Alchemy Principles of Type-Moon World

"I, I understand!" Priest Fernande responded loudly. He lowered his head slightly, tightly grasped the cross on his chest, and began to silently recite the Bible passage that he was very familiar with:

“Hear, O peoples!”

“Give ear, O ye men!”

"High and low, rich and poor, listen carefully!"

That's what Psalm 49:1-4 says in the Bible.

"It is true that no man can redeem himself. The price of his life cannot be paid."

The endless voice quickly activated the ritual, which was the greatest foundation of human magic, the teachings of God.

“Even if they give their name to the earth, its eternal place, its abode from generation to generation, will be a grave.”

"No one can live forever in glory—"

"—equal to the beast that perishes."

Following that verse, something strange happened.

The skeleton soldiers that were about to attack the priest stopped moving, centering around him. Furthermore, some of them collapsed to the ground, instantly disintegrating into dust.

"Lord, have mercy (Kirie Eleison)."

When Priest Fernand concluded his prayer with the sign of the cross, all the nearby skeleton soldiers collapsed.

It is like bowing down before the majesty of God.

"How many more times can it be used?" Sister Ilumia asked coldly, frowning as she looked at the skeleton soldiers pouring in from afar. Her voice was filled with dissatisfaction, her eyes fixed on the increasing number of skeleton soldiers in the darkness.

"No problem..." Priest Fernande wiped the sweat from his forehead. "It can be used about ten times, maybe?" He forced a smile, his eyes wandering between the approaching skeleton soldiers. It was obvious that he was not sure whether he could deal with the upcoming difficulties.

After hearing this, Sister Ilumia curled her lips in disdain, snorted coldly, and then raised her fists, charging towards the group of skeleton soldiers without hesitation. The ground beneath her feet shook slightly as she rushed forward. The crisp sound of metal clashing on her armor echoed with the sound of her fists hitting the skeletons, and the sound of the skeleton soldiers' bones shattering almost echoed throughout the underground space.

"Gray...sigh..." Priest Fernand paused, watching Sister Ilumia mercilessly destroy the surrounding skeleton soldiers, and whispered, "She has long been protected by the villagers."

"Do you really think you can fool me with that?" Sister Ilumia didn't stop her movements. She even smashed two skeleton soldiers in front of her with one punch, instantly clearing a path for the two of them. Her eyes were cold, filled with an unconcealable anger. "What on earth were you doing out there just now?"

"I... went to look for Gray..." Priest Fernande sighed, his tone filled with disappointment as he finally told the truth. "But it seems the villagers did something to her, and I couldn't wake her up."

"Really..." Sister Ilumia said nothing more, uttering an impatient whisper. Her fists continued to vent her anger on the surrounding skeleton soldiers.

"I feel...imposing past customs on future generations and forcing them to sacrifice...is truly a mistake..." Priest Fernande's voice trailed off, hesitant and uneasy. His eyes lowered. "Although...I'm not qualified to say such things."

Sister Ilumia paused for a moment and glanced coldly at Priest Fernande.

"I'm so annoyed. If we don't eradicate these heretics here, how can we face the Lamb of the Lord? I've told you so many times that if something that will harm the Church is about to be born, it's the Lord's teaching to pluck out the buds of disaster." She said impatiently, "Forget it. If we can't solve the problem of King Arthur's body—"

She raised her head and looked far into the depths of the underground space.

It was a vague outline, a distant, dim underground space, vaguely visible outline of an ancient building. It was tall and solemn, looking like a long-abandoned temple.

"—Then let's deal with King Arthur's spirit first, Priest. Save your energy for the baptismal chant. If you fail, I won't forgive you."

"Ah, okay, okay!"

----------------------

In this way, almost all the forces in this village have taken action, and their goals are also clear. The next step is to merge and lead to the ending.

The above is a new book by a new author. Please vote and give me feedback. Thank you!

Volume 29: Xing Qingjiu's Perfect Arithmetic Classroom: . Wisdom, Blood, and Stupidity

The villagers continued to gather inside the church, and an indescribable sense of oppression hung in the air. Moonlight filtered through the shattered stained-glass windows, casting a faint glow on the dilapidated church floor, like countless tiny stars scattered across the ground. The thick stone walls seemed even more eerie. The once warm church now felt like a claustrophobic tomb, its silence shrouded in an unspeakable oppression.

At the center of the church, the statue of the Black-Faced Madonna still stood. The incense before it had gone out, leaving only the faint gleam of metal vessels on the broken stone slabs. Around the statue, the villagers knelt in a circle, facing the image and whispering prayers. Their voices were low and monotonous, like waves of muffled echoes, filling the empty church.

The elderly woman at the head knelt with exceptional piety, her hands folded before her chest, her brow slightly furrowed. Her gaze occasionally dropped, and her head bowed, as if she were listening attentively, as if obeying someone's will. The villagers behind her were equally absorbed in prayer and a tense state of excitement.

Xing Qingfeng sat quietly before the Black Madonna, his silhouette completely engulfed by the thick shadows. He sat there quietly, his figure completely overlapping the Black Madonna, the light and shadow around him blending him and the Madonna into one. Even though the villagers around him occasionally turned their heads, their gazes always passed through him, as if he had never been there.

He calmly observed everything before him, only disgust churning in his heart. He knew, of course, that these villagers weren't born evil, but the most unbearable thing was their inability to recognize their own evil. He hated people who were so foolishly connected—

——The villagers who originally wanted to resurrect King Arthur have long since died, and the people nowadays are just victims who were born in this closed mountain village and have been exposed to such things since childhood, and are bound by the ghosts of the past.

What connects them, what unites them in their fanatical pursuit of a common goal, is the stupidity of centuries past. Individuals have completely abandoned their own thoughts and independence, relying on this force of ignorance to maintain their connection and unity, and continue to repeat the mistakes of centuries past.

When all individuals give up their own thinking, follow the surrounding trends to make judgments, and maintain their relationships with each other with "ignorance" and "rules", a stable world will emerge.

——A stupid and self-enclosed world.

Xing Qingwu sighed and watched the old woman turn around and loudly convey something to the villagers behind her.

"The King's fragments have issued a decree to us!" The old woman waved her arms violently, her voice loud and powerful, echoing in the dilapidated church. "The church's lackeys don't have the King's body with them. Go find it! Go seal off the village. The swamp barrier hasn't been broken yet, so she can't go up the mountain. Send half of the people to find it!"

Her voice stirred a furious uproar. The villagers' gazes instantly ripped from their prayers and turned to her, their eyes surging with fervent emotion. She stood erect, the silent, black-faced Madonna statue behind her seeming to support her. Her eyes flashed with a fierce light, and those around her were instantly oppressed by her enthusiasm, afraid to refute her easily.

The villagers sprang into action, hastily splitting into two groups. Those with farm tools hurried out of the church, their steps heavy and hurried. As they hurried out, several discussed in low voices how to block the village road. The occasional barking of dogs and the lowing of cattle in the distance made the atmosphere feel particularly quiet and oppressive.

The villagers without farm tools were not far behind. They quickly took over crude weapons like shovels, hoes, and spears from their companions who had tools. Their faces were filled with determination and urgency. Everyone prepared silently, silently repeating something about arming themselves for the sake of the king and the village, relying on past ignorance to protect themselves.

"Gray has escaped, but this is the only thing we cannot let go of no matter what." The old woman emphasized again loudly.

"Just capture her, right?" one of the remaining villagers replied matter-of-factly. "The king is only a third of his power, so it's natural for him to hesitate. We must make up for her shortcomings."

"It's you." The old woman turned her head and looked at the speaker. "Magdalena."

"Please leave it to me. I've spent the longest time with King Arthur's body," Gray's mother murmured. "Yes, I understand better than anyone... No matter how cornered she is, that girl will definitely not choose to escape at the last moment."

"Then you will be in charge. Remember, when the sun rises, the temple will rise together. You must catch Gray before that. Catch her and bring her to the temple." As the old woman spoke, she slowly took out an object from her black robe.

It was a dagger, its blade slightly curved. The metallic sheen of its blade gleamed in the dim candlelight, evoking an ancient aura. The surface of the dagger was severely worn, the patterns faded. Perhaps due to maintenance or some other reason, the golden sheen on the blade remained striking, as if its edge had never faded. The candlelight reflected faintly on the shiny blade, like countless tiny flashes of light flickering in the darkness.

"Golden Erosion." She seemed to be gently calling out the name of this ancient dagger. "Only this dagger, neither the Holy Church nor Blackmore's gravekeeper Belsac knows of its existence. It is a ceremonial garment bestowed upon us by the Black-Faced Madonna, to be secretly passed down until the return of King Arthur..."

This village has long been divided between two factions, each harboring a dark secret. On one side are the Blackmoya clan, magicians who have been transporting souls and guarding cemeteries since the BC era, dating back to Belsac. The other side prays for the resurrection of King Arthur. Like the old woman who inherited the dagger, they worship King Arthur and the Black Madonna.

Therefore, it is normal for the village to have rituals or mechanisms that even the gravekeepers are not aware of.

However, what's funny is that most of the villagers did not belong to any party before. They were just ordinary people who were caught up in stupidity in this closed world.

When the old woman took out the dagger, Xing Qingqi's eyes were fixed on it. The moment he saw the ceremonial attire, he understood its purpose -

"-This dagger, made to cut off mistletoe, is said to pierce the gap between flesh, mind and soul, rather than just the body." The old woman's eyes gradually became blurred, and she stared at the dagger, as if it was her only support in life.

"It's said that when offering a living sacrifice, our Mother Mother personally wielded this dagger to dissect its internal organs." The old woman's voice was hoarse but high, filled with an unconcealable enthusiasm. "According to legend, its shape can also change into a sickle or a long sword."

Xing Qingyu suddenly felt that it was a bit of a waste for such a good thing to be taken by these idiots in front of him. This rite of passage that could easily strip off the body, soul and spirit, if put into the laboratory for research, would surely promote the progress of many important topics.

"—It was actually used to resurrect someone who had been dead for who knows how many centuries…" Xing Qingqiu sighed softly, but no one paid any attention to his existence. "It's really nonsense."

The old woman suddenly raised her head and shouted even more frantically, almost hysterically:

"Once you've captured Gray, stab her with this sword. This will temporarily rip her lowly spirit and soul from her body. Then, the king's spirit will naturally take up residence within it." She waved the dagger in her hand, as if making some kind of sacred declaration. "As for the remaining souls, we can only wait for the Holy Grail War to begin. We must survive until then, no matter what!"

"Ah, no matter how many heroic spirits there are, as long as they gather here in body and spirit, the king's soul will be summoned! The king we are waiting for cannot lack this level of luck!"

Her laughter was full of madness and excitement, echoing in the empty church.

Gray's mother stared at the dagger intently, with similar fanaticism and intoxication flashing in her eyes.

The villagers continued to chant in low voices, kneeling on the cold stone ground with expressions of great piety.

The only thing that didn't move was the black-faced Madonna statue, which kept an unchanged expression, looking down at them quietly, observing the ups and downs of all this.

Xing Qingfu remained motionless, sitting in front of the Black-faced Madonna statue, with almost no movement.

He did not stand up or change any posture. He just quietly observed the stupidity and fanaticism before him, secretly maintaining the lives of the church contacts.

--------------------------

Weber hunched his back, moving like a frightened cat along the village paths. His footsteps were so light they were almost inaudible, the soles of his shoes making only a slight rustling sound as they touched the stone slabs. The moonlight cast a cool halo on the stone pavement, and his figure blended perfectly into the intersection of light and darkness.

The disguise magic he added to himself was very simple, with less than two sections -

Rather, the fact that he could achieve such an effect with just two short segments of magic that people could ignore him was enough to prove Waver's mastery of the art of magic. A faint stream of magic flowed through his magic circuits, barely maintaining this thin, cicada-wing disguise. Occasionally, villagers would pass by him, their gazes unconsciously glancing away, as if there was only a vague shadow there.

As for why he didn't just brag like Xing Qingjiu and flaunt himself before ordinary people... Waver's pathetic magic circuits couldn't sustain him. Fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead, trickling down his cheeks and soaking his collar. He breathed carefully, fearing his breath would betray his position in the cold night air.

While his magic circuits were sufficient to maintain his disguise, compared to Xing Qingjiu's incredibly powerful control and free magic output, his magic was like a thin thread on the verge of breaking, ready to collapse at any moment. If he made even the slightest movement or uttered an inappropriate sound, he would be exposed immediately.

The moonlight gradually faded, the footsteps of dawn loomed in the distance, and the occasional crow's cry echoed in the air. Waver's eyes nervously scanned the surroundings, watching the villagers' torches flicker in the night breeze. Their farm tools, shovels, and sticks gleamed coldly in the dim flames. Their gazes were fixed, alert at the slightest sign of movement.

If he moved a little too loudly or made any noise he shouldn't have, he would probably be caught by these villagers holding farm tools and torches.

Up ahead, a crow took off from a roof beam, streaking across the night sky. The sound of its flapping wings was particularly piercing in the silent village. Weber froze instantly, his breath held. Based on what he had overheard about the villagers' fanatical behavior in the church... he was certain that if he were caught, he would fall to the ground, seriously injured, and wait for Xing Qingjiu to rescue him.

Just as Waver quickly lowered his head, preparing to continue cautiously moving, his eyes wide open nervously to check his surroundings, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. A narrow alleyway opened before him, wide enough for him to fit in. No villagers were passing by, giving him a moment's respite. Most of the villagers were heading toward the village entrance, perhaps preparing to blockade it. He took advantage of this momentary gap to evade pursuit.

He slowly leaned against the wall, trying to relieve the tension and fatigue in his shoulders. Every inch of his muscles was stiff from being on high alert for so long, and his breathing became rapid and shallow. Waver gently closed his eyes, feeling the chill of the air, and tried to calm himself. Too much anxiety would only expose him to danger. The silence around him was as quiet as death, but this silence was soon broken -

Then, he heard the fluttering of wings again. The sound came from a certain direction, shattering the stillness of the air. Waver's heart began to beat violently again. He quickly opened his eyes and looked towards the source of the sound.

A tall figure appeared at the entrance of the alley. His back was to the moonlight, and the shadows were so deep that they almost completely obscured his outline. The man held a massive axe in his hand, the blade reflecting a cold glow in the dim moonlight, emitting a chilling aura.

"Crows transport souls." Nearly ten black birds took off at the same time, flying out from the flock of crows, separating into pitch-black shadows.

"—Finally found you, Mr. Velvet." said the man.

——Reimu Paint (III) Y Another》?罒3研究⑺伞私〩————————

The title of this chapter and some sentences in the text are from Walking into the Immortal Realm. The original text is as follows:

"I've said before that there are only three forces that can sustain a trend: wisdom, stupidity, and blood."

"The grand event created by the Great Sage of Heaven and Man is a community sustained by wisdom. Unfortunately, except for the Great Sage of Heaven and Man, he has fallen into internal strife and been destroyed. No one else can shine brightly in the universe - no one can possess the spiritual wisdom that encompasses the universe."

“And when all individuals abandon their own thinking, make judgments based on the trends around them, and maintain relationships with each other through ‘ignorance’ and ‘rules’, a stable world will emerge—an extremely stupid, self-enclosed world.”

In short, this is a sentence I like very much. Those who are interested can read this book and embark on the journey of cultivating immortals.

The above is a new book by a new author. Please vote and give me feedback. Thank you!

Volume 30: Xing Qingjiu's Perfect Arithmetic Classroom: . With all due respect, please prepare a full set of fitness courses for Weber!

"Mr. Belsac?" Weber's voice trembled a little. He obviously didn't expect to meet this person on this quiet path. But it's no wonder he was startled -

The inexplicable taboos and rules, the villagers gathering in uncharacteristic silence, the sudden screams, followed by a frenzied rally, like a cult ritual unfolding in a church. And now, with the village sealed off, the air was filled with a confusing and eerie feeling.

This is like the template of a horror movie, and now a gravekeeper suddenly appears in front of him with an axe -

——If it was the Weber of eight years ago, he would probably have screamed out in fear by now!

The weeds along the roadside were overgrown, with vines clinging to the crumbling walls, creating a sinister, eerie appearance. Waver couldn't help but glance at the tall man holding the axe. Belsac stood there, silent, his towering figure, his silhouette long and drawn out by the moonlight. Although he made no offensive moves, the overwhelming sense of oppression still made Waver uneasy.

However, Belsac made no move to attack. He remained silent, standing as firm as a stone sculpture, his eyes passing over Waver without any apparent hostility.

"Are you here to borrow a gravekeeper?" Belsac's voice was low and steady, without much fluctuation in his tone, as if he was asking a very common question.

Waver was momentarily speechless, somewhat bewildered. He nodded subconsciously, yet the question struck him as odd. Yesterday, he had clearly told Belsac he was looking to borrow a gravekeeper, yet Belsac's tone now sounded as if he were rehashing an old topic. Perhaps this wasn't Belsac's normal reaction, or perhaps he wasn't eager to answer.

"Gray cares about you very much," Belsac's words once again broke Weber's silence. He spoke calmly and naturally, "She also wants to go out and see the world."

The other party didn't seem to be in a hurry for Weber to answer, but turned around and walked towards the end of the trail.

Belsac turned around and pointed to the other end of the trail ahead, signaling Weber to follow. Despite the eerie atmosphere still lingering behind him, Weber didn't hesitate. He followed closely behind Belsac, walking slowly and carefully to avoid making any noise.

Belsac's pace remained steady, occasionally glancing back, as if to confirm whether Weber was following closely. Weber followed closely, his heartbeat still a little rapid, but his emotions had completely stabilized.

From time to time, the cries of crows pierced the darkness. Whenever the crows' voices came from above his head, Waver would subconsciously look up. In the empty night sky before him, black figures flew past rapidly in the moonlight.

They bypassed several houses, avoided the main road, and continued to walk towards the cemetery. The number of trees on both sides of the path gradually increased, and the sound of trees rubbing against each other could be heard occasionally. The ground became muddier and wetter. Gradually, they deviated from the main road that originally led to the church and walked along a more hidden path. The road here was more winding, with grass and miscellaneous trees growing wantonly, as if no one had passed by for a long time. There were no lights around, except for the occasional shadow of a passing crow and the faint projection of moonlight. The surroundings were pitch black. In the distance, the noise of the village could be vaguely heard, but it seemed to be blocked by an invisible barrier, seeming even farther away.

Finally, after a seemingly endless walk, they arrived at the edge of the cemetery, and Weber saw the familiar, dilapidated cottage. He didn't know if it was the atmosphere, but he felt the cottage looked even more dilapidated than when he'd seen it yesterday. The plaster on the exterior walls had peeled off, revealing the bricks beneath, and the wooden strips on the window frames had fallen off.

Belsac walked without stopping until he reached the door. He turned and glanced at Waver, then silently pushed open the rusty wooden door. The door creaked slightly and slowly opened, revealing the dimness of the room.

The light inside the room was still dim, with moonlight slanting in through the window, barely illuminating the corners. Surrounding the room were simple wooden furniture, with a few worn books and an extinguished oil lamp scattered on the table.

Weber's eyes flickered across the room, quickly noticing the figure on the bed. She lay there quietly, her figure thin and slender, as if a mere hollow shell. Her long hair lay scattered across the pillow, a few soft strands plastered to her pale face.

"That is..." Weber's voice was low, with a hint of unconscious hesitation. Although he had already guessed the answer in his heart, he still didn't dare to be completely sure.

"Gray," Belsac said calmly, "She was lying at my door when I opened it."

Yes, lying on Belsac's bed was the body of King Arthur that the villagers and the Holy Church were looking for.

——Grey.

"She's the next generation of gravekeepers." Belsac's voice was low. He looked at Gray lying on the bed. "I've taught her everything I should have taught her."

Weber's gaze lingered on Gray. He understood something, but he couldn't help but ask, "You mean..."

"I agree to your request. Take her away." Belsac's words were concise and clear. "But I have two requests."

"Please go ahead." Weber did not move immediately, but stood steadily, his posture slightly straight. He subconsciously adjusted his collar. Although the room was dim and unlit, he still wanted to appear serious and cautious at this critical moment.