Chapter 38

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Chapter 38: Title

“At your command,” the judge answered.

“Were there mortal casualties?”

“Yes. Nineteen souls have been collected,” the judge replied with remorse. Had they arrived sooner, those lives might have been spared.

“All died before their destined time.”

“Indeed. Their lifespans were unfulfilled.”

The deceased souls, who had initially remained docile beside the Yin Chai, stirred restlessly at these words. Though newly departed spirits typically lacked awareness, the dense ghostly energy had prematurely sharpened their consciousness.

*So we weren’t meant to die yet?* Many raged inwardly, cursing their decision to visit Fūsāng—a trip that had cost them everything. Others who had been rescued counted their blessings, knowing they had narrowly escaped the same fate.

Amaterasu swept her hand through the air, ensnaring every lingering demon and hurling them back into the realm of the dead. With a flick of her wrist, the tear in the heavens mended seamlessly.

“I will seek you out,” Amaterasu declared before vanishing.

The affairs of the underworld demanded resolution. Even if she avoided one party, the God of Death in the West would require confrontation. Amaterasu remembered his capricious nature all too well—and his thinly veiled disdain for Zhongxia’s Empress.

Why chase distant solutions when the answer lay close at hand?

“Judge,” the Empress arched a brow, “escort these souls to the Nine Provinces. Handle their arrangements thereafter.” With a flutter of her sleeve, she dissolved into the shadows.

“The Emperor is honored.”

Retrieving the Book of Life and Death, the judge summoned the Yin Chai and departed for the Nine Provinces.

…

The Prime Minister mobilized teams to treat injured individuals, recover remains, and console grieving families. Public addresses were drafted; emergency meetings convened.

Zhongxia and Western nations urgently negotiated with Fūsāng, demanding the repatriation of their extraordinary individuals and unharmed citizens. Every nation’s special departments buzzed with closed-door discussions.

“Have you lost your mind?” Yang Xingyu hissed at Hu Mei, drawing a finger across his throat. “Livestreaming this? What if they track us?”

“Deities aren’t that petty. Don’t you think?”

[That’s our underworld goddess? Stunning! Since the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, my list of divine crushes keeps updating.]

[Same here…]

[Empress-sama? I’d simp—]

[Careful! Disrespecting the deities earns lightning strikes, buddy_(:з」∠)_ She’s the supreme ruler of hell—planning an express ticket to damnation?]

[Amaterasu’s gorgeous too! Do deities have some history? The Empress and her seemed… charged.]

[Divine acquaintanceship’s normal, but this feels like untold lore. Maybe a…]

[Romance?]

[Pfft! Why’s the air suddenly citrus-scented?]

[Did anyone feel tremors? You okay?]

[Chuan Province veteran here. Small quakes? We nap through them┑(￣Д ￣)┍ Big ones? Can’t outrun fate.]

[Minor quakes nationwide—seems every region felt it.]

【What’s happening? Could there be trouble in our country too?】

【Not sure.】

"Apologies everyone, I need to end the stream now—there might still be people needing assistance nearby," Hu Mei announced, surveying the surrounding chaos with a resigned sigh before shutting down the broadcast.

That evening.

Zhongxia’s Yunlang Weibo trending list:

#NationwideEarthquakeZhongxia

#FusangNightParadeOfHundredDemons

#FusangAmaterasu

#HuaxiaUnderworldGhostlyEmperor

#ZhongxiaQuakes3.5-5.5Magnitude

Ghostly Mountain.

Ye Linlang shed her dual personas, reverting to her true form as she stretched leisurely in the cavernous hall.

It’s rather amusing, she thought with a private smile.

The spectral manifestations over Fusang—the ghastly apparitions and fabricated hellscape—had been mere illusions enhanced with special effects to appear utterly real.

Her true design involved establishing Fusang’s authentic realm of the dead across the dimensional plane from the existing underworld, allocating a small portion of land there. While initially considering eastern unification under underworld governance, the linguistic complexities and multitude of regional sovereignties made this impractical.

Better to let Fusang’s underworld manage adjacent territories. She could always create subsidiary dimensions to handle soul transitions for other nations, postponing underworld expansion discussions until Zhongxia’s influence permeated the entire East.

"Homeward bound for proper rest," Ye Linlang declared, vanishing with a snap of her fingers.

Fusang.

At dawn’s light, Yang Xingyu’s group boarded their chartered flight back to Zhongxia’s Capital City. Their truncated departure—cut short by two days—mirrored global caution following last night’s supernatural crisis, nations recalling their extraordinary individuals from perceived danger.

"Pity—never got to exchange pleasantries with that witch lady," Yang Xingyu remarked.

"Shouldn’t we check on Daoist Priest Li?" Hu Mei fretted, observing Li Canghai’s slumped form against the seatback, eyelids drooping in feigned slumber.

"Likely drained from yesterday’s spiritual energy expenditure," Yang Xingyu theorized, stroking his chin. "Recall he communes through meditation and blade-work—actual sleep’s foreign to him."

"Should this persist, we’ll have him examined."

"By whom? Are there even physicians for extraordinary individuals?"

Yang Xingyu faltered. The conundrum held merit—beyond medical specialization questions, enhanced physiology rendered most ailments self-resolving without treatment. Recent discussions with Division 6 scholars suggested nationwide cultivation practices might decimate healthcare systems through disuse.

—Though perhaps not entirely disadvantageous?

The plane journey lasted approximately four hours before touching down at Capital City’s airport.

The moment they stepped off the aircraft, they were swarmed by fervent fans awaiting their arrival.

Yang Xingyu and Hu Mei exchanged glances of astonishment; while aware of their modest fame, this overwhelming welcome surpassed all expectations.

Airport security had prepared for such fanfare in advance, deploying staff to manage the crowd and prevent potential chaos.

Li Canghai staggered drowsily down the ramp, his usual vigor replaced by the bleary-eyed demeanor of someone running on fumes.

"Daoist Priest Li! Please sign this!" A voice pierced through the clamor, thrusting paper toward him.

"Mei Mei! Look over here sweetheart—Mommy flew here just to see you!"

"Brother Yang! Shake hands! Let me absorb your legendary luck…"

Still half-asleep, Li Canghai mechanically accepted the proffered pen, scrawling his signature with practiced ease.

Hu Mei suppressed a groan at the sea of "Mommy Fans" and "Sister Fans"—though the unsettling "Boyfriend Fan" banners made her eye twitch.

Yang Xingyu’s jaw tightened, recalling last night’s live stream mockery about his "Lucky Charm" status after encountering the SSR-ranked Qíngxíng Dēng during Fūsāng’s Night Parade of a Hundred Demons incident.

Luck? More like cosmic misfortune wrapped in terrible timing.

What should’ve been a brief walk became an extended gauntlet of selfie requests and autograph pleas. Relief washed over them when a waiting vehicle lowered its window—revealing Taoist Priest Chen at the wheel.

Hu Mei and Yang Xingyu practically threw their luggage into the trunk before bundling their dazed companion into the backseat. Any delay might’ve prompted fan stampede.

Though accustomed to the restrained professionalism of Special Bureau headquarters, today’s frenzied reception offered unwelcome insight into celebrity life. Had their Fūsāng mission not been publicized, this mob scene might’ve been avoided.

Since the Spiritual Network’s emergence, Zhongxia’s conventional celebrities had bled followers to extraordinary individuals like themselves—a trend showing no signs of slowing. Were it not for Special Bureau restrictions, fantasy drama producers would’ve mobbed them with offers for roles requiring zero special effects.

"Amitābha!" Hui Xin twisted in the passenger seat, his shaved head catching sunlight. "All intact after Fūsāng’s chaos, I trust?"

"Minor complications resolved dramatically." Yang Xingyu jerked a thumb at their silent companion. "You should’ve seen Daoist Priest Li’s heroics."

"We watched every moment," Chen Qingfeng chuckled, navigating through traffic. "The live stream played during our post-training supper."

"You saw everything? Even…?"

"The divine manifestation? Naturally." The driver’s expression sobered. "Chief Lin’s emergency meeting with Red-clad Senior and Cold Senior? Directly related."

Hui Xin’s curious gaze settled on Li Canghai’s uncharacteristic silence. "What weighs on our esteemed Daoist Priest?"

Yang Xingyu’s smile faded. "He’s been like this since yesterday’s battle. Won’t say what’s wrong."

At Special Bureau headquarters…

Screening Office.

Xu Li sat alone engrossed a history book when he noticed someone entering with armfuls of food parcels.

"Brother Yang! You’re back!" Recognizing Yang Xingyu, he set aside his reading material to assist.

"Brought you some Fūsāng specialties. How’s the workload been these two days?" Yang Xingyu deposited a pile of packages onto the desk.

"Manageable with red-clad senior’s help."

Since joining the Special Bureau, Xu Li had consciously abandoned his casual "sister" address for Ghost in Red. The universal use of "senior" by other agents made his previous term of endearment seem unprofessional. Moreover, Bai Ye’s recent prank over this very matter served as sufficient warning – only a fool would miss the underlying message in that disciplinary action.

"I should be thanking you, Brother Yang. Without your recommendation, I’d never have become her partner."

"Are these all Fūsāng souvenirs?"

"Saw some…unique local specimens last night." Yang Xingyu’s lips twitched. "Considered bringing them, but our domestic spirits look positively charming by comparison."

Xu Li shuddered at the thought. Even through digital screens, those grotesque forms had unsettled him.

"Let’s stick to non-living souvenirs," he managed weakly.

"Relax, I’m not actually gifting you supernatural taxidermy." The older agent chuckled before glancing around. "Where is everyone?"

"Overwhelmed by fraud cases. We can’t possibly transport every charlatan to Capital City." Xu Li unwrapped a confectionery box containing artfully shaped snacks.

"Division 6 implemented preliminary screening protocols. Never realized how many fake mystics existed before joining the Bureau."

"Numerous fortune-tellers already detained."

"Section Chief Cui’s taking me on fieldwork soon. Many temples and Daoist shrines exploit believers – especially those ‘merit donation’ scams in Buddhist temples."

Yang Xingyu blinked. "With this Spiritual Energy awakening fueling religious fervor…are you saying we’ll face fewer cases?" More cultivation time would help bridge the growing gap between him and Daoist Priest Li’s cohort.

"Unclear. They don’t brief interns on strategic forecasts." Xu Li spread his hands. "Some knowledge brings more burden than benefit."

As Yang Xingyu reached for a water cup, the younger agent’s curiosity bubbled over.

"Brother Yang! Tell me about Fūsāng! The live streams didn’t capture half of it, did they?"

Yang Xingyu paused, mug in hand. "Thought you watched the broadcasts?"

"Streams show events," Xu Li insisted, pulling out a chair with eager hospitality. "I want to hear the story from our frontline hero."

The office settled into its characteristic downtime ambiance. Though a junior at Capital University, Xu Li’s academic commitments remained prioritized – the Special Bureau strictly upheld educational values for all extraordinary individuals. No exceptions, even for those manipulating spiritual energies.

Meanwhile in Division 6 laboratories, white-coated researchers pioneered Spiritual Energy Technology. Their ambitious vision of "Spiritual Science" promised revolutionary advancements – and perhaps future university students would debate between conventional majors and this emerging discipline.

"Shall I fill you in?"

"Sure."

Yang Xingyu glanced around, confirming the coast was clear before grinning. "Where’s my liquor stash with the sunflower seeds and peanuts?"

"No alcohol during work hours." Xu Li shifted uneasily, eyeing the contraband. The regulations explicitly forbade drinking on duty.

"Call this alcohol? Chugging a whole bottle wouldn’t even faze me." The man produced his half-empty baijiu bottle with theatrical flair. "You wouldn’t understand how it was back then…"

Scientific Research Division 6.

"Any progress on his physiological abnormalities?"

White-coated researchers clustered outside the observation room’s one-way glass, their subject recognizable to Xu Li – the train hostage-taker from weeks prior.

"His mutation pattern mirrors Yang Xingyu’s. Current assessments show comparable ability levels to Crimson Fruit-enhanced subjects."

"Unless he’s consumed other mystical substances, we’re witnessing raw talent here."

"Psychological evaluation results?"

"Diagnosed with acute schizophrenia comorbid with mania and paranoid delusions."

"Treatment prognosis?" The official’s brow furrowed. "Maximum sentencing for his assault charges caps at ten years."

"An uncured release risks public endangerment."

"Standard incarceration won’t contain him. You’d need specialized containment infrastructure." The researcher adjusted his glasses. "Regarding mental rehabilitation…statistically possible, but improbable."

"Understood."

"Estimated research timeline? We require lead time for secure facility preparation."

"Seven days."

Screening Office.

"Just watching the footage made me freeze. Can’t imagine being ground zero." Xu Li absently shelled seeds.

"Divine wrath’s no joke. When that Fusang deity’s light struck? Pure existential terror." Yang Xingyu’s glass trembled slightly.

"We’d be monster chow if our Empress hadn’t intervened."

"Any underworld agents? Rumors mentioned Yin Chai rescue teams."

"None spotted. Oddly touching though – underworld bureaucracy saving cross-border souls." He drained his cup. "To Her Majesty’s mercy. Never touring Fusang again – that hellscape’s cursed."

"Enough about me. Weibo’s buzzing about nationwide quakes last night. Legit?"

"Capital City tremors hit magnitude 4. Felt it during my evening jog."

"…You think we’re next?" Yang Xingyu’s fingers danced across his phone. "Fusang’s Hundred Demon Carnival…could we face similar?"

Xu Li’s silence spoke volumes.

The office filled with frantic scrolling sounds as Yang Xingyu sought digital reassurance, the meeting room’s clock ticking toward unknown horizons.

Lin Jing concluded his briefing with a slight nod toward Yan Hua below before returning to his seat.

"Share any thoughts you may have," Yan Hua rumbled in his bass voice.

Leng Xingwen twirled his folding fan absently, his disinterest palpable. His purpose here remained singular – all else fell beyond his purview.

The Underworld Empress? Ghostly Emperor? Leng Xingwen’s lashes veiled contemplative eyes. Their aristocratic families had withdrawn from worldly affairs since the Qin Dynasty, eons removed from the mythic age. What scant records survived in family archives offered questionable truths, distorted through generations of oral retelling.

The Ghost in Red maintained her aloof silence. How could a ghost cultivator who’d never walked the realm of the dead comprehend such mysteries? Even Leng himself grasped only fragments.

Lin Jing’s initial analysis suggested divine discord – the Underworld Empress and Fūsāng’s Amaterasu stood as oil and water. Satellite imagery from yesterday proved it; only external interference prevented full deific confrontation during Fūsāng’s spectral invasion.

That celestial pact… likely restraining divine overreach. When Amaterasu moved to contain the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, the Ghostly Emperor’s agents had already infiltrated Fūsāng’s borders.

"I require an answer to my proposal," Leng Xingwen’s neutral tones cut through the briefing room, his gaze pinning Yan Hua.

The earthly veins of Jiuzhou demanded resolution. Would this mortal bureaucracy, as callous as its predecessors, delay until catastrophe struck? "Blocked spiritual veins won’t tremble gently next time."

"Your two-day grace period has expired."

"…This decision requires more time." Yan Hua’s jaw tightened.

"Jiuzhou’s patience wears thinner than mine." The fan snapped against mahogany. "I comprehend modern complexities, Director. But prevarication serves none."

Baffled silence gripped the Special Bureau officials. Earthly veins? Divine agreements? Director Yan’s stormy expression deepened.

"Clarity, not coercion," Leng amended with courtier’s grace. "The veins’ stability transcends personal agendas."

"Director?" Lin Jing’s query hung urgent.

Yan Hua’s mirthless grin flashed. "He wants to desecrate the Tomb of the First Emperor."

The air crystallized. Even the Ghost in Red turned astonished eyes on Leng.

Professor Shi clutched his collar, wheezing. The Division 5 deputy patted his back frantically. "Not…excavation," Leng clarified. "The Imperial Seal and Mu Gong Zhen Qin sword within could stabilize the veins."

As implications rippled through the room, Lin Jing pounced. "Yesterday’s quakes – vein disturbances?" His deduction followed Leng’s revelation like shadow.

“Hmm, I addressed this matter with Director Yan Hua on my very first day here.”

Yan Hua’s silence amounted to tacit acknowledgment. Strictly speaking, the responsibility couldn’t fall entirely on him—he had escalated the issue to higher authorities.

Yet no resolution had descended from above. Their position remained that the veracity of Leng Xingwen’s claims was still unverified; agreeing to excavate the Tomb of the First Emperor based solely on his testimony was unthinkable.

The construction of Emperor Qin’s mausoleum had consumed unimaginable resources in its time. Even with modern technology, unearthing it would demand a monumental undertaking.

Words like “Great Qin,” “First Emperor,” or “Tomb of the First Emperor” could ignite wildfires across the internet. Multitudes still romanticized Qin’s golden age, worshiping the Emperor as Jiuzhou’s Ancestral Dragon.

“The Ancestral Dragon’s spirit perishes, yet Qin endures; for a hundred generations, Qin’s governance prevails”—this was no idle proverb.

“What comes next?” Yan Hua pressed.

Leng Xingwen faced the director’s scrutiny with unflinching composure. He’d steeled himself for bureaucratic resistance when choosing to approach the government, well aware this endeavor wouldn’t yield easy victories.

The current stalemate fell squarely within his anticipated scenarios.

Snapping open his fan with practiced grace, he offered an airy chuckle. “Who knows?”

“Such affairs belong to divination and prediction. Seek Xiao Tianji rather than me—he’s better suited to calculate impending events.”

“If only we could contact Xiao Tianji!” Liang An burst out, though his astonishment mirrored the others’. “He’s gone silent again these past days.”

The Tomb of the First Emperor—excavated on a mere whim? Leng Xingwen’s cavalier attitude bordered on hubris. Did this upstart comprehend the seismic repercussions of disturbing the Emperor’s rest?

“Ah, but you should tread carefully,” Leng Xingwen’s smile sharpened. “That one dearly loves delivering… surprises.”

“…” Liang An’s gut twisted. Suddenly he prayed Xiao Tianji would remain absent—these “surprises” reeked of calculated chaos. Worse still were the man’s infuriating habits: dropping cryptic Weibo posts before vanishing, deaf to all frantic messages.

Lin Jing measured the thickening tension. “A nationwide earthquake,” he ventured, “would be trivial, yes?”

“Mmm.”

“And if we decline?” Yan Hua’s voice hardened.

Lin Jing’s lips parted, poised to interject some conciliatory phrase, but at his superior’s tone, he exhaled softly and retreated into silence.

“A single tomb cannot impede our path.” Leng Xingwen snapped his fan shut, the ivory ribs cracking like a judge’s gavel. Impatience etched his brow. “But weigh this carefully—while the absence of benevolent fortune won’t prevent regulating Jiuzhou’s earthly veins, the outcomes diverge drastically.”

“Practitioners like myself might weather minor disturbances, but the true casualties?” His fan tip swept toward the window, where city lights shimmered. “They’ll be the millions dwelling within Huaxia’s Nine Provinces.”

Yan Hua’s laugh held winter’s bite. “This eluded Young Master Leng’s previous accounts.”

“Certain truths remain unspoken because you lack means to alter them.” Leng Xingwen’s voice dropped, glacial. “Some forces exist beyond mortal manipulation.”

In two days of negotiations, none present had witnessed this steel beneath the scholar’s silken demeanor.

Lin Jing observed his colleagues’ reactions. The younger agents shrugged—to them, pride seemed natural among the empowered. Hadn’t every newly awakened extraordinary individual strutted like peacocks? How much more so this scion of cultivation aristocrats?

“Without full disclosure, cooperation becomes impossible.” Yan Hua stood rigid as fortress gates. Information asymmetry be damned—decades of instinct screamed that Leng Xingwen’s omissions were deliberate and lethal.

This “Young Master” had never been the benign envoy he pretended.

Lin Jing’s pulse quickened. If only the deputy director were present! Yan Hua’s unbending righteousness, while admirable, turned every parley into a clash of titans. The deputy’s diplomatic finesse might have salvaged this…

But the director saw only rebellious upstarts in these practitioners, threats to institutional order. And in that moment, the gulf between worlds seemed unbridgeable.

"Then it seems Director Yan Hua remains unconvinced," Leng Xingwen closed his eyes briefly before reopening them with renewed composure.

The reluctance stemmed not from personal unwillingness, but from the collective stance of the prestigious sects behind him. Their consensus held that revealing their dual purpose of channeling earthly veins while reactivating the Jiuzhou Barrier to mortal authorities risked unpredictable consequences.

The Mu Gong Zhen Qin Sword anchored the earthly veins, while the Jade Seal orchestrated their flow and served as the nexus of the Jiuzhou Barrier. Such relics transcended the stewardship of secular regimes.

"Very well. Consider this conversation never to have occurred," Leng Xingwen declared, rising from his seat and striding from the meeting room without a backward glance.

Another failure. Xiao Tianji’s predictions proved accurate yet again – another round lost to that infuriating seer’s calculations.

"Detain him!" Yan Hua’s voice rumbled like distant thunder.

"With respect, Director," Lin Jing massaged his temples, "who among us could possibly restrain Young Master Leng? Sending men after him would be tantamount to suicide."

"So we simply yield?"

"…Necessity compels us. But consider this – would one who aided Li Canghai without hesitation truly harbor ill intent? His secrecy suggests deliberation rather than deception." Lin Jing paused, then ventured, "Allow me to negotiate."

Internally, the chief coordinator cursed their absent Deputy Director. Only that steadying presence could temper Yan Hua’s volcanic temperament during such crises.

As silence stretched, Lin Jing bowed slightly to the assembly and hurried out. His phone was already at his ear before he cleared the threshold.

"Young Master Leng," he began when the call connected, breathless from sprinting, "might we continue this discussion in my office?"

"Your Director’s hospitality requires no further elaboration," came the reply, accompanied by elevator chimes.

"Not retention, but understanding. The Special Bureau’s decisions involve more than one man’s judgment." Lin Jing carefully balanced deference with urgency.

"Your bureaucracy holds no monopoly on solutions," Leng Xingwen countered, footsteps echoing as he exited the elevator. "Yet for Chief Lin’s courtesy, a parting observation: Director Yan’s belligerence toward irritable Practitioners invites calamity. The ancient sects respond to sincerity in kind."

Before Lin Jing could respond, the line went dead.

Beneath the Special Bureau’s neon-lit facade, Leng Xingwen smirked as his folding fan shimmered into a gleaming long sword. The storage ring swallowed his phone with practiced ease.

"Xiao Tianji’s contingency plan it is," he murmured, leaping onto the hovering blade. "That ‘Flawless Strategist’ title grows more irritating by the day."

The warm jade bead at his waist pulsed with verdant light, its ethereal glow cutting through urban smog as he soared into the night.

Lin Jing arrived breathless at the main entrance just in time to see the sword’s contrail vanish among stars. "This complicates everything," he muttered, dreading the impending storm.

The Bureau’s corridors hummed with nervous energy as staff braced for repercussions. When the clock finally released them from shift, midnight’s approach brought no respite – only catastrophe.

At 23:17, emergency alerts shattered the uneasy calm:

Vatican City in upheaval.

Celestial envoys descending.

Pope Johnson reforging the Covenant – the Divine Ten Commandments rewritten.

This explosive news jolted several members of the Special Bureau from their beds mid-slumber, dragged out by urgent phone calls. Still clad in their pajamas, they stumbled yawning into the meeting room.

*

Vatican City.

While night had fallen elsewhere, here it was around five in the afternoon.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, countless devout believers remained kneeling in the square. Since the Magic Return manifested the phantom of the sacred mountain, Pope Johnson had conducted daily prayer rituals without fail.

At twilight’s embrace, multicolored auroras rippled across the heavens. The immaculate Nine Sacred Mountains of paradise once again graced the mortal realm, and from its peaks emerged an angel.

Radiant wings of snow-white feathers framed the celestial being, golden hair cascading like liquid sunlight. In his hand gleamed the Red Cross Sword.

"Is the current Pope present?" The angel’s voice carried both tenderness and gravity, azure eyes surveying the prostrate worshippers.

"I am Michael, twelve-winged seraphim, archangel of the celestial host."

"By the will of Yahweh, I come to renew the Ten Commandments covenant with humanity. Do you accept?"

Pope Johnson trembled before the divine presence, decades of disciplined composure barely containing his fervor. With profound reverence, he bowed.

"I, Pope Johnson, pledge to renew the Ten Commandments with our Lord."

The Ten Commandments – divine laws inscribed through Moses – once formed civilization’s bedrock:

1. Before Yahweh, no other gods shall exist.

2. No graven images shall be worshiped.

3. Yahweh’s name shall not be taken in vain.

4. The Sabbath remains sacred to Yahweh.

5. Honor…

Cameras immortalized this celestial pact. Augustus Horman, who’d been observing, fell to his knees with the angel’s arrival.

He’d come seeking spiritual clarity, never anticipating witnessing Michael himself – the biblical archangel – materialize before mortals.

After sealing the covenant, Michael transformed his long sword into a pectoral cross. Gently raising the Pope, he declared: "Henceforth, you embody Yahweh’s earthly authority. Before angels, stand unbowed."

A sphere of warm light materialized in Michael’s palm, merging with the Pope’s form. The aging pontiff transformed before their eyes – silver hair darkening, wrinkles smoothing, posture straightening into youthful vigor.

Michael’s gaze settled on Augustus, approval softening his divine countenance. A subtle gesture beckoned the man forward.

"Child, name yourself."

Though appearing youthful, the archangel’s ancient wisdom permeated every word. Augustus approached, halting an arm’s length away.

"Augustus Horman."

"The holy light persists beyond magic’s ebb or God’s absence." Michael’s touch upon Augustus’ head radiated comforting warmth, compelling the man to kneel.

"Do you vow to shield Yahweh’s glory?"

"Will you battle darkness without respite?"

"Shall you protect the faithful unto your last breath?"

"Does justice burn unquenchable in your soul?"

"…"

"Speak true, child." Michael’s smile held infinite compassion, the same that had guided warriors through infernal wars in celestial myths and legends.

Dazed, Augustus heard himself answer "I do" before conscious thought formed.

"Cherish these virtues," Michael intoned as his form began dissolving, "and holy light shall ever guard your path."

The archangel’s essence coalesced into a golden-white cloud, showering the crowd with luminous rain. Each droplet healed ailments and strengthened bodies, fulfilling scripture’s promise: believers find redemption.

For five miraculous minutes, the sacred rain fell. As the last droplet descended, the mountain phantom vanished beneath awed gazes.

Augustus rose transformed, earlier doubts erased by crystalline purpose. Henceforth, holy light would guide his every step.

*

Europe, France.

Storm clouds smothered the afternoon sun above a French castle garden. There stood a peculiar group in antiquated robes and pointed hats, their feet surrounded by intricate patterns traced in golden and silver powders.

Had Waylin been present, she’d have recognized these symbols mirroring those on her ancient coin.