Chapter 620: The Sacred Blood Assembly
After spending the entire day with Amber, Ethan went from being distracted at first to genuinely enjoying himself later on. In two lifetimes, he had never been this relaxed.
As dusk settled, the setting sun scattered golden ripples across the ocean’s surface. The two of them walked along the beach, letting the soft sand swallow their footprints as they savored the quiet peace between them.
When the last traces of light faded, the sea was left bathed in silver, and the sound of the waves became the only thing that filled the air. Above them, countless stars shimmered in the vast night sky—something you could never see in the city.
"I should go back and sleep now..."
Amber had been silent for a while, simply walking beside him. Ethan hadn’t said much either; he was content just to share the silence. When she finally turned to face him and spoke, her voice was soft, almost reluctant.
"Mm..." Ethan met her eyes and nodded slowly. He knew it was time for him to get busy again.
Ever since arriving here, he had felt that elusive trace of draconic energy. It lingered in the air—faint, ethereal—like a dream you couldn’t quite remember. He still wasn’t sure if it truly belonged to a true dragon.
After escorting Amber back to her room, Ethan quietly left the inn. Finding a secluded clearing, he summoned his personal combat mech, climbed inside, and soared into the night sky, heading west toward the interior of Sacred Sea Island.
It didn’t take long before he noticed something strange.
To the west of the island, an area blazed with light. A platform had been erected there, and a crowd had gathered around it. The rest of Sacred Sea Island had no electricity, yet this single area glowed brightly against the dark ocean.
Such an odd sight demanded investigation.
Ethan lowered altitude and approached. Soon he reached the western coastline, and only then did he realize the light wasn’t actually coming from the island itself. A long floating bridge, nearly a thousand meters in length, stretched westward from the coast to a small cluster of rocks barely large enough to be called an island.
At the bridge’s entrance, more than five hundred people had gathered—tourists, from the look of them. At the far end, on the rocky outcrop, stood several dozen figures radiating unusual energy. They wore matching uniforms, and the aura around them was unmistakable.
Dissenter personnel.
Among them, Ethan spotted Emery Shaw, now dressed in the same standard uniform. That alone confirmed his suspicion: these were remnants of the Dissenter group.
Scanning the crowd again, Ethan noticed Varric Stone among the tourists. The group was being held back by a line of security guards, waiting for something to begin. Varric was craning his neck, trying to see what was happening farther down the bridge.
As Ethan observed, he picked up several distinct energy signatures within the crowd. When he focused on them, he realized they all belonged to people who were seriously ill.
Could they all be here for the Sacred Blood Ritual?
He remembered the woman he’d met earlier mentioning that the ritual was said to cure incurable diseases. These people must have come here out of desperation, hoping for a miracle.
Hovering about twenty meters above the crowd, Ethan stayed hidden in the darkness, watching closely to see what this so-called Sacred Blood Ritual really was.
"So many people," someone grumbled from below.
"Yeah... looks like bidding for a spot’s going to be tough," said another—a thin, weary man clutching a worn briefcase tightly to his chest. His voice was weak, and there was a defeated tone to it. Clearly, he wasn’t from a wealthy family, and whatever money he carried was probably everything he had.
A few others nodded at his words. Around them, expressions shifted—some people growing nervous, others starting to reconsider whether to stay.
After all, with so many people and so few spots, the wealthy were bound to prevail. Winning a place in the ritual would take serious money.
No one knew how high the bidding would go. And if they failed to secure a spot, the hundred-thousand-dollar entry fee would be nothing but a painful loss.
It was all part of the Dissenters’ scheme. If they held the auction out in the open, who would bother buying those overpriced sightseeing tickets? Without ticket sales, no one would spread word of the supposedly miraculous Sacred Blood Ritual, and fewer people would come seeking salvation.
So these desperate souls had to pay just to qualify, unknowingly becoming walking advertisements for the Dissenters. It was killing multiple birds with one stone.
Ethan wasn’t buying into any of it. He didn’t believe in this so-called Sacred Blood Ritual at all. The ones who "won" the ritual were probably Dissenter plants—actors pretending to be miraculously healed. Who could say if they’d ever been sick in the first place?
Just looking at the crowd of five hundred people, Ethan could easily do the math. At a hundred thousand per ticket, that was fifty million dollars in one round alone.
Was there anything more profitable than this scam?
"This time there are only five hundred or so, not that many. Last month, there were over a thousand," an old man in a wheelchair suddenly said, his voice cutting through the restless murmurs.
People turned toward him, startled.
The young man pushing his chair gave a calm smile. "We came last month but didn’t bring enough money. This time, we’re not leaving empty-handed. I’d advise the rest of you not to waste your ticket money."
At that, several faces in the crowd darkened.
Behind the young man stood four others, each holding two heavy briefcases—presumably stuffed with cash.
The Pilgrimage Assembly demanded cash payments for both entry tickets and bidding, so almost everyone here carried at least one case of their own.
"We’ve got over five hundred people this time and five spots available," someone muttered nearby, though his tone held little conviction. "There’s still a chance, maybe."
He clutched two briefcases himself, but unlike most, his were filled with Central Euro currency instead of U.S. dollars. He was betting that the old man’s money was local, which might give him a better exchange advantage once the bidding began.
Listening to them, Ethan’s curiosity deepened. Could this "Pilgrimage Assembly" really be as miraculous as they claimed?
The bridge gate remained closed, leaving the crowd to wait restlessly in the cool night air.
But Ethan had no intention of standing around like the others.
In a swift motion, he rose into the air and crossed the thousand-meter stretch in seconds, descending silently above the rocky outcrop.
The moment he arrived, something caught his attention.
The rock’s surface was unnaturally smooth—polished flat like a mirror, as though cut by a blade.
Then he saw what was carved into it, and his eyes widened.
An intricate six-pointed star glowed faintly against the stone, its geometry so complex it almost hurt to look at.
He realized why he hadn’t noticed it earlier. When he had scanned the area with his Soul Sense, this pattern hadn’t appeared at all.
It must have been formed from some special material—or concealed through powerful means—specifically designed to resist spiritual detection.
But now, under his eyes, it was crystal clear.