Father Utravsky, dressed in a brown bishop's robe, did not reach for the newspaper offered to him. He slowly looked towards the altar and the Holy Emblem of Life upon it, whispering with a sorrowful tone:
"Life ends, returns to the Earth, restarting the cycle. It is both mercy and purification...."
Emlyn frowned, always feeling that Father Utravsky's reaction was somewhat abnormal.
But seeing that this giant bishop, whom the Sanguine elders called a Blessed of the Earth Mother, had no reaction to his words, and was instead reciting the "Holy Scripture of Life" to himself, Emlyn's expression changed for a while before he left the prayer room, preoccupied.
-----------------
Empress Borough, Sodela Palace.
Admiral Ciel, the head of MI9, walked out of the layers of opulent palace halls with a gloomy expression. He took out a magnificent, golden mask from his storage and put it on his face.
Without further delay, the ring on Ciel's right hand burst forth with crystal-like light, and he instantly vanished from the spot.
Azure light filled his vision. Ciel's Spirituality moved slightly, and he stepped out of the rippling light, arriving at an underground ruin where he met Duchess Georgina, who was already waiting.
With only his pupils visible through the golden mask, Ciel's expression was unreadable as he spoke in a deep voice:
"The flaws left by the interruption of the previous great smog have been completely eliminated in this attack by Feysac."
"However, the losses at Pritz Harbor are too great, and the Pope of the Church of the Lord of Storms expects MI9 and the Royal Family to provide an explanation."
Duchess Georgina snorted coldly, a mocking arc forming on her delicate face:
"The deployment of the Desi Fleet, those cults in the Southern Continent – aren't these all valid reasons?"
"Does every single city and port in the entire Loen Kingdom and its colonial territories in the Southern Continent need a Demigod stationed there?"
Her voice was cold, and she scoffed at the Church of the Lord of Storms' accusations.
As a concession for the Backlund Great Smog incident, George III had agreed to the three major Churches' demand to enter the military, and Pritz Harbor was precisely the Church of the Lord of Storms' key target for infiltration and cultivation.
Furthermore, during the last encirclement of "Duke Solomon" Nast, the Church of the Lord of Storms showed no reaction from beginning to end, resulting in the loss of an ironclad warship and a Sealed Artifact classified as 0, and even Prince Grove, who participated in the battle, nearly died.
At the thought of this, Duchess Georgina's expression grew even colder, but she did not dwell on the topic. She slightly tilted her head to look at a certain spot in the corner:
"The Church of the Lord of Storms' matter can be delayed for now. I called you here this time to introduce you to a new friend."
"Mr. Snowman, the new Psychology Alchemists Council member who will take over from Hvin Rambis and continue to cooperate with us, responsible for Backlund."
Admiral Ciel's expression froze slightly, his pupils contracting a little. With his Demigod-level spiritual perception, he hadn't noticed anything before.
He followed Duchess Georgina's gaze and saw a figure seated on the ground in a praying posture.
Dressed in an extremely simple white robe, with various old scars covering his exposed skin, it was Snowman, the ascetic from the Third Epoch who was left in "Groselle's Travels" and packaged by Aaron to Adam.
Though unaware of Snowman's identity, Ciel's gaze suddenly froze as he noticed the ancient silver cross pendant held in the hands of this ascetic-dressed Demigod.
As one of the members of the Twilight Hermit Order, Ciel had last seen this pendant in the hands of the gathering's initiator, the legendary Son of the Creator.
A hint of apprehension flashed deep within his pupils. Admiral Ciel controlled his emotions well and nodded in silence.
-----------------
In the Fog Sea, on the edge of the Lip Islands in Segar's territorial waters, the Black Death quietly docked.
Inside the captain's cabin, which burned with a gloomy green flame, it was filled with illusory, almost invisible, indescribably colored "light," yet it was bound by some power, not affecting the outside world.
The source of the chaotic light was a dusty gray stone slab, its surface bearing many mottled traces, appearing quite ancient. A script, seemingly the origin of all languages, slowly receded, yet it did not disappear, but rather seemed to merge with the stone slab.
Ince Zangwill, his face pale, his right hand trembling slightly, stopped writing. He looked at the dull 0-08 in his hand and the second "Blasphemy Slate" floating before him, and clicked his tongue:
"After a thousand years, I didn't expect you could exploit the aura of the Chaos Sea. However, lending me this Blasphemy Slate, aren't you afraid I'll keep it for myself?"
A sneering laugh sounded, and the surrounding void instantly rippled. Pieces of monocles appeared, transforming into streams of light, converging into Amon, wearing a pointed soft hat.
"I have wandered in the Forsaken Land of the Gods for over a thousand years, searching for the history of the Second Epoch and even before the First Epoch. I often linger at the edge of the 'Chaos Sea,' so I must have some gains."
"I only need to'steal' something special; using this power to activate the 'Blasphemy Slate' is not too difficult....."
Amon adjusted his monocle, and as he spoke, he snapped his fingers.
The Blasphemy Slate, written upon by 0-08, immediately began to distort, transforming into a pure chaotic light. It flew unimpeded into Ince Zangwill's glabella, merging with the Red Angel evil spirit in his Spirit World.
After completing all this, Amon's lips curved into a smile, and he casually added:
"I only borrowed the Blasphemy Slate for a while. If you want to keep it, I won't stop you. That guy will naturally find you then."
The chaotic light filling the captain's cabin gradually dissipated. After a moment, Medici's voice finally sounded again:
"Tsk, that's not necessary. Is this considered compensation from that guy?"
"Heh, I don't appreciate it."
Nodding indifferently, Amon snapped his fingers again. The ancient, mottled phantom of a clock flashed behind him, altering certain concepts before he continued:
"After Alista Tudor's fall, the Uniqueness of the 'Red Priest' fell into the hands of that old dragon. Beyonders above the Demigod level are suppressed and find it difficult to approach."
"Although you are an evil spirit, you have already devoured many high-level Beyonder characteristics. If I were to strip those characteristics, you might not be able to suppress those two guys, Sauron and Einhorn."
"However, all rules have loopholes, let alone a dead object. You already have the corruption of disaster on you. With this Blasphemy Slate, you should at least be able to bring out that Uniqueness."
Putting away the dull 0-08, which had consumed too much, "Ince Zangwill" gazed into the distance, his voice becoming much more solemn:
"Is this also the world trend that guy envisioned?"
Amon shrugged, a meaningful smile appearing on his face. His figure slowly dissipated, leaving only his lingering voice:
"You guess...."