Chapter 52 : The Sublime Ceremony

The moment Li Wen landed, a surge of danger engulfed her.

A chilling aura swept over her, and a massive force slammed into her back.

Caught off guard, she barely managed to roll and deflect the remaining impact.

Remaining health: 71%.

That ambush had taken away 29% of her life.

If not for the partial defense provided by her Emerald Star Cloak, her health would’ve dropped below 60%.

She found herself in a dimly lit basement.

The attacker had likely been waiting in ambush after hearing movement.

She cast a glance at the culprit— a bald man with dark skin and tattoos all over his face.

His eyes were fierce, and he chanted strange words while holding a blood-red eyeball cracked down the middle.

He was speaking the Gehai tongue, also known as the language of the Jabach people.

Gehai was a neutral region straddling the borders of east and west within the Inner Continent, home to countless religions and conflicting beliefs.

Even feared cults that served the Deep Dark or the Rot thrived there.

It was said that crossing the Gehai led to Ganan, which explained the heightened activity of Deep Dark sects in the area.

Li Wen raised her dagger and responded fluently in the Gehai tongue, “Take me to your leader. Tell him—beneath the glory, all is Deep Dark.”

“Deepdark Dawn?”

The man’s aggression faded slightly, though his eyes remained cautious.

“You’ve already recovered the goods?”

“The details of the cargo aren’t for you to know. I’ll speak to your superior—unless, of course, you’re qualified to represent your entire sect?”

He froze, his expression darkening.

Clearly, she had struck a nerve.

If he held any real authority, he wouldn’t have been left to guard the door.

He was merely a follower who had learned a bit of esoteric lore under the church’s elders.

Without ever stepping onto the path of the supernatural, his only hope in combat was to rely on enchanted tools to catch others off guard.

In a fair fight against a true transcendent, he would fall instantly.

Facing the corrupted dagger in Li Wen’s hand—clearly no ordinary weapon—the tattooed man immediately backed down.

If she truly was a liaison from Deepdark Dawn, then even his superiors wouldn’t dare blame him for this.

“I’ll… take you… put the weapon down…”

He switched to clumsy Terran.

Li Wen ignored him and simply gestured for him to lead the way.

The Moon Cult had no intention of establishing a long-term base in Ark Town.

The basement beneath the decrepit house wasn’t large, but there was another level below.

The tattooed man triggered a mechanism and revealed a hidden door.

Behind it stood another muscular, tattooed man who stepped aside silently after one look at them.

Thus, Li Wen descended to the second level of the underground chamber.

There, in the deepest shadows, sat an old man wrapped in a black robe.

His eyes were covered with white cloth, and he muttered ancient incantations and secrets of the night.

At his feet crouched a skinny, malnourished black cat with fluffed fur and eerie eyes locked on Li Wen.

At some point, the tattooed man had slipped away.

The blindfolded elder coughed and asked in fluent Terran, “Where’s the cargo?”

So, he knew exactly what had happened above.

“The fire mage was cornered and used it himself.”

The old man sighed.

“We lost three of our kin getting it across the border.”

His tone wasn’t accusatory—just a plain statement of fact.

Li Wen blinked.

She was beginning to piece together which cult this Moon faction actually belonged to.

Mainly composed of Gehai natives, blindfolded eyes, familiars in tow, calling each other “kin”—all of these pointed unmistakably to one Deep Dark sect: The Rite of Exaltation, worshipers of the Twin Lunar Deities and the Death-Witch of Terror.

These followers believed themselves to be descendants of the Forgotten Nation, addressing one another as “kin.”

Their eyes were bound with white cloth, for they believed mortals from that land must not lay eyes on the light or dark of the world—or risk contamination.

Aside from Gehai, the sect was most active in Arthur’s neighboring country, the war-torn land of Roland, symbolized by the Iris.

The infamous Fencewood Campaign had been fought between Arthur and Roland not long ago.

So then, was this cult attempting to smuggle Moonlight Elixirs from Roland into Arthur?

Li Wen couldn’t make sense of it.

“Since the potion was lost, the Soul Coffer of Forgetting will have to wait before we hand it over.”

The Soul Coffer of Forgetting?

Li Wen’s heart skipped.

That was a sacred artifact of the Rite of Exaltation—said to have the power to transform any living creature into a demon.

Corruption was one of the Deep Dark’s core paths.

Most Deep Dark cults—and even unrelated groups—resorted to demon summoning, familiars, or soul-altering rituals.

But an artifact that could directly turn any lifeform into a demon?

The Soul Coffer was one of the rare few.

Why did Deepdark Dawn want such a thing?

And why would the Rite hand over their own sacred treasure?

Something was deeply suspicious about this alliance.

Li Wen pushed down her curiosity and said plainly, “No matter. There’s something else I need from you—something that could determine the success or failure of our entire plan.”

The elder asked no further.

He merely replied with indifference, “As long as it’s within reach.”

“We’re preparing a ritual sacrifice. We’ll need twelve ingredients: light after death, the first murmur of the dead, blind knowledge, radiant darkness, a sealed eye, a rusted iron crown, flesh free of desire, a furnace of destruction, the origin of a circle, a fallen true spirit, a truthful delusion, and shattered amber. We hope this will be a simple favor.”

Though the blindfolded elder didn’t gasp, his mouth hung open in stunned silence.

What the hell are those things?

“Such… blasphemy…”

Even a high priest of the Rite of Exaltation—one who had summoned countless familiars and taken countless lives—couldn’t help but murmur the words.

The twelve ingredients Li Wen requested weren’t just rare—they were sacrilegious.

Each one represented a divine pillar, while simultaneously mocking its symbol.

What kind of monstrous ritual would require such materials?

As expected of Deepdark Dawn—they were more deranged than any mad priest of the Radiant Order.

The elder silently vowed that once this collaboration ended, the Rite of Exaltation would cut ties with Deepdark Dawn for good.

“Our people will deliver them at the stroke of midnight,” he finally said after a long pause.

These weren’t just physical ingredients—they were concepts.

Ordinary mortals could only acquire them through divine intervention.

Skilled transcendents might create them through ritual, while greater beings would travel to the gods’ own realms to seek them out.

And as luck would have it, the elder was one of those powerful enough to use familiars to reach the dwellings of the divine.