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... watched the stone pathways fill with order. Blood had long dried in the cracks between bricks. The scorched flags of Astrea had been torn down, replaced with clean black cloth—simple, unmarked, awaiting his true banner.

For now, the city held its breath.

But not in fear.

In transition.

Below, human workers stacked bricks, painted signs, and scrubbed the walls where fire once kissed too deeply. Goblins patrolled alongside them, not snarling, not barking orders. Jus ...

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Your fingers become golden fingers.

You touched the Jiuyang Divine Skill with your golden finger, and you learned the Jiuyang Divine Art.

You used your golden finger to touch the eighteen palms for subduing the dragon, and you learned the eighteen palms for subduing the dragon.

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King Atticus Heinvres, the blood-thirsty ruler of the North.

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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