The Yian Residence, nestled in the Elf capital, finally welcomed a night that belonged to itself.

Lanterns bloomed like fireflies amid curling blue smoke, while moonlight spilled like silk. It brushed layered eaves, flowers and vermilion wood, bridges and murmuring streams, carving gentle shadows.

This garden was built to honor Queen Dreamlan’s feat of resealing the Void Rift. Elf designers and Nacha Tribe artisans held nothing back. Their craft birthed a marvel that left human court architects stunned, ready to rip up their own sketches in shame.

Just standing here felt like indulgence. If any imperial noble owned it, they’d linger daily with wine and afternoon tea in that small pavilion, whiling away hours.

Yet this garden, irresistible to power and rank, sat untouched for half a year. Only tonight did it receive its true master.

Melancholy first, then motion. Menglan leaned against the streamside wine table, watching ripples quiver from a spring in the stone pool. Her emerald eyes answered with a faint tide.

Such beauty, left to dust and silence, she said softly. For months, only moonlight and water kept it company, and even the air took on a barren hush. It squandered the garden masters’ devotion and made this nominal beneficiary feel ashamed. Eh…

Your Majesty toils day and night, the other woman said, voice calm as a breeze through bamboo. You ran yourself ragged cleaning up the aftermath of the Followers of Pleasure. Everyone admires you. Who’d blame you for not stealing time to moon-gaze?

Heh. That honeyed mouth is as sweet as ever, to the point of cloying. Menglan chuckled and shook her head.

I call myself queen. Tying up the Void Rift’s fallout is my duty. Admiration doesn’t enter into it.

She lifted her gaze, playful light in her eyes, toward the white-haired girl across the table.

But you—now that’s true merit. This mess was between Elves and Nacha. As a human, you had every right to stay out. Yet for six months you ran back and forth, shouldered the cleanup, even sent your dearest sister to the Nacha lands to coordinate. In a sense, I could call that decision… stone-hearted.

Adelaide sipped from her cup, face unruffled.

Elves and Nacha are at a crucial point of repair. For work that important, I must entrust the one I trust most.

Weren’t you two just hearts in sync? That fall through the sky—even this old relic’s face went hot. Menglan arched a brow, grin sharp. Your names exploded on our Elf forums. Everybody spammed “I’m shipping them!” Adorable clay figurines modeled on you two are launching—yet before the preorder even closed, you transferred her far away. A clean cut into long-distance, just like that! Unbelievable!

…

Adelaide glanced at the round moon reflected in the water and slowly shook her head.

If we trust each other, a brief separation changes nothing. In truth, you and the Lionheart Hero are the best proof, aren’t you?

No, I’m nowhere near that magnanimous. Menglan huffed. Two months ago, that rascal left a letter saying she owed someone a favor. Then she vanished with her brothers and sisters. I haven’t forgiven her.

The thought soured her mood. She propped her chin in her palm and puffed her cheeks, knuckles tapping the table with an impatient rhythm. Adelaide’s eyes warmed with amusement. That will be… something to behold.

“Something to behold”? Such a smug tone. Ah, I see. Menglan leaned closer, eyes crescented with laughter. Your sweet sister returns to our capital today, doesn’t she? A reunion at last.

You’re right.

No wonder. I was puzzled why you’d visit today for no reason. Turns out you’re not here to share the moon. You came to flaunt your good fortune in front of a lonely widow.

Oh, that’s a grave misunderstanding. I wouldn’t dare disrespect Her Majesty so.

Adelaide shook her head, overly theatrical as she refilled Menglan’s cup. The performance drew a laugh; Menglan waved it off.

Enough. Let’s stop circling. You shouldn’t miss your reunion. Straight to business—you asked for documents. I found them.

Adelaide’s hand stilled. The wine’s gentle haze vanished. She sat upright and nodded once.

I’m grateful.

Hardly. Menglan’s fingers searched her inner lining, voice mild. The Great Library keeps tight tiers on access, but the records are thorough. It wasn’t hard to locate. Truth is, if I hadn’t poured all my pre-slumber memories into repairing the Sealing Array, I could have answered back then.

She drew out a thin scroll, spread it on the table. Tiny characters and diagrams swarmed the page. Most striking was a map, spanning the Sarman Empire’s breadth, its edge traced by a bold red line.

Adelaide knew that line wasn’t a border.

The date marked in the corner showed this map predates the Empire itself.

That red line was what General Slandor had warned her about…

As for the super-array you asked about, the one covering the human Empire—it has a proper name. It’s called “The Greatest Sacrifice.”

“The Greatest Sacrifice”…? Adelaide got what she wanted, yet the corner of her eye twitched.

At least it’s better than “Super Magic,” she thought. Barely.

Menglan shook her head, utterly serious.

There’s nothing funny here. More than a name, it’s a description. If it’s triggered, it truly will be the greatest sacrifice.

Why?

Its effect extracts the souls of all living beings within range, gathers them into one body, and forcibly forges power to rival gods.

I know it sounds profane and mad. Don’t judge yet. Menglan’s finger slid to another column. The illustration beside it showed hell—ashes, shrieks, and blood like rain.

Its essence is blasphemy. First, remember this happened during the Chaos Uprising. Second, the decision to build it passed the tri-race coalition. That included me and Varie.

The lion—no, the Lionheart Hero agreed too?

Yes. Even the staunchest of us accepted. Because we had no choice. The coalition was newborn. Our separate commands hadn’t learned to fight as one. Whether we could resist the Rift’s erosion was a grim question. No one dared promise a future. Then Emperor Belior proposed a fail-safe—what this scroll records. “The Greatest Sacrifice,” the largest sacrificial array ever conceived.

Adelaide’s face grew grave. A last-ditch gambit?

Exactly. Menglan inclined her head. If the coalition failed, and conventional counterattacks proved fantasy, and the living were doomed to extinction, we would enact the array. Apart from two mediators to anchor the casting, every surviving being within its bounds would be offered up. Their souls would merge into a core vessel, shaping a spear of force theoretically near-divine. One final charge at the Void Rift, one last attempt to seal it. The living’s final anthem.

But since we’re chatting here, the worst didn’t arrive. Adelaide lifted a shoulder, cutting off the gathering elegy.

Mm. True. After a brief period of friction, the coalition’s strength grew tougher than expected. As we drove the line forward, the need for a do-or-die measure dwindled. The blasphemy faded into memory.

Adelaide thought for a moment. It can still be triggered, though. Right?

Menglan tilted her head, puzzled by the angle.

In theory? The materials marking the array’s borders must have dried and died. But if someone soaked them with a vast amount of fresh blood, and gathered two beings fit to serve as mediators at the core, it could be started.

Who can serve as a mediator?

Menglan rested her chin on her hand. Varie and I, naturally. The initial plan relied on the two of us and Emperor Belior. But if we just talk qualifications, it isn’t limited to us. Anyone with strong enough magical talent could mediate. Like you and your sister, who both hold “Extreme”-tier variant aptitude and your own inherent domains. You should be able to bear it.

For any mage, praise from Queen Dreamlan sits at the summit. Adelaide showed no pride. She only pressed on.

Suppose a human has no attribute, yet holds “Extreme” aptitude. Could they mediate?

An Extreme-tier variant alone? Menglan weighed it for a few seconds. Still short.

What if someone gave her a Sacred Heart?

Fuse a Sacred Heart? Then she’d share Emperor Belior’s gift. That’s sufficient.

But why ask— Menglan’s brows drew together. Adelaide met her gaze, considered, and chose not to answer. She shook her head and spoke instead.

Your Majesty, you said this array needs two mediators to start. I believe it now needs at least three.

Three mediators?

Menglan blinked, lashes lowering as a soft hum of doubt left her. Arrays don’t change by themselves. If there’s suddenly a third required, someone tampered with it, adding an effect that wasn’t there.

Hard to say what that new effect is. But more important—

She lifted her face. Her tone shed its last trace of leisure. Authority settled like a mountain.

If you’re saying this, it means someone is reaching for what must not be touched. Doesn’t it?