From the Ship of Fools to Earl of Wugang

To remove as much of the cult's complex assets as possible, he needed to withdraw as much money as possible from the cult's accounts at once, and then transfer it to his pre-arranged receiving accounts in different regions after at least three intermediaries.

Even if Jacob traces the accounts of more than a dozen shell companies set up by offshore banks in different states under the first-tier moral alliance, he will run into a legal wall there.

If the investigators miraculously break through the first layer, the second layer involves trading companies registered in Orichalco that leave behind a series of seemingly legitimate import and export transaction records, disguising the funds as normal business dealings.

By the time the funds reached several private accounts on the third level, they had already been completely laundered.

According to his estimate, the complete withdrawal of funds would take about three to five weeks, not including the time delays and anti-tracking measures he set up at each stage, but it would all be worth it.

Jacob probably never dreamed that the "traitor" he had thrown into the sea had already figured out most of the cult's financial flow, bank accounts, shell company structure, and cryptographic system while serving as the cult's accountant.

The screen was filled with a dense array of symbols scrolling in the fluorescent light as Edmund's fingers flew across the keyboard, creating a model of the connections between the bank accounts scattered across the Veridia Federation, the Moral Union, and Orichalcos.

On the Ship of Fools, he had maliciously thought that if he took the money, Jacob might also be thrown off that cliff.

Now, the time has come.

Edmund picked up his coffee cup and gestured toward the silent computer.

"Tonight, let us ignite the 'sea'."

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On an unnamed hill on the western shore of the Heart-Rending Sea, within the territory of a certain state of the Moral Council Alliance, stands an ancient castle that was first built at the end of the Chaotic Age.

The castle sits atop a cliff, its stone walls etched with pitted textures by centuries of sea winds, and withered vines hang from the battlements like the disheveled gray-black hair of the dead.

Most of the castle had long been abandoned, except for the underground level, which had been renovated.

Cables climb along rough stone slabs dating back hundreds of years, and three computers and several terminal devices sit on a rough stone table, out of place with their surroundings.

Jacob stood at a table deep inside the room, his arms crossed over his chest, the hem of his black hood trailing on the ground. It was a habit of the cult members that he did not remove his hood even indoors.

An old man sat before him, or more accurately, an "old man who was turning into a fish."

The accountant, known within the cult as "Old Gerard," is 67 years old and has served the Abyss Church for nearly 50 years.

However, his skin has now become transparent, translucent webbed membranes have grown between his fingers, the gill slits on both sides of his neck twitch slightly when he breathes, and the irises of his eyes have long since turned an unnatural silvery-gray.

Fishification is one of the ultimate fates of humanity, who have long revered the Father God of the Deep Abyss.

Old Gerard had long since become indifferent to this, even regarding those gill slits as a kind of medal.

He made a sacrifice for the cult, since most of his peers had already entered the deep sea, while he was the only one who stayed behind because he was still needed by the organization on the surface.

"Jacob, I must say it again—this matter has dragged on for far too long."

Old Gerard uttered a string of strange, sticky syllables and patted a stack of printed papers with his webbed hands.

His large eyes turned to the three buzzing computers next to him, and the three young men sitting in front of the machines with blank expressions.

In the technicians' empty eyes, a faint blue-green halo could be seen around the edges of their pupils. They were mortals controlled by the cryptanalysis, computer talents kidnapped by the cult from various channels, their souls suppressed to the point where they could only execute commands.

"When Lockman died, the account system was already a complete mess," Old Gerard continued to complain. "That kid made the whole process too complicated; I told him back then he was asking for trouble."

"Now look what happened, they arrested and killed him, and it took us two months to sort out the accounts. Two months!"

"Patience, Gerard," Jacob's voice came from under his hood, unhurried and quite cultured.

"Lockman is dead, so we can take it slow. Money doesn't grow legs and run away anyway."

Old Gerard snorted, seemingly wanting to say something but holding back.

"Compared to the accounts, the high priesthood on the night of the stars' alignment is undoubtedly more important. Look, didn't we do a great job?" Jacob continued, "not to mention dealing with all those white gloves planted up there."

Old Gerard's silver-gray pupils contracted slightly.

Although the Father God is nominally the core of the religious order, there are even more ancient beings above the Father God, and there are also many subordinate gods of the same pantheon around the Father God.

Those forces have placed their own agents within the cult through various channels to ensure that their demands are given priority in the cult's actions.

"The messenger of Lord Hermes, the agent of the 'King of the Swamp,' and the 'Lady of the Sky'... It seems that the Father God's ritual is some kind of marketplace where they can cut in line at will."

"These immortals..." Old Gerard's attention was diverted, and he shook his enormous head.

"But they are allies we cannot refuse, at least until the gates of the underwater city open." Jacob turned around, a slight smile seemingly playing on his lips in the shadow of his hood. "Speaking of sacrifices, wasn't the Father quite pleased with those two?"

Old Gerard nodded: "The Father God is very pleased with the royal blood of Misner in their bodies."

"We were almost ruined by that bastard Lockman," Jacob scoffed. "Of course, he paid for it with his life, but he also removed that threat and made our funds safe again."

He then continued, "However, although the two sacrifices have been offered, the two divine messengers who will descend on the night of the return of the stars still need sufficient blood offerings."

"Once we get this money, we'll immediately purchase cattle and sheep—at least three hundred head of livestock—and allocate funds for our subordinates to bring back some sacrificial offerings..."

"First, we have to pay back the debt," old Gerard muttered. "I almost squandered the reputation I'd built up over decades just to keep the mess Lockman left behind from affecting the High Priest."

"I will speak highly of you before the divine messenger." Jacob gestured with his chin towards the computer. "Soon you will return to the deep sea in glory and enjoy endless..."

"Mr. Jacob!" A technician under control suddenly looked up from in front of the screen. Even his mechanical demeanor couldn't hide the surprise and panic in his voice. "The accounts... those accounts marked on the books..."

Jacob frowned and walked toward the machine.

On the screen, lines of transaction records poured down. It took him a moment to realize that this was a large-scale transfer.

The accounts were being updated at breakneck speed, with amounts ranging from tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands. Each transaction was deducted from the cult's main accounts in different jurisdictions and then transferred to an unknown terminal after passing through multiple intermediaries.

The flow of funds was like a floodgate opening, transforming into a dazzling waterfall of numbers on the screen.