The stars had dimmed, and the crescent moon was hidden from view.
It was an unusually deep and somber night.
Even inside the radiant Church of Brilliance, the candle flames flickered uncertainly, as if they might go out at any moment.
Twelve eerie magic circles, drawn with pigments that emitted a bluish glow, surrounded the church in layered formation.
Li Wen was carefully placing offerings at the center of the array, following precise instructions for their positioning.
These offerings contained rebellious and blasphemous forces, each sealed within seemingly mundane objects.
For example, the “Light After Death” was sealed inside a grayish, dull block of ice; the “Rust-Crowned Blade” was a dagger stuck into a bed of thorns; the “Origin of the Ring” took the form of a snake, its head and tail nailed together into a circle…
Pastor Mog stood nearby, his expression shifting between unease and contemplation.
These offerings certainly matched the style of that mentor.
The great madman—this was likely the unanimous conclusion of anyone who had witnessed the true face of Siswell.
Once all the offerings were in place, Li Wen entered the church alone.
She placed the Endtime Codex in the center of the “Dawn-Dusk Nativity” circle, then stepped backward until she reached the entrance.
A strange, invisible force settled over the space.
The Endtime Codex began to float silently, and the girl beneath the tree on its cover stood up quietly, raising one hand to point skyward.
Li Wen picked up the brass mirror by the door. It should have reflected her image, but instead, it showed a vividly lifelike tree.
She drew a bone-etching dagger and stabbed the mirror straight through.
The mirror shattered like ice or glass, splintering into countless shards.
Inside, the tree silently withered and decayed.
Li Wen set down the mirror and walked to the wall on her left.
At the base of the wall sat a silver cup, brimming with red fruit wine.
She knelt on one knee and raised the cup.
Though the wine reached the brim, not a single drop spilled.
A rich aroma of fruit and mellow alcohol rose from the surface.
Li Wen closed her eyes and drank.
At first, it tasted tart and faintly sweet.
But as it slid down her throat, the flavor turned to a metallic, blood-like saltiness.
Li Wen forced herself not to gag and drank every last drop from the silver cup.
Then, faintly, she heard the sound of rain—soft and scattered at first, but quickly intensifying.
Soon, she felt it: a cold, foul-smelling rain pelting her skin, soaking her to the bone.
She couldn’t open her eyes—could only still her thoughts and listen.
Within the vast downpour, cries echoed.
Cries—no, screams.
Agony, accusations, wailing, desperate sobs…
It was as though some unspeakable disaster was unfolding around her.
But before long, the sounds vanished like wind. There was no trace left behind.
Li Wen looked at the silver cup in her hand.
Her body was dry—no sign of rain.
That scene, she realized, was likely a vision, a reenactment of a legend.
It was said that long ago, one of Kanan’s cities suffered a famine so terrible that its people were on the verge of death.
A passing follower of the Church of Brilliance couldn’t bear the sight and offered their own flesh and blood to the starving.
Miraculously, that flesh turned into bread, dried meat, and wine.
The townspeople were saved, and the self-sacrificing follower was later canonized as a saint.
The story was recorded in the Grace of Brilliance, and the Church’s tradition of sharing bread and wine after worship originated from this very tale.
Li Wen quickly refocused her thoughts and turned again to the wall on her left.
Behind the altar stood an overturned golden basin.
There was no pure gold basin to be found in the town of Ark, so this one was merely gilded—but that didn’t matter. It was only a symbol, after all.
Li Wen lifted the basin and set it upright atop the altar.
Though it had been empty, water now began to flow into it—crystal clear, purer than even the Church’s own holy water.
And within this immaculate water, Li Wen saw a vision unlike any other.
At first, it was only a blur of crimson.
As the image zoomed out, she realized it was the blood-soaked hem of a garment.
A nobleman sat on a lavish throne, a sharp dagger embedded in his chest, blood flowing freely from the wound.
The scene continued to pull back.
More figures appeared—some Li Wen even recognized: Moriah, the eldest son of the Holy Temple; the rogue mage duo; the Duvi elder, Old Sam…
They were gathered around a long table, as if in the great hall of a castle, just moments before—or during—a lavish banquet.
And at the very end of the vision, Li Wen saw herself.
She stood at the hall’s entrance, draped in a strange, glowing cloak of green stars, a pitch-black raven circling above her head.
Her mouth moved, speaking words—or was she chanting a spell?
The vision ended there.
The pure water in the basin instantly evaporated, leaving no trace behind.
A prophecy?
Li Wen raised a brow, contemplating what she had seen.
One thing was certain: this was a vision of the future.
But what did it mean?
Every prophecy held meaning.
And yet, Li Wen couldn’t make sense of the golden basin’s revelation.
Who was the murdered noble?
What was the banquet’s purpose?
Why was she there?
Why were Moriah and the others present?
And who was the assassin?
Too many unanswered questions.
Li Wen shook herself free from the spiraling thoughts and brought her focus back to the ceremony.
She walked over to the wall where mistletoe had been placed.
Picking up a nearby candle, she set the bundled, dried mistletoe alight.
Wisps of blue smoke rose gently.
This time, there was no prophecy, no hallucination, no strange sounds.
Only a faint and distant fragrance lingered—detached, but oddly pleasant.
And now came the final step—reciting the ancient Eternal Twilight Ode, the First Admonition of Grelion.
Li Wen stepped into the center of the ascension circle and lifted the floating Endtime Codex.
The archaic verses appeared unbidden in her mind, and without conscious thought, she began to recite them—each word in a foreign tongue.
It wasn’t so much a chant as it was a melody, a strange and lilting song in a language with rhythm and power.
Above, the ceiling of the church split open, as if an eyelid slowly lifting.
An eye-shaped void appeared at the top.
Beyond it lay suffocating darkness.
No stars.
No moon.
Thunder rolled from the distant skies.
A storm was about to break over this pitch-black night.
But the first thing to fall was not rain.
It was a translucent liquid—deep crimson tinged with yellow.
The droplets fell steadily, endlessly, drenching Li Wen’s body.
They quickly began to harden.
She, like a powerless insect, was soon encased in thick, amber-like resin—frozen, trapped in time.
Her consciousness and thoughts were suspended, as though time itself had stopped.
And within that stillness, a breathtaking transformation was about to unfold.
Outside the church, the twelve offering circles collapsed—their contents reduced to dust.
Pastor Mog looked skyward, his face filled with terror.
The sky, once dark and featureless, was now washed in an amber twilight.
A fear unlike any other took root in his heart and grew like a towering tree.
She must be stopped!
Only this thought echoed in the pastor’s mind.
His pupils narrowed and turned blood-red. Hellfire surged in his vision.
In his eyes, the Church of the Candle Sun was already engulfed in eternal flame.
And in the very next moment, that vision became reality.
The entire church erupted into a sea of fire.
Epic