She briskly left the underground level, returned to the surface via the ascending staircase, and exited the cathedral through the back door.
“We need to hurry now, so we must get to the designated location as quickly as possible.”
Sylvia wore a pure white cloak, tilting her head to glance at Lakdevo, who was crouched on her shoulder.
“Gaa!”
“Understood!”
The fat crow flapped its wings, preparing to pull the pale carriage into reality.
But the motion was immediately interrupted by Sylvia.
“Don’t use that. It’s daytime—far too conspicuous.”
“And it’s still too slow.”
With that, the puppet girl narrowed her eyes and continued speaking:
“According to the divinity of the God of Death, I’ve learned that you apostles of the God of Death are able to travel between reality and illusion via the River of the Dead.”
“Let’s use that this time.”
As she finished speaking, she fixed her deep purple eyes on Lakdevo.
But in the next second, she noticed that his expression seemed somewhat unnatural.
“Master, can’t you also use the power of the God of Death’s domain?”
“Would you mind taking me with you?”
Lakdevo hesitated for a moment, then voiced his suggestion.
Hearing this, Sylvia’s brow furrowed slightly:
“That’s difficult for me.”
“After all, I’m not truly an apostle of the God of Death’s domain, and the divinity enshrouding my body isn’t very dense.”
“So I can only establish a preliminary connection with the River of the Dead, and through its uniqueness, use some abilities that point to or relate to it. But if I try to enter it, there’s a high chance of failure.”
“Gaa…”
Upon hearing Sylvia’s explanation, Lakdevo nodded in agreement, then fell silent.
In that moment, a clear struggle appeared in his eyes.
Seeing this, Sylvia’s gaze gradually turned intriguing.
A few seconds later, Lakdevo spoke again, somewhat falteringly:
“I’m sorry, Master. I can’t enter the River of the Dead either.”
“Oh?”
At this moment, the corners of Sylvia’s lips lifted slightly, as if watching an entertaining play, awaiting his next words.
“I… because of certain reasons, I’ve been banned from the River of the Dead by the River Council.”
“Explain.”
The curve of Sylvia’s lips grew ever wider.
“I…”
There was a hint of dejection in Lakdevo’s voice, along with a deeply buried and extremely complex emotion—
Regret, unwillingness, resentment, anger, helplessness…
In that instant, Sylvia, wielder of the Authority of Greed, tasted an astonishingly rich array of flavors.
The next second, Lakdevo’s voice sounded once more:
“I am a traitor.”
As soon as those words were spoken, the fat crow squatting on her shoulder seemed to lose all its strength, slumping down without another word.
“I see.”
Sylvia recalled the expression on his face when she first met him and nodded thoughtfully.
After a brief moment of reflection, she asked,
“What was the reason, then?”
“Personal desire? Or…”
“No, it was them…”
Lakdevo had just begun to speak, but his words abruptly stopped.
At that moment, although Sylvia’s expression remained unchanged and she still appeared to be attentively listening, a storm was already brewing in her heart:
Say it!
Damn it, say it!
Why are you stopping halfway through?! Are you really going to leave me hanging like this?
Do you believe I won’t pluck all your feathers out?
A few seconds later, Lakdevo’s voice finally continued:
“I’m sorry, Master, I can’t say.”
“This is the greatest secret atop the River of the Dead. If I speak it aloud now, the gaze of the God of Death will inevitably fall upon this place.”
“For the sake of your safety and mine, I must choose to remain silent for now, at least until you recover the rank and power of the divine, or come to understand it through other means.”
“After all, only we who are marked by the God of Death will attract His gaze—others are not burdened by such a risk.”
Upon hearing this, Sylvia, who had been burning with curiosity, instantly lost all interest.
Damn, that’s way too dangerous.
She currently had no way of withstanding the gaze of a True God. If it descended, her cover would undoubtedly be blown.
But…
She was still very curious!
The greatest secret atop the River of the Dead, a turmoil that could drive an apostle to betray his god—what could it possibly be?
At this moment, it was fortunate that the power of Lust allowed the wielder to perfectly control their body. Otherwise, the expression on her face would surely have been one of extreme conflict.
“Fine.”
She almost bit the word out through her back teeth, but her tone remained unchanged, maintaining her usual detached and disinterested demeanor.
In the next moment, she began thinking of a solution.
If she wanted to quickly reach the designated location, borrowing the power of a high-ranking Messenger was possible.
But…
There wasn’t one here.
St. Ruls Cathedral only had Messengers at the first stage of transformation.
And she hadn’t built any similar abilities beforehand either.
After all, spells or powers of that kind required a long preparation time.
So, at this point, the best method was still via the River of the Dead.
Since she couldn’t rely on Lakdevo, that fat crow, she could only depend on herself.
It looked like she would have to give it a try.
With this in mind, Sylvia reluctantly activated a certain authority she had rarely used since its creation—
The “Wrath” from the domain of the Seven Deadly Sins.
Its ability was simple—enhancement.
Everything about you would become fuel to ignite the flame of Wrath.
While enduring the burning of that wrathful fire, every part of you would undergo the most extreme sublimation—
Until you were completely consumed.
That was also why she had always been reluctant to use this authority.
Though it wouldn’t kill her or leave lasting damage, a bout of mental exhaustion was unavoidable.
But now…
She glanced at the quiet, crouching fat crow on her shoulder, and didn’t bother to restrain the upward curl of her lips.
The next second—
“Boom!”
In that instant, deep purple flames erupted, spreading a cold, deathly stillness throughout the air.
They appeared ethereal, illusory, while specks of stardust scattered from within the fire, drifting outward.
Then, both Sylvia—standing in place—and the fat crow squatting on her shoulder vanished at the same time.
It had succeeded.
…
Darkness. Silence.
Sylvia did not speak as she gazed upon the swiftly flowing river and the thick grayish-white mist enveloping her surroundings.
At that moment, the reflection of rising flames danced in her eyes.
“Gaa!”
“A familiar aura—praise the River of the Dead.”
Lakdevo, crouched on her shoulder, couldn’t help but utter a sentiment.
“Wasn’t the place where we first met atop the River of the Dead?”
Sylvia suddenly spoke.
“No.”
Lakdevo shook his head.
“That was merely a space I constructed using the River of the Dead’s properties.”
“Hmm.”
Sylvia gave a slight nod.
At this moment, she seemed to be suppressing something, her tone involuntarily rising.
“Now, you lead the way.”
“At your command, Master!”