Mystery: When the Lost Homelanders Meet the Lost Homeland Call

On Earth today, Sequence 5 Extraordinary Beings are extremely rare. They are the backbone of any organization, mid-level leaders, capable of managing a large area independently. Even the Aurora Society, which is on par with the Church of the True God, probably cannot muster twenty-two Sequence 5s; globally, the total number of Sequence 5s is estimated to be less than three hundred.

However, based on the quantity and price of extraordinary characteristics, the White Tower believes that the characteristics of Sequence Five are far more than these. Apart from those lost in the Land of Forsaken Gods and those occupied by high-ranking powerful individuals, most of the remaining ones have been passed down to the world in the form of sealed artifacts.

Finding the sealed artifacts of the Puppet Master is much easier than finding a Puppet Master directly.

The White Tower unleashes its spirituality, using archangel-level numerical values ​​to drive the divination ritual, searching for the most convenient and legitimate characteristics of the Mystic Master.

For convenience, he first ruled out the sealed items of the Church of the Righteous God, as dealing with the church took too long and he did not want to waste time haggling.

Spiritual fluctuations spread like ripples across the spirit world. Guided by his position, matching target information from around the globe surged forth like a tide. The flow of information unfolded before him like a vast map, every spiritual fluctuation related to the "Puppet Master" shimmering. His gaze swept over those points of light, quickly locking onto one.

It is located in the southern sea, on an island, about 400 nautical miles from the current shipping lane.

The divination results pointed to the Witch Church. This stronghold is considered quite large at sea. Among the garrison is a Sequence Six "Pleasure Witch," whose spirituality is somewhat unstable, as if she has only recently been promoted; under her command is a Sequence Seven "Witch," as well as several members of Sequence Eight and below.

Divination indicates that this is a node used by the Witch's Church to transship slave trade and pirate loot.

"Justice prevailed." White Tower repeated the word in a low voice, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips.

The Witch Church has enough blood on its hands; using their characteristics isn't unjust, as for the effort involved...

Where is this witch's stronghold? Isn't it a speed bump?

He adjusted his direction, cleared the air in front of him, then increased his speed, his figure drawing a straight trajectory in the high sky as he flew towards the island, covering four hundred nautical miles in the blink of an eye.

Before landing, the white pagoda did a few things in the air.

First, he used his spiritual vision to scan the entire island and confirmed the layout of the stronghold: at the southern end of the island, there was a natural harbor with several medium-sized sailboats and seven or eight small boats moored; behind the harbor was a camp surrounded by a wooden fence, with dozens of simple houses scattered around; in the center of the camp was a two-story stone building, which was the core of the stronghold; the entire island was protected by the Witch Church.

Secondly, he pinpointed the location of the garrison. On the second floor of the stone building, in a room with a window covered by thick curtains, two beams of spiritual light were intertwined—one belonging to a Sequence Six "Pleasure Witch," and the other to an ordinary person, presumably a pirate leader. On the first floor, a Sequence Seven spiritual light was moving around randomly, likely the "Witch" on guard duty.

Finally, he checked his "disguise".

This was Lynn's request: he wanted to take over the Witch Church's purview, both to alleviate the pressure on the White Tower and to lay the groundwork for future countermeasures against the human trade and the advance into the southern continent.

To directly rewrite reality is the original power of the shadows of the subspace, which does not fit the characteristics of an "ancient scholar." What the White Tower wants to do is to package its operations as the methods of the Gou family.

The process was not complicated, but the requirements for detail were extremely high. While recording the experimental data in his mind, Baita restrained most of his spirituality, releasing only the spiritual fluctuations that a Sequence Three "Ancient Scholar" should have.

What are the key points of playing the role of an "ancient scholar"?

The White Pagoda feels it's merely existing in history!

Even if the opponent is only a Sequence 6, you must survive!

What if that Sequence Six is ​​Chick's Chosen?

White Tower meticulously simulated the thought process of the Gou family, then recalled his feelings when he ascended the Source Castle, placing his body into the mists of history.

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White Tower, of course, wouldn't use historical projection, so he took a shortcut and created a body imbued with the aura of historical mystery.

Then the body landed on a rocky beach on the west coast of the island, about 300 meters from the camp, separated by a sparse palm grove and a few muddy paths.

The "historical projection" of the white pagoda twitched slightly, and a dozen seabirds in the surrounding palm grove and crabs among the rocks simultaneously stopped moving, as if a pause button had been pressed. Then, they all turned in unison towards the white pagoda, staring at the same point with their round compound eyes for about three seconds before resuming their original actions.

This is the technique used by a master puppeteer to manipulate puppets, a method naturally applicable to an ancient scholar as well. He manipulates nearby small creatures as eyes and spies. In reality, the White Tower attaches reality-distorting green fire particles to animals, allowing the green fire to permeate their bodies, thereby controlling their material composition.

From the outside, this perfectly matches the characteristics of a Puppet Master controlling a Puppet. White Tower internally gave this operation a "pass" score.

He walked unhurriedly along the path towards the camp, his pace and breathing adjusted to match the rhythm of "a cautious ancient scholar casually playing the role of a sorcerer." Lynn's character is inherently a cross-disciplinary individual, so it's quite reasonable for him to conveniently absorb the sorcerer aspect inherent in the characteristics of an ancient scholar.

At the wooden fence entrance on the edge of the camp, two male members dressed in gray cloth were smoking and chatting. Seeing the white tower approach, one of them straightened up alertly, his hand resting on the short knife at his waist.

"What are you doing here?" the man shouted in the language of the Southern Continent. "We don't serve strangers here."

The white pagoda raised its finger, making an onomatopoeic sound:

"Bang, bang."

Air bullets!

A wisp of air, controlled by him, shot from his fingertips and pierced through the head of an ordinary person.

The white tower crossed the fence and entered the camp.

The camp was more chaotic than he had expected. The ground was compacted soil, a muddy mess of rainwater and sewage; clothes of various colors were drying between the wooden huts, some moldy, some dripping wet; near the port, a group of ragged people, men, women, and children, were squatting behind a wooden fence, thin and emaciated, with empty eyes, clearly slaves who had been transferred here to await reloading onto the ship.

Bai Ta's gaze swept over them, then he paused for a second. Then he continued walking forward.

He told himself: the goal is to acquire the special ability; rescuing people will slow down the progress.

"What imperial mentality," Lynn's voice echoed in his mind, laced with undisguised sarcasm. "Is this some kind of grand expedition designed to buy time?"

"It is indeed very urgent." Bai Ta's voice remained calm.

"Alright, I'll take over the people at the base later."

The white tower retorted, "Can you manage all that?"

"To be honest, it's difficult. Relocating people is much harder than killing them. But I plan to use a clever trick to send them directly back to their hometowns. That way, it can be done in just one night of flying back and forth."

"Alright," White Tower nodded, "but after seeing the situation in their hometown, can you control yourself?"

After a moment of silence, Lynn said, "I'm free to do as I please."

"it is good."

The White Tower looked at the stone building, using its spiritual power to shield the first floor and separate the witch and the pleasure witch. After all, it would be bad if others interfered with his acquisition of pure Sequence Seven data.

The living room on the first floor was filled with the scent of cheap perfume. The gaslight cast a dim, yellowish glow on the wall, illuminating a woman in a long purple dress and blue eyeshadow. She was leaning against the doorframe, one hand on her hip, the other holding a thin pipe with dark red embers burning inside, emitting a stronger, more pungent smell than the tobacco outside.

Her lips were painted a dark red, and she looked to be around twenty-five years old. However, the White Tower knew that extraordinary individuals on the Witch Path would undergo a complete reshaping of their appearance at the Sequence Seven "Witch" stage, so the correlation between their actual age and appearance was no longer of much significance.

An outsider has entered! If they can get in, it's dangerous. Prepare to act!

Without hesitation, the witch stood up. She took out a small mirror and scanned the white tower's face, then his clothes, and then his shoes, trying to gather more information to prepare a response.

But the White Tower wouldn't give the witch a chance; he raised his right hand, his fingertips drawing a silent arc in the air.

The witch's expression froze for a moment, then her eyes began to dart around wildly, her mouth opened as if she wanted to shout something, but only a series of muffled breaths came out of her throat. Her hands rose uncontrollably and gripped her own neck, her fingers tightening so that her nails dug into her skin, leaving four bloody marks.

Her spirit was being drawn from her body into the spirit world, like ink being poured into water, quickly diluting, spreading, and dissipating. Her legs began to weaken, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, the cigarette slipping from her fingers with a crisp sound as it hit the floor, scattering dark red ash everywhere.

Then she stopped moving.

White Tower looked down at the corpse, mentally recording the spiritual data of the Sequence Seven Witch, and then slowly walked to the second floor.

Under the keen hearing, a deep, husky, middle-aged male voice, still carrying the scent of a hangover, came from the second floor: "My Queen, are you really going to sell those slaves to Rune? That involves passing through the Storm Church's patrol lines..."

The other voice was a woman's, with a deliberately drawn-out, languid tone, like the muffled nasal sound of a cat stretching in the afternoon: "What are you afraid of? The ship won't take the Storm Church's route. Besides... with me here, when have you ever been investigated?"

A rough, hoarse voice chuckled twice, as if amused by the words, or perhaps completely oblivious to the underlying threat. The bed springs creaked under the strain.

The woman's voice paused for a moment, then she let out a coquettish cry before continuing the previous topic: "Go on... That's why I say, you men always worry too much. You should relax when you need to—"

As expected, it was one of the transit points for the slave trade. The White Tower shook its head and removed the spiritual barrier between the first and second floors.

The spiritual energy in the air rippled outwards like a stone thrown into water. The Witch of Pleasure reacted instantly, like a rabbit smelling a predator, her heart racing.

Two muffled sounds came from inside the room. The first was the impact of the bed being overturned, and the second was the dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor. This was followed by a hoarse scream and curse.

In the blink of an eye, the woman appeared at the door, before Bai Ta had even finished climbing the stairs.

She wore a deep red silk robe, its thin material giving it a translucent, watery sheen under the gaslight, like a layer of congealed blood flowing across her skin. The robe's belt was loosely tied at the waist in an awkward bow, as if it would unravel and slip off at the slightest turn of her body. The fabric on her left shoulder had slipped halfway down her shoulder line, revealing her collarbone and half of her rounded shoulder; the right side remained neatly draped, creating an asymmetrical, languid beauty.

Her hair was dark brown, loosely draped over her shoulders, with a few damp strands clinging to her face. Her cheeks still flushed slightly from pleasure, and her eyes held a lingering languor and a watery sheen.

But her eyes and physical condition were completely different.

At this moment, she had already sensed her companion's death, and her body was adjusting accordingly. When she first opened the door, she turned slightly to the side, one hand resting on the door frame, adopting a casual posture of "just woken up and still groggy"; but once the anomaly was confirmed, that casualness vanished like smoke. Her shoulders tightened slightly, her center of gravity shifted back two centimeters, and her gaze was fixed on the stairwell, listening to the White Tower's footsteps approaching unhurriedly.

"What's all the noise about?" she demanded sharply. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

She shouted that sentence on purpose, as a warning to other members of the witch's cult nearby.

Behind her, on the bed with one half of the sheet pulled back, a middle-aged man with a bare upper body and a full beard poked half his head out. The Witch of Pleasure didn't turn her head, but pushed him back onto the mattress with her left hand, and then transparent spider silk wrapped around him.

The movement was swift and decisive, with an almost impatient skill; she was clearly very accustomed to dealing with any unexpected situation immediately after pleasure ended.

Spider silk spun around the man's body, and his desire, which had been teased and forcibly suppressed several times by the witch, erupted. The man rolled around on the sheets like a dehydrated fish.

White Tower ascended the stairs and finally saw the other person with his own eyes. Without a second thought, the Witch of Pleasure activated her "Charm."

"Sir, you're so handsome," she said again, her voice carrying a gentle, alluring quality, "I want to spend the night with you..."

The spiritual ripples in her voice flowed from between her full, bitten lips, spreading through the air like an invisible snake winding its way toward the body of the white tower.

At the same time, an invisible spider silk shattered a glass bottle in the room, and an unusual scent began to fill the air, almost reminiscent of body temperature and the feel of skin. These scents seeped into the nasal cavity from every direction, like countless tiny hooks trying to hook the edge of consciousness, dulling and warming thoughts.

How could the Witch Church's stronghold not be prepared?

Invisible spider silk quietly extends, trying to pry open the white tower's body.

But the White Tower's spiritual structure remained completely still. The flow of information collided with his spirit as an archangel, like a paper boat hitting an iceberg. He even had time to mentally note: the Sequence Six Pleasure Witch's "Charm" ability involves spirituality, hearing, and smell; its manifestations and spiritual effects are…

"Sir," the Witch of Pleasure said again, this time in a softer voice, even taking a half-step back in an inviting gesture, the hem of her robe brushing against the floor with a soft rustling sound, "what are you still standing there for? Come on—"

She was creating distance. The White Tower "saw" that, out of his sight, invisible spider silk was opening a safe.

The safe contains the statue of the Primordial Witch.

"Sending Chik here would be a waste of time." White Tower raised his right hand and flicked his index finger. A spark of fire flew from his fingertip, tracing an almost invisible, eerie green trail in the air.

As soon as that spark entered her spiritual structure, it began to spread, like tree roots extending into the soil, covering every layer of her etheric body, astral body, and mental body.

"There is no fundamental difference between Sequence Six and Sequence Seven," White Tower secretly noted, "and there is no improvement in resistance to the manipulation of green flames."

The White Tower directly commanded the opposing spirit to disintegrate, and the enchanting expression of the Witch of Pleasure froze on her face.

A moment of confusion flashed in her eyes, because her alluring abilities had not yielded any response. Then came alertness; she felt something flowing abnormally within her, as if her blood had been replaced by a different colored liquid. Finally, there was fear, because the force had come too quickly, too silently, and too thoroughly; her spirit had not even had time to make any attempt to resist.

Her body began to tilt, first her knees bending forward, then her upper body leaning forward. Her hands grasped at the air in vain before slipping limply to the ground. As the crimson nightgown slipped down, it completely slipped off her left shoulder, revealing her entire shoulder and pale back. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but only a muffled breath escaped her throat before she could utter another sound.

Her long, dark brown hair was scattered on the cold wooden floor, blending with her deep red bathrobe like a splash of paint.

Thus, a powerful being of Sequence Six fell like a straw.