Chapter 30: Amaterasu

Watching the notification floating in his mind, Xaya didn't hesitate. There was no reason to refuse.

He had risked everything, putting on a grand show before the Ashen Cult and the entire academy, disguising himself as a selfless sacrificial lamb. All of it was for the object at the heart of the altar—the index finger bone that served as the core of this fiery ritual.

A sixth-tier pollutant and extraordinary material.

If converted to Rhine gold coins, its value would easily reach hundreds of thousands—and it was entirely priceless. Sixth-tier materials corresponded to titled Beastmasters or true Emperor-tier beasts. For any major power on the Western Continent, this was nothing short of a strategic asset. Even a titled Beastmaster could use such materials to advance further, and for those below this level, it could directly improve their beast's racial potential.

For Xaya, taking the conventional route to acquire this level of material was nearly impossible, even if he grinded through Bureau or military missions for years. Unless, of course, he signed away his freedom, binding himself permanently to the empire.

"Confirm."

[Confirmed: Utilizing the extraordinary material to complete the skill prototype: Amaterasu.]

[Commencing containment of the fire seed source...]

Progress: 1%... 2%...

The moment the notification appeared, a silver-white shadow flashed.

Silver, Xaya's snow ferret, materialized on his shoulder.

"Now's your chance, Silver."

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If this fails, we'll be pinching pennies for the next year."

"Chirp!" Silver chirped firmly, nodding.

This was its long-awaited moment—the chance to master its most powerful offensive skill and solidify its position as Xaya's number-one companion.

In the ferret's ruby-red right eye, three blood moons spun in an intricate pattern, casting an eerie glow. Meanwhile, at the altar's center, the dried, skeletal finger began to flicker, alternately solidifying and dissolving, as though wavering between reality and illusion.

With each shift between material and spectral states, wisps of glowing embers and the surrounding black flames surged toward Silver's left eye, drawn in as though by an invisible force.

Outside the altar, the crowd waited in tense silence.

The Ashen Cultists were seasoned arsonists, well-versed in their fiery rituals. While the scale of this ceremony was extraordinary, previous experiences suggested that sacrificial offerings typically burned away within seconds. The core relic would then erupt with divine power, transforming into a walking catastrophe.

But this time, seconds turned into minutes, and still, nothing happened.

"Just wait. The relic gifted by our Lord surpasses all previous iterations. This is to be expected," an experienced cultist reassured the crowd.

Another three minutes passed. Then another three. A full ten minutes later, a younger cultist, unable to contain his curiosity, approached the altar to investigate.

His scream shattered the silence.

The black flames surrounding the altar, indifferent to the loyalty of their target, engulfed him in an instant. His agonized wails mixed with the sickening sizzle of burning flesh.

"Do not disturb the Lord's work," the cult leader sternly commanded, unfazed by his comrade's suffering. The others nodded solemnly, suppressing their growing unease.

On the distant battlefield, the cacophony of a clash between Emperor-tier beasts gradually subsided. The Ashen Cult's Patriarch, despite his grievously injured Lava Giant—missing an arm, a leg, and with its chest pierced by two gaping holes—held on desperately. He fought not for victory, but to buy time for the ritual to complete.

Finally, just as both the cultists and the academy's onlookers had nearly lost patience, the altar stirred.

The black flames around the structure surged violently, then collapsed inward, as if consumed by an unseen force. The once-roaring inferno vanished entirely, leaving only the stone altar in its wake.

The cult leader exhaled in relief, his expression alight with fervent joy. According to prior rituals, this marked the completion of the fire sacrifice. The relic would no longer leak uncontrolled power but would instead transform into a godly avatar capable of bending its will to the cult's desires.

Kneeling with reverence, he broke his ritual scythe and pressed his forehead to the ground. His voice trembled with devotion.

"Praise be! The Lord has descended!"

"Praise be! The Lord has descended!"

Behind him, the cultists echoed his cry in unison, their faces alight with ecstatic anticipation. They could already envision their deity's avatar emerging to unleash divine wrath, reducing the empire's capital to ash and proclaiming the cult's supremacy across the Western Continent.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

The cult leader blinked, confused, as a pair of standard-issue boots appeared in his line of sight.

An all-too-familiar lazy voice followed.

"Well, well. Didn't think your scythes were disposable. I always thought they were some kind of bonded weapon or something."

The owner of the voice sounded cheerful, almost smug.

"Why are you kneeling, though? Ah, whatever. You're perfect for testing out a new skill. Oh, wait, I almost forgot—I still need to allocate the skill points."

The cult leader, stunned, looked up. What he saw froze him in place.

A pair of blood-red eyes stared down at him, the pattern within spinning like a kaleidoscope.

"Amaterasu."

In the fraction of a second that followed, the eternal flames of the curse engulfed everything within a hundred-meter radius, leaving nothing but ashes.