Shiayar felt his spirit wavering at this moment.

Having operated the tower for so long, he indeed felt exhausted.

It was the kind of fatigue that required lying on Ennie's white-stockinged lap for a good night's sleep to recover.

With that thought in mind, Shiayar allowed his spirit to descend from the Spirit Realm, falling towards the Main Material Plane.

...

A hundred miles away from the Valley of the End, in a desolate and remote graveyard.

Nowadays, Escarnia is still in the midst of chaotic times, with Abyss Demons roaming everywhere.

Such barren graveyards are countless, and few people tread them.

BANG—

The soil surged, and the stone slab sealing a coffin was abruptly turned over.

Following that, a pale hand with distinct joints suddenly stretched out from the earth of the grave.

WHOOSH.

The stone slab was pushed aside, and the lid of the coffin was lifted up.

Shiayar sat up from the coffin, pulled out a set of plain clothes from his Spatial Pocket, and dressed himself.

"It seems even the fully unleashed Sacred Spear couldn't kill me," Shiayar sighed with a touch of regret.

Based on his previous experiments, his undying body indeed had a variety of uses. He could be burned to ashes, reduced to fine white dust, or even decomposed into the most fundamental Mana Factors. As long as a trace remained, he could regenerate from it into a complete body of flesh and blood.

He certainly could have regenerated from the crystallized ashes within the gigantic fissure in the Valley of the End.

But that would be too dangerous.

The commotion caused by the unleashing of the Sacred Spear in the Valley of the End was too great. It wasn't just the few Legends within Escarnia's borders; all the Legends of the Western Continent, and even the Demigods who roamed outside the Main Material Plane, might have taken notice.

If he were to revive naked in that pit and get caught red-handed by the rushing Legends, that would be the end of him.

A dead Cain is considered Caint, but one that's alive might not be so.

Therefore, Shiayar had made preparations well in advance.

He had buried a segment of his finger in the coffin in this graveyard.

In this way, once his main body was annihilated, he could use this finger to accomplish his resurrection.

Let's exit the Echo of History first, Thinking thus, Shiayar was about to summon Shiny to take him out of this Echo of History.

In the next moment, however, Shiayar's brow suddenly furrowed.

From not far away, an ancient and mysterious power emerged.

This feeling didn't resemble the manifestation of Magic Power. Instead, it reminded Shiayar of the Divine Power of the deities he had encountered during his days dealing with the evil cults.

In the very next instant, crimson moonlight, like waves of ink, flowed forth.

Then, a mangled head, so bloodied that one could even see the stark white bones beneath the flesh, pierced through the inky crimson moonlight and fell upon the distant graveyard.

"Cain!"

"Cain!"

The mangled half-skull was somehow still moving, writhing on the ground, issuing a resentful hiss from its damaged vocal cords.

Damn, you members of the Blood Tribe really know how to survive, don't you?

It was only after hearing the other's resentful voice that Shiayar finally recognized who the disfigured, barely human skull belonged to: Blood Prince—Flandre.

A true Legend.

But even so, the fact that he could escape with his life from beneath the fully unleashed Sacred Spear was something Shiayar found incomprehensible.

And weren't long-distance Teleportation Arrays not yet developed in this era? Why then did he appear here, a hundred miles away from the Valley of the End?

A trace of doubt rose in Shiayar's heart, but he didn't pay it too much mind.

In Flandre's current pathetic state, even a child with no strength to truss a chicken could crush what remained of his skull. He posed no threat to Shiayar.

As for that Blood Tribe identity... The immortality of the Blood Tribe is flawed. Even for a Blood Prince of Legendary Rank, a bit of Holy Water could send him to heaven.

However, Shiayar's Cain persona at least had the identity of a Knight of the Sacred Hall, so he naturally wasn't lacking in Holy Water.

But soon, Shiayar's confusion was answered by the skull's self-muttering.

"Cain, haha... Cain."

"In the realms beneath Legendary, I, Flandre, would deem you the strongest."

The bloodied, blurry skull struggled to breathe.

"However, you wouldn't have expected... the Ancestor Crimson Moon actually heeded my call, sheltering me with His mighty power and helping me escape calamity."

"You and Vortigern's half are both dead, and yet, the one who laughs last is still me."

Crimson Moon...

The ancient god behind the Blood Tribe?

Shiayar was slightly startled but then came to understand.

For a True God who had already crossed the demigod threshold, possessing the mighty power to rewrite the Space Law was indeed not strange.

"However... the Ancestor supposedly has long been in slumber... Apart from the matter of hunting the Black Princess, He has not awakened again."

"Why then, would He descend His Divine Power to help me?"

Given the state of that skull, it was clearly not able to extend spiritual power to probe its surroundings, naturally unable to detect Shiayar's presence.

Or rather, even if he saw Shiayar, he wouldn't be able to connect Shiayar's true face, revealed now, with the Cain of Daybreak who wore the whirlpool mask.

In the hearts of all those within Escarnian territory, that Black Knight, Cain, was already considered to have died in battle.

His death was glorious, as weighty as Mount Tai.

Flandre's skull merely talked to itself, its flesh surging, attempting to activate the Blood Tribe's self-healing ability to repair its body.

But then, the next moment, the movement of that skull suddenly ceased.

A delicate, pale hand quietly emerged from the darkness and grasped the bloodied, blurry skull.

"Black Princess?" Flandre's voice became dry and stiff.

The next moment, unimaginable resentment surfaced on his bloodied, bone-laden face.

"The Ancestor... no, Crimson Moon, you deliberately sent me here! You wanted to use me to make the Black Princess..."

CRACK.

The pale fingers exerted a bit of strength.

The next moment, Flandre's skull cracked instantly and then turned to indistinct dust.

The blood-colored light surged; the immortality of the Blood Tribe allowed Flandre to retain some vitality despite the damage to his skull.

But then, the flowing blood quietly turned into a circle of blood-colored moonlight and was branded upon the owner of that pale finger.

Flandre's skull fragments scattered, dimming to the point of almost losing all luster. The Blood Prince had perished completely.

But the owner of that pale finger that killed him emerged from the shadows.

She was a young girl in a dark, classical long dress. Her hair, black as ink, cascaded downwards. Her garments were layered yet not cumbersome, embellished with twinkling stars, as if she embodied the night sky.

The moonlight of Crimson Moon was branded on her forehead, making her figure tremble slightly.

The next moment, the originally petite girl began to slowly stretch out.

A dark, night-like aura enveloped her, her small frame being pulled taller inch by inch.

Her dress, woven from the night itself, also became dreamlike and ethereal. Her once-flat chest swelled, stretching the previously loose garment taut over a now graceful and voluptuous figure.

After a few breaths, the hazy darkness that shrouded her eyes slowly dissipated.

Then, a crimson glow sparked within them.

The girl—no, the black-haired woman, now mature and alluring, exuding the air of an elegant lady—slowly turned around.

Then, with crimson eyes like those of a predator, she locked her gaze directly on Shiayar's location.