The ripple of the shielding field's energy, sharing that specific frequency, pierced the fragile facade Erika maintained amidst the deafening noise like an ice pick. It wasn't sustained, but a fleeting, precise flicker—like a deliberately placed marker, its origin pinpointing the Contemplation Corridor deep within the Sanctum.

  At almost the same instant, the strange, "knocking" sensation returned to the Mark on the back of his left hand, clearer this time. It carried a unique, cold rhythm—like some kind of encrypted knock.

  Erika's fist clenched, nails digging into his palm, the pain forcing his stiff smile to remain. Anna was excitedly pointing at new fireworks blooming overhead, completely missing his momentary lapse.

  The surviving black-clad Cleric wasn't waiting idly in Hongbo's interrogation room. He was using some kind of Mark-based communication method, understandable only to their inner circle, desperately trying to contact the outside. That coincident energy ripple was likely a leak—accidental or intentional—of their secret laboratory's unique energy signature, used to locate or verify the connection.

  This was far too risky—under Hongbo's nose, within the Sanctum's layered surveillance!

  Erika's heart hammered like a war drum. He stopped trying to decipher the encrypted message's meaning; that was beyond him. Instead, he focused all his mental power, acting like the most sensitive seismograph, capturing and memorizing the unique frequency and pattern of the energy fluctuation itself as it passed through his Mark.

  The fluctuation was cold, urgent, carrying a near-desperate resolve. It lasted perhaps a dozen heartbeats, then vanished as abruptly as it appeared.

  Only the festival's noise remained—Anna's carefree laughter and the cloying sweetness of candy in the air.

  But Erika knew something had shifted. An invisible message, like a stone dropped into a deep pool, had been sent from the Sanctum's most secure prison. And he had inadvertently caught the ripple from its entry.

  He looked down at his fingers, pale from their earlier clenching, as if he could still feel the communication's cold, encrypted echo.

  The storm was arriving faster than anticipated.

  Anna's warm little hand tugged at Erika's sleeve, pulling him temporarily from his icy thoughts. She looked up, her eyes shining with near-reverence, pointing toward the main dais bathed in the most lavish golden light.

  "Erika, look! It's Her Highness the Princess!"

  The crowd surged like wind-blown wheat toward the platform, cheers rising in waves. Pulled along by Anna, Erika found himself moving forward, his gaze passing over the sea of bobbing heads to find the figure standing atop the high stage.

  She was an exceedingly young princess, with hair of pure, untarnished silver like fresh snow, flowing with a soft sheen under the festival's artificial sky. Dressed in magnificent formal wear, her ornate white gown was embroidered with intricate gold patterns.

  Yet, to Erika's sharpened senses, there was a stark, unnatural contrast between her and the solemn, stern Golden Guards flanking her. The guards stood like living statues—less like loyal protectors, and more like gilded wardens.

  A perfectly practiced smile graced her lips as she waved gracefully to the roaring masses below. Her voice, amplified by some spell, rang clear and ethereal across the square:

  "May the light of the Eternal Circuit forever shelter the Holy Sanctum and its people!"

  Her tone held little genuine emotion—more a performance of a sacred rite. The people, however, met it with fervor, their cries of praise deafening. The festival's atmosphere reached its peak.

  Anna stood on her tiptoes, clutching her woven bird tightly, watching in awe as if seeing a figure from legend. In her eyes, this princess was the embodiment of light and beauty.

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  Erika watched quietly.

  He observed the princess's flawless poise, the Golden Guards monitoring her every move, the collective frenzy of the surrounding crowd. He understood now. She was the Old Royalty—a surviving relic of a bygone era. The Sanctum, the true masters of this city, kept her as a beautiful, powerless mascot. She was like the most dazzling treasure, meticulously displayed in the Sanctum's showcase to appease the masses—pure, untainted, yet entirely hollow.

  She belonged to another order of existence—a gilded cage he could never touch.

  Just then, the lingering pulse in his left hand's Mark—the aftermath of the black-clad's "knock"—subtly overlapped for a moment with a faint perception of some intangible pressure emanating from the direction of the Sanctum.

  Ice and fire. Light and shadow. The captive princess and the tortured prisoner.

  At the height of the festival, beneath the ultimate noise and radiance, Erika felt himself standing on an invisible line. On one side was the carefully constructed "present" represented by Anna and the mascot princess; on the other, the brutal "reality" of unknowns and dangers into which he was steadily sliding.

  He looked down at Anna's satisfied, excited face and softly replied, "Mm."

  He was guarding her dream for this moment. His own war was just beginning.

  "Are you kidding me? Do my classes not count for anything?"

  Wolfgang's low voice rumbled through the Indoctrination Hall, thick with displeasure. He glared at the middle-aged brother who had entered with the summons, his brows drawn tight like thunderclouds.

  The brother, nervous beneath Wolfgang's imposing presence, nevertheless stood his ground. "Instructor Wolfgang, this is a direct order from High Priest Hongbo himself… your presence is required."

  Wolfgang exhaled a sharp breath through his nose, more a growl than a sigh. His jaw tightened imperceptibly.

  He shook his head, then turned toward the rows of students, who stared back with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Review the basics of energy sensing today. Those who missed last session—catch up on your own."

  His sharp gaze swept across the hall like a blade, evaluating the novices. He needed a second to fill the mandate. His eyes finally locked onto the boy sitting quietly in the back, the only one harboring an unstable, Sanctum-forged Mark.

  A flicker of impatience crossed his expression. "Erika. You. With me."

  Erika's chest tightened.

  Before the thought could settle, Wolfgang's patience snapped. A large hand shot out, grabbing Erika by the scruff like a careless porter handling luggage, hauling him from his seat in one effortless motion. Without another word, he followed the waiting brother out of the hall.

  Suspended half off the ground, Erika's thoughts churned in disarray. He could feel the tension in the Instructor's grip—the unnatural stiffness of someone not entirely in control of his own calm.

  They stopped only at the grand, solemn entrance to the Sanctum itself. The guiding brother bowed low. "The High Priest commands all to assemble in the Basilica." With that, he retreated swiftly down the corridor.

  Wolfgang set Erika down—none too gently. Straightening his vestments, his expression settled back into its usual granite-hard composure, though a flicker of grim intent still burned behind his eyes. "Follow," he said curtly, and strode into the Sanctum without a backward glance.

  Erika obeyed, his heart sinking with every step. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became—the very energy of the Sanctum pressing down like a mountain's weight. His lungs felt tight, the atmosphere itself dense with power. Somewhere ahead, that immense, unwavering presence could only belong to High Priest Hongbo. Beneath it, dozens of other potent auras intertwined—sharp, obscure, and suffocating.

  Simply standing within their range made Erika's head spin, his breath catching until black dots crowded his vision. These were the true powers of the Sanctum—priests and scholars whose strength shaped doctrine and law alike.

  Wolfgang noticed his struggle but said nothing, his pace unbroken as he led Erika toward the Basilica's rear. There, rows of simple benches stood in contrast to the ornate architecture. Wolfgang made straight for the last row.

  Two figures were already seated there: the short, sharp-eyed Cleric Kaelen, and the tall, cold-faced woman who always accompanied him.

  Wolfgang didn't bother with greetings. He simply pushed Erika down into the narrow space between them, neatly trapping him.

  Kaelen turned at the motion. Seeing Erika, his usual slick, amused smile appeared almost instantly. He nudged the boy lightly with an elbow, his voice a low drawl meant to carry just far enough.

  "Well, well. If it isn't our little inquisitive friend. Wolfgang, I'm impressed." Kaelen's eyes flicked to the empty space where Wolfgang's actual partner should have been. "Filling the empty seat with a novice? I always knew you were getting soft.

  His chuckle broke the solemn stillness of the Basilica like a hairline crack in glass. Wolfgang's cold glance cut across the space, but he didn't rise to the bait. He only folded his arms and stared forward, the air around him coiling tighter, as if waiting for the inevitable storm.

  Erika sat stiffly between Wolfgang's solid weight and Kaelen's unsettling curiosity, caught in the still eye of an invisible tempest.

  Before him, the pressure of the gathered hierarchy loomed like an unspoken verdict. To either side, high-ranking Clerics of unknown allegiance—and equally unreadable intent.

  He clenched his slightly damp hands, forcing his breath to steady.

  This was no ordinary assembly. And his presence here was no accident. The eye of the storm, it seemed, had finally moved into the Sanctum's most sacred hall.