I fabricated myths to guide the revival of spiritual energy.

With a sickeningly heavy metallic scraping sound, the platinum gate, several feet thick, of the seventh ward of cell T slammed shut. The massive array of restraints snapped shut the instant the gate closed, transforming this already dark and gloomy prison into an absolute death zone, completely isolated both physically and mentally.

Tieyan and dozens of other prisoners huddled in a cold corner, their throats unable to utter a sound, only able to produce heavy gasps. They watched in horror as a dozen or so silent monks in dark gray robes entered the prison area like emotionless iron puppets.

The silent elder monk at the forefront did not roar in anger at the spread of heretical beliefs. His pure white eyes appeared exceptionally cold in the dim light.

The elder monk slowly raised his hand, cradling a miniature silence array in his palm. The crystal surface of the array shimmered faintly as he softly chanted a complex prayer: "Overall contract attribution calibration: Normal. Sub-level silence decree: Operation flawless."

The Silent Holy Prison was never an isolated prison; every sacred rune beneath it was secretly connected to the higher levels of faith and doctrine in the pantheon.

"Record: No sound vibrations were detected, and no logical loop for piecing together a complete prayer was monitored." The elder monk's voice was devoid of any emotional fluctuation, as if he were reading an objective investigation report. "However, under the surveillance of the Grand Order, twenty-three abnormal faith echoes did indeed occur just now. Heretical roots bypassed our usual rules and attached themselves to the prisoner's specific physical posture."

He put away the array plate, his gaze sweeping over the trembling prisoners, finally settling on their arms and chests.

"Posture resection, begin. Start with sample number one."

Two silent monks walked forward expressionlessly, dragged an old prisoner from the corner, and pressed him firmly onto the obsidian table in the center of the cell. Tie Yan recognized him; this was the old man who had been the first to learn the silent prayer posture of "right hand to the throat, left fist to the heart" from him. Just half an hour ago, the old man had cast a trembling look at Tie Yan in the darkness, a look filled with gratitude and determination.

The cruel deprivation began. The silent monk drew his dagger and, amidst the old prisoner's violent struggle, swiftly severed his tendons.

The old prisoner's mouth gaped open, veins bulging on his forehead, cold sweat mingling with tears streaming down his face, his broken vocal cords only able to produce a mournful, hissing sound. His hands instantly lost control, falling limply to his sides.

"Remove it," the senior monk coldly ordered.

A flash of light, and blood splattered. The old prisoner's two hands were severed at the wrists and fell heavily to the cold stone floor.

The Silent Monk didn't even glance down at the severed hand on the ground; his gaze was fixed on the Silence Array Plate in his hand. After the old prisoner lost both hands, he could no longer perform that silent prayer gesture. On the array plate, the faint mark of corruption representing the prisoner, after fluctuating violently a few times, showed a clear weakening.

"Record: Removing specific limb structures can effectively suppress heretical beliefs," the senior monk calmly made his judgment.

However, the old prisoner, whose hands had been cut off, lay on the stone floor covered in his own blood, his life rapidly slipping away.

The unique item faith is never some kind of universal blessing that can be triggered infinitely as long as one "wants to live".

In this land shrouded in the laws of the Old Gods, the survival instinct of ordinary people cannot be naturally transformed into faith. To ignite the Dark Gold Flame, extremely stringent conditions must be met: one must personally touch the embers of the burning execution, which carried the resentment of thousands; one must actively reject the faith of the Radiant Diocese from the depths of one's soul; and one must never beg for forgiveness from the Old Gods, even when enduring extreme oppression.

Even in his extreme agony, the old prisoner did not beg for mercy from Yaoguang. With his last glimmer of light, he slammed his blood-soaked forehead against the cold ground. He curled his body up tightly, pressing his still-bleeding severed arm against his chest, desperately protecting his heart deep within his body.

On the array plate, the wisp of dark gold pollution that had already weakened briefly rebounded after the old prisoner made this extremely distorted, primal survival gesture!

This devastating surge of power instantly drained all remaining life force from the old prisoner's body. The aftershocks of the dark gold lasted for less than three breaths before quickly extinguishing with the old prisoner's complete death.

The array returned to calm, but this brief resurgence left behind an unusual record that the principles of Radiant Light could not explain.

A glint of reason flashed in the silent monk's pure white eyes. "The anchor of faith is not the gesture itself, but rather the instinct for survival."

He quickly made a deeper deduction and turned to stare at Tieyan in the corner.

……

Thousands of miles away, inside the dark gold temple in the border wasteland.

Eve clutched her chest, letting out a muffled groan, barely suppressed. Through that faint, dark gold connection, she had traversed vast dimensions and clearly sensed the old prisoner's excruciating pain as his hands were severed.

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The intense pain was like a rusty, dull knife sawing and slicing through her nerves. Her first instinct was to sever the fragile connection to avoid enduring this inhuman torture. But her hand, suspended in mid-air, froze completely.

She knew that once she cut off contact, Tieyan and the other sparks in the Silent Holy Prison would truly become abandoned pawns completely swallowed by darkness.

Eve bit her lip until blood dripped from her chin onto the broken altar. In the midst of intense trembling, she endured the phantom pain of her severed limb with immense willpower. She meticulously etched this cruel price, this extraordinary record of the old prisoner's dying moments, into the faith pathways of the Dark Gold Temple.

……

Inside the Silent Holy Prison, in the seventh section of cell block D.

Tieyan was roughly lifted up by two silent monks and thrown onto a cross-shaped execution platform made of obsidian. Cold iron rings fastened his wrists and ankles, securing him firmly.

The silent monk walked to the execution platform, holding a platinum nail about an inch long, covered with radiant, suppressing holy runes.

"Record: Sample number two has entered the 'Heart Nail Torture'. The heart meridian is locked with a platinum holy nail to test whether the heretical echo is interrupted after the survival instinct is suppressed."

The tip of the long nail pressed against Iron Rock's chest, the sacred markings glowing faintly, and a cold, legal declaration echoed throughout the prison: "By the general agreement, the final ownership of this lamb is secured."

In the darkness, all the prisoners in the cell block watched this scene in horror.

Just as the senior monk raised the hammer, preparing to smash down the platinum holy nail.

A sound suddenly came from the deepest part of the Holy Prison, from a specially made cell that even the Silent Monks rarely set foot in.

The Silent Holy Prison was originally built not to defend against any Dark Gold Faith, but to suppress an extremely ancient loophole in the pantheon's belief system—the unbelievers.

The Radiant Diocese wasn't incapable of killing his physical body, but rather dared not. Because he had no spiritual affiliation, a forced execution would cause his "unaffiliated" soul to fall directly into the River of Faith, thus polluting the entire diocese's legal foundation and risking the loss of many more mortal souls. Therefore, the diocese could only seal him away with endless, silent holy runes.

At this moment, the monster, sealed away for countless years, let out a hoarse, cold laugh in the darkness. He was mocking the Radiant Diocese's supposedly flawless system of suppression.

"You bunch of fools, you've been robbing believers, but you haven't even seen where the real chains are."

The unbeliever's cracked lips twitched slightly, his voice carrying a condescending mockery: "The gods of the pantheon do not live off these temples below. They live off... the 'General Covenant of All Gods' deep within the heavens."

boom!

The Silent Monk ignored the madman's taunts and coldly swung down the torture hammer.

The platinum holy nail, imbued with a radiant purifying power, pierced deeply into Tie Yan's chest! Blood gushed out, and blinding white light instantly flooded Tie Yan's body. He felt as if his heart had been poured with molten iron, his sense of pain forcibly stripped away, and the survival instincts of his limbs locked away by divine magic. He was like a half-dead specimen, nailed to the execution platform.

He couldn't make a sound, couldn't make a gesture, and even the instinct to tremble was completely taken away.

Om-!

On the silent array, an "unclassifiable dark gold aftershock" suddenly flickered.

This anomaly lasted only a moment before being suppressed again by the overwhelming and imposing Silent Holy Runes surrounding it. The Silent Holy Prison remained unbreakable.

But the Silent Monk's hand, gripping the torture hammer, stiffened slightly.

He stared at the array plate and said, word by word, "Preserve sample number two. Notify the main hall that this is will contamination."

at the same time.

In the border wasteland, inside the Dark Gold Temple.

Eve collapsed onto the altar, gasping for breath. She had not only endured the excruciating pain of Iron Rock being nailed to the heart, but also, through the intense cognitive shock Iron Rock experienced in that instant, clearly grasped the earth-shattering concept flowing upstream along the dark gold covenant—the "Universal Covenant of Gods."

Eve slowly raised her head, her eyes, which had previously held only hatred, pierced through the dilapidated dome of the temple and looked up at the high heavens of the Pantheon, filled with the phantoms of divine kingdoms.

They are a contract.

But contracts... can be torn up.