Breathing the icy air, Zhang Luan sat on a block of ice, flipping through a divine magic tome. Stellar Flame coiled around him, keeping him warm. Ye Ying sat beside him, munching chocolate by herself. Snow sprites played comfortably on her black-stockinged thighs.

After a long while, Zhang Luan stretched. He watched the sky lighten with dawn’s first glow and turned to Ye Ying.

“I’m taking this book. You don’t mind, right?”

Ye Ying glared at him, itching to call him shameless—but doctrine forbade it.

“Do as you please. What do you need it for? You’re not even a magic user. It’s useless to you. Besides, this book has no special powers. It won’t boost your combat strength.”

“I have my uses.”

Those three words shut her up. Ye Ying stayed silent. She wanted to beat him senseless, but doctrine commanded obedience to the Holy Son’s actions.

Zhang Luan stepped through a portal and dispersed the Stellar Flame around him. Blinding light flooded the Sanctuary of Sages as dawn broke. Nan Fenghua still knelt in prayer, unaware Zhang Luan and Ye Ying had left.

Ye Ying approached her, tapped a finger, and the soundproof barrier vanished.

“Holy Maiden, your prayers can end now.”

Nan Fenghua snapped out of her trance, scrambling up. Spotting Zhang Luan, joy flooded her face. Ignoring Ye Ying’s resentful stare, she shyly stepped toward him.

“When did Brother Zhang Luan arrive?”

“Ahem,” Ye Ying coughed. “Holy Maiden, he’s the Holy Son now. Inside the Sanctuary, address him properly. Doctrine requires it.”

“Mmm… Holy Son Brother then?” Nan Fenghua giggled. “When did you come? You didn’t call me. Did you sit here long?”

Zhang Luan pinched her cheeks twice, earning Ye Ying’s glare.

“I came to hear your prayer chant. After that, I must leave. I have matters to attend to.”

He pinched her cheeks again and strode out of the Sanctuary. The sun had risen; a new day began.

Inside, Nan Fenghua watched his retreating back, her expression falling. She’d hoped he’d come to propose marriage.

Ye Ying sighed silently, praying not to deal with this ungrateful girl who’d forgotten her godmother for a husband.

Zhang Luan entered the Sacred Temple. At this hour, ordinary believers filled it, praying quietly. Spotting him emerge from the back, several rushed over, eyes alight. They blocked his path, bowing deeply.

“Sir! Are you the new priest? Need an attendant? Or a helper for odd jobs?”

“Forgive me, Priest! I didn’t bear that child…”

A cacophony erupted. The quiet temple turned chaotic. These were simple folk, yet their faith ran deep. To them, priests were divine messengers—speaking to one was a god’s blessing.

Unfortunately, Zhang Luan wasn’t a priest. His Holy Son title was just a tool for his goals. He snapped his fingers. Force of Creation crackled in the air.

Silence fell instantly. Guardians rushed out to restore order. Watching their fanatical faces, Zhang Luan marveled at the Acamana Sacred Temple’s effective propaganda. Acamana City held three to four million souls; two million worshipped its god. Seizing the chaos, he slipped away.

Street crowds eyed him curiously. At this early hour, only temple staff emerged from its doors. Zhang Luan ignored them. Today, he needed arrows. The Ends Bow could forge energy arrows, but they couldn’t channel Stellar Flame or Force of Creation—a major power drain. He required physical arrows. Street vendors sold ordinary ones, but he wanted custom-made. After all, wielding a mythical weapon like the Ends Bow demanded matching arrows. Only a specialized blacksmith could craft them. Luckily, he knew one in Acamana City.

“Yo! Welcome! What’ll it be?”

The blacksmith was a man in his early thirties, looking unsteady. But Zhang Luan knew he was Acamana’s finest.

“I need arrows.”

“Arrows? Barrel’s over there. Ten copper coins each. How many?”

Zhang Luan shook his head. “Not those. Custom arrows. You can make them, right… Mountain Sealing Smith?”

The man’s face darkened. He dropped his red-hot iron, eyes turning dangerous. Crimson energy swirled around him, ready to strike.

“Who are you? Hunting me? I’m no Mountain Sealing Smith anymore—just a blacksmith. Cross me, and I’ll kill you as one again. Then I’ll vanish from this city.”

His voice dripped danger but trembled with panic.

“Relax. I’m not here to kill you. I said it: I want custom arrows. Lots of them.”

The man narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. “Where’d you hear about me? Satisfy me, and I’ll give you a discount.”

Zhang Luan had known him in a past life. Once, this smith fought a Golden Victory Dragon for seven days and nights, seeking a scale to forge the world’s first artificial myth. He failed, dying in a calamity—a tragic waste. But Zhang Luan couldn’t say that. He’d prepared his lie.

“Elia. I know Elia Maoyin. Met her on an adventure. She told me your story.”

The man’s pupils shrank. He shouted, voice raw: “Where is she?!!!”

“Dead.”