The Necklace

Francis barely escaped Avril’s gaze, brimming with “infinite sorrow and resentment,” letting out a long sigh as he ducked into a public latrine – half-underground, half-above, like a small bunker.

Compared to the facilities in the noble district, the Southern District’s sanitation was abysmal. A pungent, fishy stench assaulted Francis, making his eyes water, but he couldn't spare a thought for it. An itching in his backside, a dizzying head, and an overwhelming stickiness on his skin – each sensation made him want to rip out his own organs just to scratch the itch.

He hastily dropped his trousers, twisting with effort to peer at his left buttock. There, the second lotus had fully unfurled, its Eight Trigram-shaped tattoo still morphing, and the third blossom on the Triple Qian Trigram was quietly beginning to open its bud.

Francis let out a low cheer, his eyes fixed on the third lotus’s transformation. The initial changes were rapid, but its blooming speed gradually slowed. Francis understood: the Precious Lotus Scripture grew exponentially harder to cultivate the further one progressed. Daoist Grape had once said that reaching the Eighth Trigram would require nothing less than saving all of humanity to advance the Scripture. While his charitable ventures continued to perform good deeds, the relative progress of his cultivation had diminished.

Finally, when the third lotus was about seventy to eighty percent open, its changes became imperceptible to the naked eye. At this moment, however, the latrine’s stench intensified threefold, for Francis’s body had exuded a layer of dark, black impurities, smelling even worse than the toilet itself.

Yet, Francis felt utterly delighted. This, undoubtedly, was the fabled purification of meridians and marrow. Simultaneously, his Sea of Qi – specifically, the Lotus Internal Force concentrated on his backside – surged dramatically, thickening to the width of his pinky finger, several times its previous size.

Moreover, though Francis was unaware, his physique had already reached peak human potential. While he still couldn’t cultivate battle qi, his robust health and immunity to all illness were assured.

“What’s my current strength?” Francis had learned the criteria for low-tier Battle Gods from Steve, yet he couldn't accurately assess his own power. A One-Star Red-Robed Fighter was marked by the nascent presence of battle qi and the ability to wield sacred artifacts. A Two-Star Orange-Robed Fighter, by contrast, had solidified battle qi, visible as distinct markings on their person.

Francis was confident that his Lotus Internal Force was no weaker than Two-Star battle qi, but he couldn’t project it outside his body or solidify it. In this respect, the Precious Lotus Scripture still had its flaws compared to battle qi – at the very least, it wasn’t flashy enough. Wiping away the grime with his undergarments, Francis slipped out of the latrine clad only in his outer robe. From a distant corner, he saw Avril still staring blankly at the alley entrance.

Francis sighed, forced to admit Avril was exceptionally beautiful and virtuous. Alas, he was cultivating the Mutated Pure Yang Scripture, and who knew when he would achieve mastery of the divine art? He couldn’t possibly hold her back!

Quietly slipping away via another path, Francis washed his face clean at a horse trough outside a dwelling before finally returning to the Saint Sigurd Cain Estate. October 13th was the day of the Battle God Academy’s Lanning Diocese entrance examination, leaving him seven days. During this week, Francis performed good deeds by day and diligently studied by night. He also discovered another benefit of the Precious Lotus Scripture: after the second lotus bloomed, it not only purified his meridians and marrow but also sharpened his sight and intellect, making him significantly smarter.

Now, Francis could virtually memorize anything at a glance. He had painstakingly committed a thick stack of Holy Church of Battle Gods scriptures to memory within those seven days. Truly, the methods of the immortals were extraordinary!

***

**Fallen Gods Era, 1277th Year, October 12th, Night.**

Steve and Old Foye had lectured Francis for half the night. Their concerns revolved around the Battle God examination being fully enclosed, requiring candidates to reside at the venue for a period, during which he should take good care of himself. Francis’s ears felt like they’d grown calluses, yet he couldn't bear to dismiss these two people who cared for him so deeply. He could only silently endure the “torment.” When the chiming bird announced midnight, Old Foye, finally exhausted, rose to take his leave. “Young Master Steve, you also have an examination tomorrow; you should get some rest. Young Master Francis, are you truly planning to take Aliza as your attendant? He’s not very clever. How about this old servant goes to the Mercenary Guild tonight and hires a powerful Fighter for you?”

“There’s no need. Didn’t Elder Brother say it himself? I’m sure to pass the literary exam, but I intend to concede in the martial test, so there’s no need to waste gold coins. That money would be better spent buying Uncle a few more clothes!”

Amidst Old Foye’s gratitude, Francis saw them out the door, then lay in bed, pondering tomorrow’s examination. Drowsily, he drifted off to sleep.

The midnight hour in Saint John City was profoundly quiet. The lights of Saint Sigurd Cain Estate had also been extinguished. It was in this dead of night, amidst the absolute silence:

“Francis!”

A cold voice, seemingly inhuman, jolted Francis awake from his slumber. He scrambled upright, looking around, his eyes wide with astonishment. Stuck into the headboard of his bed, not far from where his head had rested moments ago, was a gleaming ice knife. Beneath it, a sealed envelope was impaled. He scanned the bedroom – silent, not a soul in sight. Yet the knife clearly told Francis that someone had been here, leaving behind only that chilling, inhuman growl before departing.

He grasped the knife, intending to pull it out, but as his hand closed on the hilt, he felt an icy chill pierce to his very bones. Looking closer, he realized the knife was actually made of ice, and it was already beginning to melt. He tossed the ice knife aside and picked up the envelope. Inside lay a letter and a necklace. A heavy, thumb-sized blue orb hung from the necklace's pendant.

Unfolding the letter, he found a few lines written in the common language of the Aethelgard Continent: “Never retreat in battle, never evade an enemy, forget life when in dire straits, and know certain death yet never surrender! As a Titled Battle God Scion, you must never forget the Four Precepts of the Battle Gods. Tomorrow, wear this necklace to the examination. There is no need to concede!”

Below, a few more lines of smaller script informed Francis that he could crush the necklace’s pendant in times of danger to save his life. “Who sent this?” Francis broke into a cold sweat. If this person had intended to take his life, it would have been as easy as turning over a hand! “Are you still here?” Francis whispered. No one responded. He examined the necklace in his hand by the moonlight streaming through the window. The chain was ordinary, crafted from common gold, interspersed with a dozen tiny diamonds. If that were all, it would merely be a valuable ornament.

But the blue orb pendant was no ordinary object. The sphere was entirely cerulean blue. Though small at first glance, the longer he gazed, the more he seemed to perceive the vast expanse of an ocean within its depths. Faintly, Francis saw a single drop of water in the orb, a transparent drop, which felt like… a tear! Francis didn't know why, but the more he looked at the drop, the more it resembled a tear. Gradually, his eyes, fixed on the droplet, became unfocused. Suddenly, an inexplicable sorrow flooded his mind, and his tear ducts stung. Two lines of tears unexpectedly tracked down Francis’s cheeks. A weeping sound – Francis heard a woman crying. Melancholy, plaintive, painful, lingering – the faint sobs conveyed a single message to Francis’s mind: the weeping woman was deeply heartbroken, as if she had lost everything she held most dear!

“Damn it!” Francis flung the necklace onto the bed. This item possessed sentience, and its spiritual essence was even more potent than that within the Storm Ramhorn Warhammer, capable of influencing human emotions! He picked up the letter again, scrutinizing it carefully. It did not mention the necklace’s name, only that wearing it would keep Francis safe. “Who gave it to me? Elder Brother? Impossible; if he wanted to give me something, he’d do it openly, no need for this theatrical display! But besides Elder Brother… could it be my Guardian Battle God?” Francis racked his brain. Only a mysterious Guardian Battle God could have helped him in this way. But why wouldn't that Battle God meet him in person? This young fellow whose body he’d possessed certainly harbored many secrets!