Four relics lay quietly before Draven: the Blood Beast Egg, the Longbow, the Elven Tome, and the One-Handed Sword.

  He glanced over the spoils. Except for the longbow, which piqued his interest slightly, he paid little attention to the others.

  He was no weapons expert, but having seen plenty of treasures, he was always very discerning.

  Little did he know, at the very moment he casually picked up the one-handed sword, far to the south—thousands of miles away in the elven realm of Elvenheim—the highest spire of the Starlight Tower was witnessing something extraordinary.

  That was the sacred place of the elves, where the Holy Maiden Sylvia resided. At this moment, she suddenly opened her eyes, as if awakening from a deep meditation. A faint glow shimmered in her pupils, as if piercing through time and space.

  "Master, I sense the presence of the Holy Sword!" Her voice trembled slightly, brimming with uncontrollable excitement.

  The Grand Elder Garin, sitting behind her, abruptly opened his eyes. He had been meditating with closed eyes until then.

  At that moment, he looked like an ancient, withered tree struck by lightning, his whole body shuddering.

  "Are you sure?" His voice was dry and low, like wind squeezing through cracks in the rock.

  "No mistake." Sylvia nodded firmly, a look of unshakable conviction on her face. "The sword's soul has long acknowledged me. Only I can find it again."

  Garin gently closed his eyes, as if listening to the whispered words of the gods. He slowly nodded, "This is all the arrangement of the divine."

  He opened his eyes and looked at Sylvia, his tone soft yet resolute: "Go, child. Retrieve our Holy Sword. The elves have lost it for far too long."

  Sylvia stood up. Her figure was slender and tall, her white gown trailing to the floor, fluttering gently in the breeze. She radiated a purity almost unreal—like the first ray of sunlight piercing through the morning mist.

  She clasped her hands over her chest and bowed respectfully to her master, "I will definitely bring it back."

  Then she lifted her head, her palm sliding through the air. An ancient map appeared out of thin air, seemingly made of light itself.

  She pointed a finger at a spot on the map, which instantly glowed red.

  Grand Elder Garin stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the glowing point. His brow furrowed slightly, as if troubled.

  "That's the territory of the demi-humans," he murmured. "No wonder we haven't found it all these years. Those blood elves actually lost the Holy Sword in such a place."

  He looked at the distance between the red mark and the blood elf territory on the map, then slowly said, "It seems the blood elves didn't guard it well. Something so important, yet they let it slip."

  Garin's voice remained calm; even when mentioning the blood elves, his tone barely changed. It sounded more like he was commenting on the weather rather than criticizing a race.

  He pondered for a moment, then spoke, "You can't go alone. The demi-humans don't like us elves, especially not one like you."

  "I know." Sylvia smiled slightly, a hint of cunning in her grin. With a flick of her hand, an exquisitely crafted mask appeared in her palm.

  "I almost forgot this," she said softly.

  "I thought you'd given up on using it," Garin chuckled lightly. For this usually steady and solemn elder, it was rare to hear a trace of emotion in his voice.

  Sylvia put on the mask, a stream of light flashing across her face as her form began to change.

  The sacred and noble elven maiden vanished, replaced by a lively and agile catfolk girl. Her ears twitched slightly, and a mischievous smile played across her lips.

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  "This should make it so no one recognizes me," she said, lightly swishing her tail.

  "Exactly," Garin applauded softly, eyes full of approval. Watching her turn and walk away, a comforting smile spread across his face.

  Meanwhile, Draven was completely unaware of the trouble he had unknowingly stepped into. He was crouched beside his storage ring, wearing a puzzled expression.

  "What's with this box?" He frowned at the small silvery box, which trembled slightly, as if something inside was trying to burst out.

  He could feel a strange pull emanating from the box—like a blood bond calling to him.

  He wrinkled his nose and cursed inwardly, "Damn it, isn't this the Blood Beast Egg? Why do I feel so attached to it?"

  He stared at the box, unable to decide whether to stand or crouch.

  "What if I open it and some monster jumps out?"

  "But if I don't, it's moving more and more violently—maybe it really will explode."

  Finally, like a kid lighting fireworks but too scared to get close, he stretched one leg back, tilted his head, and carefully pressed the open button.

  The box slowly opened. He was so nervous he almost forgot to breathe. Then, he froze.

  Two tiny octopuses, their entire bodies blood-red, stared at him with wet, wide eyes, completely still.

  Draven was stunned.

  The first thought that popped into his head was, "How am I supposed to take care of these things?"

  "There's no sea anywhere in my territory."

  While Draven was still pondering the origin of these strange octopuses, two clear, youthful voices suddenly echoed inside his mind — not from his ears, but as if directly resonating within his consciousness.

  "We're not little octopuses!"

  "We are descendants of the Holy Spirit!"

  Draven felt as if he had been shocked by electricity, and he jumped back two steps abruptly.

  He instinctively raised his arms in a makeshift defensive stance, though he knew full well it would only scare children at best.

  "Who's talking?" he growled softly, his gaze scanning the surroundings cautiously.

  "It's us, it's us~"

  Those two voices playfully echoed in his mind, their tones exactly the same, like twins repeating in unison.

  Draven frowned and looked back down at the two little creatures that had just crawled out of the box.

  They looked like two blobs of sticky, blood-colored octopus. One crawled to the edge of the box, the other circled around his shoe. Could it really be them?

  He stared intently, and the two little creatures nodded in perfect unison. Octopuses, nodding!

  "What the hell are you? Holy Spirit? Descendants?" His face was puzzled, and his tone full of disbelief.

  "Our ancestors once served as divine attendants to the Beast God!" This time their voices were clearer, even a little proud.

  Draven's mind was full of question marks. He thought he might need another head just to process all this. Holy Spirit? Beast God? What does any of this have to do with what's going on?

  He had just opened a box, and suddenly two octopuses claiming to be descendants of divine attendants popped out!

  But after calming down, he realized these two little guys didn't seem hostile at all. Their tone was friendly, even a bit childlike.

  He carefully crouched down and pointed to the opened silver box, asking, "Did you come out of that blood-beast egg?"

  The box was empty, except for some damp residue. Draven thought this was the only reasonable explanation.

  But the two little creatures immediately denied in unison, "Not a blood-beast!"

  "We are descendants of the Holy Spirit, not blood-beasts!"

  Draven sighed, "Alright then, descendants of the Holy Spirit — but why are you talking inside my head right now?"

  That was his biggest concern. After all, suddenly having two voices in his head was definitely not normal.

  "The master hatched us."

  "We can communicate with the master."

  "Master? Hatched? What the hell are you talking about?"

  Draven's expression changed instantly. He quickly checked his contract slots. He didn't want to inexplicably have two new pets, especially such bizarre octopuses.

  Fortunately, aside from the original Ghost-faced Owl, there were no new creatures in his contract slots. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  "We are not contract beasts."

  "Descendants of the Holy Spirit cannot be bound by contracts."

  The two voices seemed to read his thoughts, eagerly explaining. Their tone still carried a childlike joy, with no hint of malice.

  Draven reluctantly lowered his guard for the moment. Frowning, he asked, "You said I hatched you? How did I hatch you?"

  "The master's blood."

  "Your fresh blood touched the eggshell, and we awoke."

  Draven looked down at the wound on his thumb and couldn't help but laugh and cry at the same time. So it was just a small cut that accidentally triggered some kind of hatching ritual?

  "Yes, that drop of blood."

  "As soon as we sensed your blood, we knew it was you!"

  Hearing their synchronized replies, Draven's headache worsened.

  He finally understood that this was all an accident — he had inadvertently activated these two little creatures, and they now recognized him as their master.

  But he still had a lot of questions. How could something from a blood-beast egg turn out to be descendants of the Holy Spirit? He pressed them for more details about their identity.

  The following conversation changed Draven's expression from confusion to surprise, then from surprise to shock. His eyes grew more complex.

  According to the two little creatures, their ancestors were created by a true god, one of the earliest spiritual beasts from ancient times, serving as divine attendants to guard a sacred bloodline legacy.

  With the fall of the gods, their clan gradually vanished, and they, as the last generation of descendants, were sealed inside blood eggs, waiting for the true heir to awaken them.

  Draven listened in awe, as if hearing a story.

  Could it be that gods really exist in this world? Draven hurriedly asked more questions, eager to learn more.