The desert lit up with flickering, hellish light as a monstrous figure began to rise—a colossal Buddha silhouette, its aura both sacred and infernal.

  The air vibrated with a deep, guttural chant. The words weren’t the peaceful mantras of monks—they were warped, cracked, and heavy with death.

  Lauren stared, wide-eyed.

  Light’s form was barely recognizable. The gentle, merciful monk she remembered was gone—repced by something far darker.

  A Buddha cloaked in malice.A demon wrapped in divinity.

  “Those who surrender will live,” he intoned, voice deep and inhuman. “Those who resist... will be reborn.”

  The lizard spat and cursed. “You psychotic bald freak! You call yourself a Buddha? You’re just another monster!”

  Light’s gaze hardened. “Stubborn beast. Then allow me... to liberate you.”

  The desert exploded with motion.

  Countless golden Buddha palms materialized in the air, striking down one after another. Each impact shattered the air itself.

  The lizard’s roars turned into screams as its massive body shrank under the relentless blows.

  From a towering mountain-sized beast, it dwindled rapidly—its cws cracking, its scales shattering, its tail whipping helplessly in the sand.

  Within moments, the monstrous form was no bigger than a man’s height, trembling in the dust.

  “Mercy! Mercy, Master!” it cried out desperately. “I’ll y down my bde! I’ll be your mount!”

  But Light’s descending palm didn’t stop.

  Each strike shattered a new yer of armor, each blow accompanied by a crisp crack that echoed across the silent desert.

  The creature whimpered, shaking. “Y-you’re a monk! You can’t kill! You’re supposed to be merciful!”

  Light’s face was solemn, his expression eerily serene even as the demonic aura coiled thickly around him. The contradiction made him seem both divine and terrifying.

  “Killing life,” he said quietly, “is not the same as destroying it. To kill is to protect all things. To destroy karma is to save all beings.”

  The next strike fell like judgment itself.

  Boom!

  The final palm smashed the lizard’s body into the earth. Its inner core burst free, glowing faintly before shattering into dust.

  Silence returned to the desert.

  Lauren stood frozen, the bead still in her hand. “...Master, you—”

  Before she could finish, Light’s eyes closed.

  His form dissolved into pure golden light and shot toward her, merging straight into her palm.

  The golden swastika shimmered briefly, then faded away.

  Lauren stared down at her hand, dazed. The skin was smooth. The symbol was gone, as if it had never existed.

  She rubbed the spot, but it didn’t reappear.

  Her mind fshed back to that day again—the Archmage of Light’s calm smile as he’d pressed the mark into her palm, saying nothing, expining nothing.

  The desert had fallen completely silent.

  Lauren stood alone amid the swirling sand, the night wind whispering against her robes.

  She crouched and picked up the giant lizard’s inner core—still pulsing faintly with demonic energy—then pulled out a spare storage pouch and stowed away what was left of the creature’s mangled body.

  Rotten or not, a great beast’s corpse was still worth a fortune.

  Once she was done, she tried again to reach Edmund through her spiritual link.

  Nothing.

  No matter how many times she called, there was only silence.

  Then, just as she was about to curse, his familiar voice suddenly echoed inside her head.

  > “That seventh-level beast core—give it to me. Right now.”

  “…” Lauren’s expression froze. “Where the hell are you?”

  You weren’t around when I was almost getting eaten alive, and now you pop up to collect loot?

  Before she could say more, the inner core vanished from her hand in a flicker of light.

  Lauren stood there for a moment, stunned, and then lost her temper.

  “Edmund! I’ve been calling you this whole damn time. You only show up now?”

  > “Show up? I wasn’t pretending to be dead. I just finished recovering.”

  “Recovering?” She frowned. “You’ve absorbed enough beast cores and treasures to fill a warehouse, and you’re still exhausted?”

  > “Yeah. Helping you rebuild your inner realm takes effort.”

  Lauren stared into the distance. “…..." He was like an old phone with a dying battery—took two hours to charge, and died after five minutes of talking.

  > “I told you, I only have a wisp of my soul left. What do you expect?”

  She snorted. “That’s even worse. If a single wisp eats through this much energy, what would it be like if you had your whole soul back?”

  She looked inward, scanning her spiritual core, but couldn’t see a trace of him.

  “Hey. Where are you hiding?”

  > “Inside your inner realm. Rex. I’ll pull you in.”

  A wave of dizziness swept over her. Her consciousness tore free from her body, floating in and out of focus.

  A heartbeat ter, her shadow took form in a vast, misty expanse that stretched as far as she could see.

  She blinked.

  This was her inner realm?

  No, something felt off. In the cultivation stories she’d read, people entered these pces with their whole bodies, not just their souls.

  “Edmund?” she called.

  A figure appeared on the horizon and slowly approached, nding lightly a few paces away.

  Lauren froze.

  The man before her looked to be in his twenties, tall and straight-backed, his features sharp enough to carve gss. His presence carried a quiet, commanding power—like he belonged above mortals, untouchable and proud.

  He radiated a cold, ancient nobility. Even the small bck horns curling from his temples were familiar.

  “Edmund?” she asked, uncertain.

  He inclined his head slightly. “Hmm.”

  Seeing him in such a solid, human form stirred a question that had always lingered at the back of her mind.

  “So tell me something,” she said, tilting her head. “When you take human form, do you… I don’t know, design your appearance yourself? Or is it, like, inherited—same as humans?”

  Edmund actually looked confused for a moment. Apparently, no one had ever asked him that before.

  “Appearance reflects the heart,” he said at st. “When a protoss first transforms, the form they take mirrors their true state of mind.”

  Lauren’s eyes lit with curiosity. “So… are all ancient protoss that good-looking?”

  “Of course,” he said with the kind of calm arrogance only he could manage. “If a protoss transforms into something hideous, it means their heart is twisted. Such beings aren’t worthy of godhood.”

  Lauren snorted softly. “So basically—good-looking equals good person, ugly equals evil?”

  He gave a small, knowing smile. “Roughly.”

  She crossed her arms, smirking. “Convenient rule.”

  “Gods are formless,” Edmund said quietly. “I won’t always look like this.”

  Lauren blinked. “Huh? Then… what happens to you?”

  He didn’t answer. His expression said enough — that was a subject he had no interest in touching.

  Sensing his mood, Lauren switched gears. “Wait, you’re saying you can take form even though you’re just a wisp of soul?”