Following the fall of the Great Knight Griffin, the clouds of holy light that once choked the horizon shattered, dissolving into a grey, weeping rain that lasted for three days. There was no life in this rain; instead, it carried a scent of dissolution, a lingering death that unmade everything it touched. The various factions watching from the shadows knew well that this was no natural disaster. It was the "Master of Succession" scrubbing the world clean, crushing even the "memory" of the space that had once played host to divine power. Surface life fell into a tomb-like silence, while deep beneath the earth, Black Wind City was undergoing a frantic, violent reconstruction.

  Del stood upon the highest suspended terrace of Black Wind City, overlooking the metallic leviathan expanding within the abyss. The underground air, once humid and stagnant, now possessed a cold, crystalline sharpness, driven by massive centrifugal pumps. The cores of these pumps were the "Divine Intent Shards" left behind from Griffin’s disintegration. The holy will that once judged heretics was now enslaved to the mundane task of atmospheric circulation.

  "Master, the second batch of Black-Steel columns has been successfully compressed." Allen Morey stepped out from the shadows behind him. His aura was night and day compared to a few weeks prior; a faint, dark-red shimmer flickered deep within his pupils, a sign of his deepening connection to the gravitational path.

  Del did not turn around. He was watching a gargantuan load-bearing pillar, thirty meters in diameter, rising slowly from the chasm. "The pressure is insufficient," Del said flatly. He extended his right hand, his five fingers pressing down into the empty air.

  Woom—! The gravity within the entire subterranean sector doubled in an instant. The pillar, forged from ten thousand tons of profound iron, let out a shriek of agonizing metal. Under Allen’s horrified gaze, the massive structure was forcibly "compressed" by an invisible, absolute force. Within mere seconds, its thirty-meter diameter shrank to twenty. The metallic texture of the pillar became as smooth as a mirror, emitting a dense, cyan glow capable of reflecting all forms of spiritual detection.

  "The essence of architecture is teaching matter how to submit," Del said, withdrawing his hand with the casual air of someone molding a lump of clay. "The Church likes to build their scaffolds out of hypocritical light. We, however, are building an 'Eternal Fulcrum'—a structure so heavy that even if a god descends, they will find it unshakeable." At that moment, the silhouette of Black Wind City completed its second evolution under the heavy pressure. The chaotic mine shafts were crushed into perfectly level corridors, and the pavilions suspended over the abyss aligned with the gravitational magnetic field, forming a gargantuan array designed to warp the very fabric of local spacetime.

  Down in the central plaza, three hundred newly selected disciples stood bare-chested, holding a "horse stance" under five times the normal gravity of the surface. Among them were former bandits who had once terrorized the provinces and fallen scions of ancient sects. In Black Wind City, their past identities meant nothing; their only role was "consumables" for the new world order.

  "This is what you call 'Martial Arts'?" Del asked, walking slowly down the stone steps. With every step he took, the granite paving stones sank a centimeter into the earth. A burly youth named 'Mountain-Shaker' was trembling violently, his muscles rippling with exhaustion. His sweat didn't even have time to drip; the moment it left his skin, the gravity flattened it into a mist of vapor.

  "You seek explosive power, you seek technique, you seek the flashy, hollow 'Qi' of the surface," Del said, stopping in front of Mountain-Shaker. His eyes were as calm and deep as a trench. "But in Black Wind City, there is only one fundamental lesson: learn how to bear weight." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jagged fragment of Griffin’s armor, swiping his thumb across the metal. Screee. The mithril fragment, which could withstand the full blow of a Grand Knight, was kneaded into a perfect, irregular sphere under his fingertip.

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  "Do you see?" Del looked at the crowd, his voice chilling the air. "The so-called sacred relics, the so-called bloodlines—in the face of absolute mass, they are garbage. I will teach you how to turn yourselves into the heaviest 'matter' in existence." He flicked his finger, and the compressed mithril sphere embedded itself into Mountain-Shaker’s chest. "There is a sliver of Griffin’s dying will in that scrap. Fight it. Crush it. If you cannot even suppress the intent of a dead man, Black Wind City has no use for such waste." Mountain-Shaker let out a low, guttural roar, slamming his knees into the ground, but the fanaticism in his eyes burned hotter than ever. In Black Wind City, pain was the only ticket to entry.

  Later that afternoon, though the sun never reached the depths, Del had utilized bioluminescent forbidden ores to create a dreamlike, dark-blue starlight across the dome of the Great Hall. Del reclined in a rocking chair carved from a single block of ink-jade, scanning a secret report from Eagle regarding the Church’s "Incarnation Rite." Allen stood by, brewing tea that boiled into a thick, heavy brown liquid, the steam itself seeming weighed down by the room's atmosphere.

  "Master, I don't understand," Allen whispered. "Griffin’s rainbow crystal... since you've obtained it, why didn't you have the smith forge it into your robes? It’s a treasure capable of amplifying Divine Decree power."

  Del took a sip of tea and let out a soft chuckle. "Allen, when you see a pig with very hard bones, do you feel the urge to graft them onto your own arm?"

  Allen blinked, then shook his head. "Of course not."

  "In my eyes, Griffin—and the Pope behind him—are playing an incredibly low-level 'energy game'," Del said, setting his cup down. The sound of the cup meeting the table was as heavy as a boulder hitting the floor. "They borrow the rank of a god to look down on mortals, unaware that 'borrowed' power is the most fragile of filters." He pointed toward the massive exhaust fan in the distance. "Look at that crystal. It once represented Griffin’s divine intent, the majesty of the Ninefold Judgment. Now, its only function is to keep the air from getting stuffy. Its only virtue is that its conductivity is 'adequate'. In this world, there are no gods—only resources of different densities."

  Del leaned back, looking at Allen with a gaze of oceanic calm. "They think I am a heretic, a thief of the forbidden. In reality, I am just a carpenter renovating a house. Whether it's Griffin or the 'God' they plan to summon, the moment they step into the Morey Earldom, they have already been labeled as 'Building Material'."

  Allen’s heart hammered against his ribs. He realized he was still trying to measure a "Supreme Being" with the logic of a mortal. "Then... for the upcoming 'Incarnation Rite'... do we need to prepare battle formations?"

  "Battle formations?" Del laughed. "Too much trouble. Go tell the smith to leave an extra gap in the foundations of the second floor. When their 'God' arrives, I’ll press that so-called 'Indestructible Divine Body' into two load-bearing beams. I’ve been feeling like the span of the Great Hall is a bit too wide. I could use some sturdy material to brace the ceiling."

  As night fell on the surface, several powerful auras flickered within the mists surrounding the manor. They were observers from the Shadow Council and envoys from the ancient families of the North. "Griffin is truly dead... not even a strand of hair remains," a black-robed envoy whispered, staring at the hundred-meter trench that split the land. Cold sweat slicked his palms. "It’s not just death. I can’t sense any resonance of holy power. It means his divine intent was completely 'siphoned'."

  They looked at the manor, which stood silent and dark. There were no guards, no flares of Qi, no signs of life. But that absolute stillness exerted a suffocating pressure. "Go. Leave the files regarding the 'Planar Rifts'. We don't ask for an audience with the 'Master of Succession'. We only ask that when Black Wind City officially opens, the Council is granted a seat for trade." The envoys respectfully laid down their black scrolls and retreated, holding their breath lest they disturb the "sleeping" terror beneath the earth.

  Inside the Great Hall, Del perceived their departure and rolled over lazily. "They’re quick with the delivery." He looked at the files on the Incarnation Rite, a dangerous arc forming on his lips. "Since they’re in such a hurry to die, I’ll use the bones of their 'God' to cut the ribbon on the first phase of Black Wind City’s construction."

  He slowly closed his eyes. Deep in the abyss, the shadowy figure of the Black Buddha solidified further. In that moment, the entire city seemed to breathe with him, letting out a low, resonant vibration that echoed through the core of the world.