Southern Continent, Grand Duchy of Alvia.

A deep, muffled chime echoed through the cathedral, jolting awake countless devotees of the Stellar Order.

Rudolf donned a radiant golden robe, composed his expression, and with a gaze both aged yet unyielding—icy and sharp—walked alone ahead of the crowd. He pushed open the heavy door to the prayer chamber deep within the cathedral.

As the thick door creaked open, a horrifying scene came into view.

A pitch-black bell rested atop the stone altar, still swaying gently.

The chamber’s ceiling was painted void-black, studded with stars. Gazing upward revealed a brilliant starry expanse. At its center hung the same mysterious black bell—a stark distinction of the Stellar Order. They worshipped no deity; they believed all existence originated from a black bell dwelling in the deepest cosmic void.

When the bell tolled, the universe began to churn.

When its chime faded, the universe would vanish.

Now, dozens of Stellar Order devotees hung from the ceiling.

Their corpses showed varying decay. Intestines had been ripped out, looped around their necks, the other ends bizarrely pressed against the ceiling. Blood splattered the furniture. They hung in silence, like slabs of butchered meat.

Bishop Rudolf turned deathly pale, fists clenched. Hearing devotees retching behind him, he slowly closed his eyes and ordered everyone to leave—keeping only a female priestess.

Starlight spilled through the doorway, mingling with silvery moonlight.

The sacred bell stilled. Oppressive silence became the chamber’s only melody.

“So it has come to us at last…”

Only when they were alone did Rudolf voice the words.

The priestess had remained expressionless since entering. Her will far sturdier than ordinary believers, she now moved calmly among the corpses, examining their unnatural deaths.

She approached the black bell, noticed a few blood droplets, frowned, and carefully wiped them away with a handkerchief drawn from her robes.

Rudolf watched her back, recognizing the gesture as devotion. He voiced no objection to her touching the bell.

“Without a doubt,” the priestess said after a moment of silent prayer, “this matches the recent suicide incidents. Only the death toll is higher than expected.”

The aged Bishop Rudolf narrowed his eyes, stroking his beard to steady himself. “For now, I see no evidence of simple ‘suicide’.”

“But no one has determined the true cause,” the priestess replied, turning to him. “Such incidents have grown frequent. Even the Grand Duchy’s renowned Earl remains helpless.”

“So when truth is hidden, they call it suicide?” Rudolf let out a dry chuckle. “Blatant rumors to quell panic—the Grand Duchy’s corruption remains unchanged.”

The priestess neither refuted nor agreed. After a silence, she asked, “Then… what is your judgment?”

She wondered if Rudolf, the Star Seer, could glimpse what ordinary eyes could not.

Indeed, from the moment he entered, Rudolf had been gazing intently.

His pupils no longer reflected the chamber, but a brilliant, churning void hidden deep within. That faint luminescence at the edge of his vision left the priestess dazed, heart pounding.

Rudolf, the Star Seer.

Bearer of the Revelatory Astral Compass.

Sole bishop of the Stellar Order on the Ayn Continent.

If even he could not unravel this, the “suicides” would be truly terrifying.

Seconds ticked by. Rudolf stayed silent.

A trace of tension flickered across the priestess’s usually placid face.

Rudolf, too, grew tense. Sweat beaded his brow. The starlight in his eyes churned restlessly. His breath quickened. He stumbled back two steps, clutching his chest, features twisting in pain.

“Your Grace?” the priestess murmured, a chill in her voice.

He ignored her, face paling further.

“Your Grace! You don’t look well!”

Still no reply. He gripped his robes tighter, tears welling at his eyes, body trembling violently.

Sensing danger, the priestess spun around and struck the black bell without hesitation.

*Gong—*

A deep chime resonated.

Rudolf’s eyes widened. Hearing a profound toll from the starry void, he collapsed to his knees with a thud, dry-heaving uncontrollably between coughs. Blood trickled from his nose, drop by drop.

“Your Grace!”

The priestess hurried past the corpses. “Let me heal you—”

Rudolf raised a hand, shook his head, and pushed himself up. He wiped sweat and blood from his face with his sleeve. “I’m fine. I just saw… something extraordinary.”

Concern filled her eyes. “You should rest.”

He shook his head. “How many times this year?”

“Seventh,” she answered after a pause.

“Besides us: Holy Order, Cult of the Death Goddess, Radiant Order… Where were the other three?”

“Public Magic Academy, Valley of Giants, and Borderwood in the far south.”

Pale moonlight bathed Rudolf’s back.

He straightened slowly, exhaled deeply, and gazed up at the painted stars.

“A slaughter sparing no race, no faith…”

He turned to her, voice calm. “These are not suicides. I didn’t see the killer’s face, but I know why they died.”

Surprise and admiration flickered in her eyes. No one in the Grand Duchy had uncovered a clue—until now.

But as she awaited his revelation, Rudolf spoke flatly:

“Without a doubt, they died by suicide.”

The priestess froze. “…?”

Then she stared at him, bewildered. Had madness taken him?

Rudolf smiled faintly. “I know it sounds absurd. They held no suicidal intent—yet they were inadvertently killed by their own actions.”

She blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Accidental suicide?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “They performed a collective divination here.”

Stellar Order divination was famed across Ayn Continent—accurate, though vague. Collective rites were rare, demanding, yet yielded clearer visions. Some fervent believers gathered regularly to glimpse the future’s edge.

“This time… they saw something they shouldn’t have.” Rudolf’s gaze turned deep, unreadable. “A price beyond life itself. Paid only in death.”

She almost asked what it was—then stopped. If it killed dozens, it could kill her too.

Silence. Then: “This explains our people… but the others? They don’t practice divination.”

“An excellent question,” Rudolf said, turning toward the starry ceiling. “Other sects remain unknown. But I suspect little difference—they, too, glimpsed something.”

“But what…?”

“I will uncover it. Rest assured.”

Rudolf stepped outside.

A cold wind rustled his sleeves.

Panic and dread had vanished from his grizzled face, replaced by quiet anticipation.

Divination was born of curiosity.

The Stellar Order’s creed was truth.

As the world’s sole Star Seer, Rudolf had not felt this burning urge to uncover secrets in years.

“What I saw was not limited to this,” he murmured, gazing into the distant horizon. “I also saw a faint vision.”

The priestess joined him. “What was it?”

“I cannot be certain…” Rudolf paused, voice tinged with uncertainty. “But it looked… like a small town.”