Chapter 74: Tracking (Requesting Monthly Votes)

When Lu Mi opened his eyes, his spirituality had recovered, and his body no longer ached.

He sat up abruptly, strode to the desk, and yanked open the curtains.

The sky had not yet brightened; the red moon hung low in the high heavens, stars scattered faintly, and on the nearby elm tree, the large, keen-eyed owl appeared once more, gazing down at Lu Mi.

Lu Mi felt no surprise or anger—he smiled brightly.

“You’re here again,” he greeted warmly, yet every gesture, tone, and expression on his face stirred in the target an instant urge to punch him.

The owl locked eyes with him for several seconds, then spread its wings and flew into the dark depths.

Almost simultaneously, Aurora stepped out of her bedroom, turned the handle, and entered Lu Mi’s room.

“How is it?” Lu Mi asked at once.

Aurora nodded:

“‘White Paper’ has followed it.”

Her pale blue eyes had turned deep and dark, filled with trees receding and growing larger.

She immediately took out a mercury-coated mirror, placed it on Lu Mi’s desk, and used pale white powder to cast a spell that projected her vision onto the mirror’s surface.

Lu Mi clearly saw the owl’s silhouette, flying low over the night-lit village of Kerdou, circling endlessly as if trying to shake off any possible pursuer—but ‘White Paper,’ being a spirit-world creature with considerable speed, remained unaffected, maintaining a steady distance.

After one or two minutes, the owl circled to the village square.

Without hesitation, it flew directly into the cemetery beside the church.

“Again this place?” Lu Mi couldn’t help muttering.

The last time he and his sister spied on Michel Gariq, the lizard that emerged from the vicar’s mouth had also ended up in the cemetery, moving in and out of different graves!

“Can’t it be that stories always use cemeteries as villains’ lairs and hiding spots—because reality does too?” Lu Mi glanced sideways at his sister.

Aurora snorted:

“Do you know what ‘inspiration comes from reality’ means?”

“True…” Lu Mi accepted the professional writer’s explanation.

At that moment, the owl flew above an ordinary grave.

Like most graves in Intis, it consisted of a large pit dug into the ground, a coffin placed inside, soil piled back over it, and one or two stone slabs laid atop, with a tombstone erected behind.

The above was Lu Mi’s imagination and speculation, but from appearance alone, he saw nothing unusual about the grave.

The owl lowered its altitude and landed on the two stone slabs sealing the grave.

Through ‘White Paper’s’ vision, Aurora and Lu Mi noticed suspicious traces:

The tombstone was blank—nothing inscribed; the stone slabs, which should have been dirty and overgrown with weeds, were spotlessly clean, as if regularly tended.

“This grave is suspicious,” Aurora remarked.

No sooner had she spoken than the two stone slabs sealing the grave suddenly sank downward.

No—not sinking; more like opening.

They swung inward like double doors, revealing a black void and stone steps descending into the depths.

“Oh.” Lu Mi exclaimed in surprise, “Quite spacious!”

This was utterly unlike his imagined ordinary grave—it resembled a mausoleum, with a sizable burial chamber.

“Kerdou has a place like this…?” Aurora had believed she’d lived here six years and knew every blade of grass and tree—but recently, she’d found the village growing stranger and more bizarre by the day.

As the siblings spoke, the owl flew down the steps into the depths of the “mausoleum.”

The underground space was not exaggerated; as soon as ‘White Paper’ reached the bottom of the steps, it saw a burial chamber.

The chamber was roughly the size of Lu Mi’s kitchen, with a black coffin placed in the center.

The coffin lid was not closed—it leaned slantwise against the side, resting on the ground.

The owl flapped its wings, flew over, and landed on the coffin’s edge, standing there.

“That dead wizard?” Lu Mi’s spirit tensed instantly.

Aurora hummed in affirmation, instructing ‘White Paper’ to draw slightly closer, gazing from afar into the coffin’s interior.

Almost simultaneously, Lu Mi noticed a faint human shadow standing in the corner of the chamber.

He was about to tell his sister to look, when ‘White Paper’ had already directed its “vision” into the open coffin.

With a bang, the mercury mirror before them shattered explosively, and Aurora let out a low, agonized cry.

Lu Mi turned quickly—she had shut her eyes tightly, tears streaked with blood rolling down her cheeks, her facial muscles twitching uncontrollably, as if cracking open in fissures.

Before the semi-literate in mysticism could react, Aurora herself pulled a short incense stick from her hidden pouch, fumbled for a match, and lit it.

A faint, distant, delicate fragrance spread, calming mind and body.

Aurora’s facial abnormalities gradually subsided; finally, she exhaled slowly and wiped the blood-tears with her handkerchief.

“Are you alright?” Lu Mi asked anxiously.

Aurora kept her eyes shut:

“Not serious. A little more sleep and my eyes should recover. Thank goodness ‘White Paper’ is so fragile—sometimes, weakness is an advantage!”

She was deeply relieved.

“Huh?” Lu Mi didn’t understand.

Aurora gave a self-deprecating smile:

“Simply put, I saw something I shouldn’t have. But ‘White Paper’ is extremely fragile—it barely caught a glimpse, even less than that, and suffered severe trauma, retreating into the spirit realm. As a result, my own backlash was greatly reduced; otherwise, I wouldn’t have controlled it so easily—it might have been far worse.”

The world of mysticism is truly dangerous… Lu Mi now truly understood what “don’t look at what you shouldn’t” meant.

He waited until his sister’s condition improved slightly before asking:

“What did ‘White Paper’ see? Why did it cause such severe damage?”

“I saw just a speck of silver-black light,” Aurora dared not recall, “but there are countless things that cause harm merely by being seen—perhaps an object revealing divinity, perhaps the form of a high-rank mythic being, perhaps something cursed or malevolent…”

“Mythic being form?” Lu Mi had never heard this term before.

Aurora offhandedly explained:

“The essence of the Path of the Gods is transforming adepts toward divinity. At Rank 4, we gain our own mythic being form—though incomplete. Those below Rank 4 suffer harm merely by glimpsing such a form, and may even lose control outright.”

Saints are this powerful? They and adepts below Rank 4 are like two different species… No wonder those at Rank 4 are called Half-Gods… Lu Mi instantly realized how ignorant he’d been—he’d thought the “Half-God” rank and lower adepts were essentially no different.

He shifted topic:

“Aurora, when ‘White Paper’ neared the coffin, I thought I saw a shadow in the chamber’s corner—but I couldn’t tell who it was, what they looked like, or what they wore.”

“Someone else was there?” Aurora was surprised.

Lu Mi nodded:

“So—is the one in the coffin the dead wizard, or the one in the corner?”

“I think the one in the coffin is,” Aurora said, eyes still closed, carefully weighing her words. “The one in the corner is either his puppet or subordinate, or another adept who controls the wizard’s corpse.”

Lu Mi hummed:

“The wizard’s problem wasn’t fully resolved. This might be the source of Kerdou’s growing abnormalities.”

This revelation brought him both joy and unease.

Joy, because the investigation had made great progress; unease, because merely glimpsing the wizard’s corpse caused injury and a high risk of losing control—how could they proceed with further confirmation or action in the tomb?

Aurora clearly realized this too:

“Don’t go to the tomb for now. Focus on the church’s underground first—it may hold key clues to help resolve the tomb’s problem.”

“Agreed.” Lu Mi had already decided to seek out the three outsiders at dawn to discuss exploring the church’s underground.

Hearing his answer, Aurora added:

“If I fully recover, I’ll join you in the church’s underground.”

Lu Mi hesitated two seconds, then agreed.

At this moment, they needed every ounce of strength to see any hope!

Still with her eyes closed, Aurora asked:

“Your ritual seems to have succeeded. How do you feel?”

Lu Mi recounted the entire ritual process and his gains to his sister, omitting any specific description of the entity, then concluded:

“I nearly lost control during the bestowal, but afterward, everything was fine—no unusual physical changes. Maybe it’s because my rank is low enough.”

Aurora, eyes shut, smiled slightly:

“That dance—summoning nearby anomalous beings to attach to you—is fascinating.

“It reminds me of certain legends from my homeland: ‘Divine Possession.’”

“Huh?” Lu Mi didn’t understand.

Aurora smiled:

“It means partially invoking a Half-God-level entity to possess you, borrowing its combat abilities.”

“That would require immense physical strength, soul, and spirit, wouldn’t it?” Lu Mi speculated.

Aurora didn’t pursue the topic, instructing her brother:

“Help me back to my room. I need to rest.”

Lu Mi helped his sister up, walking toward her bedroom, and asked casually:

“One thing I found strange about the ritual: I drew a bit of power from the seal without the black-and-green symbol’s owner’s permission. Could He be watching me constantly? Impossible—no one’s that idle.”

Aurora thought for a moment:

“You told me the mysterious lady gave you a vague, imprecise title to avoid attracting the attention of the corresponding entity.

“Could it be that the owner of the black-and-green symbol and the entity tied to the black thorns share overlapping authorities? For instance, you mentioned the word ‘fate’—perhaps both hold some dominion over destiny. So when you chanted the vague title, part of it didn’t just point to the black thorns’ entity, but also to the black-and-green symbol’s owner.

“Normally, due to its incompleteness and inaccuracy, this would have no effect. But you were on the altar, possessing the corresponding symbol, power, and aura—so they reacted slightly, and the entity noticed your action. And since you were guided by the mysterious lady, you easily gained permission.

“Thus, when you finished chanting all the titles and directed them toward the pollution within you, drawing even a bit of power faced no barrier—the ‘backdoor’ was already open.”

What a clever ritual design... clearly a master at exploiting loopholes.

“I see,” Lu Mi realized.

P.S.: Still asking for monthly votes~

(End of chapter)