Whether the ship had drifted here by accident or arrived with purpose was irrelevant.
'Isn't it wrong to harm an innocent soul?' someone might ask.
But how could one who dared disturb Radiance's sacred slumber be considered innocent?
With that thought, Agrippa bowed his head in prayer, his fanatic devotion clouding all else.
His voice, quiet yet fervent, echoed through the hallowed hall:
"O Radiance, your rest is disturbed.
They know not your providence and, blinded by greed, dare to set foot on this holy ground.
O Flame, consume your enemies.
O Radiance, eternally brilliant, let your judgment fall upon them."
But even as he prayed, the ship crossed the shoreline.
On that ship stood Drake, stroking his chin as he gazed at the approaching island.
A legend passed among seafarers had drawn him here.
"To the west, there is said to be a mysterious island that appears only when storms rage.
Shrouded in mist, it reveals itself briefly, then vanishes once more."
Drake had once dismissed such tales as the delusions of uneducated sailors seeing mirages—but a certain magician had spoken of it with eerie conviction.
"I saw it myself—on a stormy night, that island emerged from the mists."
The story had stayed with him.
Around the island were traces—clues suggesting unnatural destruction. Cliffs shattered as if by force, rocks twisted and fused—none of it natural. It was clear something powerful had intentionally wiped out all surrounding isles.
Then there was the legend: an island visible only during storms, cloaked in enchanted fog.
Surrounding islands, all destroyed unnaturally.
An island that appears only amid storms.
Every clue pointed to this being the birthplace of Radiance.
Back on the island, Bishop Agrippa's eyes finally opened.
The Holy Sea Knights, usually stationed here, had been summoned away by the Pope himself. Their absence left Agrippa uneasy, but there was no choice.
He reached out, summoning the divine power of Radiance—intent on eliminating the blasphemers who dared approach.
On the ship, Drake attempted to contact Michael through a magical communicator.
The island had begun to fade, swallowed by mist—and an ominous aura surged around it, threatening even his enchanted ship.
Back in the Royal Palace of Lania, Michael had just concluded the Mirror Assembly when Drake's message came through.
His eyes glinted with purpose.
"Astrid, I must leave for a while. Please proceed to declare war and expose the crimes of the Radiant Holy Kingdom."
Leaving those words with her, Michael set off immediately for the underground lake beneath the Argo Mountains.
There, he would use the priestess's power to teleport directly to the island.
The lake shimmered in a deep, mystical blue, its surface rippling gently as though alive. The fierce winds and dense forest of the surrounding mountains cast dark shadows—but the area around the lake glowed with a soft, ethereal light.
Michael stood at the water's edge, breathing deeply to calm himself.
"According to the ancient records, Radiance only barely survived his final battle—and fell into slumber here to regain his strength."
If he could draw that power out… there was a chance to banish Radiance once and for all.
Without hesitation, Michael stepped into the lake.
Far away, in a temple of death and vengeance, Karl—Michael's grandfather—snapped his eyes open mid-prayer.
"At last… has the time come?"
He rose slowly, then burst into eerie laughter.
He could feel it—his grandson's determination, resonating deep within.
As Karl stood, the shadows of the temple surged toward him.
They wrapped around his body, merging with him.
And with that, Karl began to move.
It was time to fight.
Time to stand by his grandson's side.
Michael stood in awe at the sheer majesty of the underground temple, a place he hadn't visited in quite some time.
The remnants of former glory still lingered on every wall—the faded bas-reliefs told stories of gods and heroes long past, while faintly glimmering gemstone inlays shimmered softly from the shadows and moss-covered stone, echoing the temple's once-radiant splendor.
Occasionally, a soft blue glow rose from the water's surface, casting a magical hue over the ancient ceiling. The entire atmosphere was steeped in a solemn, almost sacred stillness.
Michael could feel the weight of history pressing on his shoulders, surrounding him with a reverent silence.
His first destination was the ancient training hall, where he respectfully approached Alexander to ask an important favor—whether he could share a simplified version of Alexander's mana control technique with the rest of the continent.
Alexander responded with a broad smile.
"That much is no problem at all. What you're planning to share isn't my original method, after all—your interpretation is practically a whole new system," he said with a chuckle.
"And besides," he added with a hand on Michael's shoulder, "if it'll help you achieve your great mission, how could I refuse? Just promise me one thing—use it for good."
Michael left the training hall with gratitude brimming in his heart.
Soon after, with the help of the priestess Lucrezia, Michael approached the teleportation array at the heart of the temple.
He placed his hand upon the ancient stone etched with runes, and began to pour his mana into it.
From his fingertips, blue light began to spread—waves of energy rippling outward from the core of the array, filling the underground temple with a hum of power.
The lake waters began to stir gently, as if resonating with his energy. Above him, ancient glyphs carved into the ceiling began to glow one by one, responding to his presence.
Marcus and Miaomiao, perched on his shoulders, lent their own support. Marcus unfurled his wings, channeling energy into Michael, while Miaomiao braced his tail and closed his eyes, his own small frame shivering with effort.
As Michael continued to concentrate, the array began to tremble under the influx of power.
Off to the side, Lucrezia stood with hands clasped in silent prayer. Her silver hair shimmered in the glow, as if she were part of the temple itself.