacrificed by Rekton poured forth from it—several sheets of white paper covered in words flew out, drifting casually down within this ancient palace above the gray fog.

With a shift of Klein's thoughts, these sheets of white paper flew straight into his hands.

Klein lowered his eyes and examined them—usage instructions for different kinds of grain, and in Giant language, no less. Very thoroughly prepared. But shouldn't a recipe be added as well?

As Klein's thoughts turned, from within that vague, hazy door of sacrifice, grain packed in snakeskin bags was continuously offered up.

In less than half a minute, this sacrifice ended—this was the limit of what the ritual materials' spirituality could sustain.

Klein casually flicked out a gold coin and performed a simple divination on whether this grain would affect the health of the Silver City residents.

After receiving an affirmative answer, he immediately extended his spirituality, touching the deep red star that represented Little Sun, and conveyed his calm, unhurried words:

"Prepare for the bestowal ritual."

Silver City. Derrick, having just finished his patrol duty, was about to return to his own home.

Dense gray fog suddenly surged before his eyes. In the deepest depths of the endless gray fog, there was a towering figure embraced by the fog.

Mr. Fool's unhurried voice echoed in his ears:

"Prepare for the bestowal ritual."

As the words echoed, the gray fog before Derrick quickly receded. He was stunned for a moment, then realized—this must mean Mr. White Tower had the grain ready.

Recalling how he had been able to obtain food from Mr. Fool nearly every day recently—food that exceeded the limits of his imagination in deliciousness—

A bright smile appeared on Derrick's face. He immediately changed direction and hurried toward the round tower where the chief of Silver City resided.

Rorsted Archipelago, on a small island not far from Byam.

The figures of Phoenix and Ethan swiftly materialized.

Without waiting for Ethan to ask what had happened, Phoenix directly tossed the suitcase he was carrying to Ethan beside him.

As he walked slowly forward, he seemed to be carefully sensing something.

After a moment, he extended both palms and pushed forward forcefully, as if opening a door that did not exist.

In an instant, a bronze door covered in mysterious patterns, impossible to specifically describe, appeared ahead—swaying, creaking, cracking open a sliver.

Within the gap was darkness with no end in sight. A large number of writhing, bizarre things that normal vision could not perceive were surging out frantically.

The surrounding temperature plummeted. A thin layer of white frost appeared on the swaying leaves on both sides.

Ethan wrapped his arms around himself and couldn't help but shiver. His lips trembling slightly, he asked:

"Why did you summon so many spirits? The appearance of a large number of spirits will definitely attract the Storm Church's attention."

Gather information.

Natural spirits are not something the Storm Church is good at handling.

Feinikesi's reply was brief and to the point.

As he spoke, he withdrew his hands, and the bronze-colored door that had split open a crack slowly closed and then disappeared.

As the bronze door disappeared, the surrounding temperature returned to normal.

Yisang exhaled a puff of white air, moved a few steps into the sunlight, and as he walked, he muttered to himself:

"What do the Storm Church people want from us?"

"The sea affairs aren't enough to worry them; they also want to get involved in the southern continent?"

"I don't know." Feinikesi shook his head with a flat tone.

In the morning sunlight, a sea breeze blew past; Yisang couldn't help but shiver, having left in too much of a hurry, he was still wearing his indoor clothes.

He turned his head to look at the calm-feeling Feinikesi beside him, cleared his throat, and said:

"Are my clothes still left in the inn? Have you taken care of them?"

Feinikesi nodded slightly, speaking in a calm tone:

"I have already erased your aura; unless you are an extraordinary being skilled in prophecy, otherwise it cannot be used to lock onto you."

In the bright morning light, the two remained silent for about half an hour, after which natural spirits began to return here.

After communicating with the natural spirits, Feinikesi's complexion gradually turned strange.

"What's wrong?" Yisang asked doubtfully from the side.

Feinikesi lowered his eyes, his voice no longer as calm as before:

"The Storm Church has raised the bounty on that Mr. Thains we just met to 150,000 pounds."

"150,000 pounds, does it tempt you?"

Yisang said with a hint of hesitation.

Feinikesi glanced at him, his tone unchanged:

"On the bounty notice in Lu'en, the Undead King's reward is only 100,000 pounds, and that's even with him having a pirate crew under him."

"In the Storm Church's view, the Arsonist is more dangerous than the Undead King."

Yisang nodded repeatedly, sighing as he spoke.

"What happened last night in Kawei Tuwa explains why he knows so much about the Sea God's condition, or perhaps the deed was even more serious."

In Silver City, atop the round tower, inside the room belonging to Chief Kelin.

Daileke set up the ritual to pray for blessings under the nervous gaze of Kelin and a six-person council elder.

After the ritual preparations were complete, he turned his head to look at the chief beside him; seeing the chief's slight nod, he then took a deep breath and began to chant the corresponding incantation.

"The Fool not of this era, the Mysterious Sovereign above the Grey Mist, the Yellow-Black King who controls fortune."

"Your faithful servant prays for your attention;

"prays for you to open the gate of your realm;

"and prays for you to grant power."

As Daileke finished chanting the full incantation, a wailing gust swept through the entire room; an illusory, vague door emerged from nothingness, accompanied by an illusory creaking sound, and gradually opened.

Grey-white mist flowed out from behind the door, revealing a scene even more dreamlike than the starry sky.

Standing behind Daileke, silently observing all this, Chief Kelin's breath suddenly grew heavy—two thousand years had passed, and Silver City's prayers had finally been answered, yet not by the god we believed in!

To Kelin's right, Shepherd Elder Luo Weiya widened her eyes, seeming to want to etch this scene into her memory; she gripped her hands tightly, her nails digging into her flesh, with traces of blood seeping out.

As the illusory door opened, one bulging snakeskin bag after another fell out of it, piling up continuously.

Daileke quickly reacted, moving these food-filled bags aside and piling them into a small mound in the chief's room.

Finally, several sheets of paper covered with giant words he wasn't familiar with floated out of the illusory door.

As the spiritual energy contained in the ritual materials was exhausted, the illusory door and the flowing grey-white mist gradually disappeared.

On the walls of Silver City, countless black, thin strands like withered hair suddenly surged upward, straining to stretch out, intertwining with each other, like a hand desperately reaching forward to grasp something intangible.

After a moment, these withered grasses, as if exhausted, weakly drooped down.

(End of chapter)