"So you're saying the Blood Clan member who wanted to sacrifice herself was killed by Euphemia—her flesh and blood completely vaporized. Then during the fight, Helena was ambushed by another Blood Clan member, and her spilled blood accidentally entered the sacrificial ritual... and that's how the Destroyer was summoned?"

Euphemia lowered her head apologetically. "I deeply regret this failure, Master. It was never our intention. Please punish me."

"Mother, I..."

Cecile waved her hand, silencing them both. "This matter is closed. Neither of you need mention it again."

Rubbing her temples, Cecile felt genuine worry about this sudden Destroyer. For the first time, something—and someone—had slipped beyond her control. Destruction was a terrifying variable.

She’d have to abandon her original plans for the story’s progression. But honestly? At this point, she’d already altered countless lives and events. Compared to the original body’s fate as a universally betrayed Pride Witch, things were infinitely better. Even the worst possible ending—death—wouldn’t feel so bitterly unjust or absurd.

"I underestimated the Blood Clan’s madness and danger," Cecile admitted. She turned to Euphemia. "True Dawn has been away lately. Since you have no urgent tasks now, go keep her company. Clear your head. Don’t dwell on today’s mess."

Euphemia clenched her fist, turning her head away. "Understood..."

As she walked out, bitter resentment burned behind her lowered brows. *Was I overconfident?* she thought. *Thinking I surpassed most people, yet I’m still powerless. I couldn’t stop Helena from being controlled. I couldn’t protect my Master from humiliation.* She vowed never to feel this helpless again.

Watching Euphemia’s resolute back—so clearly steeling herself for something—Cecile sighed again. *This Radiant Sword Saint really does have a stubborn streak.* But this humiliation might be good for her. Recognizing her limits and overcoming them would only make her stronger. And the stronger Euphemia became, the better for Cecile. After all, Euphemia’s growth potential was exceptional—a rare blend of talent and grit.

"Helena, come with me to see Abathur."

"That strange fat man?"

"Yes. Your blood summoned the Destroyer. Blood Clan rituals focus on the core sacrifice’s essence. This one clearly aimed to summon an ancient Blood Clan ancestor... meaning it traced back to the blood’s origin."

"You can already consume blood to replenish yourself—that’s a Blood Clan trait. But why did *your* blood specifically summon *her*?"

Helena was an alchemical creation of that warlock’s dark magic. Cecile had never dared probe deeply into her core composition, fearing harm to the innocent girl. But now, she had no choice.

...

"Witch. Remarkable."

The moment Abathur uttered those words, Cecile knew this was serious.

"What’s wrong with Helena?"

"Witch. What do you want?" Abathur pulled up Helena’s biological data panels—her alchemical components, even reverse-engineered creation processes. He dismissed the warlock’s methods as crude but praised Helena herself as a masterpiece.

"Conclusion: Why could Helena’s blood summon that monster?"

"Blood. One drop." Abathur stressed it.

"The blood forming Helena’s core isn’t ordinary Blood Clan blood? Is that so terrifying?"

"Yes. Terrifying."

"Why?" If even Abathur called it terrifying, Cecile was genuinely curious.

"Authority. Triple Laws. Bloodline. Reflection."

"You’re joking. The owner of that drop holds *Authority* and *three Laws*?!"

"Faint Dominion. Blood. Darkness. Shadow Laws."

If a single drop carried even a trace of Dominion, its owner undoubtedly wielded the full Authority of Dominion—and still held it, untouched by any successor. The Triple Laws were even more devastating: Blood was the currency of souls for the Blood Clan; Darkness shielded their nocturnal existence; Shadow enabled their very movements.

"Not just that. Bloodline: noble. Pure. Supreme."

"Above Princes? An Ancestor?!"

Abathur shook his head. "Above Ancestors. Rank unknown."

"So... *She* must be *Him*?"

The revelation stunned Cecile. She wasn’t ready to face gods yet. Only she and Winnie could stand against deities—and Winnie’s power was weakened by the Arrogance Authority residing in Cecile.

Abathur shook his head again.

"She is *herself*."

"*Him*... does not exist."

Cecile frowned slightly. "You mean the blood’s owner is already dead?"

"Uncertain. But... nine times out of ten." Abathur nodded.

Per Abathur’s analysis, the Destroyer herself wasn’t divine—it was the Blood Clan member who transformed her. And that being was far more than a god. Wielding one Authority or Law was rare; one plus three was unheard of.

During their clash, Cecile had sensed the Destroyer’s bloodline was exalted—beyond Princes. Yet an unnerving frailty clung to her. Even while desperately fending off Cecile’s combined assault, she’d seemed... holding back.

Blood Clan rituals summoned the closest ancestral echo willing to answer. The Destroyer had answered.

"If I gave you some of Helena’s blood... could you summon *Him*?"

"Impossible. This... requires sacrificing Helena." Abathur glanced at the girl on the operating table, wide-eyed and confused.

Cecile didn’t hesitate. "Then forget it. Release Helena. Erase all her data. Every drop of her blood. Leave nothing."

Abathur hesitated. "Witch. This is... excessive."

"Erase it. Don’t make me say it a third time, Abathur." Cecile’s gaze turned steely. "I won’t let you use *anyone* close to me for your experiments. Ask for materials, funds, resources—I’ll provide them all. But you touch no one near me. Not even data. Not a trace. Others might ignore it, but I know you’d use it if you needed to."

After a long silence, Abathur began the deletion process before Cecile’s eyes, wordless. Only after Cecile double-checked everything and left with Helena did Abathur approach the blood-extraction machine. A faint residue clung to the needle.

It was still usable. Just harder to work with.

Blood from beyond the Ancestors... likely the only sample in existence.

*Irreplaceable research value.*