North Ufiga, Busalet.

Under the blazing sun of the Busalet desert, Dorothy sat upright inside her tent at the edge of the Bastis oasis, her brows furrowed and expression grave as she reflected on what had just happened. It had been a long time since she last heard a prompt from her so-called “system,” and the sudden sound had startled her slightly.

“My so-called system… it usually only shows up when one of my actions might trigger a response related to divinity. Which means, my act of compiling the history of the Santo Dynasty just now was enough to provoke some form of divine reaction.”

“There has always been some intangible divine force lingering over this land of Busalet—something closely tied to history and jurisprudence. Could it be… the divine aspect of Revelation is connected to such things?”

Rubbing her chin, Dorothy contemplated. She had long known that a nation’s history and jurisprudence could serve as a kind of power… a resource. The Nether Coffin Order’s “Royal Soul” and the Church’s “National Veneration Kingship” both represented mystical systems powered by state jurisprudence. She hadn’t been certain before what kind of spirituality jurisprudence aligned with, but now she could confirm—it was Revelation.

“According to what I gathered from the séance with those tied to the Nether Coffin Order, they possess some degree of Revelation technology. The Church must also hold some legacy of Revelation… On the surface, it only inherits three Beyonder paths, but that National Veneration Kingship system appears to be a blend of Revelation and Lantern… interesting.”

From this, Dorothy concluded that among major mystical organizations, the power of Revelation had not truly gone extinct. Each had likely preserved fragments of its legacy, albeit under strict secrecy.

She then redirected her thoughts back to Busalet and the divine forces entwined with it.

“My system seems capable of sensing divine influence. That divine force entrenched in Busalet’s history likely originates from the Heaven’s Arbiter… In other words, the residual power of the Heaven’s Arbiter is interfering with the historical progression of Busalet.”

“But what form does that interference take? There’s a saying that ‘Busalet is not permitted to possess a written official history,’ and that it cannot sustain powerful jurisprudential forces… what exactly does that imply?”

Still rubbing her chin, Dorothy tried to ask her system what that earlier prompt truly meant—but just like before, the system offered no clarification. She had no choice but to deduce it herself.

“This land is forbidden from having a written official history… meaning any attempt to compile an official, unified historical record for Busalet is doomed to fail? That lingering divine force would cause all historical compilations to be lost or destroyed, thus dooming its history to oblivion?”

“If we take that literally, that’s what it means. But it’s unlikely to be that simple, because the emergence of official history typically accompanies the rise and continuity of a stable regime—it’s an inevitable process.”

“In the narrow sense, an official history is a state-commissioned account meant to serve as a nation’s orthodox chronicle. If the divine influence from the Heaven’s Arbiter merely obstructs such documents from coming into existence, that feels rather shallow. Hence, the ‘official history’ referenced by the system likely holds a broader meaning.”

“A nation or regime might not officially commission any historical works, and still function normally. But the absence of state-backed records doesn’t mean that a ‘recognized history’ won’t take shape. What we call ‘official history’ is ultimately a collective consensus—a shared view of the past held by the majority within that society.”

“Even without a sanctioned record, the longer a regime endures in stability, the more its people will form a unified narrative of their past. People always seek to understand what led to their present. In time, a common version of events will emerge to fill that void. So even without an official directive, ‘official history’ will evolve naturally… unless… that curse erases even the regimes themselves.”

With a serious expression, Dorothy analyzed further. If her speculation was correct, then the centuries of unending chaos in Busalet might not stem from human failings alone, but from a divine influence embedded in the land.

The residual divinity of the Heaven’s Arbiter might be manipulating fate, dooming each successive dynasty in Busalet to a short-lived collapse. As long as disorder prevailed, no coherent “official history” could ever emerge.

“That would also explain why the system said no great jurisprudential power can take root here. History is a core pillar of jurisprudence, and if fate itself prevents the rise of large unified nations, then naturally, no strong jurisprudential system can form…”

She continued thinking deeply. It now seemed clear that the lingering power of the Heaven’s Arbiter was shaping Busalet’s history—and this might be connected to Heopolis. But what the nature of that connection was, still required further investigation.

“Since the First Dynasty, no powerful unified nation has ever ruled this land. All dynastic jurisprudence has been shattered. So… does that mean the jurisprudence of the First Dynasty still lingers?”

“I recall, back in my homeland before transmigrating, that succeeding dynasties had a tradition of compiling histories for their predecessors—both to proclaim their own legitimacy and to ‘seal the coffin’ on the previous regime. It was a formal conclusion, a closure of the previous dynasty’s jurisprudence.”

“But in Busalet, each dynasty had a beginning and no end—no official history, no closure. If no one ever concluded their rule in record, could that mean their jurisprudence still lingers? Just weak and short-lived?”

“And above these fragile traces lies the origin—the jurisprudence of the First Dynasty. Does that still persist? Busalet was the heart of the First Dynasty. And if every kingdom born after it has collapsed too quickly to even ‘seal its coffin,’ then the lid on that coffin has never been shut. And who knows what might crawl out of a coffin left open…?”

“Therefore, what I need to do now is find a way to approach that possibly undying jurisprudence of the First Dynasty. To interact with something as abstract as jurisprudence, I must first attempt to reach that formless divine force…”

Dorothy’s expression was solemn. The only way to access that lingering, destructive power—the one that had allegedly destroyed countless dynasties—was to continue compiling the history of the Santo Dynasty and observe how the force responded to her work. As a Crimson-rank Beyonder of the Revelation Path, perhaps she could discern some signs.

Based on what she had learned from former historians of the Santo Dynasty, the influence of this divine force was not immediate or explosive—it worked subtly and over time. That meant trying it herself likely carried little risk.

After making her decision, Dorothy immediately resumed control over the corpse marionettes stationed in the distant underground archive, continuing the compilation of the Santo Dynasty's official history. However, after working for quite some time, she still sensed nothing unusual.

“Hmm… nothing seems out of the ordinary… Is it that the influence is too weak—so faint that I can’t perceive it? Or is it because I’m relying solely on those corpse marionettes and thus unable to detect anything?”

That thought arose in her mind. She believed there remained a degree of detachment between herself and the marionettes. If she truly wished to perceive that intangible power, perhaps she needed to take the reins personally.

No sooner had that thought formed than Dorothy acted on it. She stood from the rug beneath her and walked out of the tent, departing the lakeside camp of the diplomatic mission.

With the aid of corpse marionettes stationed within Bastis, she successfully infiltrated the city and quickly located the underground archive.

Draped in a robe, Dorothy strolled into the well-lit archive, making her way to the stone table at its center. She sat down and immediately took over the work from the marionettes, continuing to swiftly compile the annals of the Santo Dynasty.

Now writing with her own hand, personally engaged in the compilation, Dorothy rapidly filled the blank pages while simultaneously attuning herself to any changes within or around her. To her relief, it didn’t take long before she sensed an anomaly.

As she wrote the annals of the Santo Dynasty, Dorothy distinctly felt a power with striking spiritual resonance to her own emerge—hovering near her, her writing, and her pen’s tip. The force was faint, but it unmistakably emanated rejection toward her.

Under this influence, Dorothy noticed her mind wandering repeatedly, her focus breaking in ways that had never plagued her before when handling similar tasks. It was clear this was due to that “curse”—a force interfering with the process of compiling history. And if a historical record were completed, this force would likely go on to erase it as well.

Now able to sense the presence of this intangible power, Dorothy began closely observing how it affected her during the compilation process, and soon discerned some patterns.

Whenever she wrote content related to the downfall of dynasties, the power would emerge and subtly disrupt her writing. But if the material was unrelated to dynastic collapse, the sensation of that force would vanish.

During this process, she encountered a particularly intriguing experience: when she fabricated history out of pure invention.

Due to the lack of complete historical records, Dorothy couldn’t reconstruct a wholly accurate history. When faced with gaps in the sources, like many historians before her, she filled them in with guesswork and fabricated details—pure fiction to bridge the blanks.

Yet when she did this—blatantly concocting events—that mysterious power once again appeared by her side. However, this time, it merely showed up without interfering, unlike when she documented dynastic downfalls. The power only intervened when her invented narratives ultimately led to a dynasty's demise.

“When compiling regular history, that power doesn’t appear. When writing about dynastic destruction, it emerges and attempts to interfere. But when I’m purely fabricating history, the power returns—but doesn’t interfere…

“Why? Why does falsified history trigger such a response?”

Puzzled, Dorothy pondered deeply—until a new theory surfaced in her heart.

“History is a record and measure of time, but it is written by humans. Humans can never record all that has truly occurred, not with absolute fidelity. Fabricated events… if they gain enough acceptance, can—after countless years—become real history.”

“This force seems to pay attention to the fabrication of non-existent history—but doesn’t obstruct it. It’s as if it tacitly permits fictional histories… so long as they don’t lead a dynasty to ruin.”

Seated at the stone table, Dorothy contemplated this seriously. A strange idea struck her: What if, during her historical compilation, she avoided the cursed content about dynastic collapse altogether? What if she simply fabricated a continuation—allowing the already-fallen Santo Dynasty to live on, not in reality, but within the pages of her chronicle? After all, fabricating history seemed to be a tolerated act.

And so, without hesitation, Dorothy dropped all mentions of dynastic downfall and began crafting pure pseudo-history—ensuring the Santo Dynasty would not meet its end with the second generation but would instead continue on, at least within her fictitious chronicle.

She commanded her marionettes to begin inventing stories of the Santo Dynasty’s third and fourth generation kings. The writing progressed rapidly. After extending the dynasty’s life by five more years in her records, Dorothy noticed something astonishing—the Revelation spirituality within her began to show signs of depletion.

Seeing this, Dorothy paused in surprise, then—feeling she had chosen the right path—began accelerating her frantic fabrications. In her rewritten chronicles, from the founding King Santik and his son, the second monarch, Dorothy fabricated a total of four kings who succeeded the throne. The final one she named Hayak.

With her hand flying across the page, Dorothy extended the Santo Dynasty’s history from sixty years ago all the way to the present day. When she finally dated the chronicle to the current date, she let out a long breath of relief.

Then, sitting on the bench, she rubbed her sore shoulders, yawned, and leaned back lazily—until she felt something soft behind her.

“Wait… a cushion? Wasn’t I sitting on a cold, hard stone bench? Where’d this cushion come from? And why does the seat feel so soft too…?”

Blinking, Dorothy rubbed her eyes and looked up—only to find herself staring at a completely transformed scene.

The archive was still the underground library… but it looked entirely different.

Polished marble tiles gleamed across the spotless floor. Countless bookshelves stood upright, packed with all kinds of books. The shelves and books were perfectly intact, with no signs of decay. The old stone table at the center had become a long wooden table, surrounded by finely crafted wooden stools. Around the library were small exhibits and intricate artifacts.

Compared to the drab, abandoned space she’d been in before, the underground archive had undergone a miraculous renovation—as if transformed from a ruin into a luxury study in the blink of an eye.

Mouth slightly agape, Dorothy stared at the sight. The archive had become a proper underground library. But what stunned her most—there were people.

Many robed figures moved about inside, leafing through books, seemingly researching or studying. None of these people were her corpse marionettes.

“What… what just happened…?”

Staring at the sudden shift, Dorothy was filled with confusion—until two robed youths walked past her. One of them, sounding like a student, softly asked the other.

“Hey, you? Didn’t you have the day off? What’re you doing here in the library?”

“Of course I’m here to gather materials for Mr. Novi—you know, he’s just been promoted to royal advisor under His Majesty Hayak. He’s swamped! As his student, I’ve gotta help share the burden, obviously.”