“What now? I didn’t expect the commotion to blaze like a prairie fire.”

In a shadowed corner of the Soulless Sanctuary, Molor edged past traps on all sides and asked, helpless as a moth skirting flame.

“No helping it; let it flow like water.”

With a casual swing, Wilsar disabled a broken automaton and sighed, his headache thudding like a drum. “This is beyond us; stick to the plan and follow the thread to the seal’s site.”

“Yeah, that’s all we can do.” Molor nodded in silence, like a stone sinking.

Call it fate, or a stray wind. After slipping alive from Minglos’s bloody jaws, Wilsar and Molor had stumbled upon the Sanctuary sunk on the seafloor, like a dark reef.

To shake Minglos, they plunged into the unknown without hesitation, like divers into black water.

Who knew if they hit a switch or if Minglos’s rampage did; the arrays around the Sanctuary woke like old stars.

They stirred, lifted slow as a whale rising, and the palace broke the surface like a new island.

It drew swarms of treasure-seekers and onlookers, and the present chaos sprouted like weeds.

In the dark, they groped forward with despair gnawing like cold wind at their ribs.

They didn’t dare search openly; Law Realm undead stood guard like iron statues, and hidden traps snapped like vipers.

“…Will the Mizumi Clan come?” Molor asked, a bad hunch curling like smoke.

“They’ll come; the noise is huge, and elders of the four great races are here—Mizumi won’t be absent,” Wilsar said, firm as a nailed plank.

“If only we could borrow these wraiths’ hands and cut the Mizumi a wound like a knife.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Remember Yugong Sacred Sound, who beat us into running like stray dogs? She alone could sweep these wraiths clean.”

“Plus the elders of the four races are here; they won’t let the Mizumi Clan take a scratch.”

“…True.” Hope thinned like mist. The weight on their chests sank like wet cloth.

…

We reached the Soulless Sanctuary from home in a blink, space-shift magic folding distance like paper.

“So this is the Soulless Sanctuary… plainer than I’d thought.”

Disappointment pricked first; then I took in the palace, simple as unpainted wood yet steeped in age like moss.

I’d pictured something grander; instead, a vast austere hall, yet the whole carried a strange charm like a quiet bell.

It floats on waves that pound like hooves, so the view strikes the eye like lightning.

Meanwhile the place was roaring; the entrance and ring around it were jammed tight by a tide of bodies, most just watching.

Even the Divine and Demonic Races, rare as cranes in a market, showed up in numbers.

Looks-wise they beat humans, though they fall short of the Elven Kind’s unearthly grace.

You tell them from humans by their aura—the Divine warm and holy as dawn, the Demonic its night-side chill.

“Yeah, plain on the surface; wonder if the inside hides surprises,” someone said, voice like a pebble tossed in a pond.

“It should. The Soulless Sanctuary was the last masterpiece of an extinct ancient race; the inside won’t be as simple as the shell,” Lingsaki said, book-scent clinging like ink.

“This place gives me a sharp sense of danger; Emperor, don’t relax, face it seriously,” Aunt Saintvoice warned, her tone cool as a blade.

“Miss Holy Voice is right; the Sanctuary oozes weirdness, better tread lightly,” Heartvoice added, while Celia Maya’s eyes held a thread of worry like cloud at dusk.

Respect rose like a tide; they’re Law Realm powerhouses, maybe sensing more than we do.

“Mm, Emperor, don’t get careless; we aren’t here to sightsee,” Qianji Sister said, words knocking like wooden fish.

“Got it, we’ll be careful,” Lixue answered, serious as frost on glass.

Since the Elven Queen asked Elyar to forge a few high-tier artifacts, she’s still in the Elven Realm, her hammer ringing like rain.

For safety, we left Littlesky and Hill behind; they’re keeping Serenemoon company like twin stars.

It was lively and packed with all races. But when Qianji Sister said, “We’re the Mizumi Clan, make way,” the crowd receded like tide.

Heads bowed, rustling like wind in reeds, and a quiet path opened before us like a clean cut.

“Didn’t think even the Mizumi Clan got stirred; the Sanctuary must hide something huge,” someone whispered, awe flickering like candlelight.

“So those are from the Mizumi Clan? They’re not like us mortals; at a glance I thought they were elves—too beautiful!” another breathed, gaze sticking like sap.

“Hush! Do you want to die? Don’t speak of the Mizumi lords so flippantly!” a third hissed, fear crackling like dry straw.

“Ah! Sorry, I spaced out!” the first yelped, shame burning like a slapped cheek.

Whispers trailed us like leaves in wind, and we ignored them so long as they didn’t snag our steps.

Of course, elders of the Elven Kind, the Divine, and the Demonic Races came to trade greetings, some with young prodigies in tow like bright pennants.

We weren’t interested; we answered briefly and slipped into the Sanctuary, cutting through the noise like a knife.

…

“The Mizumi Clan sure throws their weight; we came to greet them, and they brushed us off with one thin line,” a Divine prodigy muttered, sulk heavy as rain.

The youth had come with a Grand Elder of the God Realm, status towering like a mountain. Even so, he felt slighted, the taste bitter as bile.

“Mind your manners; be glad they even acknowledged us. If you want more, you’d need His Majesty the God King to show up,” the Divine elder said, helpless as a tied hawk.

Even he felt a burr of displeasure; he was used to deference wherever he went, not this cool breeze.

“We still need the God King? Why?” the Divine youth snapped, stubborn as a ram on a ledge.

“Why not?” an Elven elder chuckled, a thread of mockery like a thorn in silk. “The Mizumi Clan rules the world now; isn’t that enough?”

“They alone hold the Central Continent. If your Divine Race wants a softer life, drop that useless pride and tend your ties with the Mizumi Clan.”

“You—!” the youth flared, anger leaping like a spark.

“Kana, don’t lose your cool; she’s right,” another Divine elder said, voice steady as a stone. “Our Divine Race isn’t what it once was; better to comply. Right, Elder Kangwei?”

“…Mm.” The Demonic elder called Kangwei nodded, his feelings knotted like vines.