The solemn and grand bell resonated within the Sanctuary, the deep resonance reverberated through the War God’s Grand Cathedral under the iron dome. Matilda rose from the bench and said to the elderly Pope in front of her, "The bell has rung, I should return to the Obsidian Palace. If you’re still interested in my experiences with the Cecil Clan, I can tell you more next time."

"I look forward to it," Malm Dunite wore a peaceful and benevolent smile, an aura of gentleness that made him almost unlike a Combat Priest serving the War God who had charged upon the battlefield. His broad and robust physique and the sharpness in his eyes silently proved the elderly man’s still formidable presence, affirming his authoritative dominion over the church, "Send my regards to Rosetta—he hasn’t visited the War God’s Grand Cathedral for quite some time."

Matilda slightly bowed her head, "...I will."

Despite how the Augustus Clan maintains a respectful distance from the gods and church, regular interactions with church representatives and visits to the cathedral remain obligations the royal family must bear—these are acts meant for the aristocrats and citizens beneath them to witness, still necessary to perform.

With her attendants and guards in tow, Matilda departed from this magnificent hall.

From the inner sanctum to the exit, there was a very long corridor.

The Sect of the God of War used "iron" to symbolize the sacred metal; the corridor leading to the exterior of the sanctuary was adorned with black steel frameworks and classical iron sculptures, while innumerable candlelights in the niches illuminated the place. From pillar to pillar, between narrow windows, texts depicting various war scenes or sacred sayings hung from the ceiling, decorating the walls on both sides.

Walking along this long corridor, the flickering candlelight in the niches appeared unsteady in her view as she approached the sanctuary’s exit. She couldn’t help but slow her pace slightly, and a figure with black hair and eyes, dignified and gentle, wearing a maid’s long skirt, naturally came to her side in the next moment.

This figure was one of the several maids following behind Matilda, yet until she stepped out, no one had noticed her presence. Even upon reaching the princess’s side, no one perceived how she bypassed the positions of the other maids and attendants to quietly appear beside Matilda.

"Lady Diana," Matilda spoke softly to the black-haired maid who had come beside her, "have you felt... a strange atmosphere in the Grand Cathedral today?"

"I haven’t noticed, Your Highness," the black-haired maid maintained the same pace as Matilda, moving forward with small steps while replying softly, "Have you sensed anything?"

"...No, perhaps it’s because I’ve been away for too long, the relatively heavy decor here makes me a bit uneasy," Matilda shook her head and promptly changed the topic, "It seems Pope Malm has also noticed the recent changes in Aldernon, fresh air indeed has blown into the Grand Cathedral."

Diana’s tone was gentle, "Although His Eminence Malm does not focus on the mortal realm, he has never been a conservative or stubborn person. When new things appear in his sight, he is willing to understand them."

As a "maid," her tone remained quite calm when discussing the esteemed Pope.

Matilda gently nodded, seemingly agreeing with Diana’s judgment, and then slightly quickened her pace, leading the attendants through the long corridor swiftly.

The candlelight in the niches shone, and there was no wind in the corridor. However, all the flames swayed slightly in different directions, as if an invisible wind was swirling in dimensions beyond human perception, disturbing the silence of the Sanctuary.

...

Malm Dunite completed another brief prayer. He opened his eyes, exhaled softly, and reached for the herbal wine offered by an attendant, taking a small sip with restraint.

The mixed spicy and bitter taste of the herbal wine spread through his throat, stimulating the old man’s spirit. He calmly waited for that invigorating feeling to ferment within him, and casually asked, "Has the princess’s entourage left?"

A deacon dressed in deep black priest robes bowed beside the Pope, reporting respectfully, "They have left the Grand Cathedral, Your Eminence."

"Hmm," Malm nodded, "Then let’s continue discussing the ceremony matters later."

"Your Eminence, would you like..." the deacon glanced at the elderly Pope with some concern, hesitatingly voiced, "Would you like to rest for a while today? You’ve had many engagements today, during such times, your energy can be easily drained."

"I’m not that fragile yet," Malm shook his head, "Moreover, the trials bestowed by the Lord cannot be escaped, especially around the annual festival." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

While speaking, the elderly Pope drew an X sign across his chest and murmured the War God’s name softly.

The Grand Cathedral surged with a power imperceptible to mortals, some vast yet indescribable "breath" lingered within the Sanctuary, and Malm could vaguely sense its indistinct ripples. He knew this was the divine power rising between the crevices of the real world and the kingdom of God.

The War God is a deity very "close" to humans, even more so than the Holy Light known for its gentleness and righteousness. Perhaps it’s because humans are innately a race passionate about warfare, or it might be because the War God pays more attention to the mortal world than other gods. Regardless, the influence of this "closeness" is profound.

It brings War God’s Clergy more potent and accessible Divine Arts, making divine power more easily "intertwine and infiltrate" reality, with this "infiltration" occurring cyclically at the boundary of the real world — now, a new round of infiltration is approaching, and some signs have already begun to surface within this Grand Cathedral closest to the divine will.

This is a norm for seasoned War God’s Clergy, a perfectly natural phenomenon.

However, this year’s infiltration... seems to be more intense than in previous years.

"Your Eminence," the deacon’s voice interrupted the Pope’s contemplation, "recently, more and more clerical staff have reported hearing noises during prayer, especially when inside or near the Grand Cathedral."

"The Lord is cyclically approaching this world," Malm said gravely, "Human minds cannot fully comprehend the gods’ speech, and thus the knowledge beyond our understanding turns into abnormal noises resembling interference. This is quite normal — tell the priests to maintain devoutness, synchronize their body and mind with the divine teachings, this allows us to understand the divine will more effectively, and the ’noises’ will lessen considerably."

The deacon bowed deeply in response, "Yes, Your Eminence."

After a few moments of silence, the deacon couldn’t help but ask, "Your Eminence, this time the ’resonance’ seems unusually strong, is this a precursor to an imminent divine decree?"

Malm glanced at the deacon, lowered his eyelids, and crossed his hands in front of him: "Do not speculate on the will of God, just diligently fulfill our duties as clerics."

The deacon accepted the teaching, immediately lowered his eyelids as well, crossed his hands in front of him, and devoutly recited a prayer dedicated to the gods in a low voice. His voice was low and steady, and the sacred words flowed between his lips and tongue, but Pope Malm suddenly frowned beside him—he heard a few strange murmurs amidst the deacon’s words, as if a weird echo had mixed with the human voice, as if it were sounds made from an inhuman throat. However, the noise was very brief, and the deacon’s short prayer ended the next second, with the devout cleric opening his eyes, his gaze serene and clear, showing no sign of anything amiss.

He seemed completely unaware of what had just happened.

Malm Dunite withdrew his gaze from the deacon and calmed the extraordinary power he had just stirred within himself, speaking calmly: "Summon the bishops, we need to discuss the ritual."

...

The shield of the protector lay quietly on the table, the ancient Cecil insignia having solidified into a vague rusted blotch on the shield. Gawain’s fingers slowly brushed over the weathered and corroded metal surface, while Amber’s voice came from beside him: "Speaking of which, you’ve been staring at that shield in a daze when you have nothing to do these days—are you thinking of the past? Lost in memories? Can’t help but sigh about life? That’s a sign of stepping into old age..."

Gawain glanced at the Empire’s disgrace, who was blatantly slacking off next to him: "Are you running around during work hours just to come here for a beating?"

Amber immediately waved her hand: "I’m not running around—I’m here to report business to you."

Gawain temporarily set aside his focus on the shield of the protector and looked at the half-elf in front of him with a slight frown: "What business?"

Amber stepped forward, casually taking some folded documents from her arms and placing them on Gawain’s desk: "I’ve got them all sorted out."

Gawain opened the papers marked with the internal security department’s stamp, his eyes quickly scanning the printed words. After understanding the content, he raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth: "So our magic shadow drama is very popular among Aldernon’s citizen class?"

"After solving the initial promotion issues, this novelty easily captured the citizens’ taste—even simple plots can enchant the audience, and the Magic Shadow Theater itself happens to cater to the psychology of Aldernon’s citizens," Amber said casually, "Its ticket price isn’t expensive, but it does require a little extra money. Respectable citizens need to prove their ability to ’enjoy life’ with such cheap yet trendy entertainment investments, and at the same time, since it is still a ’theater,’ it has become a ’symbol’ for Typhon commoners to demonstrate their life’s taste improvement."

"Of course, these reasons are secondary. The main attraction of the magic shadow drama is that it’s sufficiently ’interesting’—in this unseen battlefield, ’interesting’ is the strongest weapon I’ve ever seen."

Gawain listened to Amber’s detailed analysis, unable to help but laugh as he glanced at this half-elf—she had grown more and more evident over the past two years.

"This is a good thing, our first phase is succeeding," Gawain nodded with a smile, randomly placing the documents on the table, "The next steps are much simpler and clearer for us.

"Rapidly and massively produce a large number of new magic shadow dramas. The production doesn’t need to be exquisite, but they must be sufficiently interesting to attract more Typhon people’s attention; we don’t need to promote the Cecil directly to avoid alerting and resisting from Aldernon, but we must frequently enhance the advanced impression of the Cecil in the magic shadow dramas...

"Increase investment in foreign newspapers and magazines, recruit some locals, and create some ’academic authorities’—they don’t need to be real authorities, but as long as enough newspapers and magazines declare them as authorities, there will naturally be enough Typhon people who will believe it..."

Gawain articulated his ideas one by one, outlining his plan to disintegrate the Typhon people’s cohesion and destabilize the foundation of Typhon society. Amber listened earnestly in front of him, and after he finally finished speaking, Amber couldn’t help but sigh: "Honestly, I think this is scarier than battlefield slaughter..."

Gawain glanced at her: "Why do you think that?"

"Slaughter in battle only fells soldiers, but the weapon you are crafting will bring down an entire country," Amber pursed her lips, "and the latter won’t even realize it until it’s too late."

After two seconds of silence, Gawain finally said: "You didn’t used to think of such far-reaching things."

"I never dealt with such far-reaching things before either," Amber shrugged, "If I’ve become cunning and sly, it’s because I learned it from you."

Gawain listened to Amber’s laid-back banter without the slightest bit of anger, just thoughtfully silent for several seconds before suddenly laughing self-deprecatingly.

"Sometimes, I also feel that my methods are quite unscrupulous, yet we’re facing a Typhon that always wants to take a bite... I am truly somewhat cautious of such a malicious old Empire, so I can only keep increasing the ’poison’ dose," he said, shaking his head to dismiss the topic, "Let’s not talk about this anymore. I need to try some things next, and I need you to stand guard beside me."

Amber immediately smiled: "Ah, this is my specialty, yet guardian... wait a minute, isn’t the mind network of the Eternal Sleepers already nationalized, so there’s no need to risk infiltration now?"

Gawain knew she misunderstood and couldn’t help but smile and waved his hand, then tapped the shield of the protector on the table with his fingers: "Not infiltrate the network—I want to try ’communicating’ with this shield."

Upon hearing this, Amber looked at Gawain with some peculiarity: "...You want to communicate with a shield? Eh, I felt something was off with you staring at this shield every day, and you kept saying it was nothing. Have you been thinking too much about past events lately, leading to..."

Gawain silently stared at Amber, once again tapped the shield on the table: "I don’t mind using this to slap you onto the wall."

Amber immediately shrank her neck, looking at the legendary shield with a hint of legend—it was evidently much wider than the Sword of Pioneers, and if it slapped her onto the wall, she’d be embedded flush, not to mention unfazed, probably couldn’t even be scrubbed down...

"I was just joking," she said with her neck shrunk, "don’t always be so brutal..."

Gawain ignored the Empire’s disgrace ion front of him murmuring quietly and focused his attention back on the shield of the protector in front of him.

After several days of hesitation and deliberation, he finally decided... to attempt approaching this "Starlit Inheritance" using the method he had used to contact the Eternal Stone Slate back then.