One thread of insight after another flashed through Daniel’s mind.
But what concerned him the most was a disturbing trend: the sovereigns of every major race all seemed to possess hidden trump cards of extraordinary power.
Take the Elven Queen, for instance.
When Daniel had challenged her, he had been on the verge of victory, moments away from killing her.
Yet at that critical instant, she had unleashed divine power—sealing Daniel completely within a god-forged prison.
It was a sobering reminder.
If he ever had to fight any of these racial monarchs again, he’d need to be far more careful.
They weren’t just rulers—they were walking disasters waiting to be triggered.
Still, despite the outcome of their duel, the Elven Queen had been quite gracious.
Not only had she agreed to crown Daniel as an honorary king of the Elves, she had also permitted the construction and propagation of the Infinite Divine Temple within Elven lands.
As for the northern border of the Human Empire, the Infinite Divine Temple was flourishing—temples rising like weeds across the frozen plains.
Even the gnome chieftain had approached Daniel with a request:
He begged Daniel to completely annihilate the Artists—to reduce them to ash.
Daniel had already made up his mind on that front.
The destruction of the Artists was no longer a hypothetical.
It was a certainty.
And it wouldn’t be long before it happened.
Deep beneath the Artist City lay twelve hidden bunkers, carved into the underground abyss.
The Artists believed that if they hid deep enough, no one would ever find them.
Unfortunately for them, they were dealing with Daniel—wielder of [Eye of Insight].
To Daniel, the entire architectural structure of the Artist City was laid bare.
There were no secrets left.
He made a silent vow:
This time, he would end the Artist threat once and for all.
—
By the time Daniel rose and exited the library, a peculiar fragrance lingered throughout the entire Artist City.
—
Underground Research Facility, Artist City
Almost simultaneously, thousands of Artist researchers slumped over their desks, falling into a deep and sudden slumber.
But for Daniel, this was nothing new.
He had rehearsed this moment dozens of times.
In the beginning, there had been several unforeseen complications.
For example, certain areas of the Artist City had air filtration systems that neutralized foreign agents.
Additionally, some Artists possessed unique immunities or resistances that rendered the sleep-inducing potion ineffective.
But every one of those anomalies had been identified, cataloged, and neutralized in Daniel’s master plan.
Each problem had a tailored solution.
And now, after countless simulations and test runs, the real operation had commenced.
And it was flawless.
The entire Artist City fell into unconsciousness—utterly silent, without a single soul aware that anything had even happened.
But even if something had gone wrong, Daniel wouldn’t have panicked.
He could simply reset everything with [Time Stream].
Once all the Artists were asleep, Daniel’s first action was to return to the library and collect every book he could get his hands on, storing them in his backpack.
Then, he descended into the underground research facility, gathering every piece of data, every scroll, every blueprint.
In one sweep, he had acquired the most valuable secrets that the Artist race had spent millennia accumulating.
By the time he was done, virtually everything of worth in the Artist City now rested in his inventory.
Only after that did he make his way to the Primordial Core Weapon storage chamber.
Once again, he assumed the appearance of the Artist leader, activating the transformation granted by [Gift of the Veiled Goddess].
He placed his hand on the control panel.
The first phase of authentication passed without issue.
Then the system initiated phase two:
[Now entering Phase Two: Sending notifications to all council members and gathering their votes.]
[If no objections are raised, the Primordial Core Weapon will be released into your custody.]
Daniel hadn’t anticipated what happened next.
A loud, clear broadcast echoed across the entire city.
Fortunately, he had planned for this.
Just moments before the broadcast was triggered, he had activated a Silence Scroll—a low-grade item so common that even level-10 labyrinths dropped them in bulk.
But right now, it was working like a divine miracle.
Silence enveloped the city.
The broadcast played for a full ten minutes, asking for votes and comments.
But no response ever came.
All the council members were asleep.
All their minds silenced.
Daniel’s real body stood perfectly still, not making a single move.
But his clones were already busy.
One of them had infiltrated the City Hall, assuming the form of the Mayor.
Using the mayor’s clearance, the clone issued a citywide lockdown directive.
Thanks to the technological advancements of the Artist City, most systems were automated.
No Artists needed to physically operate them—just the right commands from the right identity.
With a thunderous rumble, twelve massive city gates slammed shut, sealing off every entrance and exit.
The fortress-like city, a marvel of gnomish engineering, was now an airtight prison.
The Artists had gone to great lengths to fortify their city.
So much so that not even a god could easily break its defenses.
Ironically, their greatest strength had become their tomb.
Now completely sealed off, the entire city was cut off from the world.
All communications, all transport, every escape route—gone.
Of course, these lockdown protocols didn’t extend to the underground bunkers.
The Artists hiding below had received a message from the central city:
[The main city is undergoing routine maintenance. Estimated duration: 30 minutes.]
No one found this suspicious.
It wasn’t unusual for a city this large to undergo occasional maintenance.
And half an hour? That wasn’t long at all.
What could possibly go wrong in thirty minutes?
And so, the final trap was sprung.
With no one the wiser, the Artist City was completely isolated from the outside world.
—
Human Territory — The Royal Society
In the Royal Society���s central hall, Head Taris stood with a grim expression, addressing the gathered scholars.
"If we don’t locate the Artists soon, the upcoming Millennial Apocalypse could spell the end of the Human race."
He paused.
"According to our estimates, the Artists may possess multiple Primordial Core Weapons."
The room fell silent—until Simar, the society’s top diviner, stepped forward.
"Head Taris," Simar said calmly, "I have something to report."
Taris turned to him. "Speak."
Simar nodded. "I’ve just completed a set of divinations.
The results suggest that the Artists have been completely... destroyed."
A gasp swept through the room.
Simar’s divination skills were legendary.
He had a success rate of over 80%—easily the highest among all human scholars.
Even so, Taris remained skeptical.
"Simar... are you certain that what you saw is real?"
Simar hesitated. "No, I can’t be completely sure. But... this result came after I repeated the divination one hundred times."
The room fell into stunned silence once again.
If Simar had gone so far as to perform one hundred divinations, and they all pointed to the same outcome... then there could only be one explanation:
The Artists were no more.