Tonight, Alice joins the hunt.

She remained silent, observing the every move of the Farron Ghost. A jumble of chaotic memories seemed to be churning in her mind, and seemingly 'effective' but wildly imaginative strategies surged forth from the depths of her thoughts—she suddenly felt she could, in this extremely short time, further refine the light magic she had spent countless years creating, allowing her to move at high speeds while invisible without leaving a trace.

Am I sick?

Having gained the perceptions of a living person, have I also acquired their illness? Or is it that the perceptions I possess are themselves an outward manifestation of the illness?

She thought to herself with a touch of self-mockery, her gaze fixed on the ghosts—who, as she had expected, had noticed the footprints left in the snow. They traced the faint tracks to the cave leading to the church's underground—she wasn't worried the Farran ghosts would discover this underground space. There were many hidden doors and branching passages below, easily accessible only to herself—and sure enough, the ghost warrior who first noticed the footprints let out a low howl, and then several warriors followed the tracks toward the cave.

She let out a soft breath.

But at that very moment, a snowflake, carried by a sudden crosswind, quietly landed on her shoulder.

..........................................

Damn, that's all for today _(:з」∠)_

I'll pay back the owed chapters in nine installments and return them in thirteen, and I'll double the amount next month. _(:з」∠)_

Transformation - Section 6 - Information

Fighting the undead is pointless, because even if you kill them again and again, and extract their souls again and again, as long as their obsession remains, they will not fall. They will rise again and again after being knocked down, until their spirits collapse, their obsessions disappear, and they turn into living corpses.

Turning a willful undead into a mindless zombie takes a long time, and this time will continue to extend depending on the undead's obsession and mental strength. The ghosts of Farron are a collective; if news of this leaks out, a great war destined to engulf the entire world of painting will follow.

and so……

The nun chose to retreat.

The moment the snowflake touched her, she propelled herself away with extraordinary agility, creating a narrow passage in the air. Such a powerful commotion couldn't possibly escape the notice of the ancient Farron ghosts. Almost simultaneously, flying swords, spears, and flames fueled by Farron magic engulfed the ravine where the nun had been hiding. The remaining ghost warriors leaped and bounded through the mountains, pursuing the end of the air passage, while a small group charged from the other side of the valley, attempting to flank it from the other end.

Are they besieging me, treating me like a carrier of the abyss? I didn't reveal any trace of myself.

No, they probably intend to destroy everything that clashes with them, treating it as an abyss. And was my initial reaction too extreme?

The nun's fingers tightened slightly around the scythe, then loosened little by little. Her toes lightly tapped the snow-covered mountainside, and a series of rapid changes of direction caused her pursuers to lose a significant amount of progress.

Do not swing the sickle; let them know I have left the church.

[The power of frost can be used freely, as it is not uncommon in the world of paintings filled with ice.]

For Alice, Alice Friede, regaining the feeling of being alive wasn't entirely a good thing. Because ashes are inherently inanimate, their mind and spirit are always perfectly focused, and all their actions are driven by their own obsessions. Gaining emotions meant losing the purity of being dead; her judgment would diminish, and her actions would become hesitant—for example, in this particular situation, in the past she would have chosen to remain hidden after the snowflake fell, or find a more subtle way to defuse the situation, instead of rushing around like a startled rabbit.

Wrong judgment, wrong decision.

She actually regretted it the moment she took the first step, but since she had already done it, there was no other choice but to persevere. With a slight thought, she flicked her finger, and a small mountain of ice crystals suddenly rose from the frozen ground she had stepped on. Several spears that came hurtling through the air were immediately trapped within the ice crystals, while the exploding dust and icy mist further obscured the pursuers' vision!

Whether ashes or the undead, in their vision, flames always appear more vivid than the colors of life. And naturally, the frost, the antithesis of flames, poses an even greater obstacle—they let out angry shrieks, and several javelins hurled through the icy mist precisely predicted the nun's escape route before she changed course, instantly shattering a large expanse of snow-covered frozen earth. They exploded into massive chunks of solid snow, like arrows released from a bow.

[Headache, regret... this feeling... haha, although it's a bit unfamiliar, it's actually quite nice.]

I'm becoming less and less like myself.

The nun deftly dodged the snow blasted away by the javelins, her gaze shifting swiftly to the ghostly guards flanking from another path. As she considered her options, her usually dormant heart began to pound. And with that pounding heart, creative ideas began to spring to mind, including solutions to the immediate problem!

There was a slight breeze in the air.

Beneath the wind lies snow, beneath the snow lies earth, and deep within the earth flows water and sand.

Water and earth... what do water and earth symbolize?

As the nun pondered these thoughts, she dodged the repeated attacks from projectiles. The ghostly guards pursuing her had already crossed the ice mist she had hastily created, while a small force flanking her from the other side was about to block her escape route through the mountains.

There's no way to escape now; at least, there's no way to leave normally without resorting to violence.

The nun made her judgment. She knew very well that this was the strategy the Farran army used to hunt abyssal creatures—there was really no secret to it, just like a pack of wolves relentlessly pursuing their prey, then weakening the enemy with coordinated wave attacks, and finally killing the target.

Unfortunately, this strategy was surprisingly effective for her at that moment.

[What does it symbolize, and what does it represent?]

She pondered how to maneuver against the army of ghosts without using her symbolic abilities. The pride and impatience of the living, now that she had regained her senses, were subtly eroding her heart—she repeatedly considered burying these ghosts here, or revealing some of her power for a more convenient escape. But she suppressed these thoughts time and again, causing the ghosts' encirclement to draw ever closer.

Despite the unfavorable situation, her thoughts never ceased to wander.

Water and earth... symbolize this land, the cornerstone of this world of painting.

She felt something in the air wriggle slightly with the thought that arose in her mind, and not just the air, but the snow on the ground and the earth beneath it seemed to tremble slightly as well.

What does this cornerstone represent? Who can wield this cornerstone, and yet be connected to me?

She exhaled softly, her breath turning to frost upon contact with the air, freezing a flaming javelin in mid-air. She then continued to dodge to the side, successfully avoiding another wave of attacks following the javelin barrage.

The ghost was already very close to her, no more than a hundred meters away in a straight line. Considering the surrounding terrain and the mobility of both sides, this distance could likely be closed in two or three seconds. However, once the distance was reduced to within three meters and she was attacked, the nun's invisibility magic would be disrupted and rendered ineffective.

There's no turning back; we have to make a choice now.

Choose to kill these ghost warriors here until they become undead, or let your identity be exposed and then go back to the church and never come out again, or trigger a great war.

I don't want to kill you, don't force me.

She gripped the sickle tightly, ready to swing it. But just then, a fleeting thought flashed through her mind like a bolt of lightning!

She suddenly thought of the word 'information,' from which the concepts of 'history' and 'order' were derived. These two concepts, in turn, led her to think even further.

[Ariandel, formerly known as Eremias, is the courtyard where the half-dragon Priscilla resides.]

She sensed the air around her vibrating in some way, at some frequency. It seemed as if many invisible, intangible things were connecting with her. And this connection transformed into a driving force, compelling her brain to think towards the next stage!

And she went along with this line of thinking.

[I am not a half-dragon, but that's not important to me—what is important is that Priscilla, the half-dragon, was once the ruler of the world of painting, and while she was the ruler, she also wielded a giant scythe and mastered the secret arts of concealment. And that perfectly matches my current position!]

【So……】

"Could I be the half-dragon Priscilla?" she said uncertainly, unconsciously swinging her giant scythe as she spoke. And in the next instant, she suddenly felt the world tremble!

The mountain began to shake.

Snow and ice surged down, and water gushed forth from the ground. The unchanging, solid mountain, as she swung her giant scythe, was reduced to a haphazardly assembled pile of cheap building blocks. And the sweeping winds easily toppled them all!

Before she could react, the surrounding mountains collapsed violently in her direction. While the will of the Farron ghosts remained unaffected by external forces, the once solid ground beneath their feet instantly turned into a swamp!

With nowhere to gain leverage, they could only sink. As they sank, the weapons they threw were easily dodged or evaded by the nun's instinctive reactions. Thus, all their efforts were ultimately in vain. Soon, the mudslide from the collapsed mountain buried all traces of them, sealing them in at least twenty meters of strata.

Silence returned to the surroundings once again.

The nun looked at the scythe in her hand, then at her own hand.

"This... I did this?" she said, somewhat uncertainly... or more accurately, incredulously. "I swung my scythe and caused an earthquake? I became the half-dragon Priscilla?"

She looked at her feet, then turned to look behind her—good, no feathers or scales had grown, and no tail had suddenly appeared on her back. She carefully swung her scythe again, and this time the ground didn't tremble.

"What is this... utterly baffling." The nun was filled with doubt, but she quickly had to pull her attention away from her confusion and focus on other things. She suddenly realized that she had actually done something incredibly foolish—earthquakes had been rare in the world of painting since its inception, let alone landslides that could collapse mountains! She had gone to such great lengths to prevent the ghost of Farran from noticing that she had left the church. But now it seemed all her efforts would be in vain!

The warriors of Farran never trusted her, but as long as she remained within the church, Farran's spirits would only monitor, not purge, the Painted World. While monitoring it, they would aid the inhabitants of the land, helping them slay the beasts and other strange creatures that arose within. Simultaneously, they would form a balance of power with another invading force—the warriors of Millwood from the North. This tripartite balance would allow the Painted World to remain stable.

However, now, one pole is being affected, another is planning to leave, and there is still another—she glanced at the land leveled by the earthquake and, without much thought, recalled that the Millwood people possessed a sacred artifact capable of shaking the earth and causing regional earthquakes. Although the interference caused by that earthquake artifact was far less than the commotion she had caused, they probably couldn't escape the blame.

"This won't work."

Her head throbbed with pain. Even if her departure from the church remained a secret, if the ghosts of Farron and the warriors of Milwood were to clash, the peace of the Painted World would be shattered. All her efforts would be in vain; even if she later unleashed her full power and eliminated both sides, the disrupted Painted World would not find peace again!

There's nothing we can do.

She simply wanted to go out, but it ended up like this. This series of coincidences could only be described as divine malice, and she was utterly helpless against it!

"Why did I have to dodge that snowflake instead of staying put and gambling that the other person wouldn't see the change?!" the nun roared inwardly, followed by frustration.

She stood there quietly for a full fifteen minutes, finally concluding that 'this foolish mind cannot achieve a win-win situation.' In the end, she could only sigh heavily and shift her focus to what she could do.

For example, find that artist in the world of painting, and then...

Let's take it one step at a time.

Transfiguration, Chapter 7: Alice and the Serpent Who Gives the Fruit

Finding the artist wasn't difficult. Because she knew where the artist was.

She cast the invisibility spell again, but this time she was much more cautious than before.

Even though her heart was still in turmoil, even though her will was still blurred, even though the various contradictory impulses surging in her mind still troubled her, she did not stop moving forward.

She was simply puzzled, puzzled by her own perception, puzzled by the things she had created with her own hands.

Do I care so much about the peace and tranquility of this world that I have to restrain myself for it?

—Frid cares deeply about the peace of this world and is willing to pay any price for it.

[I care deeply for my sisters whom I abandoned; is that why I have to leave this world?]

—Frid felt guilty towards her two younger sisters, and she was willing to spend the rest of her life repenting for it.

Are my feelings truly my feelings? Are my powers truly my powers? Why am I able to control the landscape of this world, without even feeling that I've paid any price for it?

Information is a skill Alice excels at using; she uses it as naturally as eating and drinking, and hardly feels any loss.

【Frid...is that Alice?】

The chaotic thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

She stopped in her tracks; the library housing the artists was now close at hand. For centuries, several lower-ranking knights who had deserted the Black Church and followed her had patrolled the area around the library. But when she appeared, invisible to the eye, their patrol route shifted slightly.

They noticed her arrival—after all, they had served her for countless years, and even as immortal spirits, they could naturally detect her non-existent presence in the air when she appeared in this area. Aside from slightly altering their patrol route, they made no other move. Clearly, they understood the nun's intentions.

The nun's absence suggests she doesn't want anyone to know she visited this place. Since the mistress desires secrecy, her loyal knights will naturally comply.

With a slight sway, she silently slipped into the only man-made gap in the knights' patrol route. All the guards and surveillance were rendered useless against her at that moment. She then entered the library and, after the mechanism activated, descended the stairs to reach the sealed upper level.

The nun finally met the painter.

....................................

The painter in the world of paintings is a woman, a young girl among women. Her exact age is not important, but she does have the appearance of a young girl. The nun remembers finding her in the church when she came to this world of paintings, and after countless years and countless seasons of the linking of the fire, neither she nor the nun, who had turned to ashes, had changed in appearance.

She is not human, absolutely not.

This had nothing to do with her long, whipped white hair, nor with her ancient, serpentine crimson eyes—when the nun retrieved fragments of her memory related to her, her mind would involuntarily become slightly disordered. And this disorder allowed her to remain vigilant while simultaneously concentrating her mental energy.

'She cannot be treated like a little girl'—this thought echoed in the nun's heart. She took a soft breath as she stepped onto the last step, sheathed her scythe and slung it behind her back, and her expression, which had remained unchanged for many years, subtly changed.

“I have come to find you, daughter of the ancient serpent.”

"You've come, guardian of the world of painting."

The nun and the painter's voices rang out almost simultaneously—no, the painter spoke a little faster, because her sentences were longer, but both ended at the same time—the nun looked up and saw her sitting on a long table that was too wide for her size, drawing on the table with charcoal as a brush.