Extraordinary Pedigree.

Chapter 957 Unboxing the Desire for Flesh: All Believers I
[Your current carnal class: Cassis Fourth Class]

[Detected: Divine Infusion of the Throne, Complete Blood Core of the Archon, Resonance of the Witch King's Runes...]

[Class reshuffling is underway...]

[Rewriting the physical recognition factors...]

[Inscribing the mark of authority on the throne...]

[Calling the Witch King's Holy Word template...]

[Process complete]

[Rank update complete!]

You have been promoted to Klavigar.

[Your current class: Saint Ksilock]

In an instant, the light collapsed like divine fire, exploding around Xia Xiu.

Countless meteors erupted from his body, and his blood transformed into a galaxy of stars, surging with a scorching aura that was a mixture of divinity and impurity.

He sat enthroned on the golden throne, like a god about to reconstruct the doctrine.

The wall of flesh beneath the throne trembled, and the remains of prisoners of war from the old era groaned softly under the radiance. It was the awakening of flesh and blood memories, a declaration of loyalty as they rose from sacrifice and bowed to the new king.

The twelve reliefs on the throne itself slowly unfolded like wings, and one of the six emblems of the rulers engraved on it was ignited, flowing with pure, blazing white divine flames that rose and fell like breaths, flickering endlessly.

At this moment, the Throne of the Witch King has already recognized the new successor—Xia Xiu, the fifth saint of the Desire Flesh, who is engraved in the lineage under the name of Khilock.

[Humanity Completeness, Shared Knowledge: The Existence of the New Saint Begins to be Proclaimed to All Believers in Lust—]

As soon as this message was delivered, the entire area shook.

Countless unseen cellars, pools of blood, dreams, temples, wastelands, dense forests, and the abyss of the earth's core...

All living beings on the flesh-and-blood lineage—whether they were flesh-and-blood sorcerers still in the world, low-ranking believers dwelling in the ruins and gnawing on flesh and blood, or even the surviving mutants—in an instant, they all sensed the birth of a new saint.

Fear, like a pressing down canopy, directly enveloped their minds.

The first thing Lao Xiu did upon ascending to the status of a Saint of Lust and Flesh was to use the temporary control over the Golden Throne granted by his ascension to open the boxes of all believers in the Lust and Flesh lineage.

Those believers who hid in the underworld and disguised themselves as mortals all felt as if a bloody passage had been torn open in their minds.

At the end of that passage, they could only vaguely see a pair of golden eyes on the golden throne, calm yet cold, looking down at them like a judge.

The next second, they knew they had been "seen".

……

……

First, the fifth sage saw the "mother" who gave him flesh and blood; it was she who transformed the fifth sage from nothingness into a physical being.

Darkness, like amniotic fluid, churns among the stars.

And she, the maternal essence within her flesh, lies quietly dormant beneath the perpetually dark rocky soil of the Joaúa Forest in Romania.

Root-like appendages, like silent blood vessels, pierce through the earth, spreading out into a network that covers the entire Balkan Peninsula.

Those appendages throbbed, trembled, and dripped viscous red fluid underground, as if a giant blood fetus had been born beneath the entire European continent.

Xia Xiu gazed at the Mother of Origins, that being that floated intangible form yet simultaneously filled all things—"Lovat-Taar."

One of the Sweet Blood, Pillar of Abundant Blood, One of the Most Desired by Yan, Savior of the Higher Blood, Mother of the Nurse, Mother of the Nest...

She lies dormant beneath the forests of Hoya in Romania. The diameter of her core remains undetermined, but her root-like appendages have spread underground to form a vascular network covering approximately 66 km², essentially turning the entire Balkan Peninsula into a vascular flowerpot.

This scene is undoubtedly terrifying, because once she awakens, her heart-vascular network will rapidly transform the Balkan-Black Sea region into a giant blood tide delta; the overflowing blood and hygroscopic fungi may flow into the Danube, Dnieper, and even seep into the Rhine basin, causing uncontrolled growth in large areas of soil and river sections.

Ravata must remain asleep; she cannot awaken. Once she does, the pumping pressure of her entire heart and the activation of her root system will spray high-pressure plasma from underground into the river network, creating a chain of red tide floods. The Balkan-Black Sea coast will turn into a low-oxygen Dead Sea within 48 hours.

And this is the least severe consequence.

Meanwhile, deep within the forest of Hoya, in the temple of the Great Mother Goddess who slumbers with the Pillar of Blood, the Solomonian Order, who were engaged in long days and nights of prayer, suddenly trembled.

The earth trembled.

The pool of blood churned.

Faces appeared on the walls of the blood vessels, whispering in unison like babbling in a dream.

"He...has descended..."

"The saint returns... the fifth son... may He unite the blood of God... may He drive away sickness and love..."

"The fifth one, Kshilock, son of the Bloodline..."

More than 600 nomadic priests and female believers immediately fell to the ground covered with blood and flesh, some blaring long horns, some dancing barefoot, and some weeping loudly.

They were not surprised, but rather it was a "divine response" as if an old prophecy had finally come true.

They saw the illusory golden shadow rise from the mother body, spreading its wings on the "ceiling" woven like veins.

Those are the new saints—their kings, their brothers, their sons of God.

"We... wait in the wilderness, for in this new century no saint has taken the reins of power in the inner palace."

"He has come, bestowed upon him by the Blood Mother, son of Ravata, heir of Yan."

"May He once again unite all leaders, integrate sects, and rekindle the fire of divine will."

"—The Fifth Saint, Ksilock, may your feet crush disease and thirst, may your voice bring flesh to submission, may you heal this world of scattered desires with your royal authority."

The Solomoneans were overjoyed at the birth of the Fifth Saint, because they saw that the Fifth Saint was the son of Ravata and the successor of Yan.

Through the resonance of the fleshly lineage, they knew that the Fifth Saint was the son of Yann, born from nothingness by Lavata!
The current lineage of lust and flesh is broken; the six leaders are silent, the sages are mute, and flesh and blood are speechless.

The fifth saint, Kheshirok, is the only enlightened ruler and the only hope who can succeed him in the past thousand years.

……

……

click-

The consciousness of the Fifth Saint continued to delve deeper along the lineage of the fleshly desires, his soul shining like a beam of light within the web of the lineage, constantly illuminating those ancient sects and declining settlements that had long been deprived of divine pronouncements.

This time, what he "saw" was a nameless village deep in the North Ural ice field.

It lies hidden below the snow line like a seal, beyond the reach of time and geography.

The villagers beyond the fifty-five numbers: ambiguous identities, closed contexts, and distorted lineages.

They called it: The Red Harvest Church.

The Fifth Sage's consciousness landed on that unchanging field.

Before the sun set, a dark haze descended.

The people in Tanaka were like spirits in the underworld, draped in rags and with rotting flesh hanging down.

Everyone worked in a sickly, silent way, their hands digging into the soil to slowly pull out the moldy turnips. Their fingers were either broken or festering, their bodies covered with severed, necrotic limbs and unhealed ulcers wrapped in blood.

They remained silent until the sun disappeared behind the mountains.

At that moment, the entire village moved simultaneously.

The group known as the Lambs of Yan laid down their hoes, picked up the turnips and necrotic limbs they had harvested, and spontaneously lined up to enter the only "church" that no one else was allowed to enter.

The church's foundation was not made of bricks or stones.

They are tentacles. They are red, vein-like strangling serpents that have taken root from the ground, and they entwine between the buildings in an indescribable way, enveloping the church as the womb of a blood-born goddess.

Xia Xiu sensed these red things.

Those tentacles are not the guardians of the building, but rather its extended "organs of consciousness".

It devours all outsiders, yet allows these sickly believers to come and go freely.

They went in and offered up their "harvest" for the day—not just turnips, but also their newly severed limbs, tumors, pus, saliva, and tears.

Even the guttural sounds and babbling that escaped when speaking were offered as tributes to that godless land.

In the Fifth Saint's conscious eye, he saw the interior of the church.

That was not a human chapel, but the central atrium of a biological organism.

Tentacles dangled down and swayed in mid-air, inlaid with long-rotted bells and tongues.

Beneath the floor was a shallow pool resembling amniotic fluid, shimmering faintly.

He saw even more distant memories: on the night of the new moon, the dead believers would be "reborn" in the pool and nurtured anew by the fields.

They come out again, carrying the memories of the past, the same decaying flesh and faces, and go to work once more.

Like a turnip, it grows out of the ground, gives itself up, and then buries itself again.

The Fifth Saint's consciousness sank beneath the permafrost of the Ural Mountains, traversing layers of mud piled high with countless rotting corpses, plague-eating bacteria that gnawed at souls, and diseased roots—he sensed the heartbeat of that land.

—Thump. Thump. Thump.

It wasn't the shaking of the rock strata, nor the pulsation of the earth's veins, but rather a deity who hadn't yet died singing His "Song of Rebirth" in a dream.

Flesh and blood wriggled underground, and root-like tendrils spread throughout the village. On every radish leaf, there were secretions from a living deity.

He did not appear in form, yet the village was born for Him.

The foundation of the village church is His spine.

These inhabitants who call themselves the Red Winners are the pathogenic cells that endlessly revolve within His body.

"A constant population...an endless cycle of birth and death..."

He saw that the residents, with their swollen faces and ulcerated eyes, still maintained that distorted daily routine.

As soon as it gets light, they start working in the turnip fields.

After sunset, the entire village silently and orderly entered the church.

Within three hours, a silent sacrifice, a painful dismemberment.

It then silently departed, returning to its cabin to rest.

The next day, the cycle repeated itself.

The organization that self-harms daily is hung on the church beams—not as a form of repentance, nor as a plea for mercy—it is an offering, a fluid communion to feed the god beneath the earth.

Once someone dies, their body will decompose completely within a few days on the first new moon night.

Then, they "came back".

A cry rang out from the turnip field; what broke through the soil was not a plant, but a newborn baby.

They were covered in mud, yet their eyes were mature; they were the reincarnations of the dead.

"We are born from the earth, and we will eventually return to its embrace."

"The Dragon Mother swallowed us and nurtured us once more."

"We are both children of the earth and its scourges."

This is their "blessing".

Now, all of this has undergone a dramatic change.

Because—"The inner palace has returned."

The great bell of the bloodline lineage tolled in the depths of consciousness, and the authority of the Fifth Sage poured into the veins of this land.

The entire village was shaken.

They sensed the gaze of God.

The first to go mad were the group of old, decaying people.

They stood trembling, prostrated themselves facing north, opened their toothless mouths, and prayed in hoarse voices:
"Lord—His chariot is made of rotting flesh, His robes are stitched together from skin, and His crown is woven from tumors!"

"The Fifth Saint has returned! He is the one who opens the gates to Paradise, the one who drips the milk of the Dragon Mother, and the one who breeds impurity!"

"He has come—our centuries, millennia of labor have finally... finally, the moment when the door was knocked upon has arrived!"

Inside the church, everyone was frantically mutilating themselves, hanging on new limbs, and some young people even volunteered to dissect themselves and crawl into the pool of tentacles that resembled amniotic fluid—they wanted to rehearse their reincarnation and dedicate themselves to the flesh and blood mother beneath the earth.

In the fields, plague swirled, turnips festered, and amniotic fluid seeped from cracks in the ground, nourishing the fields of the god of flesh and blood.

The fifth sage silently observed all of this.

He heard the villagers' cries of anguish, and he also heard their longing.

They did not yearn for immortality; what they yearned for was belonging.

Return to the womb of the primordial mother, return to decay, return to submersion, return to the eternal inner sanctuary.

"May the saint cover me with rotten flesh, may the Dragon Mother nourish me with pus."

"May I wither and decay a hundred times, so that I may finally obtain a single drop of sweet milk."

"May the law of flesh devour my name, imprison my blood, and end this endless labor... the torment of rebirth."

The Fifth Sage stood quietly on the sea of ​​shared consciousness, overlooking the land corroded by disease and curses.

The believers of Honghuo Village are lying prostrate in the turnip field, worshipping in madness and agony, waiting for a miracle to happen amidst decay and rebirth.

He could hear the hymns composed of countless whispers, and the burning hope in the eyes of those blinded by leprosy.

He simply raised his eyes.

Just a glance.

Yet, like an eternal mountain, it shakes those who are forever struggling in the mud. They cannot speak, they can only weep in their rotting flesh, they can only pray in their shattered veins, they can only hope that this one glance, as they offer up their severed limbs each day, will be the mercy of the end.

But the fifth saint did not offer salvation.

His gaze was compassionate and silent.

"I cannot end your suffering now," he whispered to himself.

That's not an excuse, nor is it an escape.

His essence is being drawn by some unpredictable force to leap to a higher level.

His soul, like a rising divine star, was dragged along by the myriad roots of consciousness in the bloodline, gradually penetrating the boundaries of structure, spirit, and will, advancing towards that more distant realm of divine throne.

Throughout this continuous ascent, his eyes never closed.

His gaze passed over the barren fields of Honghuo Village, over the sick villages of the Ural Mountains, over the broken mountains and snowfields, and over the caves of Lawata.

He looked into the distance.

More calamities, more suffering, and more morbidity are slowly unfolding before this flesh-loving fifth saint.