Milky Way core region, 8.8 trillion kilometers outside the event horizon of the central black hole Sagittarius A*.

  Sanchegues ultimate mega-structure, Arnel Civilization territory block, deep within the Milky Way Surveillance Hub.

  In a vast, boundless area resembling the true cosmic void, a colossal, illusory Milky Way, shimmering with starlight, slowly hovered.

  Below the Milky Way, a featureless metallic giant was, while manipulating the vast, blurred void filled with countless high-energy photons before it, turning to respectfully report to two similarly hundred-meter-tall, but one red and one blue, featureless metallic giants behind it:

  "Respected Sage Orgrid and Respected Sage Gusheim, greetings. I am Deluna, surveillance officer of the Milky Way Surveillance Hub."

  "During this observation of the Milky Way's space-time and material general situation, I, by employing five comprehensive superluminal surveillance methods—dimensional contraction and expansion, dimensional vibration, quantum peering, space-time reverberation, and causal long-range deliberation—discovered and continuously confirmed an anomalous situation: the Orion Spiral Arm has mysteriously lost at least 38 million star systems.

  After repeatedly inspecting the vast interstellar region following the mysterious disappearance of these stars, it has been confirmed that this large-scale anomalous stellar loss is not due to shielding by super-gigantic cosmic dust clouds, but rather a complete material annihilation. Currently... the cause remains unknown."

  "Cause unknown..."

  Looking at the colossal, illusory Milky Way, ten kilometers in diameter, slowly rotating in the mid-air ahead.

  Especially after seeing the large, clearly vacant material region of the Orion Spiral Arm, the crimson giant, also seemingly formed from metal—Arnel Sage Orgrid—said solemnly:

  "This kind of anomalous event... seems unprecedented. It fundamentally defies common sense explanation."

  "Indeed."

  The Ice Blue Giant beside him—Sage Gusheim—said in a deep voice, "I carefully considered the possibilities. Although some natural cosmological phenomena might correspond to this event of massive star disappearance:

  However, whether it is the theoretically possible vacuum decay, an extremely low-probability accidental dark energy storm, a hidden cluster of wandering black holes, or even an almost impossible burst from a beehive-shaped wormhole cluster—to annihilate so many star systems and affect such a large interstellar range, the required time would be measured in tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands of years."

  "Theory is theory, and reality is reality; the divergence between the two is substantial.

  Furthermore, whether it is vacuum decay, an accidental dark energy storm, or a burst from a beehive wormhole cluster, the probability of these dangerous cosmic occurrences is truly minuscule, so small that discussion holds no practical meaning."

  Orgrid slowly stated, "More importantly, the Surveillance Hub conducts comprehensive surveillance of the entire Milky Way every hundred years via a simulated star chart. During the last Milky Way surveillance, such a peculiar situation was entirely absent.

  In other words, the essence of this event is that within just one hundred years, or perhaps even less, tens of millions of stars have vanished from the Orion Spiral Arm.

  It must be noted that vacuum decay, propagating at the speed of light, fundamentally cannot produce this effect. Even dark energy storms and beehive-shaped wormhole cluster eruptions, while propagating at superluminal speeds to achieve a similar level of destruction, cannot generate this kind of extremely uniform destruction perimeter. Hmm... It is truly perplexing."

  "Then, this highly efficient, indiscriminate destructive phenomenon, could it be..." Gusheim suddenly voiced, "that one or dozens of Gods of Hunger have infiltrated the Milky Way?"

  "Infiltrated? Dozens of Gods of Hunger? Within a hundred years?"

  Upon hearing this, Orgrid's expression changed. "This... While possible, it borders on illogical.

  Because... if individual Gods of Hunger or a group truly infiltrated the Milky Way, given their extremely high and fundamentally unshieldable super-high-level disturbance ratio to the external three-dimensional space-time structure, the simulated star chart could not possibly have failed to issue a warning.

  Furthermore, although the Gods of Hunger devour everything, they do not possess this exaggerated efficiency in consumption... to have consumed tens of millions of stars in merely a hundred years. This level of efficiency, unless..."

  "Unless the entity that infiltrated the Milky Way is... a hundred million times star-level God of Hunger," Gusheim continued softly.

  As soon as this statement was made, the two immediately fell into silence.

  At this moment, the Milky Way surveillance officer on the side once again adjusted the colossal illusory Milky Way (simulated star chart) in mid-air, focusing the perspective onto the Orion Spiral Arm.

  Penetrating, continuously penetrating.

  Magnifying, continuously magnifying.

  Finally, in an empty interstellar space, an extremely long and narrow space-time region, intentionally marked in red by the Milky Way surveillance officer, manifested.

  Its color was crimson, and it looked like a terrifying blood thread horizontally spanning the depths of the Milky Way.

  "What does this signify?" Gusheim asked with a questioning tone.

  Facing the Sage's inquiry, the surveillance officer immediately replied respectfully: "Respected Sage Gusheim, I must also report another anomalous situation."

  "Oh? There's more?"

  Orgrid said in surprise, "What kind of anomalous situation?"

  Upon hearing the question, the surveillance officer immediately manipulated the simulated star chart, focusing and magnifying the crimson blood thread buried deep within the Orion Spiral Arm, then stated clearly:

  "While investigating the anomalous phenomenon of a large number of stars disappearing from the Orion Spiral Arm, through superluminal surveillance equipment, an unexpected discovery was made: this interstellar space actually contains a long, slender, tubular space-time anomaly region. This region specifically manifests as a relatively regular narrow oval cylinder, with a diameter of eight light-years and a length of approximately nine thousand light-years.

  Within this cylindrical anomaly region, the space-time reverberation value is extremely erratic, the dimensional contraction and expansion ratio is below average, and its regional Dirac sea quantum index, along with the dimensional vibration ratio, fluctuates unstably, unable to maintain consolidated values."

  "Based on these various anomalous data points, I hypothesize that the three-dimensional space-time within this interstellar region has likely suffered severe cumulative structural damage. Although it may not have reached the point of permanent failure, it could potentially trigger severe, systematic space-time fracturing in the region, with this dimensional fracturing predicted to occur below the atomic level."

  "Systematic fracturing?"

  Gusheim looked towards the colossal crimson figure beside him, whose informational field had suddenly turned grave, and asked with doubt, "To be honest, my research into the three-dimensional space-time structure isn't very deep. If such a situation arises... will it lead to extremely serious consequences?"

  "Indeed, the ramifications are monumentally serious."

  Orgrid, after regaining his composure, still explained with a lingering trace of fear: "You should already know that our current observable universe is what we term three-dimensional space, or three-dimensional space-time, correct?"

  Gusheim slowly nodded: "Yes."

  Orgrid continued: "But in truth, this universe, fundamentally, should be designated as four-dimensional space-time.

  That is, three spatial dimensions—length, width, and height—plus a temporal dimension that merely possesses the unidirectional property of 'moving forward, never returning.'

  If we disregard this necessary nuance, these concepts hold the same meaning, as describing cosmic space-time often gives the concept of 'three-dimensional' a subjectively higher status in different contexts..."

  "Yes, yes, so could you please expedite your explanation and get to the main point?" Gusheim sounded somewhat impatient.

  "Alright, alright, I shall be concise." Orgrid raised his fiery red hands—resembling burning iron—with all ten fingers pressed together palm-to-palm, and lightly pointed toward the colossal, illusory Milky Way spanning before them.

  Hum ——

  A small cluster of blazing light suddenly erupted within the simulated star chart’s illusory Milky Way, simultaneously expanding in all directions at a perfectly stable velocity.

  In an instant, all interstellar space covered by the expanding brilliant light—including every nebula and star—instantaneously turned illusory.

  At this juncture, Orgrid pointed at that continuously expanding sphere of light deep within the illusory Milky Way and slowly articulated:

  "To use an analogy: If vacuum decay were to occur within the Milky Way, then all space-time covered by its expanding edge would be violently 'bleached,' transforming into an entirely new space-time state, a new 'ground state.'

  At that moment, all existence predicated upon the old 'ground state' would be incapable of persisting in the new universe dominated by the 'new ground state'."

  He elaborated, "Similarly, although it won't cause space-time changes as drastically as vacuum decay, nor will it expand limitlessly, if the fundamental structure within a specific region of three-dimensional space-time fractures—whether that be systematic fracturing, heterostructural fracturing, or even catastrophic collapse—all instances will lead to observable fluctuations in the delicate structural constants of that space-time region. This includes the speed of light in vacuum, physical parameters, and even the curvature of space and the rate of time flow will shift.

  According to the surveillance officer's report, the structural alterations in that anomalous space-time deep in Orion even reached below the atomic level."

  "I comprehend now." Gusheim finally grasped the gravity, sighing with genuine shock, "This signifies that the cylindrical spatial region has effectively become a cosmic dead zone!

  All existing matter cannot persist normally there; they can only degrade and disintegrate. Is that the case?"

  "Indeed." Orgrid nodded gravely.

  After a brief silence, the two Arnel Sages turned and departed. Accompanied by the surveillance officer's respectful farewell, they traversed tens of thousands of kilometers in a single stride, entering a dark, tranquil, profound gate, resembling a cosmic abyss.

  Beyond this gate lay a long, continuous corridor. On the corridor's smooth, transparent four walls, countless dazzling points of light, reminiscent of the stars of the Milky Way, flickered and glided every moment.

  The scene appeared both mysteriously alien and filled with unknown cutting-edge technology.

  It seemed as though the two Sages had entered not merely a gate, but a true space-time tunnel.

  And indeed, that was precisely what it was.

  This corridor was fundamentally analogous to a wormhole. Under the extremely sophisticated manipulation afforded by Arnel Civilization technology, it tightly connected numerous large military installations and various vital structures throughout the Civilization's territory.

  Upon entering the corridor, they fundamentally did not need to exert themselves physically to move. The corridor would automatically scan the external information fields they manifested, thereby, with the augmentation of layered force fields, completely bypassing the vast distances between each region of Sanchegues in reality, transporting them directly at superluminal velocity toward their distant destination.

  During their rapid transit, Orgrid remarked: "Those Yonruk Sages are proving somewhat troublesome. The more we engage them, the more fanatical they become. Consequently, within our species, apart from the Sages occupied with various critical duties, all others are currently dedicated to besieging and intercepting them.

  Currently, only the two of us are free; therefore, only we can venture to Orion to conduct a field investigation of the specific situation there.

  Right, is the 'fuel' for your Level Eight warp spaceship adequate? If we deplete our reserves mid-journey, we'll have to manually fly back."

  Gusheim nodded: "Rest assured. My ship's warp supply bay is stocked with exotic matter—enough to circumnavigate the Milky Way once and return to the galactic core with reserves remaining."

  "Good, that's excellent then."

  Orgrid continued chatting, "Speaking of the Yonruk people, their military defensive structures surrounding the Fissure Abyss (the colossal gaps between the planetary blocks) have all been neutralized. Their main military assets are also continuously retreating under the siege from the allied forces. I estimate it won't be long before we can push deep into their main block, all the way to the core region of the Yonruk Civilization. The war should be entering its concluding phase."

  Gusheim, hovering beside him, shook his head and laughed: "That group of low-intelligence battle enthusiasts truly possesses the audacity of a dragon! They actually dared to set their sights on the galactic core black hole. If they truly succeeded in 'awakening' a God of Hunger, the ensuing trouble would be immense."

  "Indeed," Orgrid slowly conceded, "However, if the Yonruk people hadn't so arrogantly initiated that so-called 'Deification' protocol, the Arto Origin Channel surveillance station would never have detected their abnormal movements. Those fellows could have remained concealed, and then they wouldn't have conceived any more dangerous schemes."

  "You have a point, but, all things considered, this Yonruk rebellion can also be interpreted as a harsh lesson for the Iain species," Gusheim observed, crossing his arms and smiling.

  "Oh?" Orgrid inquired with slight curiosity, "How so?"

  "Consider this: in antiquity, the Yonruk people and the Ponret people fled from the Canis Major Dwarf Galaxy to the Milky Way. If it weren't for the Iain Tribe, who defied all objections and granted them sanctuary, where would these two groups of intergalactic refugees have found the opportunity to fight their way from the spiral arm to ultimately assume control of Sanchegues and ascend to a galactic core Civilization?"

  "Hmm..." Orgrid mused, "You have a valid point. At that juncture, the ancient Star Eaters mysteriously vanished, and the galactic core continent (Sanchegues) fractured inexplicably. To contend for the Star Eater's legacy, that period was precisely when my tribe and the Iain people were fiercely battling for dominion.

  Coincidentally, these two species—one possessing supreme individual combat prowess, the other excelling in fleet command—ah, they were truly heaven-sent, excellent subordinates."

  "Speaking of that crustacean faction,"

  At this moment, Gusheim commented mockingly, "It’s quite farcical; the Ponret people, who usually maintained the best rapport with the Yonruk, were the most proactive and fervent participants this time. Heh heh, I suppose they were terrified of facing a similar purge themselves."

  "That is certainly the case."

  Amidst their shared laughter and chatter, the countless star points rapidly shifting on the four walls surrounding them suddenly halted their motion.

  At that precise moment, a profound gate materialized within the previously void-like, dark internal space of the corridor ahead.

  The two did not hesitate for a second, stepping through the gate in a single stride.

  ...

  Just at this critical juncture.

  Seraphine, standing deep within the Orion Spiral Arm, had already successfully transferred all sentient species to the surface of that new Sanchegues ultimate mega-structure contained within a three-dimensional space-time unit cell in her body.

  And after finalizing these crucial tasks, she shifted her attention to the memory 'entity' quietly suspended deep within the Cosmic Intellect.

  Hum ——

  The Light of Infinity activated immediately, penetrating deep into her Primordial Soul, abruptly enveloping that cluster of memory information.

  The alien civilization system's information lock, which shielded the outer layer of that data, was instantly vaporized by the Light of Infinity.

  In that instant, all data pertaining to the Witch King, and concerning the Witch Continent, suddenly unfolded within Seraphine's Primordial Soul.

  In the vast expanse of the Cosmic Intellect, resembling true physical space, the dazzling and radiant Light of Infinity, like an ancient Celestial Serpent, roamed unrestrained, casting countless illusory yet concrete, brilliant divine lights akin to a glorious Great Sun.

  Under the intense illumination of these divine rays, the colossal memory entity named 'Mycenae,' drifting slowly in the void, had its endless pitch-black incantations—which constantly floated around its exterior—suddenly shatter and dissipate into nothingness.

  Thus, this immense mass of memory entity immediately, as if freed from constraints yet highly compressed like countless tons of heavy mercury, rapidly expanded, surging outward in all directions.

  Whoosh whoosh whoosh ——

  In an instant, within the boundless void of the Cosmic Intellect, a phantom world, purely constructed from layer upon layer of Memory Realms, quickly condensed into form.

  At this moment, a thread of Seraphine's will also slowly manifested in this void.

  She looked at that cluster of colossal, seemingly tangible, Memory Realm worlds in the distance, and chuckled:

  "Interesting. Let me see what experiences you have accumulated, after all."

  With that, she transformed into a ray of light, traversing the boundless void, and instantly plunged into that Memory Realm planet.

  ...

  Night fell.

  Sparse and faint starlight graced the horizon.

  Layers upon layers of dark clouds were pressed down into boundless ink, heavily smeared across the thick, turbid earth.

  Aside from the gloomy, cold, howling wind, only an occasional wolf howl dared break the silence.

  Now, in a dark, damp village, over a hundred villagers, clad in tattered garments and bearing ferocious expressions, were gathered.

  Each held a torch, assembled around the threshing ground, fiercely glaring at the filthy woman who was tightly bound to a large pile of wooden blocks in the center of the clearing.

  "You demon deserving of hellfire, perish!"

  From the crowd, a tall, lean man wearing a leather hat spoke with grim resolve.

  "My son! My son fell ill—it is all because of you, you fiend, boo hoo hoo hoo!"

  A middle-aged woman, supported by her family, wept and wailed.

  "My two prize pigs, after tending to them for so long, both died overnight. It must be your foul sorcery!"

  A short but sturdy man with a wine-red nose exclaimed excitedly, saliva splattering everywhere.

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  "Damn woman! Bitch fit for the abyss!"

  The crowd gripped their torches, cursing with all their might, "Lover of the evil devil! Filthy harlot! Go to hell!"

  But the woman, covered in wounds and lashed to the thick wooden stake, merely lowered her head, offering no word.

  "Alright, alright."

  At this moment, the village chief, standing atop a table beside the pyre, spoke gravely, "I know everyone has suffered immensely, but there is no need for panic or fear; the divine powers are always watching over us!"

  Seeing the villagers gradually quiet down, the portly village chief patted his bulging belly and cleared his throat:

  "Ahem, my fellow villagers, tonight is our day of solemn prayer."

  He pointed to a gaunt villager with a perpetually gloomy expression standing behind him and stated in a deep voice:

  "The honest old man Ke informed me that this woman is a demon's hound; she is, in fact, a succubus."

  Upon mentioning this, the fat village chief narrowed his tiny soybean-like eyes, turned his head, and scrutinized the woman's delicate form beneath the tattered rags. He then chuckled sinisterly: "After my assessment—hmm, an assessment of her physique—

  I believe old man Ke was not mistaken; she! Is a succubus from the lower realms!"

  Upon hearing this declaration, the villagers became even more agitated, yelling, "Burn her! Execute her! Kill her now!"

  The village chief raised his hand, signaling the crowd below to quiet down, and the villagers instantly fell silent.

  Then, he lowered his voice and spoke slowly:

  "After all these years, you have endured such hardship. What, ultimately, is the reason?"

  As soon as these words were uttered, everyone below lowered their heads slightly, their faces etched with grief and indignation; some even began to weep.

  "I shall tell you why?!"

  The portly village chief raised his small finger, pointed directly at the woman with her head bowed low, and roared, "It is this woman's doing!"

  "Incinerate her! Burn her alive!"

  The villagers once again raised their heads, roaring wildly.

  "Hmm, it is time for judgment; execute the sentence."

  The village chief waved his hand dismissively. Two burly men behind him immediately and silently approached the bound woman, tilted their torches, and ignited the kindling beneath her feet.

  Crackling ~

  Crackling ~

  "Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!"

  The villagers gathered around the threshing ground, witnessing this scene, immediately shouted with fervent excitement.

  Someone started, and suddenly, they began singing a prayer hymn.

  Thus, these dirty, unkempt, foolish-looking villagers all held hands, their faces filled with a strange happiness, and sang:

  "We thank the gods of the sky,

  It is He who brought good tidings,

  Bringing us the dawn,

  Oh God, you are the greatest,

  Oh God, please protect your lambs."

  During the hymn, the woman, enveloped in raging flames, struggled painfully and suddenly cried out to the sky in a strange, foreign tongue.

  No one present could decipher what she was saying.

  Only the ten-year-old boy, hiding in a haystack not far away, tightly covered his mouth, making not a sound.

  He understood.

  His mother was speaking to him in the language of their homeland:

  "Do not make a sound, do not emerge, hide until dawn, protect yourself... Live well!"

  The boy did not disobey his mother's instructions. He hid until dawn before carefully crawling out of the hay and, before the sky brightened, fled the village.

  Still very young, he did not know why his mother had suffered such a terrible fate.

  He had only used his innate telekinetic power to prevent others from stealing.

  How could this action result in such a bitter outcome?

  He didn't understand; he only desired to run, as far away as possible.

  In the distance.

  Watching the boy's hurried retreating figure, the ethereal Seraphine smiled:

  "I did not expect Mycenae's life trajectory to coincide so closely with his son's, haha, truly fascinating."

  Then, she mused:

  "However... judging merely from the language, behavior, and overall layout of this village, the people, ethnicity, religion, language, script, and culture of this world are strikingly similar to the Eliondra continent during the medieval era.

  Is this mere coincidence... or is there some other underlying reason?"

  It was no wonder Seraphine felt suspicion.

  Because, strictly speaking, this Witch Continent, relative to Earth, definitely falls under the category of 'alien civilization.'

  And in terms of 'otherness,' it surpasses even the Mercury Race.

  After all, the Mercury Race is merely distant in space-time.

  But the 'distance' between the Witch Continent and Earth... is dimensional.

  Yet, the two societies are so strikingly alike.

  This inevitably prompts one to wonder... if some secret is concealed within this similarity.

  Because, at least up until this point, among the nearly ten thousand alien intelligent species Seraphine had absorbed, not a single species mirrored Earth's civilization in almost every single aspect.

  Therefore, simply relying on probability to explain all this, Seraphine found it somewhat challenging to fully convince herself.

  "Is it pure chance? Or is there some form of consciousness or power manipulating all of this from the shadows?"

  For a moment, numerous thoughts surfaced in her mind.

  "Very well, I shall investigate this."

  Seraphine slowly raised her head, looked towards the edge of the sky, and amidst a blurring of her form, rapidly traversed thousands of miles.

  In an instant, she arrived at the terminus of that world.

  Standing amidst the boundless firmament, gazing upon the terrifying, hazy chaos just before her, Seraphine's eyes immediately flickered with comprehension.

  "In this Memory Realm world, born from my power, any location Mycenae could not perceive or had not deliberately conceptualized is a blank void of chaos.

  And all the individuals, objects, and scenes he documented, upon being accessed by him within this 'realm,' actually provided the necessary material effects."

  Divine light flashed within her eyes: "To me, this setting resembles an illusion, yet for Mycenae, it is undeniably tangible."

  "Naturally, it is real to his singular consciousness."

  Seraphine seemed to suddenly realize something, a spark of analytical curiosity lighting her gaze:

  "This fabricated Mycenae, merely relying on a sliver of empty, false Spirituality I bestowed, yet possessing all the memories, perceptions, thoughts, and behavioral patterns of the truly deceased Mycenae.

  And yet, he exhibits a vitality no less than the original—truly miraculous.

  In a certain sense, he is 'authentically' reborn, revived within my own cognition."

  "When calculated this way, hí situation is nearly equivalent to a cleverly disguised Brain in a vat."

  "Except this vat... was architected by me."

  ...

  Time proceeded swiftly.

  Mycenae always remembered his mother’s final directive before her passing:

  Protect yourself well.

  Thus, in the pursuit of survival, the young child manifested as a beggar, covertly utilizing his innate telekinetic power, stealing and wandering between settlements.

  Seraphine, who had been observing from the periphery, was already growing impatient.

  She held no fascination for unraveling the bitter formative history of a mere child.

  "Time, accelerate."

  With that thought, the clouds slowly drifting overhead instantly sped up millions of times, vanishing into the distant horizon in a blink.

  The sun, which had been calmly suspended in the air, immediately plummeted downwards, instantaneously followed by the moon swiftly ascending to claim the firmament.

  Amidst the alternating luminosity of day and night, the surrounding scenery shifted rapidly, and auditory inputs became a jumbled cacophony.

  The environment began to rush forward, morphing layer upon layer, like moving oil paintings blurring together.

  After a while, the visual stabilized.

  By this point, thirty years had elapsed since Mycenae fled the village.

  During the initial years of this thirty-year span, after only a few arduous years, he was noticed by a witch organization concealed behind human society, owing to his exceptional Witchcraft talent, and became a witch apprentice.

  Consequently, from Mycenae's vantage point, Seraphine swiftly grasped the witch power system and the true nature of this supposed Witch Continent.

  First, the witch power system.

  Unlike the later Divine Star level Mycenae would eventually attain.

  At this juncture, the witch organization he joined undoubtedly believed that witches possessed only four distinct tiers.

  Specifically: witch apprentice, first-level witch, and second-level witch.

  As well as the third-level witch, a rank that had been absent from this continent for over a millennium.

  Based on Seraphine's assessment.

  If these four tiers were roughly quantified in terms of destructive capability, they would equate to room-destroying level, building-destroying level, and street-destroying level, respectively.

  As for the third-level witch, unachieved for so long, it was likely equivalent to city-destroying level.

  Concurrently, apart from the sparse population of witches on this continent, there also existed a significant number of knights who, despite lacking Witchcraft aptitude, could reach the room-destroying level in raw combat effectiveness.

  Therefore, this collective of witches, whose peak combat potential only reached street-destroying level, did not truly rule this continent overtly.

  They merely manipulated each nation covertly through indirect influence.

  As for the supposed Witch Continent, its actual designation was — Ansel World.

  In the ancient secret scrolls of the 'Invisible Hand' witch organization, which Mycenae joined, Ansel World was described as a planar realm formed from boundless oceans and hundreds or perhaps thousands of continents of varying sizes.

  The continent where Mycenae had lived for generations was merely a minuscule corner of the vast, unknown Ansel World.

  How many continents existed in the entire expanse, and their precise scale, even the 'Invisible Hand' organization remained uncertain.

  Furthermore, the count of moons and suns in the sky was equally ambiguous.

  At least according to the 'Invisible Hand's' records, thirty-five moons had once been visible in the sky on a single night.

  And on one particular day, there had once been a maximum of three suns present.

  Strangely, whether there was one sun or three, the people on the ground registered no significant shift in ambient temperature.

  It was as if the suns... were artificial constructs.

  "A bizarre realm, possessing similarities to Earth yet utterly divergent where it counts."

  Seraphine, leisurely seated in the Invisible Hand's library, perusing ancient codices, murmured to herself:

  "Truly the Realm of Phantasm, to so casually disregard fundamental laws of physics."

  Having finished the text, Seraphine lightly clapped her hands.

  Time immediately accelerated once more.

  Swoosh swoosh swoosh ——

  An additional fifty years passed.

  By that point, the region where Mycenae resided, which shared certain cultural and ethnic parallels with the continent of Eliondra, had quietly entered the shadow of encroaching conflict.

  This continent had remained undisturbed by major warfare for over a century.

  The embers of conflict, seemingly extinguished a hundred years prior, still held faint red sparks stubbornly clinging to life.

  Unfair treaties, disputes between burgeoning empires, conflicts between victors and the vanquished.

  A massive economic downturn sweeping across the entire continent plunged nations into unbearable internal social crises.

  Coupled with the haphazard development across various sectors within these nations.

  Finally, this continent, which had known perpetual strife since ancient times, once again ignited the fierce conflagration of war.

  The witch organizations that had always maintained influence behind the scenes of nations also, driven by self-preservation, initiated a series of overt and covert struggles.

  Within the decades-long melee, countless mortals perished, and witches were not exempt.

  Amidst the brutal internal clashes, this faction—excluding the lofty second-level witches—saw casualties among individuals like witch apprentices and first-level witches as well.

  And given his astonishing aptitude, Mycenae, who had already positioned himself at the very threshold of achieving first-level witch status, had quietly returned to his ancestral village.

  His objective was starkly clear: retribution.

  But sadly, that tiny village of just over a hundred homes had long been engulfed by war and the relentless passage of time.

  There was no trace of human activity, only desolate ruins remained.

  Mycenae couldn't even pinpoint the exact location of the threshing ground where his mother had been executed.

  It was at this pivotal moment that he awakened.

  "The fleeting joys and hatreds of the weak are meaningless; they are invariably destined to become mere stepping stones for the strong."

  Mycenae suddenly whispered, "I will not become a stepping stone—never!"

  Not far away, Seraphine quietly observed him, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.

  ...

  Leaving the desolate village ruins, Mycenae wasted no time and immediately returned to the "Invisible Hand" organization.

  But shortly after his return, he meticulously assassinated the treasury guards, stole the organization's inherited secret treasures along with a vast collection of ancient texts, and brazenly betrayed the "Invisible Hand," effectively becoming a wandering witch.

  That 'awakening' seemed to have granted Mycenae profound understanding of many things, simultaneously awakening some unspoken, dark potential within him.

  His modus operandi suddenly became gloomy, cruel, and utterly unscrupulous.

  As long as there was any conceivable path to increase his strength, Mycenae would no longer hesitate or refuse.

  Taking advantage of the continent being engulfed in widespread war, and various organizations locked in internal conflict, he began relentlessly plundering, stealing, assassinating, and performing blood sacrifices...

  Soldiers, knights, witch apprentices, and even established, genuine witches—all became Mycenae's continuous targets.

  The powerful or weak bodies and souls thus obtained became invaluable materials for his Witchcraft cultivation.

  In Mycenae's eyes, there were no longer fellow beings, only those worth slaying and those not yet worth the effort.

  Whether it was tangible flesh and blood or ethereal souls, he accepted all without prejudice.

  As long as it was a method that could bring him an increase in strength, Mycenae claimed it for himself without any reservation.

  He even began mass slaughtering mortals, using them as fuel for countless wicked sacrificial rituals.

  Furthermore, Mycenae was not simply carrying out slaughter; rather, predicated on acquiring large amounts of negative emotions, he enacted various cruel and utterly sadistic killings.

  Drowning, burning, snake-biting, bludgeoning, dismembering, systematic bloodletting...

  Thousands of medium and small villages situated at the borders of various nations, far removed from major cities, as well as barbarian tribes living for generations in plateaus, valleys, and the wilderness—all became his hunting grounds, his cultivation 'sustenance.'

  During this period, Mycenae also discovered that he possessed unparalleled and terrifying aptitude in blood sacrifices and soul sacrifices.

  Ordinary witches, if they performed such wicked rituals, would often, by the ritual's end, only absorb and increase their power at a rate of one in a hundred, and moreover, suffer immense backlash afterward, potentially affecting their own minds and future advancement.

  But Mycenae was different.

  Whether it was the physical strength gained from Blood Sacrifices or the spiritual strength gained from Soul Sacrifices, his 'benefit ratio' was tens to hundreds of times that of ordinary witches, with almost no waste; he gained proportionally to what he destroyed.

  It was as if Mycenae was born a genius of the dark sacrificial path; he was inherently destined to walk this exceptionally grim road.

  Perhaps it was predestined.

  Mycenae, cultivating while desperately evading the pursuit of his former organization, unexpectedly discovered a Divine Star-level Witchcraft secret scripture—《 Hydra Sacrifice 》—left by ancient witches countless years ago deep in the mountains.

  According to the records in this ancient secret scripture, upon its complete cultivation, one's true body would transform into a nine-headed Hydra, capable of fully recovering with each life consumed, effectively becoming an infinitely regenerating nine-headed venomous dragon.

  Mycenae, overjoyed, furthermore discovered that this secret scripture's cultivation method perfectly suited his established style.

  That was blood and soul sacrifice, endless sacrifice.

  Each tier of the scripture's cultivation required ten specific 'elements.'

  Among them were five physical elements: skin, muscles, bones, blood, and bone marrow.

  And five ethereal elements: rage, grief, pain, despair, and fear.

  "This blood-spitting, wildly abundant style looks very similar to the cultivation methods of the indigenous religion in the ancient Southwest highlands of Emberlight."

  Seraphine, standing behind Mycenae, glanced at the records in the secret scripture and shook her head slightly in disdain, "A very low-grade, filthy method."

  Then, she realized another problem.

  "Hydra, the nine-headed serpent... such a strong sense of déjà vu. This is clearly the evil dragon from ancient Eliondra myths, yet it also exists in this Realm of Phantasm world, and with the same settings, almost unchanged."

  The ethereal Seraphine hesitated slightly: "Realm of Phantasm... Realm of Phantasm. Could it be that these familiar 'things' in the Realm of Phantasm... are all related to human thoughts?"

  But... on what basis? Why should it be connected to Earth humans? Earth is not the center of the universe, and humans are not the protagonists of the cosmos. What is all this signifying?

  Chaos Calculation operated in a timely manner, yet it failed to 'capture' even the slightest answer.

  But this failure, too, was a kind of answer.

  "Not a single clue caught."

  Seraphine's pupils narrowed, "It means there must be a profound secret hidden within, absolutely not something that coincidence can easily explain."

  The Memory Realm world continued to unfold.

  After obtaining the Hydra secret scripture, Mycenae's dark rituals became even more cruel, but paradoxically, also more structured.

  His various bloody acts no longer carried the slightest personal emotion but evolved into something more rigorous and complex.

  Thus, under the cover of the continent's chaotic wars, the brutal massacres orchestrated by Mycenae also, like pitch-black night, quietly enveloped the entire continent.

  This continued for decades until the continent's wars finally stabilized, and the heavily damaged nations decided to initiate peace talks.

  At this time, many witch organizations, operating discreetly behind various nations and depleted of their vitality, only belatedly realized that someone, or perhaps a specific witch, had been continuously conducting large-scale Blood Sacrifice activities at the continental borders and in various secluded locations.

  But by the time they managed to deliberate, organize their manpower, and painstakingly break through the heavy 'Prophecy Firewalls' Mycenae had deliberately established, they still hadn't truly pinpointed his location or discovered his true dwelling.

  Everything was already too late.

  Bang!!

  The heavy wooden palace door was blown inward from a distance.

  Mycenae, with a chilling expression, slowly strolled into the colossal palace.

  This abandoned edifice was not small in scale, but the truly functional area within it was surprisingly limited.

  This was because the very center of the palace was occupied by a filthy pond, spanning over ten thousand square meters.

  This pool of murky black water constantly remained in a turbulent, boiling state.

  But this was not due to extreme heat; instead, countless tiny fish were incessantly swimming within the pond, creating a bizarre spectacle.

  Drip drip drip drip ——

  His gaze shifted upwards.

  One could observe minute streams of crimson blood constantly dripping into the pond from the rafters above, causing the strange fish within to excitedly leap nonstop.

  It turned out that on the thick support beams directly above the enormous pond, nearly 3000 extremely cramped, rusted iron cages were suspended.

  In these cages, each held a person whose entire body hair had been meticulously shaved off.

  These individuals included men and women, the young and the aged.

  At this moment, all were naked, their expressions utterly despondent, their spirits wracked with agony.

  These iron cages appeared specifically designed for torment.

  They were constructed to be both low and narrow, and the interior surfaces, as well as the exterior, were covered in sharp, hard barbs.

  These steel barbs made it impossible for the people inside the cages to squat down or lie flat.

  They could only 'cower' inside in an extremely uncomfortable and agonizing posture, heads constantly bowed.

  Yet, even so, these people's bodies were crisscrossed with wounds from the iron barbs, continuously gasping and moaning in pain.

  As their bodies were lacerated by the iron barbs, trickles of blood continuously flowed downwards.

  When these drops of blood, emitting a strong metallic scent, entered the pond, they caused the thousands of crimson, ferocious fish to swim excitedly and ceaselessly, constantly raising their heads, opening their mouths, and snapping their tiny fangs in the air.

  As if anticipating more blood to fall, to finally satisfy their bloodthirsty cravings.

  When these unfortunate souls saw Mycenae enter the gloomy grand hall, they immediately cried out for mercy from within their confines.

  "Spare me! I beg you to spare my life!"

  "Oh oh oh oh, it hurts unbearably! I cannot endure this!"

  "Lord Witch, have mercy on my soul!"

  Mycenae was utterly deaf to these mournful and tragic pleas.

  He simply extended his hand and released his telekinetic power, controlling the thousands of iron cages to slowly descend.

  Upon realizing this action, the prisoners in the cages immediately screamed in profound terror.

  Due to excessive fear, many even directly fainted and collapsed.

  During this process, Mycenae, while manipulating the iron cages with his telekinetic power, solemnly and rapidly chanted difficult-to-pronounce wicked incantations.

  As the incantations were uttered, the palace walls, the pond, and the sky—which previously looked normal—all flickered and glowed, displaying a myriad of densely packed, grotesque ancient patterns.

  These patterns were all intricately constructed from dozens of bizarre concepts, including various grotesque beasts, knife-wielding thugs, headless executioners, cackling ghost faces, and deformed giants.

  Surrounding these patterns, from the interior outwards, were countless curves, broken lines, pause points, and irregular shapes.

  These patterns and lines, as soon as they manifested, seemed to gain animation, rising from a purely flat surface to become three-dimensional structures. They began to intensely absorb the despair and pain frantically 'erupting' from the thousands of people in the iron cages, thereby transforming and brewing surges of demonic power, which were then telekinetically channeled toward Mycenae.

  Upon receiving these surges of dark power and feeling the strength within him begin to swell and transform, a casual smile slowly appeared on Mycenae's face.

  A minute passed.

  The thousands of iron cages slowly sank into the pond.

  In an instant, countless tens of thousands of grotesque fish, merely the size of a fingertip, crowded and bit at the naked people in the iron cages—targeting their gluteal clefts, backs, feet, and even... more vulnerable areas.

  "Ah ah ah ah..."

  "Woo woo..."

  "No... not again..."

  Waves of frenzied screams echoed throughout the entire great hall.

  At the same moment, the peculiar evil power converted by the Witchcraft ritual surged dozens of times over.

  After just half a minute, the pond transformed into a chaotic scene, resembling a blood-filled purgatory.

  Mycenae, amidst the onslaught of fiercely surging evil power from outside, pushed open the threshold of a third-level witch.

  "Ah ——"

  His eyes wide, he roared towards the sky.

  Then, his body rapidly swelled.

  In a short span of time, he transformed into a colossal black meatball, its surface covered with long and short tentacles, its volume comparable to the size of a basketball court.

  Thump thump thump thump ——

  The meatball pulsed like a beating heart, as if gestating something.

  Seraphine, standing to one side, watched this black meatball that completely shattered the great hall, hands clasped, and speculated: "Simply advancing to a third-level witch should result in three dragon heads, hmm, considered the peak of mortal beings."

  When Mycenae first obtained the 《 Hydra Sacrifice 》 he had analyzed its essence in a single second.

  Combined with the relatively incomplete and rudimentary secret scriptures in the 'Invisible Hand's' treasury, Seraphine easily deduced the entire witch system framework.

  Simply put, to become a witch, one must first choose a phenomenon in this great mundane world.

  Either fierce birds and strange beasts, or Behemoths and Titans, or thunder and storms, or military battles, or evil spirits and ghosts, or snow mountains and deserts, or gods and demons...

  Any choice, taken as a foundation, fusing the soul within it, and then drawing in the corresponding attribute Primis (Ether) from the outside, can condense a magic core.

  And the magic core is the foundation of the witch system.

  Whether it is drawing in Primis to condense magic power, or using magic power as 'ammunition' to release Witchcraft, or using magic power as a brush to sketch rituals, all require the magic core's participation.

  Once the magic core is formed, it will automatically operate within the witch's body, releasing surges of magic power with attributes closely corresponding to the magic core's phenomenon, ravaging the entire body, from physical form to soul.

  It is a violent, surging ravaging, not a gentle, relaxing permeation.

  Therefore, those naturally lacking adaptation and endurance to the ravaging magic power will, at the moment the magic core condenses, meet their death. Their adaptability to chaotic magic power is also one of the thresholds to becoming a witch, and can be considered a part of witch aptitude.

  Either one has it, or one does not.

  If one insists on forcing it, one will inevitably die in agony.

  For example, a 'Magma' magic core; someone without aptitude will, at the moment of condensation, be burned alive from inside out by continuously erupting magma, turning into a heap of heat-emitting, sulfur-smelling stone sculpture.

  If an 'Evil Ghost' magic core is condensed, someone without aptitude will be possessed by a hundred ghosts, their vital organs devoured, and their soul-body even used as nutrient supply for ferocious ghosts, giving birth to a horde of ghost children and grandchildren, and after experiencing ultimate torment, they will rupture with pus and die.

  But those with qualified witch aptitude will, under the day-by-day, year-by-year ravaging of the magic core's power, have their bodies and souls continuously tempered, thereby transforming into a higher, more powerful life form.

  But this 'power' is, in essence, a profound degree of alienation.

  For example, Mycenae, who abandoned his former path and completely switched to 《 Hydra Sacrifice 》 will, under the influence of the core, inevitably and increasingly lean towards the nine-headed poisonous dragon Hydra.

  Continuously and relentlessly becoming non-human.

  Becoming brutal and cold-blooded, maliciously trampling upon both people and objects.

  Becoming a devourer of poisons, preferring gloomy, damp swamps, disliking hot deserts and dry, cold ice fields.

  However, Mycenae's vitality will, like the true nine-headed serpent of mythological legend, not die from decapitation, and injuries will instantly recover.

  Even when he truly steps into the Divine Star level, even if he falls into a siege of equal level, as long as he is not killed nine times in rapid succession, he can rise again.

  Furthermore, at that time, any single drop of Mycenae's blood will be a world-class poison.

  Just one drop.

  It can pollute a hundred acres of fertile land into barren, weed-choked, toxic mud.

  And Seraphine, after completing the overhaul of the witch system, also instantly streamlined and optimized 《 Hydra Sacrifice 》 creating an even more powerful, brand new secret scripture.

  "Perhaps, I can split off a clone to practice this art."

  She mused excitedly, "But for this phenomenon... should I choose Nine Infants, Nine Phoenix, Nine-headed Serpent, or Kaiming Beast?"