In the Shadow Realm, erosion was a non-issue. Even if it weren't, Eros had "Tentacle Bro" on his side—no entity in its right mind dared to approach him.

  Had he attempted his advancement anywhere else, it wouldn't have been this effortless. In fact, it would have been a near-death experience. Sequence 8 is widely regarded as the most treacherous stage for a burgeoning occultist.

  If a Sequence 9: Mystery Pryer is a candle in the dark, then a Sequence 8: Listener is a roaring bonfire illuminating the long night. Such a blaze effectively screams to the horrors wandering in the dark: "Hey, big boy! Come and play! I’m right here!"

  Consequently, almost everyone who advances to Sequence 8 finds themselves besieged by a swarm of eldritch entities. There are no exceptions, unless one possesses a specialized means of isolation.

  The stage is called "Listener" precisely because those at this level, if unprotected, hear the distorted, maddening murmurs of the void every single night. Many low-level warlocks fall victim to these whispers, descending into madness before being hollowed out and consumed.

  Eros, however, didn't need to worry about any of that. He was actually starting to feel grateful that Tentacle Bro had marked him. Seeing how vulnerable Undine became every night after her own advancement to Sequence 8, he realized just how terrifying these erosions were. Even if the entities weren't physically monstrous, having nonsensical, maddening "trash talk" piped directly into your brain every night was enough to drive anyone insane.

  Tentacle Bro was much better. Ever since Eros had snapped at (and roasted) him a year ago, the creature had stopped laughing. Now, it just spent every night quietly peeking around. It was a bit creepy, sure, but Eros had learned a handy trick: he knew how to mentally "censor" or blur his own vision when looking at it.

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  One evening, while Eros was contemplating his bright future, Barbara stared at him with an unusually calm expression. Is something wrong with me today? Eros wondered.

  Before he could ask, Barbara spoke in a level tone: "It’s time for you to go out and see the world. Since ancient times, no Saint has ever been forged in the lap of luxury."

  Eros froze. So, it wasn't about him—it was about his future. Barbara wanted him to go out and gain experience.

  To be honest, in the nineteen years he had lived in this world, he had never once stepped outside the Duke’s manor. His entire understanding of this reality came from books or the lectures of his elders. Hearing her words, a spark of curiosity finally ignited. This was a world fundamentally different from Earth—not just in its technology, but in its tangible mysticism and the literal existence of Gods.

  The next day at lunch, he broached the subject, announcing his desire to travel.

  Duke Lenka and Estelle hesitated, offering no immediate answer. The Duke simply stated he needed to consult with the family elders first. As soon as lunch ended, he hurried off to the meeting. Undine, meanwhile, scooted over to Eros, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm going too! I'm going too!"

  Estelle looked at her children—her daughter, who was now as tall as she was, and her son, who towered over her—and let out a soft, resigned sigh.

  They didn't have to wait long. The Duke strode back into the room, followed by a literal mob of elders. It seemed the entire senior council had turned out. The moment they saw Eros, they erupted in a chorus of protests:

  "Absolutely not! It’s too dangerous out there!" "Why leave? Isn't the family estate good enough for you?"

  They rambled on, but their message was singular: Stay home. They would provide anything he desired; there was simply no reason to venture out.

  It was understandable. The clan finally had a child with Mythical Bloodline, personally baptized by a Great One and recognized by the Ancestral Artifact. With such peerless talent, why risk his life in the outside world? It was unthinkable!

  Eros didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, he had no choice but to quote Barbara directly.

  Several elders turned beet-red, their voices trembling as they repeated the word: "S-Saint?" Others simply exchanged stunned, silent glances.