Castorice's voice was very low, almost as if speaking to herself. "But why... about that moment, about myself, my memory is nothing but a blank slate?"
A wave of confusion stirred in her eyes, making her seem less like a Chrysos Heir who commanded death, and more like a child who had lost her way home.
Phaethon watched her in silence. He knew the truth behind it all—in the previous cycle, Castorice's past life had offered her own heart for her sister, enabling Polyxia to ascend to demigodhood. Unable to accept her sister's death, Polyxia disrupted the order of life and death, trading her own divine fall for her sister's rebirth.
But what about this life? What could he do to prevent the tragedy from repeating? And was it possible—could he obtain the Death Coreflame and help Castorice truly break free from fate's shackles and gain her freedom?
"Lord Phaethon, Lady Cyrene," Castorice suddenly lifted her head, her gaze clearing and becoming firm once more. "Please accompany me to continue the search. Even as the questions multiply, I must press on... until the truth is brought to light."
It was then that Phaethon noticed Cyrene, who had been unusually quiet since earlier. The angle at which she had turned her face away seemed unnatural, and there appeared to be a glimmer of light at the corner of her eye that hadn't been wiped away in time.
"Cyrene?" He frowned slightly. "Have you... been crying?"
"W-where! Of course not!" Cyrene reacted in a panic, hurriedly turning around and putting on her signature "this young lady is the cutest in the world" expression. "A-a cute young lady doesn't just cry for no reason! ♪"
"Really?" Phaethon didn't look away, pressing gently. "Speaking of which, you've been gathering information nearby all this time... about that Ocean Demigod's passing... any progress?"
"Not yet..." Cyrene's voice dropped, and her gaze subtly shifted away from Phaethon's face. "I... still need a little more time~ ♪"
Her tone remained light, but that momentary evasion did not escape Phaethon's notice.
Just as Phaethon was about to press further on what exactly Cyrene was hiding—
A blazing, sun-like golden figure erupted from the depths of Styxia at breakneck speed!
The figure moved so fast it tore through the air. In its wake, whether it was churning Black Tide creations or wandering, whispering souls, all were delivered an equalizing elbow strike.
"W-what is that?!" Cyrene immediately seized the chance to exclaim loudly, successfully diverting Phaethon's attention. She widened her eyes slightly, pointing at the rampaging golden light.
"That... looks..." Castorice tilted her head slightly, a rare hint of stupefaction appearing on her cool features. "...like Lord Mydei?"
Before the trio could recover from their shock or even react, the golden figure had already charged past with unstoppable momentum, completely breaching the boundaries of Styxia, leaving behind only a trail of dazed spirits temporarily unable to coalesce and directly felled Black Tide creations.
"Mydei... why would Mydei appear in the underworld?" Cyrene rubbed her eyes incredulously, her tone full of doubt. "Shouldn't he be stationed at the front lines of Castrum Kremnos?"
"Hmm..." Castorice pondered for a moment, offering a logical deduction. "Perhaps... precisely because he bears the blessing of 'Undying'? The deathly aura of the River of Souls cannot erode him, thus he can... move freely here?"
"Alright," Phaethon finally said, somewhat amusedly massaging his temples. "Guessing here is pointless. If I'm not mistaken, given Mydei's unique... 'passive talent', it's likely we'll run into him again before long."
...
The trio continued deeper into the heart of the city.
The surroundings grew increasingly bizarre. Shattered spires tilted into the gloomy sky, the air filled with a strange odor mixing metal and decay. It was as if they had arrived at a forgotten, giant laboratory.
Finally, in the center of a half-destroyed yet still discernibly sophisticated circular hall, they encountered him—
The... soul of an alchemist, his form ethereal and nearly transparent, yet still cackling maniacally.
His laughter echoed layer upon layer in the empty hall, tinged with an indescribable obsession and desire.
"You... could you be descendants of Styxia?" The soul abruptly stopped laughing, its burning gaze falling upon the three. "Or... have you finally heard of the great work I conduct here, come specifically to deliver the final... crucial ingredient for this transmutation?"
From his mouth, in segments of narration brimming with fanaticism and pride, Castorice finally learned the truth of it all.
"In that age where myths still walked the earth, perhaps you had not yet been born, but in the field of alchemy, none could match my prowess!" His soul shimmered with excitement. "I shall accomplish an unprecedented feat on these shallows where the River of Souls flows—make the great Pollux take wing once more, restore true Death to this world!"
"But... isn't Death what he brought into the world, according to legend?" Cyrene couldn't help her curiosity, asking softly.
"Oh... it seems you are unaware." The alchemist's soul emitted a scoff that bordered on pity. "It is true, the maiden who descended with the dragon possesses power that can easily bring death. Yet, the irony is—the very being, Pollux, that delivered her here, possesses an essence that makes one 'unable to die'!"
"..." Castorice's eyes widened sharply, her body swaying almost imperceptibly. After a long moment, she murmured with difficulty, "So... that's how it is? The obstruction of the underworld, the lingering of the dead..."
She closed her eyes, accepting this cruel reality, and voiced her deduction: "The souls of the dead should drift along the River of Souls until they reach the end of the west wind, returning to eternal rest. But this river of souls' return... was blocked by the fall of Pollux."
"Correct! Precisely!" The alchemist's soul praised loudly, as if meeting a kindred spirit. "That is why I must restore it to this world, let its wings spread again, clear the path for death's return! I had already laid the perfect alchemical array in the tower outside the city. It's just a pity... I lacked the final, crucial living ingredient."
His gaze finally locked onto Castorice, his voice becoming low and seductive: "That final ingredient—is the maiden who coexists with Death!"
The alchemist's soul let out one last, long sigh, his form growing even fainter: "Everyone, I know I am but a lingering soul, powerless to change things now. Take this—" A faint yet complex spark of light containing intricate alchemical formulae drifted down into Castorice's hand.