Sunia Sea, Pasu Island, the Church of the Deep Storm. This is the headquarters of the Storm Church, the temple within a temple, a place blessed by the divine. The murals, painted in shades of blue, silver, emerald, and gold, appear rugged yet exude a sense of sacred dignity. Combined with the dome soaring over a hundred meters high, simply standing here evokes a profound sense of one's own smallness, compelling the visitor to lower their head in quiet reverence. Aljer Wilson has now completed the rites and has truly become a Sequence 5 "Ocean Singer." He has come here today, with his peers who have also been elevated, to listen to the teachings of Pope Cadar II. Indeed, over-consuming the magic potion truly makes it easy to approach collapse—I've already absorbed all the previous ones, yet this time I nearly couldn't bear it. Once I leave Pasu Island, I'll borrow the "Cross of No Darkness" from the "Sun," eliminating excess traits—this will not only yield monetary gain but also allow me to quietly cultivate loyal exceptionalists. Aljere, gazing at his reflection in the blue stone tiles on the ground, noticed his hair had deepened slightly and grown a bit thicker. At that moment, a sound like thunder resonated throughout the hall, exploding within each exceptionalist's heart and spreading profound fear. Pope Cadar II stepped forward, ascended the steps, and faced the assembly, speaking in a deep, resonant voice: "Congratulations to all of you—today, you have drawn even closer to the Divine." He wore a triple crown adorned with sapphires, emeralds, and other gems, dressed in a deep blue robe nearly black, embroidered with silver and gold threads depicting symbols of lightning, storms, and the sea—his presence commanding, solemn, and majestic, as though a great storm were about to break. This earthly angel, the representative of the "Lord of Storms," appeared only in his mid-forties in physical appearance, yet everyone knew that Gald II had presided over the Curia for nearly a century. As a favored servant of the divine, such longevity was no surprise to the faithful—it was entirely ordinary and nothing to be feared. Upon hearing the congratulations from the Pope, Aljer made no immediate response; he simply joined the other "Singers of the Sea," raising his right fist and striking his left chest, then shouted aloud: "May the Storm be upon us!" For the next hour, they listened silently as Gald II delivered his sermon. After completing this process, Aljere received his assignment from a senior steward who had been acting as a designated penalty bearer—headed to Sunya Island, where he was to remain concealed in the surrounding waters, seeking opportunities to strike at the port, supply fleets, and Varsak merchant vessels. "Beyond this, there are many other details that lead to the same conclusion, yet Audrey has deliberately omitted them. As Lord Hall removed his coat and handed it to his personal servant, he chuckled warmly, saying, 'Indeed, your observation is sharp—clearly, the busyness of the 'Charitable Education Fund' has sharpened your awareness. I've been at the Prime Minister's residence all night, waiting for news.' At this, Lord Hall sighed before adding, 'The front lines in the County of Winter and the County of Between Seas have successfully repelled the Fyrsak attacks. With the onset of winter, we finally have a chance to breathe.' Audrey blinked, appropriately conveying her surprise. Lord Hall immediately smiled, saying, 'I understand your question. The newspapers only report what we wish the public to know.' "The situation along the Amanda Mountain Defense Line and along the coastal cities of the Intersea is not as strong as you might think. In our initial wave of assaults, our fleet and our troops suffered tremendous losses. To prevent panic, we have reported a series of draws, while the shipyards and military factories have been working at full capacity. Over the past period, these two lines have been repeatedly threatened, with key areas lost and regained time and again—what some are calling a human meat grinder. Fortunately, we have finally held firm. This winter will mark a turning point in the war." I know—though the numbers of the fallen, missing, and wounded may have been somewhat concealed, they still reveal many pressing issues. Moreover, winter might not be the blessing we hoped for; Fasak’s "Weather Magician" is particularly skilled at exploiting such circumstances. Oudelir felt a deep sense of sadness, quickly composing herself and offering a smile: "Indeed, that’s wonderful. I hope we can restore peace soon." Count Holst paused momentarily, then said, "Your Majesty intends to deliver a speech to the nation on Saturday, assuring them that we shall surely win. Crowds will be organized across cities and villages to gather at the squares, using the latest technology so that everyone can hear." The latest technology... gathering citizens at the squares to listen to the King's speech... Audrey suddenly recalled Mr. World's reminder and decided to inform him of this development. ...Organizing large crowds to gather at the squares to listen to a speech—was this a corresponding ritual? Is King George III about to perform the 'Black Emperor' ceremony? Having received the most recent update from Miss Justice, Caine returned to the real world, his expression noticeably serious. He paced back and forth in his rented apartment before promptly pulling out paper and pen, swiftly writing: "I have gathered blood samples from twenty exceptional individuals; only the 'Assassin' and the 'Criminal' remain." "King George III will deliver a speech directly to the majority of the people this Saturday— you should know what that might signify. "Also, I need to perform the ritual of speaking with the 'Door' gentleman." Folded the letter, and having it delivered to Renette Tiniocel, Caine slowly exhaled, his thoughts swirling with an almost uncontrollable stream of ideas: "The magic woman's blood should be no issue—Trist has shown strong determination in undermining George III's plans... 'The Enigmatic Queen' might be able to reveal some information about my access to the secret tomb—though her primary goal is the resurrection of the Emperor and she's not eager to directly oppose George III, if George III succeeds, the Emperor may never recover... The demon's blood will have to wait until the Head of the Silver City returns—he has been leading his hunting party for over ten days and should be returning soon. This should be sufficient in time—no problem. If not, I'll implement two contingency plans: first, use the aura of the Whisperer to substitute for blood, and second, draw upon the historical fissures to summon the demons I've encountered before and extract their blood..." Her sleek, lustrous black hair cascaded down as Trish reached out and withdrew a letter from within the mirror. Upon opening it, her brow furrowed gradually, becoming especially endearing. "Is it finally here...?" Her expression shifted—hesitant, resistant, timid, and uncertain. In the end, a smile broke through, though slightly strained, as she murmured, "I've killed so many people, caused so many tragedies. Even if I die now, I've already recouped my investment." After a moment of silence, Trish drew forth a glass vial from the inner pocket of her black dress. Inside was not her own blood, but that of another mage—originally named Sherman, who later came to call herself Shem. As a seasoned, competent mage, Trish had, during the course of cultivating Shem, taken small samples of her blood to serve as a binding for a curse. While such measures often went unused, they proved effective in preventing unforeseen complications. After Sherman's death, Trish didn't discard this vial of blood, since magic women still needed such materials quite often—just as they do now. ... In the Silver City, within a residential home. As soon as the frequency of lightning began to rise, Deric rolled over and woke up, lit the stove, and promptly began baking mushrooms bread. This bread was finer and more delicate and sweeter than the traditional black rye bread, and he particularly enjoyed it—now looking forward to his meals with a sense of anticipation he had never known before. The only issue was that the yield of mushrooms suitable for bread wasn't particularly high. Limited by the number of monster corpses, each resident could collect fresh mushrooms only once a week, sufficient for about four or five meals. —After thousands of years of effort, the surrounding areas of the Silver City had become relatively safe, with fewer monsters. Deric had heard that some people deliberately cultivated mushrooms in darkness, hoping to become a lure for monsters, thus attracting them to be consumed. And then, they were eaten. A certain optimism had been sparked among the group by the mushrooms...but that wasn't good. Deric remembered the chief's earlier sentiment upon departure, shook his head, and picked up a jar he had found in the ruins of another city, pouring out the white milk. Honestly, he didn't particularly enjoy milk, but the chief's description—how milk helped humans grow taller and stronger—had convinced him. As a resident of the Silver City, Deric knew that, having chosen not the path of the Giants, his own potential for growth would be limited in both scope and magnitude. Still, he quietly hoped to close some of the gap with his friends, and the milk now offered him a glimmer of hope. Gulp, gulp—Deric drank his daily portion of milk seriously. As he reached for the mushroom bread, he suddenly felt a sense of awareness, turned his head toward the window. A figure had emerged from the shadow outside, stepping into the space between them and speaking: "Deric, the chief has asked me to give you this bottle of blood." Had the chief returned? Derek leapt to his feet, saying, "Good. Thank you." As soon as he finished speaking, he saw the shadow at the door crease come to life, surging forward to reveal a small metal bottle. Derek knew well that inside was the demon's blood the "World" gentleman had requested.