The group climbed the hill, parted through the dense fern foliage, and looked down at the valley, witnessing the scene Luo Yu had described.
In the valley, a long procession marched under the moonlight, resembling three dragons winding their way forward. Alphonse observed their attire and spoke with certainty, "They are sand thieves."
"It's more than just sand thieves," Fang Hong shook his head. He felt sure these were the blind followers' backup plan; they might be sand thieves, but they were certainly Dika's believers as well.
He looked up towards the valley's entrance, expecting to see the garrison that never appeared, seemingly allowing the sand thieves to march in uncontested. A thought flashed through his mind; perhaps this was the King of Sand, Barbaltan's plan to capture all the Dika believers, bold indeed, but catastrophic if it failed.
Both sides were daring gamblers, dueling on this chessboard, but Fang Hong, understanding the Dark Followers, did not have much faith in the King of Sand.
The sand thieves in the valley moved towards a direction where in the dense rainforest, several white dos stood above the canopy. Xiangzi stared in that direction and suddenly spoke, "We can reach there before them."
Fang Hong looked back at him unexpectedly; this teenager, startled by others' communication, was finally speaking, a promising sign. Since returning from the Dawood, he seed sowhat different from before.
He turned and asked:
"Is the King of Sand, Barbaltan, there?"
"That should be the only building complex in this valley," Alphonse replied.
"Is the Erald Star there?"
"It should be beneath the largest building."
Fang Hong nodded once, decisively saying:
"Descend the mountain, we must reach there before them."
...
The hall echoed with ethereal chants, causing drowsiness—
The ritual had reached its final stage, everyone in the hall watched the Crystal Mountain emit brighter green light.
Amid the green glow, they seed to see an invisible door form, a voice whispering ambiguously, painting a beautiful picture for them—the door led to everything they had pursued all their lives—wealth, power, or beauty—
It varied by person.
The King of Sand, Barbaltan, stood before the Crystal Mountain, with pale complexion from the bright green light, as if he aged ten years instantly.
But only this man, nad the king, had pupils reflecting two fiercely burning flas. The fire of life burning inside his chest grew more vigorous, spreading through his entire body, seemingly to incinerate everything.
He saw more in that light, another world, with fertile lands not only for his people's dwelling but also a gentle voice calling him—a dreamlike voice took him back seventeen years to his first eting with a maiden.
It was a bright bonfire, next to it were radiant smiles; the Star Ceremony's light back then glittered as it did now—
"Barbaltan, co to —"
The King of Sand reached out, as if trying to grasp sothing.
Yet he could only touch the cold crystal; the response felt like holding a warm, soft hand.
"Affia, are you there?"
"Did you see it, the notes you left, I've realized them—"
"What you recorded in the notes is all true."
"But just a little while longer..."
"I must avenge you."
In the crowd.
Only Seniman watched this scene with a grim face, seemingly unaffected. But in his sunken eyes, too, two faint flas burned; he watched the people beside him, the sword placed against his neck, the King of Sand standing motionlessly before the Crystal Mountain, felt a sneer rising within him:
"Continue, desert king, go push open that door."
He urged fervently in his mind:
"Go see that brand-new world, go welco your master."
"Everything you desire is there—"
"Even, eternal life."
But no one could hear the thoughts of this servant.
Four magicians stood at the corners, fully integrated with the ceremony, unaware of any changes around. Only Ebene, leading the ceremony, sensed an anomaly—he found that more people were connected to the ceremony than expected. This Great Sorcerer cautiously examined his Magic Web, realizing everyone in the hall was linked to the ceremony.
Though they used magic, the ministers offered their souls.
This discovery shocked Ebene greatly; if the spell continued, the hall would soon contain scores of undead. Among them were nearly a third of Istania's royal ministers, their deaths here would be catastrophic, not to ntion potential danger to the King of Sand himself.
During the ceremony, apart from the Holy Choosers, there was only one person unaffected.
Holding his magic wand, he furiously turned back, coincidentally eting Seniman's bright gaze.
"Seniman, what have you done?"
Ebene raged.
"What could I have done?" Seniman smiled nacingly, looking at the sword against his neck.
Ebene knew his identity and stopped engaging further, turning back to address the King of Sand solemnly:
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