The bar owner is nicknamed "Big Eye," as he has only one eye, and it's quite large. There are some legends about him being a famous pirate in the past.

The owner smiled, "Brother, I'm really sorry, this bottle is reserved. Is a ten-year one okay?"

Cantona shrugged indifferently, "It's fine."

He wasn't that particular, never too fussy about food and drink. He accepted the Black Label. Bar owners in places like this have sharp eyes; the person before him was not to be trifled with, exuding the aura of a Church member, mixed with a menacing dead silence. Better to provoke the navy or a pirate than the Church, especially the Cultists.

Unscrewing the bottle, Cantona drank three big gulps in succession. The spicy liquor slid down his throat, followed by a fiery sensation rising up his throat to burst through his skull.

"Ah!"

He exhaled deeply, "Refreshing!"

The owner wiped a glass and smiled, "I'm the only one on the island selling the real stuff. Though it's a ten-year Black Label, it's been sitting here for years. It's on the house."

With that, he served two small dishes.

Cantona wasn't polite, "The age of a Black Label is about the time it's aged in the barrel. It doesn't matter how long you've kept it here, but the liquor is good."

The owner realized he had met someone knowledgeable. The odd bunch around kept drinking while darting glances, clearly aware of Cantona's wealth. Yet, being so ostentatious on Five Claw Island probably meant he wasn't to be messed with, so they decided to wait and watch.

Just then, the bar's door opened, and a handsome middle-aged man, accompanied by several strong sailors, walked in and approached the bar. "Owner, bring me my drink."

"Sure thing, looks like everything went smoothly," Big Eye grinned, "There's a table saved for you."

"Thanks to you," Mackleney glanced at Cantona beside him, and Cantona recognized the captain who had once saved him, "What a coincidence?"

"This brother here had also set his eyes on this bottle of Black Label," the owner laughed.

"Must be fate; care to join us?" Mackleney offered.

"I'm in a bit of trouble right now, wouldn't want to drag you into it," Cantona shook his head.

"Haha, who doesn't have a bit of trouble? As long as you're not afraid, we aren't either," Mackleney laughed.

"Then let me treat you this time," Cantona said. Drinking alone is lonely; drinking with a group is enjoyable.

Mackleney and his men were straightforward folks; they didn't ask many questions, just drank and chatted about women and various tales. When the dancers came to their table, Mackleney wasn't stingy with tips. The dancers sat among them, writhing, prompting Mackleney and his men to laugh heartily.

But Cantona knew these men had remarkable composure. Though they appeared to grope the dancing women, there was no intention behind it. They were not ordinary people.

If it weren't for the lack of Church aura from them, he would have suspected they were from the Death Church or Nether God's people. Their timing on the sea had been too coincidental.

The drinking was a delight, but getting truly drunk was out of the question. Late at night, Cantona parted ways with Captain Mackleney and walked back to the inn alone. This slightly tipsy, slightly sober state allowed Cantona to enter a very clear state.

He had passed the Death Church checkpoint, which meant he had also passed the Nether God's Court checkpoint. The Nether God's Court didn't lack operatives, but valuable moles were always insufficient. With the Church's tendency, they might send someone to test him.

His value in the Nether God's Court depended on his value in the Death Church. As a former devoted Nether God believer, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The Messenger, sent by Mr. Gemini, might have led to some misunderstanding with the Death Church.

There's only one source of Immortals, that being the Secret Castle within the Five Great Sanctuaries, relics of the Old Era, creatures that are unkillable and indestructible. They are said to be immune to substantive death, which touches upon the Death God's authority, making them unbound by the Death God. The Secret Castle being able to transcend this authority would either be a provocation to a Deity or imply some agreement with the Death God. Of course, these are secrets of the gods and are unknown. However, it presently appeared to be advantageous for him. How he would face the Death Church next time required some thought.

As for dealing with the Nether God's Court, Cantona had a grasp of the situation. He didn't fear their arrival, only feared they wouldn't come. He just didn't know if the Nether God's people would come first, or the Death God's people.

Perhaps due to the alcohol, Cantona practically fell asleep the moment he lay down. Given his situation, it wouldn't be unusual for him to sleep with one eye open. But this time, it was unusually deep, and he quickly entered a dream, only to find himself extraordinarily lucid within it. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

In the gloomy dreamworld, Cantona was aware he was dreaming because this was the Nether God's Court's secret technique, a high-level interrogation method second only to the soul-searching technique. Yet invading a dream wasn't easy, requiring specific casting distance and much stronger power than the target. Since he was on Five Claw Island, the invader had to be at least on the island and at least an Angel.

As everything in the dream became clearer, three human-shaped mists appeared and gradually solidified. Cantona waited calmly and respectfully for the three to arrive.

However, when he saw the three, Cantona couldn't help but be startled, as they were none other than the three major secretaries of the Church Hall, the person in the middle being his teacher Oniramulti, to the left was the Second Secretary Wittgenstein, and to the right was Third Secretary Heidegger.

Did these three arrive on Five Claw Island?

Was he even worthy?

Cantona soon realized that these three definitely couldn't have come here, likely having used some seal item, or perhaps there was some mark already placed on him.

The Church Hall's three bigwigs stared intently at Cantona. Cantona made a three-finger salute with his right hand, respectfully saying, "Disciple Cantona meets Teacher, and greets Lord Wittgenstein and Lord Heidegger."

When Cantona addressed him as Teacher, Oniramulti's gaze softened a bit, "Cantona, did you oversee the Evil God's resurrection ritual?"

"Teacher, I did oversee it, but I do not know the final outcome." Cantona didn't deny it, nor could he.

"Cantona, the ritual is complete. You have betrayed your faith and your deity. According to the Church's edicts, you will be punished by soul stripping. Do you have any objections?" Third Secretary Heidegger said indifferently.

"Respected Lord Heidegger, I oversaw the ritual, but how can it be called betrayal? This operation's intelligence was twice conveyed to the Church, yet I received no support. During the ritual, I wanted to sabotage it, but how could my cultivation resist the Evil God? My body was completely out of control, unable to resist or even die. When I awoke, everything had already ended." Cantona said calmly.

"The sacrificial offerings of such rituals lead to everyone's death. Why are you still alive?" Wittgenstein asked.

For a moment, there was silence in the dream.