Though the White Specter clan didn't suffer any losses, half of their residential territory was demolished, turned into dust and ash. Even after one day, no one dared to visit the place to inspect the damage, everyone stayed clear of this area, choosing to wait for the Matriarch to publicly announce the results of the war.

This once prosperous and beautiful place turned into a mess, rubble everywhere, bottomless chasms, scorched earth and polluted air. It is definitely not a place for anyone to live in, which is why Katrina started relocating the disciples or her clan.

The clan's territory was unimaginably huge so Katrina chose a relatively quiet place that had abundant Nether Energy and was suitable to live in.

…

Going back to the battlefield, where it stunk of blood, there appeared a lonely silhouette, slowly walking amidst the dusty and foggy place, unaffected by the nauseating smell or the unsteady ground he was treading.

The man wore no armor or enchanted armor, his clothes were normal, plain, even. What caught attention, however, was an unusual hat adorned by three feathers, white, red, and purple. His attire resembled those of the troubadours roaming the Bard Realm, and the lute in his hand confirmed his obvious profession.

After walking for a long while, the man let out a sigh and pinched his nose, unable to bear the stench, nevertheless, he continued randomly wandering around, inspecting overly-damaged areas.

Only when half a day has passed did the bard stop roaming and retrieved his lute, ready to sing. He needed to see this with his own eyes so he can come up with a good poem that will rile the crowd, as usual.

"My dear Arthur, didn't I tell you that your efforts will be of no use? Why must you go against destiny…"

Indeed, this individual was a recent acquaintance of Arthur, someone the parasite meant when he went in search of the Azure Dragon's body. They coincidentally met and surprisingly hit it off, becoming friends after experiencing a few dangerous situations together.

Their encounter was brief, however, the memories of their short adventure won't be forgotten anytime soon.

Aneirin was his name, and, contrary to his appearance, he was old, very old, and mysterious, at that.

The bard adjusted his lute, put his delicate fingers in their rightful place and started singing. His sweet and pleasant voice echoed across the empty battlefield, bringing a tinge of life to this desolate and broken place.

'Once a human, he had been

Now a parasite, none had ever seen

Lacking faith, like a simple machine

Facing destiny, fate, and all in-between

He failed to see the path

Alone and consumed by his wrath

Seeking vengeance, causing a bloodbath

Once a human, he had been

Now a parasite, banished in a place unforeseen

Meeting a creature, mad, sly, and obscene

Soon to be forgotten, cursed, and never seen.'

****

Unaware, there were two figures watching the singing bard, their breaths steady and silent, and their bodies camouflaged by the dense fog and countless scattered boulders. The shorter of the two, a young man with a fair, delicate skin, a humble smile and clear eyes, glanced at the man beside him and said

"You didn't have to go that far."

This young man, who wore a grey robe and looked harmless, was none other than the Green Seat of Justice from Black Rose, the famous Artid, the person who invited Arthur to their organization.

Facing the green seat was a middle-aged man with a relatively thick beard, two jet black pupils which sucked everything that looked at them, a robust body and two eye-catching eyebrows. This was the man hired by Thordan to kidnap Lucy, he was also the person who hit her and almost killed her were it not for the ARK's help.

This man, who didn't have any suffocating aura like other Overgods and such, lacked the pressure of an expert, and was missing the domineering attitude of a cold-blooded killer, was the Black Seat of Death and the strongest existence in Black Rose.

Hearing Artid, the man shook his head and retorted:

"You said she's perfect for the White Seat. Unlike Arthur, I needed to test her, however, a normal test was out of the question because her circumstances were special, so the best choice was to test her survivability."

The youngster didn't seem very convinced, he frowned and looked at the middle-aged man with a doubtful expression.

"I may not be as great of a character as you are, but in our line of business, succeeding in our mission and getting out alive are our two main priorities."

"There are other ways of testing her 'survivability'. You almost killed her with that blow."

The black seat shrugged his shoulders and said back:

"But I didn't, that's the most important."

"You would have if that strange cube didn't he-"

"No." The black seat interrupted Artid and explained: "That artifact did nothing and was unsuccessful in its attempt to expel my energy. She relied on herself and saved her life, that is all. Getting into the details like 'How' or 'When' would be unnecessary and a waste of time."

The grey-robbed young man remained silent, pondering about the previously said word. As for the Black Seat of Death, he glanced at the walking bard, his expression unreadable and his abyssal pupils concentrating on Aneirin.

After some time passed, Artid asked

"Isn't he afraid that the Matriarch will come and kill him for coming uninvited?"

He was clearly referring to the singing troubadour. In response, the man, his gaze still locked onto the blurry silhouette of the far away poet, answered:

"No one would bother killing troubadours, they're harmless and… they make history with their poems and songs."

****

The place was like a fairyland, the trees were colorful, overgrown, and breath-taking. The land of this 'world' was fertile and magically enhanced so it feeds off corrupt energy and let out pure Nether. The animals coexisted with each other, eating the lush grass or the delicious fruits hanging from the different kinds of trees.

This blessed world was the ancestral land of the White Specter Clan, it didn't exactly suit such a race, nonetheless, it belonged to them. Currently, all of the disciples, including the higher-ups such as the elders, were camping in an open field.

Temporarily, they inhabited a massive pagoda which pierced the white clouds high up in the sky. This pagoda was large enough to accommodate tens of thousands of people, so, housing the White Specter Clan was no big deal.

Currently, in a spacious room that was well-decorated and filled with all kinds of archaic antics, there laid a silver-haired woman, peacefully sleeping. Her delicate face regained some color and her breathing was steady, unlike before.

Unseen by anyone, including her mother, there was a strange cube inside the woman's consciousness, silently rotating, causing no harm whatsoever. This person was Angelina, who was brought here by Katrina and has been in this comatose state for several days already.

The Matriarch would visit her every night and check her pulse and body and see if there were any abnormalities, fortunately, there was nothing to worry about, however, despite being healthier than ever, Angelina didn't wake up.