Hate me, Miss Witch!

On the Main Material Plane, Western Continent, Fresta Empire—the outer district of the Empire Capital.

In an abandoned civilian house in the commoners' quarter.

A tall yet withered silhouette, enshrouded entirely in a black robe, moved through the desolate rooms of the house, arranging items for a ritual. There were liquid-filled bottles and jars, the remains of unidentifiable creatures, magic gems glittering with light, and a peculiar, eerie array pattern.

"Oh, lofty and mysterious Black Mist," the robed figure intoned, his aged and desiccated voice addressing the silver mirror before him. "You are the clouds overlooking the world, the eternal country beyond time, and also the fog beyond the laws. Please, as the witness to a fair trade, convey to me the sublime entity from beyond the Astral Realm, the promised item within this fair exchange."

Five seconds passed.

Ten seconds passed—

Nothing happened.

Just as the aged, black-robed figure was growing impatient, the silver mirror suddenly shook violently. Dark, illusory mists began to seep quietly from within it, engulfing the entire room.

At last, it has come. A gleam flashed in the old wizard's eyes. He continued to wait patiently.

After a long while, the mist dispersed. The silver mirror had mysteriously shattered at some point. In its place lay a ghastly white skull, entwined with dark flames.

Merely gazing upon the skull for a moment, the black-robed elder's expression grew more solemn. He could feel the exalted and profound aura swirling around it, an aura that seemed to hail from beyond the stars. This was indeed a Sacred Relic of a True God. Even the faintest wisp of its emitted essence was enough to instill dread in him, a preeminent figure among the Legendary.

Yet, at the same time, a fervent passion, originating from the depths of his heart, began to blaze within the elder. As long as he completed the trade with the Great Archbishop of the Ashes Cult, he would obtain a wisp of unclaimed Divinity and a fragment of the Stars Chalice. Using them to ignite the divine fire, he would ascend the long staircase to godhood—the path to becoming a god. In due time, he was certain he could become as mighty as the owner of this Ashen Sacred Relic, a sublime entity soaring above the mundane world and the stars.

Of course, the price for this transaction would be steep. The fanatics of the Ashes Cult were crazed, but not fools. Unclaimed Divinity and a Stars Chalice fragment held great allure for any Fabled Creature. Since he had no prior connection to the Ashes Cult or the Lord of Ashes, why would they simply bestow such gifts upon him? This offering had long been secretly tagged with a price.

If the evil cults' grand conspiracy to overthrow the Empire truly succeeded, it would mean the fall of the entire Empire. Everything he had built over many years within the Empire would cease to exist. Not to mention the saying, "The tallest blade of grass is the first to be cut." If the Empire fell and an Evil God descended, the resulting immense turmoil would undoubtedly cause unrest across the entire Western Continent. At that point, whether it was the Dawn Church, the Princes' Alliance, or the Three Towers Wizards, all would have to stand up and offer an explanation to the entire Order Faction.

But those from the evil cults were reckless, having already committed countless misdeeds and fostered irreconcilable enmities. They would simply hide back in the Lost Realm, naturally unconcerned about adding another black mark to their names. However, as the instigator and betrayer in the Empire's fall, he would surely be made an example of by the entire Order Faction and become a wanted man. The Dawn Church, in particular, would undoubtedly seek to kill this summoner of the Evil God without hesitation. By then, he might well be forced to seek refuge in the Lost Realm, where those cults would undoubtedly take the opportunity to exploit him.

The black-robed elder was not a fool. He had foreseen all these developments during the clandestine gatherings of the Golden Dawn. Yet, he still chose to propose the trade. His life as a Legendary powerful pro was nearing its end, but the boundary of the Throne remained ever so distant—so distant that he had never even glimpsed the hope of reaching it. And he did not want to die. For any Legendary being whose lifespan approached its limit, the desire to live was most intense and passionate. If only he could ignite the divine fire with the masterless Divinity and Stars Chalice fragment gained through the trade, he could rejuvenate his decaying human body, transforming into a true Fabled Creature.

Naturally, doing so meant abandoning many things. But in the face of the craving for life, the loyalty, justice, and sense of responsibility instilled in him since childhood seemed insignificant. In his youth, he had fought bloody battles for the Empire, bravely expanding its territory in wars against the Lost Realm, fearless of death. But as his body aged and his spirit gradually decayed, he had ultimately reached this point. A trace of reminiscence flitted through his withered, elderly eyes, then vanished.

The black-robed elder gestured towards the outside. "Enter. Pray to the Sacred Relic according to the procedure I previously described, and inquire about the preparatory steps for the Godly Descent Ritual."

Soon, a black-clad, death-sworn subordinate entered the room and saluted the elder. Without excessive words or questions, he knelt directly before the black-flame-wreathed skull and began the ethereal prayer. Having established himself in the Empire Capital for so many years, the elder had naturally cultivated a group of confidants loyal only to him, their existence unknown to anyone else. They were of the kind who would die unless they took the antidote to a secret poison they had been fed—much like the poison Norton had once administered to Shiayar.

Shiayar, secretly observing from above the Black Mist through the Mental Imprint on the King of Giants' skull, couldn't help but remark, One Norton has fallen, yet countless Nortons have risen.

This was, after all, a relic contaminated by a still-living Evil God. Even the elder, with his Legendary strength, dared not interact with it excessively, fearing that the contamination might subtly corrupt his spirit, turning him into a follower of Ashes. Since he had confidants whose lives he controlled, available to take the risk, he naturally preferred not to personally interact with the contaminated relic.

The prayer to the King of Giants' skull ended quickly. Soon, the confidant who had gone to pray returned, his face etched with a perplexed and uncertain expression.

"My lord..."

"Hmm?" The black-robed elder, irritated by his confidant's hesitant attitude, urged, "Speak up! What is the meaning of this hesitation?"

The death-sworn subordinate hesitated for a moment, then quickly approached the elder and whispered a few words. Before he could finish, the elder's stern gaze cut him off.

"Absurd!" he snapped. "You've followed me for so long, and you still can't handle such a simple matter?"

The confidant hesitantly defended himself, "But the Sacred Relic's oracle indeed commanded it so."

"Ridiculous!" The black-robed elder snorted. "I ask you, whose Sacred Relic is this?"

"It belongs to the Lord of Ashes..." Because he had been instructed on the prayer's wording, the confidant naturally knew the true name of the entity being addressed.

"Exactly! You know this is the Lord of Ashes—the one who loves to incinerate cities as fire sacrifices, whose followers parade around with dilapidated scythes pretending to be cut-rate grim reapers, shouting 'Burn! Burn! Burn!' at the sight of any couple." The elder was so exasperated he almost laughed, having lost all trust in this confidant.

Despite the risk of interacting with the contaminated relic, he decided to handle it himself. The black-robed elder bowed to the ghastly white skull and recited the prayer his death-sworn subordinate had uttered previously. Then, he spoke in a reverent tone.

"O most high and mighty, great Lord of Ashes—"

"As an ally of your followers, I beseech you to grant us the grace of a Godly Descent and inform us of the preparations required for the Godly Descent Ritual."

As he prayed, black flames suddenly ignited in the empty eye sockets of the ghastly white skull, like will-o'-the-wisps. Subsequently, lines of faint golden text appeared in the air of the abandoned room.

The elder looked up—

1. Finely mince one thousand pounds of lean beef. Cook it until it is one-third done, ensuring not a speck of fat remains visible.

2. Finely mince one thousand pounds of fatty beef. Cook it until it is half done, ensuring not a speck of lean meat remains visible.

3. Finely mince one thousand pounds of beef cartilage. Cook it until it is seventy percent done, ensuring not a speck of meat remains visible on it.

4. Take one thousand pounds of beef steak...