Vega could no longer restrain his own greed. The power of the stone had utterly bewitched him. Together with his confidants, he launched an assault on the Golden family’s estate, slaughtering every living soul within. The manor collapsed in a single thunderous explosion, leaving nothing behind but ashes. Vega returned in despair, remorse, and fear, for he never found the stone, nor the youngest son of the Golden family.

  After that incident, Vega became like a madman haunted by his own mind. He constantly muttered about “retribution.” He was no longer a mighty chieftain, but a feeble and cowardly old man. Vega no longer possessed the authority to remain chieftain. The position required someone more worthy. During the ensuing struggle for power, SilverFang gradually split into two factions. One faction remained loyal to the main line of SilverFang and sought to nominate Nashor as the new chieftain. The other faction supported Net, a powerful Battle King who advocated improving the tribe’s way of life by integrating it with the customs of Greaton.

  From the very beginning, Nashor’s faction was far stronger. Nashor was accepted by Silver Fang as its new owner. Moreover, he was also the brother in law of the future chieftain of BloodClaw. Victory seemed all but assured for Nashor, until a mysterious figure appeared. That figure was none other than Richer.

  Golden Richer emerged and became a solid pillar of support for Net. Those who opposed him were bought off with gold. Those who could not be bought were turned into gold. Through Net, Richer gradually took control of SilverFang, and once the tribe lay firmly in his grasp, the final purge began.

  The entire main line of SilverFang was bound and dragged onto the altar. They were tortured day and night, kept conscious and prevented from taking their own lives. When Richer grew tired of tormenting them, he slowly put them to death, or cast them into Allblack, which by then had been converted by Richer into a dungeon for the extraction of Black Ash.

  Mirana could not stand by and watch her father and brother be killed. She begged BloodClaw for help, but Korath refused. In the end, only Nash and his trusted wolf riders answered her plea.

  Nash and Mirana’s rescue attempt was a journey toward certain death. Richer was exceedingly cunning. He deliberately refrained from killing Vega and Nashor immediately in order to lure Mirana back. How could he allow the main line of SilverFang to roam free outside his control. Mirana and her child were targets that had to be eliminated.

  The entire rescue party led by Nash was captured. The wolves were slaughtered, the men were thrown directly into Allblack. Mirana was killed. Nash was forced to submit for the sake of his son’s life. Their son was placed under the watch of an elderly GoldenFang and taken out of Ossa. Nash had no choice but to serve Richer if he wished to ensure the boy’s survival. Richer came to control two of the six tribes of Ossa, steadily growing in power, and eventually founded Golden, a wealthy and formidable nation.

  “That is where the story ends.”

  Sunlight gradually spilled across the Howl Plains. From afar, children who had succeeded in taming wolves could be seen riding back. Ramos grabbed the wine flask and took a swig, only to find it already empty. He turned to stare at Thane, speaking in a tone of quiet entreaty.

  “Their story has ended, but yours is only just beginning, Thane. You are Nash’s son, the rightful heir of BloodClaw. What do you say to taking part in the Rite of Adulthood and choosing a mount worthy of you?”

  “So your goal is simply to have me participate in BloodClaw’s coming of age ceremony, is that it?” Thane replied calmly. In truth, he was rather interested in the festival. More than that, the boy thought riding a wolf sounded quite impressive.

  “Of course. After all, you are the future chieftain of BloodClaw.” Ramos rubbed his hands together.

  Thane let out a cold chuckle. His gaze suddenly hardened, resolute in the same way Nash’s once had been.

  “Very well.”

  Across the majestic waters of the GreatSea, Mulock’s black ship cut through the waves at full speed. Their destination was Fallen Island, the place where Madenes had fallen. Mulock lounged lazily in his hammock, swaying back and forth while his true body meticulously groomed its thick red fur. He was quite satisfied with the companions he had recently hired. They were capable and diligent hands, all except for the girl Tris. Aside from eating and sleeping, she seemed to serve no purpose whatsoever. As he was considering whether to get rid of her after this job, a piercing scream rang out from the adjacent cabin, prompting him to sigh.

  “Oh my goodness. My Tris is unbearably adorable.”

  Inside the modest cabin, Shelley and Tris lived together like real sisters. Shelley dressed Tris in cute and charming Gothic style dresses. As for where those dresses came from, they were of course stolen. They were pirates now. Shelley felt that a few dresses in exchange for lives was more than worth it. Her standard line during a raid was always, “All women stay silent. If you want to live, take your clothes off.”

  After being well fed, Tris had become far more beautiful. She also grew lazier, spending her days clinging to Shelley and sleeping, letting Shelley do whatever she pleased. However, Mulock could sense her strength steadily increasing with each passing day. He did not bother to care. As long as she proved useful upon reaching Fallen Island, that was enough.

  Mulock always recruited exactly six members. Including himself, that made seven. The reason why was something only he knew.

  Fallen Island was a notorious island wedged between the territory of the Elves and the continent of Macarnis. It was the ancestral land of the Undead, the birthplace of the first Undead who possessed self awareness after their kind had been acknowledged by The Abstract One. The island was enveloped in a dense and pitch black nightmare energy. From afar, the silhouettes of undead Wyverns could be seen circling in the sky. Sunlight could not reach this place. There was only cold darkness. The only light that illuminated the island was the light of death itself, the flickering flames burning within the eyes of Undead creatures.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “According to legend, after Madenes died, another Lord of Death inherited his authority. Fallen Island already has a master. We cannot enter by conventional means without encountering the Undead, or worse, an Epic tier Undead.”

  Shelley spoke softly. Their ship was anchored at a distance. The moment they stepped into Fallen Island’s domain, they would be forced to circulate mana just to see. That alone would immediately reveal their position to the Undead. Because of this, Mulock had hired only those with exceptional physical capabilities for this mission. Aberrants who could reach Battle King level combat strength without relying on mana.

  First was Tris. She had successfully fused with the core of an Orbis, losing her eyesight and sense of smell in exchange for extraordinary strength and speed. Next was Mogan, a tall and taciturn man who was almost entirely silent because he was mute. He was one of the few prisoners who had been tortured within the Flesh Rock formations and still managed to retain his sanity. Then came Matthew, a native of Break Island, who sacrificed his sense of smell and touch. Half of his body had transformed into Orbis matter, tentacles growing from his face, and his left arm becoming a hard crab claw. Finally, there was the pair of close friends, Ret and Not.

  “Hey Ret. I have a feeling we are really going to die this time,” Not trembled as he pointed toward the distant black island. He wore tattered pirate clothes, had yellowed teeth, and covered one eye with a cloth even though he was not blind.

  “I feel exactly the same, Not. Legends say that deep within Fallen Island lives a powerful species of Undead Cerberus. Unlike the ones in Infernic, they breathe cold blue flames that can freeze anything, even souls. With just a single touch, your soul would be trapped on that island forever, slowly fading from the world.”

  “What is it with you, Ret. Cerberus again. Why is it that wherever you go, those damned dogs show up?”

  Ret fell silent for a moment, then nodded slightly, trying to appear mysterious. He wore clothes just as ragged as Not’s, and held a hook in his left hand despite not being crippled.

  “Perhaps it is destiny, Not. It must be destiny.”

  “You two shut up,” Mulock snapped irritably. He felt a trace of regret for buying these two. They talked too much, and most of it was nonsense. Mulock rubbed his forehead. If not for the fact that their abilities were extremely well suited to the mission, he would not have tolerated them until now.

  “Shelley, you do have a way in, right.”

  “Of course. There are many hidden passages nearby. They are called DeepHoles. If we enter one, it leads directly to an underground cavern beneath the Kingdom of Death. From there, we can reach the Lost Library, which also serves as the headquarters of The Witter.”

  Shelley drew a thick black book from her chest, opened it wide, and began chanting a strange incantation. As her voice fell silent, a black whirlpool abruptly opened not far from their ship. It expanded larger and larger, then slowly began to shrink.

  “Hurry. Steer the ship in,” Shelley shouted. A DeepHole was a temporary spatial gate. She did not want the ship to be severed simply because they were too slow.

  Under Mulock’s control, the black ship swiftly entered the passage. It sank deeper and deeper, then vanished, as though it had never existed at all.

  “Boom.”

  The ship surfaced once more in an unfamiliar space. It was a subterranean cavern, its surroundings covered in stalactites. A gentle blue light emanated from shimmering magic stones, lending the space an even more ethereal haze. The deeper they ventured, the colder the air became. The walls were completely covered in ancient runes. The characters carved into them seemed to dance, the images vivid, as if they were truly in motion.

  “This is the remnant of an ancient civilization. They worshiped the Old God Vel'Haen. You can see that the paintings and carvings are all related to sacrifice. They believed that death itself was a new beginning, and that dying willingly would allow them to return to the embrace of Vel'Haen.”

  Shelley explained the images and inscriptions to Mulock. He himself was considered a follower of another Old God, so Mulock fully understood the pathological fanaticism of those who worshiped deities. To him, Oxxhurael was at least far more fair. It took away the senses but granted power in return. The exchange was clear and equal, unlike the obscurity of most other Old Gods.

  Ahead of them, a colossal door gradually came into view, covered in moss and carved with ancient characters identical to those on the walls before. The door stood wide open, revealing within a radiant golden corridor. It was solemn and majestic, lined with towering bookshelves that stretched high above, while wandering spirits drifted through the air.

  As the ship approached, a black vortex appeared. From within it stepped an emaciated old man with an abnormally large head, deeply wrinkled. His eye sockets were hollow cavities, from which two streams of pitch black blood flowed. His mouth was toothless, nothing but gums. He wore a white robe, stained dark by the blood running down from his eyes. He raised a finger, causing the entire ship to levitate in midair, and spoke with a trembling voice.

  “This is the great ancient library Malu’na. Only wise scholars or devout followers of Vel'Haen may enter. Otherwise, turn back. This sacred place cannot be violated by those who are unworthy.”

  Under the overwhelming Will of the gatekeeper, everyone was completely immobilized. Yet none of them panicked, as Shelley had warned them thoroughly beforehand. Any resistance at this moment would have been meaningless. What stood before them was an abstract existence, a demigod. He was Mor’nat, the Keeper of Knowledge.

  Using her Will, Shelley moved her black book toward Mor’nat. Though blind, he hurriedly seized it, fumbling over the cover before smiling. He recognized the proof of a scholar, a living repository of knowledge.

  “A small scholar upon the path of seeking knowledge. Very well. The library always welcomes you. But remember this well. Do not be greedy, and do not allow your followers to lay a hand on any book within Malu’na.”

  Mor’nat lowered his finger, restoring the crew to normal. Then he stepped back into the black vortex and vanished.

  “All right. Everyone stay close to me. The Forgotten Library is essentially a colossal maze. If you get lost, you will be trapped here forever. Also, absolutely do not touch any of the books. Do you see those wandering spirits? That is the fate of those who could not keep their hands to themselves.”

  “Knowledge is not meant for everyone. It belongs only to those who are worthy.” Shelley lifted her chin proudly once more. In any era, the title of scholar was something to be admired and revered.

  They moved along the immense book lined corridors. The shelves shifted chaotically, following no discernible pattern. Mulock felt a growing unease. If Shelley were to break the agreement, he truly could not see any way out should they become lost in this place.

  Time passed, though none of them knew how long. At last, Shelley stopped before a small bookshelf. Within it rested a pitch black book bearing the title "The Writter". She removed it from the shelf and opened the first page. Inside the book was a fantastical black hole.

  “A black hole again,” Not sighed.

  “Too many black holes in one day. I feel like I am about to throw up,” Ret chimed in.

  “Shut up,” Mulock snapped angrily.

  The pirate stared at the black void within the book and let out a quiet sigh. He felt painfully insignificant. In the end, those he had once considered the most powerful, the organization he regarded as mysterious and terrifying, the mighty Order of The Witter, the force manipulating the wars of two kingdoms from the shadows, was nothing more than a small book hidden deep within a forgotten corner of a vast library.