The Preselection of the King of Greed

The air inside the tower was still and heavy, feeling as if time itself had paused.

Ability users could see the terrifying shadows of spirits only when they employed supernatural vision to peer through the seal.

At the end of the spiral staircase, which wound upward from the inner wall, the lonely puppet sat motionless. Its head was perpetually tilted upward toward the exit above.

It could leave, yet it could not.

"I've sinned," the puppet said.

"I made a mistake."

It paused, then added, "But... it wasn't my fault."

Possessing a strange heart made the puppet an extraordinarily powerful being. The seal of this place had no effect on it, yet the puppet chose not to leave.

The quiet here suited a being like itself, one that disliked commotion.

For many years, no one disturbed this place, except for the occasional person dropping things from the tower's peak.

Today, however, someone entered from above.

A "person" with legs.

Unfortunately, without wings. The puppet recalled hearing that the Winged People, another intelligent species created by the Life Sovereign, had not perished. Instead, they had journeyed to worlds beyond Ruhe Beast Island.

When the visitor stepped through the tower's spirit entrance, the air shifted, unsettling the evil spirits within. Her very presence seemed to make even the ancient seal waver.

Sensing the seal's disruption, the evil spirits within the White Tower excitedly rushed toward the outside.

Abandoning the upward staircase, they transformed into streaks of light, spiraling upward like madmen.

Soon, a soft light emanated from the ring around the visitor's neck. This light calmed the frenzied evil spirits and drove them away.

Woo woo!

That light's terrible power drove back the evil spirits. It burned them like fierce flames, and they emitted whimpering sounds.

As she descended, no one dared to approach the figure. Sensing her presence, the evil spirits recoiled in fear, retreating into their artifacts and Lamps of Covenant.

Using a rope, the figure slowly climbed down from above, landing at the top of the staircase.

The spiral staircase inside the tower was clearly designed to confine and confuse evil spirits, not to lead to the tower's peak. Indeed, it still lay twenty or thirty meters below the top.

Upon landing, the metal puppet slumped against the wall was the first thing the visitor saw.

The metal puppet, with its delicate and slender form, resembled a work of art. Its structure was so incredibly complex that it was difficult to imagine the kind of alchemist who could create such a masterpiece.

Saint Raphael and the puppet made eye contact, yet the puppet remained motionless.

Saint Raphael poked it with her finger. "Hey!" she said.

Still, the puppet did not move.

Saint Raphael persisted and continued to poke it.

Leaning closer, she said, "I saw you move. You're not fooling anyone."

She continued, "Come on, stop pretending. I caught you looking up when I was climbing down."

The puppet did not want to acknowledge her, as it found her troublesome.

I am just a puppet, I know nothing. I do not understand what you are saying.

Just then, an old man climbed down the rope Saint Raphael had used. He was anxious and extremely cautious, unlike the fearless Saint Raphael.

As he descended, getting tangled in the rope, he continuously surveyed his surroundings with supernatural vision.

He spotted Saint Raphael near the puppet and shouted in alarm.

"Lord Saint Raphael, stay away from that thing!" he cried.

"That puppet is the most dangerous being in the Exile White Tower. It is the only one with intelligence!"

"It's an evil spirit!"

The puppet finally stopped pretending and slowly raised its head.

In a flat, mechanical tone, it asked, "Old Tut, are you still alive?"

The old guardian straightened, his voice firm. "As long as I draw breath," he declared, "I will never let you leave this place."

Saint Raphael tilted her head, studying the puppet. "It seems quite normal to me," she remarked.

Old Tut, the guardian of the Exile White Tower, quickly interjected. "Great messenger, please do not be deceived," he urged.

"Evil spirits often seem normal at first. However, the desires and powers they have consumed can drive them to madness without warning."

Saint Raphael turned to the puppet. "Do you go mad too?" she asked.

The evil spirit puppet replied, "Sometimes, I see someone else's image in my mind. It makes me act differently."

"Perhaps," it continued, "it is because the desires and powers I have absorbed are still balanced enough to keep me from losing my sanity."

Old guardian Tut's tone was urgent as he quickly cautioned Saint Raphael.

"Those who teeter on the edge of madness," he warned, "are the most dangerous when they finally lose control."

Saint Raphael asked the evil spirit puppet, "What is your name?"

"Oran," the puppet replied.

Saint Raphael continued, "And what crime did you commit to end up here?"

"I committed no crime," Puppet Oran answered.

Saint Raphael raised an eyebrow. "No crime?" she queried.

Puppet Oran repeated, "I committed no crime."

"Then why are you here?" Saint Raphael asked.

The puppet's face remained unchanged, its voice flat. "I do not know if what I did was a crime or an irreparable mistake."

"Is there a difference?" Saint Raphael asked.

Puppet Oran finally responded. "A crime is an act evil..."

"A mistake is an error."

This was its own definition. In reality, however, most people would consider breaking rules a crime.

Saint Raphael still could not distinguish between the two. However, she had promised the people outside that she would not let anyone from inside escape, so it made no real difference.

"Well, if you've got problems, then staying here is probably for the best," Saint Raphael said.

"I guess that makes you part of my collection now."

Saint Raphael crouched, patted the puppet's head, and then lifted its arm.

She smiled, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Don't worry," she said, patting the puppet gently.

"I will take care of you. From now on, you will be safe in my spirit realm."

Saint Raphael walked down the staircase to examine the situation below.

One by one, evil spirits peeked out from their lamps. They glanced at the ring on Saint Raphael's neck and then retreated inside.

Wandering through one door after another, Saint Raphael took in the vast expanse below.

"This place has potential," she murmured, her gaze sweeping across the space.

"Though it could use a few adjustments to make it a proper spirit realm."

After observing her surroundings and taking it all in, Saint Raphael felt certain.

This, she knew, was the spirit realm she had been searching for.

The puppet remained slumped on the staircase. Its gaze shifted to the wood nymph only after she had turned away.

"A wood nymph," the puppet murmured to itself.

"What could she possibly want here?"

The puppet lingered on the thought. It wondered what her presence might mean and what changes her arrival could bring.

Meanwhile, throughout the cities of the City of Lights and the Land of Sunrise.

Grand rituals took place in every city's temple. Outside, snake people sang, danced, and gathered around bonfires.

Kneeling beneath the divine statues, their city lords and elders anxiously watched. They saw the statues illuminate and the lamp in God Iva's hand light up.

A grand, intricately designed door stood before them, radiating an aura of desire.

As they gazed upon the door, their consciousness was drawn inward, passing through it and into its depths.

There, they saw numerous lamp spirits crowding around a towering figure. This figure was their deity, the God of Alchemy and Desire.

The Cup of Desire blossomed in abundance at the god's feet. Its petals unfurled like whispers of devotion.

They prostrated themselves in the silver flower sea and listened carefully to the god's will.

Everyone was extraordinarily nervous. They sensed that something unprecedented was about to happen.

This time, the deity himself was delivering the divine oracle.

They had already heard rumors before this. The god, it was said, might be preparing to select His apostle.

All of this stemmed from changes in the higher divine world.

The world was shifting.

Demigods no longer stood at the summit, for the age of gods was drawing near.

These matters, however, were beyond what mortals could consider or know. The mere mention of God's Apostle was enough to drive them to madness.

There was no doubt about it.

The title of God's Apostle was unlike any mortal title, such as elder or even Grand Elder. Those were positions of authority in the mortal world. God's Apostle, however, was a role that allowed one to stand in the divine realm, at the feet of gods, even after death.

With the title of God's Apostle, even Grand Elders would prostrate themselves at the apostle's feet.

More importantly, being God's Apostle was more than just a title.

It symbolized Fourth-Rank power, a strength surpassing mortal boundaries.

Apostles could walk among mortals, and their presence could endure for a thousand years.

Perhaps God Iva had also noticed the current fragmented state of the Land of Sunrise. It was scattered like loose sand.

In the past, this might not have been an issue, because gods had little reliance on mortals.

But times had changed.

The Creator had opened the door to higher realms for demigods. To reach higher, they needed to establish a Divine System in the mortal world. Such a Mortal Divine System naturally required numerous believers for its construction and perfection.

He wanted to select an apostle who could break this stalemate.

The God of Alchemy and Desire looked upon the gathered believers. His voice resonated directly within their minds:

"The age of gods is near. From among you, I shall choose those worthy to carry my will."

"Some of you shall become my apostles, inheriting the Art of God's Grace."

"This is only the beginning."

He would choose suitable believers to spread the Art of God's Grace to the mortal world, and from them, obtain his apostles.

Then, from among these apostles, he would select suitable candidates to truly establish his Mortal Divine System.

"Upper Third-Rank alchemists, step forward," the god commanded. Only those with Third-Rank abilities were deemed worthy. A light scanned over them, exposing the strength of their powers.

"Those with unwavering faith, step forward." To receive the Art of God's Grace, one indeed needed a heart steadfast in devotion. The Cup of Desire trembled, uncovering the true desires hidden within each soul.

"Those with exceptional talent, step forward." Even among the Third-Rank, only a rare few possessed the potential to ascend to the Fourth. The lamp fire within them flickered, revealing the divine bloodline that marked their gifts.

As each condition was applied, many were gradually eliminated.

Centuries ago, Third-Rank ability users were rare across Ruhe Beast Island. Now, in contrast, the Land of Sunrise boasted nearly ten such individuals.

Yet, as the flower sea of the Cup of Desire filtered through them, only a few remained.

Figures vanished one by one from the shimmering expanse, until only two were left standing.

From the lamp of the God of Alchemy and Desire, a spark of light descended, gently touching both individuals.

The god's voice echoed within their minds, "The Art of God's Grace."

"It is yours to bear," the voice declared.

The two chosen believers stood in awe. The inheritance of the Art of God's Grace flowed into them, a radiant light enveloping their forms.

Their expressions lit up with unrestrained joy. They knew they had been granted the chance to vie for the sacred role of God's Apostle.

City of Lights.

Carrying a golden lamp, the Grand Elder of the Land of Sunrise withdrew his consciousness from the Door of Desire and returned to the temple.

Disbelief etched across his face, he stared at his empty hands.

He slowly set down his lamp. Then, he touched his face, as if searching for answers.

"Where is the Art of God's Grace?" he murmured, his voice trembling.

"Why did I not receive it?"

His confusion deepened, his expression clouded with frustration and despair. "Why?" he whispered. "Why was I not chosen?"

He was the City Lord of the City of Lights and the Grand Elder of the Land of Sunrise.

He was the god's chosen representative in the mortal world, the highest authority in the Land of Sunrise. He could not comprehend why he had been overlooked.

"Is it my lack of talent?" he muttered.

"Is it because of my age?"

He then wondered, his voice barely a breath, "Or... has God forsaken me?"

Extreme dissatisfaction washed over the Grand Elder's face. He simply could not accept this outcome.

He had been overjoyed for days when he first heard that the god was selecting His apostle.

He had believed he was certain to be chosen. He had thought himself fortunate.

Stumbling upon such an opportunity so late in life felt almost unreal.

Even his ancestor, Xin Ji, had never faced such a moment.

His ancestor had willingly ascended to God's Domain. He had chosen to become a lamp spirit by the deity's side.

The ancestor believed this would grant him a thousand years of life. This longevity would allow him to maintain control over God's mortal domain and strengthen the faith of the followers.

Weeping profusely, the Grand Elder looked up at the divine statue.

"My God!" he cried. "I am a descendant of Xin Ji!"

"Our Golden Family has worshipped You faithfully for generations. We have been Your most loyal servants."

He choked out, "Why?"

"Why was I not chosen?"

He never considered that perhaps the god had not chosen him because he was not devout enough.

What some people believed in their hearts to be devotion was, in reality, just self-importance.

They never considered that everything they did was not for the deity. Instead, it only stemmed from their own greed.

Greed for power, greed for authority, and greed for wealth.

They even believed the deity was theirs. Their unwavering worship and devotion, they were convinced, made them His most faithful followers.

Therefore, they believed, the god must grant them everything they desired.

Xin Jisi, the Grand Elder of the City of Lights, was such a person.

His name meant "Xin Ji's bloodline," and his lineage prided itself on their ancestor Xin Ji.

For centuries, their bloodline had been the foundation of their rule. It had allowed them to maintain dominance over the Land of Sunrise and its people.

"It must be my talent," Xin Jisi muttered, his voice trembling.

"Yes, that is it. My talent is lacking. That must be why God did not choose me."

He paused, his expression clouded with frustration. "It is my innate talent," he reasoned. "Just slightly deficient."

"That is why I became an Upper Alchemist so late in life."

"It has to be that," he concluded.

Grand Elder Xin Jisi stumbled out of the temple. His words spilled out in a continuous, desperate murmur.

For many days, he seemed bewitched, trapped in this mental dead end.

He firmly believed that his insufficient talent was the reason the god had not chosen him and, consequently, had abandoned him.

After many days, this powerful Third-Rank ability user seemed so weakened that he needed support just to walk.

Just then, a messenger approached with urgent news.

"Lord Xin Jisi, the divine messenger Saint Raphael has made her choice."

Still lost in thought, Xin Jisi barely glanced up. "Her choice?" he asked absently. "What place?"

The messenger hesitated before answering. "The Exile White Tower," he said.

Xin Jisi suddenly raised his head. He remembered this place.

"The White Tower of the Tower Spirit School?" he confirmed.

Xin Jisi immediately remembered the Exile White Tower. It was a place that once held great influence in the City of Gold.

In the past, its power had brought about immense turmoil.

They were not an alchemist family transmitting teachings through bloodlines. Instead, they were an alchemy school using the recently flourishing master-student inheritance model.

This school belonged to the pure alchemy branch specializing in creating alchemical artifacts, distinct from the pharmaceutical branch. Its philosophy held that mortal desire was a form of power.

They believed desire was a force born from the depths of one's bloodline. It was a supernatural power intertwined with a person's very essence.

To them, desire was not merely a fleeting emotion but a fundamental part of one's character.

They saw the Lamps of Covenant as symbols of this power, rooted in divine blood. These lamps, they believed, separated and manifested different desires and emotions. Each of these, in turn, gave rise to unique powers within the lamp fires.

They held the conviction that they could breathe life into supernatural artifacts. This would be possible if they could fully extract and separate desire from personality, and then imbue that desire into the artifacts.

The founder of the Tower Spirit School envisioned creating a living artifact with personality. This "personality artifact" could function like an intelligent program. It would be self-operating, follow commands to complete tasks independently, and even grow stronger over time.

That was a Tower Spirit.

Hence, this was the name of their school.

Problems arose during this process, however. No matter what methods they tried, they could not create Tower Spirits with personalities.

Alchemists of the Tower Spirit School discovered that the extracted power could be bestowed not only upon artifacts but also upon themselves.

This discovery allowed them to increase their divine blood, thus making themselves more powerful.

They gradually shifted away from creating personality-bearing artifacts. Instead, they applied this method to themselves, which gave them greater power.

Perhaps, they believed, their own power was too weak. This, they thought, was why they could not realize their theoretical concepts.

Instead, they chose a method where the older generation would willingly pass on their power to students and disciples. This power would merge with the younger generation upon the elder's own passing. This approach was far removed from the blood sacrifices about which outsiders often speculated.

First, this approach was far less violent and avoided the horrifying consequences of blood sacrifices.

Second, the school prided itself on being composed of pure scholars. They were convinced they were pursuing the true path of discovery.

They hoped to change the world. They also firmly believed in the transformative power of alchemy.

Their intentions were good. They believed that if this practice was passed down through generations, future disciples would grow increasingly powerful.

They hoped to eventually realize the idea of creating Tower Spirits with personalities. This would complete the ultimate mystery of the Tower Spirit School.

They did not know, however, that this was the method and process of refining oneself into an artifact.

Only mythical-level artifacts could harness the fourfold secret art of the God's Grace Stone. This art could stabilize their intelligence, personality, and memory, shielding them from chaotic power.

They were, at most, only Third-Rank ability users, yet they dared to attempt such power.

The final result was predictable.

Bloodlines and power became polluted. Original spirituality and wisdom fell into darkness. Memories descended into complete chaos.

Those who dared to attempt this power eventually went insane, even if they were not mad initially.

The more power they merged, the stronger they became. Yet, the stronger they became, the faster they went mad.

They became artifacts themselves directly. Their conscious personalities turned into evil spirits, clinging to the artifacts or living Lamps of Covenant.

After the drawbacks of this secret art became exposed, the Tower Spirit School gradually abandoned this philosophy.

Many alchemists even felt that their philosophy was wrong, so they left the Tower Spirit School.

In the end, however, the leader of the Tower Spirit School at that time refused to accept failure. To him, failure meant discarding a philosophy. This philosophy had been the foundation of their teachings for two centuries.

Desperate, this Third-Rank ability user refined the secret art further. He eventually arrived at a bold and unconventional idea.

He would simply turn himself into an artifact.

If he could not create a Tower Spirit, then he himself would become a Tower Spirit with personality.

This ultimately triggered a terrible disaster. The entire Land of Sunrise mobilized to quell it, and the Exile White Tower appeared afterward.

Xin Jisi recalled this story from decades ago. Suddenly, his heart was struck by something.

"I remember..." Xin Jisi murmured. His voice was tinged with a mix of curiosity and unease.

"The Tower Spirit School once had a secret art," he continued, his gaze distant, as if recalling a long-buried memory.

"It was said to grant talent to those who lacked it. It could turn mere apprentices into First-Rank ability users, even Second-Rank. In theory, it could elevate someone to Third-Rank or even Fourth-Rank."

The messenger nodded, his tone cautious. "That is true," he confirmed, "but that secret art had its flaws."

"Everyone who used it eventually went mad," he added. His words were heavy with the weight of past tragedies.

Previously, Xin Jisi had not cared, since his "insufficient talent" was a relative matter.

His ability to become a Third-Rank Upper Alchemist meant his talent surpassed that of at least ninety-nine percent of people.

"I also remember hearing that the Tower Spirit School once discovered a mythical organ," Xin Jisi continued. "It was said to belong to an apostle. Perhaps it was a relic left behind by a divine being's beloved after their death."

"They called it Elena's Heart, did they not?" Xin Jisi asked.

The messenger paused, thinking. "That information only came to light after the Evil Spirit Disaster. Before then, the Tower Spirit School kept it a closely guarded secret."

"I also heard that Elena's Heart was first found by someone named Oran. Back then, no one realized it was an apostle-level artifact. They merely thought it was a peculiar stone that could project images."

"But during the disaster, Oran went mad and died," the messenger added. "And Elena's Heart vanished."

Xin Jisi shook his head firmly. "No, that is not what happened."

"Oran did not die," he stated. "He consumed Elena's Heart and became a puppet."

Xin Jisi had participated as an important member when the White Tower was sealed.

He continued, "Only that puppet, only it, did not go mad."

"I witnessed the puppet's incredible power firsthand. It possessed the unbelievable power of an apostle-level being."

"The disaster back then was not so much quelled by the elders of the Land of Sunrise. In the end, it was sealed by this puppet."

"It not only did not go mad, but it also did not become an evil spirit."

"It is still alive, just in a different body."

"Even though it is no longer a snake person, it still lives."

"Alive... and possessing apostle-level power."

Xin Jisi's eyes grew brighter. He looked as if he had found what he wanted.

For so many years, no one had dared to covet the Exile White Tower.

The power of the evil spirit puppet within was overwhelming. Indeed, if it had not chosen to seal itself inside the White Tower, no one in the entire Land of Sunrise could have stopped it.

Its power, however, was unpredictable. The true strength did not lie within the puppet itself, but in the fragment of power it had absorbed.

Even the puppet itself struggled to keep this power under control.

Xin Jisi dismissed the messenger. Then, he fell into deep thought.

The eyes of the previously despondent man grew increasingly bright. He slithered on his snake tail to the back of the temple. There, he saw the divine tree of the Miracle Temple in the City of Lights.

This divine tree was left from the era when God Iva had descended.

"The secret art of the Tower Spirit School..." Xin Jisi muttered. His voice trembled with anticipation.

"An apostle's mythical organ..." he mused. "If I could obtain it, I could become an apostle. I could live for a thousand years!"

His eyes gleamed with ambition as he continued, "I could surpass everyone else. My family has always been the most devout in worshipping God Iva. We are the Golden Family of the Land of Sunrise!"

He paused, his thoughts racing. "The divine messenger is here. Perhaps I can use her power to destroy that evil puppet."

"Yes," he said, his voice growing firmer. "Such a demon should indeed be eradicated by divine power."

"I am God's most loyal servant. I deserve this. All of it."

Xin Jisi stood beneath the divine tree. His expression was twisted with a mixture of desperation and ambition.

At last, he whispered to himself. His voice trembled with resolve.

"I will become..."

"God's Apostle."

As the thought took root, sinister and unyielding, a dark glint flickered in his eyes.

Something had awakened.

The moment this desire took shape in his heart, the Dream Realm began to stir.

Desire, when born from divine blood, could awaken the very laws of the Dream Realm at its core.

For most individuals, their desires would ripple unnoticed and leave no trace.

For those marked by certain malevolent forces, however, the outcome was far more profound.

Their desires did not go unanswered.

The Abyss, behind the Door of Original Sin.

A terrifying flesh mountain hung in the sky like a dark star. Black and filthy rain flowed down from it, constantly dripping to whatever lay below.

Atop the flesh mountain sat an Evil God, his entire robe tattered and filthy.

A small, trilobite-shaped clay figurine sat on his shoulder. It occasionally moved and even spoke.

It had somehow gained the ability to speak. This was presumably a gift from the Original Sin Evil God.

The Original Sin Evil God looked down, his gaze fixed on a certain place in the mortal world.

The small trilobite unrolled a cloth scroll. It then looked at the names written upon it.

"A mortal believer of the God of Alchemy," the trilobite figurine said, its voice sharp and mocking. "He claims devotion, yet is steeped in greed and lies."

"He is on my list."

The figurine turned to the Original Sin Evil God. "Do you think he will become the King of Greed?" it asked.

The Evil God seemed indifferent, his gaze distant. "Perhaps," he rumbled. "But there are many candidates."

He paused, then added, "But he is still missing something."

The figurine tilted its head. "Missing what?" it inquired.

The Evil God's voice was calm, almost amused. "True greed. He doesn't even dare to covet divine power or betray the gods themselves."

"Without that, can it really be called greed?"