The Annihilation cultists began to pray.

In the dim light of the oil lamps, in the deathly still atmosphere, within this deep, cold meeting place, under the gaze of the Profound Saint.

A member, deranged and acting rashly, had brought that ineradicable shadow into this meeting place. From now on, anyone who left the meeting place risked carrying that shadow to other members, just as had already happened. So, they would not leave here again—witnessed and encouraged by the Envoy, these devout and fanatical cultists would choose a peaceful and faithful sacrifice.

They were determined to take the secrets they possessed to the Lord’s kingdom, and would not reveal a single detail to that specter.

At least, that was what they had decided for now—a moment's courage was always easy to muster.

The cultists prayed in silence, constantly calling for the Profound Saint’s blessing in the secret chamber. The Envoy sat quietly at the round table, his gaze calmly observing every face in the room, noting their steadfastness, tension, courage, fear, and wavering.

Time passed, how long, no one knew. The flames of the oil lamps flickered, now bright, now dim. In one such flicker, some of them seemed to hear a faint voice:

"...I offer you a chance."

Some raised their heads in horror, searching for the source of the voice; others closed their eyes tightly, as if afraid of actually seeing something. However, the voice had already dissipated into the air, as if it had never appeared at all.

"Continue praying," the Envoy said softly, his words seemingly carrying some kind of bewitching power. "That specter is powerless. Beyond death, he has nothing more to threaten us with, and death itself is the quickest path to the Lord's kingdom."

In the past, the Envoy’s words had always brought courage, quickly reaffirming even the most uneasy followers. Yet, for some reason, every word he said this time only made people feel the icy approach of terror—

An increasingly intense unease was spreading in the meeting place. Fear was approaching the boundary of reason, and wavering was gradually growing in the silence. Not everyone was the most devout saint, and for those who were not devout enough… now was the time to lose their minds.

A believer finally screamed—the smallest one. He seemed to have suddenly seen something terrible, jumping up from his chair and shouting, "I'll talk! I'll talk! I know what's going on!"

The Envoy instantly stood up from his chair, shouting in shock and anger, "Hold him down!"

Several figures around the round table immediately swarmed forward, roughly and angrily grabbing the small figure, pinning him to the table, and trying to cover his mouth to prevent him from revealing the Lord’s secrets—but the small figure burst out with surprising resistance. He struggled violently, and dark chains appeared around him. Hideous bone spurs and keratinous structures emerged on his limbs, allowing him to almost break free from the "comrades'" restraints, while constantly shouting:

"The End of the Road Preachers gave us the information! They claimed that the 'Dream of the Nameless' hides the truth of creation, hides the Saint's most original blueprint…

"The elves' dreams can lead to the Dream of the Nameless! This race itself is the carrier and channel of dreams, because they have defects in the blueprint stage…

"The followers of the Black Sun are also taking action, but they are looking for something else. I don't know what they are looking for!

"The End of the Road Preachers said the time is near, but that's all I know… That's all I know. Mr. Duncan, only the prophets and saints know more information, and those End of the Road Preachers, they know… I really only know this much!"

The small cultist shouted quickly while struggling. In great fear, he unleashed another level of courage—the courage to betray his faith. But then, he struggled to raise his head, looking with tears streaming down his face at the "Envoy" not far away. After the brief courage came new fear: "I'm sorry, I just want to live, I want to live…"

Then he screamed again: "Mr. Duncan! Please protect me! Don't let the Envoy kill me! I fulfilled my promise—you said you would give me a chance! You said… you would…"

The heavy pressure on his shoulders lessened. The small cultist, halfway through his terrified scream, finally belatedly noticed the change in atmosphere, and slowly stopped.

From beginning to end, only his screams echoed in the meeting place. His "comrades" held him down, but none of them really stopped him from shouting. The Envoy watched him, but never really took action.

He widened his eyes, watching the Envoy slowly place his hands on the round table, giving him a gentle smile: "See, it's not that hard to say it."

Around the round table, the cultists who had previously worked together to pin him to the table also stepped back one after another.

These "comrades" surrounded him, looking at him, with slightly stiff but gentle smiles on their faces, and then began to applaud one after another.

The small cultist's eyes were wide, and he looked in horror at everyone in the meeting place. Finally, his lips trembled and he said, "Envoy… Your Excellency Duncan, and Duncan, Duncan, you are all…"

Eerie howls and roars rang out one after another. One after another, Profound demons that were constantly collapsing or struggling to break chains and escape from the real world emerged in the meeting place. And with the disintegration or escape of these symbiotic demons, every figure in the small cultist's eyes (including that "Envoy") began to ignite rapidly.

The last burning figure walked towards the small cultist before collapsing, and patted him on the shoulder with a smile: "You too."

The meeting place fell silent.

The small figure stood quietly among countless black ashes. After a few seconds, he suddenly blinked his eyes, then quickly returned to the round table, reached for the paper and pen on the table, and scribbled a page of things.

Then he grabbed the paper and walked to the exit of the basement—the "thorns" summoned by the Envoy still tightly sealed the door, and sinister dark power surged in the thicket of thorns.

But in just an instant, the thicket of thorns burst into flames, and the ghostly green spirit fire turned it into ashes. The door behind the thicket of thorns opened with a push.

Duncan quickly passed through the basement door where the embers had not yet dissipated, through the dilapidated building on the surface, and then his figure soared into the air in flames…

A patrolling guardian looked in astonishment at a ball of ghostly green fire falling on the street in front of him. Just as he subconsciously raised the weapon in his hand, he saw a stumbling figure walking out of the ball of ghostly green fire, seemingly constantly collapsing and disintegrating.

The constantly collapsing and disintegrating, dangerous and suspicious small figure walked over quickly, with a bright smile on his face: "Hello, I want to report heretical activities."

The guardian, who was about to blow his whistle and pounce with his sword, was stunned instantly.

He had served the church for many years, and this was the first time he had encountered this kind of… informant. In his confusion, he subconsciously said, "Report?"

"Yes, in the basement of the house at the end of the alley in front, the house with the blue roof. This is a letter of accusation, which contains a general overview of their gatherings, and at the end is an anonymous bank account. Please transfer the reward for the report directly to the account, thank you."

The guardian looked at this suspicious and strange guy in a daze, listening to the other party's long string of words. Overwhelmed, he finally couldn't help but raise his finger and point at the other party's face, which was constantly turning into ashes and collapsing: "Sir, you don't look very good…"

"I know, I'm trying my best to maintain it, but it seems that the method is still not quite right, it's only fifteen minutes more stable than usual—don't worry, just remember to make the payment…"

The young guardian almost took the letter of accusation in a daze. Before the other party completely collapsed and disintegrated, he finally remembered a question: "Sir, what's your name?"

"Just an enthusiastic heretic…"

…

The Sea of the Lost, inside the captain's cabin, Duncan came back to his senses and took a long breath.

His main consciousness had returned to the ship.

The goat's head on the edge of the navigation table reacted immediately, turning its head towards him: "Ah, great Captain—it seems you have gained a lot?"

"I gleaned useful information from a group of secretly gathered cultists, but unfortunately the time was too short to determine which city-state it was, and I don't know if there are any other gathering points near them," Duncan took a breath, raised his hand, and rubbed his brow vigorously. "But it's not a big problem, I think we'll be dealing with them again soon…"

On the wall not far away, layers of shadows floated on the surface of the antique oval mirror. Agatha's figure emerged from the mirror, looking curiously at Duncan: "Are you alright? You look a little tired?"

"I just tried a newer method of avatar control, and I'm not quite used to it," Duncan waved his hand. "It seems that schizophrenia is not something you can try casually. Maybe I'll have to ask Heidi for advice if I have the chance… how can she split herself into dozens of them without getting confused?"

Agatha: "…?"

However, Duncan did not continue on this topic. He quickly frowned slightly and began to recall and sort out the information he had just obtained from "afar."

He originally thought it was just an ordinary dream invasion, just a strange nightmare phenomenon, and that the appearance of those cultists was just an accident… but he didn't expect that behind this incident, a shadow that exceeded everyone's imagination suddenly emerged.

"Dream of the Nameless…" Duncan raised his head in thought, looking at Agatha in the mirror and the goat's head on the table. "Have you heard of this term?"

(End of Chapter)