Chapter 415: The Niuins

Xiya withdrew her hand without a trace, lifted the cup, and gently sipped the coffee.

After a moment of silence, she finally answered the previous question:

"That's not something an ordinary little girl like me could have known back then, but I think he offended too many people, and his own digestion of demonic elixirs can't keep up; he's not a qualified hunter."

"The hunters' Sequence Eight is called 'Provoker'; they're not very strong, but they attract enough hatred~"

"When a group of Provokers, or former Provokers, gather, conflict inevitably arises."

The prophet's avatar lightly tapped the coffee cup with his right index finger and said leisurely:

"The Ironblood Knight's promotion ceremony requires forming a team of at least thirty people, bound by strong camaraderie and sufficient coordination."

"Hunters who have passed the Provoker stage will constantly make snide remarks at others; this ceremony is unusually difficult for them."

"Form a team? What is the underlying principle of this ceremony?"

Xiya didn't mind why the prophet's avatar knew the Ironblood Knight's promotion ceremony; instead, she curiously asked about its purpose.

Leiketon shrugged and said, "I don't know; I'm not familiar with hunters of that level."

Xiya gave a slight nod, dropped the topic, casually drew a small dagger from her waist, slit her right palm, and droplets of blood fell into the coffee before her.

After the entire cup turned crimson, she sheathed the dagger, and blue‑white light swirled in her eyes.

Faint green glimmers flickered on her right palm, exuding a strong life aura that rapidly healed the wound.

Having done that, she casually pushed the blood‑stained coffee toward the prophet's avatar and said, "Since you're tracking her, you should be able to use my blood as a medium to locate her, right?"

The avatar nodded, replying with a hint of helplessness, "It can work, but why did you let it drip into the coffee?"

"Are there any other cups here?" Xiya said calmly without raising an eyelid.

"Compared to members of the Knowledge Church, you look more like an adventurer."

The avatar let out a soft sigh, leaned his back against the chair, and reached for the blood‑stained coffee, placing it before him.

His eyes instantly took on a silvery hue, becoming deep and tranquil, losing focus.

Relying on the occult link between Xiya's blood and Yalina Soren, images quickly formed in his mind.

It was a ghost ship drifting at sea, ancient and dark‑hued, like a wreck long soaked in seawater; its raised sail bore a twisted, tentacled sea‑monster illustration.

He saw a robust man whose face, neck, and exposed arms bore scale‑like patterns, like illusionary scales hidden beneath a sailor's skin; his chin was beardless but sprouted green growths about ten centimeters long, like marine tentacles.

His eyes were deep blue, he wore a black triangular pirate hat, a loose dark‑brown coat, seemingly to conceal his features.

The scene shifted again to a dim chamber, seemingly a vault for precious items; on the widest wall hung an ornate golden mirror, unmistakably in Indies style.

The mental images abruptly stopped, and the avatar's eyes cleared once more.

"You've been promoted to prophet? When? No wonder you dared to hunt her down."

Xiya seemed to snap back from the avatar's display, her voice filled with surprise, then quickly returned to calm.

Her words made Phoenix nearby furrow his brow, his inquisitive gaze landing on the avatar, and he asked, puzzled, "Aren't you an occultist?"

"We are the same person, just split into different identities."

The avatar chuckled and explained, "Ordinary avatars wouldn't even change their own path as a little secret, as long as they're not turned into a secret puppet."

Xiya merely sighed lightly, then brushed the question aside with a brief remark, paused slightly, and continued:

"What did you just prophesy?"

Leiketon tilted his head slightly, recalling the images, and said with a faintly teasing tone:

"The Deep Sea General's 'Niuins' ship, and a golden, lavishly crafted mirror placed on that ghost ship."

"Your father… mother? Or mom? Anyway, she's most likely hidden inside that mirror; the ageless witch is adept at revival and rebirth, so that was probably a backup she prepared for herself."

"As for why it appeared on the Deep Sea General's ship, perhaps it was a lover of hers, or maybe the mirror was simply seized by the other party."

Xiya showed no obvious emotional shift, merely laughing lightly as she said:

"That was a long time ago; I have long since severed any connection with her and the Soren clan, I don't even recall his…"

"Of course, I'm still happy to send her to the underworld."

Phoenix's eyes flickered slightly; the more reserved him was especially sensitive to emotional changes.

Leiketon lounged back in his chair, offering no comment.

Sometimes the calmer she appears, the stronger her inner emotions; it seems her days in the Soren clan were not easy, largely because of her father, which probably didn't reach the point of becoming an enemy…

In Pas City, inside an inn called Suoyana.

Leiketon sat on a window‑side sofa, holding several parchment sheets torn from the Grosser's Journey, while a round table before him displayed a Time Worm previously obtained from Flora Jacob.

On his shoulder, a mechanical arm swung deftly; each joint bore a strange eyeball, and in the palm sat a lidless, flesh‑eyed orb. It gazed pensively at the materials on the round table, occasionally shaking its hand as if shaking its head.

In Leiketon's mind, the mechanical clever hand's voice echoed weakly:

"These materials are of too high a tier; my ability is insufficient to forge them into perfect wondrous items."

Leiketon gave a nonchalant nod and chuckled, saying:

"It's fine; just keep their negative effects within reasonable bounds, preferably give them a living quality. Inanimate objects are hard to handle, but living ones can self‑regulate."

"I'll try my best."

The mechanical clever hand replied weakly.

It reached down, snatched a parchment from Leiketon, and its mechanical fingers rhythmically tapped the paper; each tap released a gray‑white strange symbol, which interlinked to form a dense web.

In Leiketon's view, ethereal lights rose from the parchment like suspended droplets, each reflecting a different human face.

"The subconscious and collective subconscious in the Grosser's Journey? 'Exactly, every page here is saturated with portions of the book's world and the psyche world.'"

"However, I can only extract these subconscious layers; the book's world and its inner psyche will inevitably be damaged. Their existence far exceeds my limits; a mere ordinary mechanical specialist cannot handle it."

The mechanical clever hand deftly extracted the subconscious from each parchment while answering Leiketon's questions.

(End of Chapter)