The ritualist didn't look back.

He ran.

His breath tore out of his chest as he bolted up the stairs toward his room. He slipped twice on the worn stone steps, skinning his palms and cracking his knee against the edge, but he didn't stop. He barely felt the pain.

Blood stained the steps behind him.

"Damn it… damn it…" he muttered hoarsely, forcing his trembling legs to keep moving.

He reached his room and slammed the door shut, throwing multiple seals into place with shaking hands. Then he rushed to the center of the chamber and dismantled every formation connected to the pseudo palace.

One by one, the glowing runes dimmed.

The surveillance arrays collapsed.

The spatial anchors disengaged.

When it was finally done, he dropped onto the cushion in the middle of the room, chest heaving violently.

"Almost dead…" he whispered.

His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

He couldn't sit still.

He couldn't calm down.

His mind raced with only one thought.

Three days.

"How do I survive three days…?" he muttered, dragging both hands through his hair.

He stood up again.

Then sat down.

Then stood again.

Pacing like a trapped animal.

Every second felt like a countdown.

–

Meanwhile…

Kiaria hovered in front of the healed association members and their families inside the entrance hall.

The air still carried the faint scent of medicine and blood, but something else lingered now too.

Relief.

"Your wounds are healed," Kiaria said calmly. "There's no need to waste your lives here anymore. Go back home."

For a moment, no one moved.

No one spoke.

The bedridden men and women stared at him blankly.

Then slowly, hesitantly, they began checking themselves.

Bandages were unwrapped.

Herbal bindings were torn away.

Splints were loosened.

Crutches were dropped.

A man with a twisted spine straightened in disbelief.

A woman who hadn't walked in months stood up shakily on her own two feet.

Fresh scars faded.

Old wounds closed.

Even missing strength returned to weakened limbs.

"…I'm healed."

"…I'm really healed."

"…It doesn't hurt anymore…"

A ripple of sobbing spread through the hall.

One by one, they fell to their knees.

"Thank you, my Lord!"

"Thank you!"

"You saved us!"

Crying voices overlapped as gratitude poured out uncontrollably.

Kiaria watched quietly.

He saw families hugging each other.

He saw parents clutching children who had nearly died.

He saw broken men laughing like children again.

A faint, genuine smile crossed his face.

Then he spoke.

"What happened here?" Kiaria asked.

"Where are your authorities?"

The crying slowly died down.

People exchanged uneasy glances.

Silence returned.

"That's…" someone started.

Then stopped.

"Mother, why are you hesitating to speak?" little girl asked, her voice calm. "Isn't this God a good God? Didn't he helped us all along. I'm completely healed by him." Little girl said.

She looked at her mother in confusion. As a little girl, she didn't know the consequence of speaking truth.

"Mother, brother doesn't have to work to buy medicines for me. Why are you all hesitating?" She asked.

The young man couldn't hold back anymore.

"Why hesitate to take one more risk and tell him the truth? Don't you feel the shame? We intruded his paradise. Taint with our greed. But still he was generous to us. Can't you feel the shame for not having consciousness the little girl have?"

He stepped forward.

His fists clenched.

"Even if it's dangerous," he said firmly, "we can't keep hiding anymore. He healed us. He gave us hope. If we still stay silent after this, then we don't deserve that mercy."

Several people lowered their heads in shame.

A middle-aged woman–his mother–stepped beside him.

"My Lord," she said respectfully, "we can explain. But we need time."

Kiaria's eyes narrowed slightly. A little laugh barely hid away from his face from expressing.

Ridiculous. I thought she was going to speak the truth. But, that build up was for an excuse. Kiaria thought.

"There's a restriction seal on our foreheads," she continued quietly. "We can't speak openly about it. If we try, we'll die."

A murmur of fear rippled through the crowd.

"We will try to find another way to communicate," she said. "Please… give us some time."

Kiaria studied their faces.

Fear.

Gratitude.

Desperation.

Truth.

"Alright," he said at last. "Take your time."

Then his gaze sharpened.

"But my patience is limited," he warned.

"So use it well."

With that, his figure blurred.

And vanished.

The next, Kiaria was already seated on his throne–his posture unchanged, his expression calm, as if he had never left at all.

He closed his eyes and entered cultivation; consciousness sank into the inner terrace of the black ring, where energy flowed in slow, silent currents, cycling endlessly through invisible pathways.

Time drifted forward without sound.

The Yaksha Queen hovered nearby, watching him with unreadable eyes.

Outside, night gradually descended over the pseudo palace, wrapping the floating structure in a blanket of quiet darkness.

–

When Kiaria opened his eyes again, the atmosphere had changed.

Ru and Yi had returned from the Ghost Prison domain.

Diala, Princess Lainsa, Azriel, Aizrel, and Mu Long had all awakened from their long cultivation sessions as well.

"You finally woke up," Diala said quietly.

"We're starving," Princess Lainsa added bluntly, resting her chin on her hand.

"Everyone's been waiting for you," Diala murmured in a low voice.

Kiaria stood up smoothly and looked around at them.

"Then let's feast," he said calmly. "This time, the food is on me."

He raised one hand, and the obsidial diamond ring shimmered faintly.

Plates began appearing on the vast table one by one–bowls of steaming spiritual grains, platters of glazed spirit-beast meat, crystal trays of glowing fruits, and golden soups releasing gentle waves of aroma.

Rare herbs were arranged like living artwork between the dishes.

The table filled completely within seconds, until not a single empty space remained.

No one spoke.

But every pair of eyes widened as they stared at the feast in silent amazement.

They all took their seats quietly, hiding their excitement behind disciplined expressions.

"Let's begin," Kiaria said.

He reached out and served food into Diala's bowl first.

A sharp tap struck his foot beneath the table, making him flinch slightly.

Princess Lainsa glared at him, her eyes warning him without words.

Keep the godly demeanor.

Kiaria suppressed a grin and leaned slightly toward her. "Big Sister," he whispered softly, "actually… all the formations and prying setups were dismantled by them this afternoon."

Princess Lainsa's fingers paused around her chopsticks. "Don't expose it yet," Kiaria continued quietly. "If the others find out, they'll relax too much. What if another array activates later?"

Princess Lainsa exhaled slowly and gave a small nod.

"…Alright. I won't tell them."

They straightened back up, returning to their composed expressions. No one else noticed their brief exchange.

Everyone began eating quietly.

There was no casual chatter, no laughter, and no clinking of cups–only the soft sounds of utensils touching porcelain and the slow breathing of cultivators at rest.

The subtle hum of spiritual energy pulsed through the food as it was consumed.

Azriel and Mu Long exchanged a brief glance, their expressions turning slightly gloomy.

There was no alcohol.

Nothing to dull the tension and nothing to ease the invisible weight hanging in the air.

They sighed silently and adjusted themselves to the situation.

After the meal ended, no one lingered at the table.

Ru and Yi returned to the Ghost Prison domain to continue their research.

Azriel, Aizrel, and Mu Long left for their cultivation.

Diala and Princess Lainsa rose together and exited without a word.

The pseudo palace slowly returned to silence.

But–

Kiaria left one thing unfinished.

His body remained seated on the throne, posture unchanged, eyes closed in cultivation.

But in the next breath, his presence vanished from the pseudo palace.

The Spiritual Spring Embryo stayed behind, motionless on the throne.

And Kiaria appeared inside the dungeon.

He hovered nearly nine feet above the stone floor, directly behind the boy.

Geng didn't notice.

Kiaria's gaze dropped to Roga Roya.

Roya lay in a broken heap against the wall. His right hand was missing two fingers. His left leg ended in a jagged, blood-soaked stump. Dried bite marks covered the severed flesh.

A bowl of spoiled soup sat nearby.

Inside it floated finger bones.

Foot bones.

And dark red scraps of chewed flesh.

Kiaria closed his eyes once.

And sighed.

Geng still hadn't turned around.

The fire of revenge burned too brightly in his eyes.

He had unleashed everything he could imagine. Every cruelty. Every humiliation. Every nightmare. He had driven Roya's mind past its limits until his spiritual perception shattered.

And still… it wasn't enough.

"Geng."

Kiaria's voice fell from above.

The white spiderling on Geng's shoulder bowed instantly.

Greetings, Master, the Evil Spider said telepathically.

Kiaria nodded once.

Geng turned around.

The moment his eyes met Kiaria's, his legs gave out.

He dropped to his knees.

"Lord God… greetings," Geng said hoarsely.

"Stand up," Kiaria commanded.

The weight in his voice pressed into Geng's spine.

Geng forced himself upright.

"The time has come," Kiaria said.

"Pardon?" Geng asked, confused.

"The punishment," Kiaria replied.

"But–"

Geng stopped.

Kiaria's gaze cut into him like a blade.

"Are you satisfied with punishing him?" Kiaria asked.

Geng swallowed.

"…Yes," he answered reluctantly.

He didn't dare say more.

"Then answer me," Kiaria said calmly.

"From this afternoon until now… how many people did you save from captivity?"

"There are more than twenty prison chambers here."

"How many did you release?"

Geng's lips trembled.

"I… I…"

No answer came.

"Fine," Kiaria said quietly.

"Then let's skip that question."

He gestured toward the corridor.

"I will give you one chance," he continued.

"There are no locks afterall."

"Are you going to save lives… or leave this place alone?"

Geng's chest tightened.

"I want to save them," he said without hesitation.

"They're all like my family."

"I want to save all of them."

"Good," Kiaria replied.

"Then save them."

Geng bowed deeply.

And ran toward the second chamber.

He grabbed the handle and pulled it open.

The moment the door swung wide, screams erupted.

The captives shrank back into the corners, pressing against the walls. Some covered their heads. Others sobbed uncontrollably.

Fear flooded the chamber.

"P-Please… stay away!"

"Don't kill us!"

Geng stepped inside slowly.

"Sister… it's me," he said shakily.

"Jihe… it's me."

"Everyone… it's me. Geng. I'm Geng…"

No one recognized him.

"You–you're not Geng!"

"Please… don't come closer!"

"Don't kill us!"

They begged him to leave.

He stumbled back.

Then opened the next chamber.

The same reaction.

Then the next.

Then another.

Everywhere he went, they screamed.

Everywhere he went, they fled from him like he was a monster.

No one called his name.

No one smiled.

No one believed him.

He walked back down the corridor in a daze.

Halfway there, his knees buckled.

He collapsed onto the stone floor.

"Why…?" he whispered.

Then louder.

"Why?! Why are you all afraid of me?!"

Tears streamed down his face.

"I'm your Geng!" he cried.

"Aren't you the ones who fed me when I was small?"

"Aren't you the ones who carried me on your laps?"

"Aren't you the ones who played with me?!"

His voice broke.

"Why…?"

His chest felt hollow.

Like something vital had been torn out of him.

He felt unwanted.

Like he no longer belonged in the world.

Kiaria drifted closer.

"Geng," he said softly.

"Do you remember what I told you before I left?"

The words echoed in Geng's mind.

I hope you won't turn into him by the end of this.

"No… no… no…" Geng muttered.

"I'm not like him."

"I'm Geng."

"I'm not like him…"

He forced himself to stand.

Then began running through the dungeon.

Like a parent searching for a lost child in a crowd.

He needed water.

He needed to see himself.

He needed proof.

He ran to the far end of the dungeon.

A metal tray filled with still water sat on a low stone stand.

He dropped to his knees and leaned over it.

His reflection stared back at him.

Dried blood streaked his face.

His eyes were sunken.

His mouth was twisted.

There was no smile.

No warmth.

No innocence.

The reflection shifted.

Slowly.

Roga Roya's face stared back at him.

That same cruel grin.

That same hateful glare.

Geng screamed and plunged his hands into the water.

He scrubbed his face frantically.

The blood didn't come off.

The water turned red instead.

"NOOOO…!" he cried.

"What have I done…?"

Kiaria appeared behind the tray.

Geng saw him in the reflection.

"Lord… Lord…" he sobbed.

"Help me…"

"Help me…"

His shoulders shook.

"I don't want to become him…"

"I don't want to become a monster…"

The dungeon fell silent.

Only his crying remained.

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