Gospel of Blood-Chapter 674 : A Day in Charlotte’s Life (The End)

Morning light filtered through the window lattices veiled by pale gold tasseled curtains, falling gently across the ornate carved wooden bed.

The beautiful girl stirred beneath the soft velvet covers. Her golden lashes trembled slightly as she slowly opened her eyes; those blue irises were like clear sky after rain, still clouded with a trace of lingering drowsiness.

“Good morning, my lady.”

Maid Marianne, who had long since been waiting at the bedside, stepped forward with a smile. With a light, practiced motion she drew back the heavy curtains, letting more sunlight—fresh with that particular crisp air of the royal capital—pour into the room.

“The weather is very fine today. The countess has instructed the kitchen to prepare your favorite maple pancakes and rose tea.”

“Thank you, Miss Marianne…”

Charlotte sat up lazily, yawning as she rubbed at her sleepy eyes. The sleeve of her silk nightgown slipped down, revealing a length of pale, slender arm. Sunlight warmed her skin, soft and cozy.

This was the new Castell family residence in the inner district of the capital.

A few years ago, Count Roy de Castell had been promoted to commander of the kingdom’s Third Knight Order. The Castell family had officially separated from the Duchy of Borde and become a direct vassal of the Crescent Kingdom, and the count had moved the family from Borde City here to the royal capital.

At first, Charlotte had been reluctant to part with the old estate and that supposedly ancient family castle, but very soon the capital’s bustle and convenience, and this bright, spacious new home filled everywhere with warmth, had completely won her over.

More importantly, here, both of her parents were by her side.

Her father, Count Roy de Castell, seemed a little busier with official duties than before, but his complexion was much better; her mother, Lady Isabella, always wore a gentle smile now, with no trace of the faint worry that had once occasionally lingered between her brows.

Everything was good.

This was another peaceful, ordinary day beginning in the girlhood of Charlotte de Castell, only daughter of a count, living in the capital.

After washing up, she changed into her academy uniform: a fitted deep-blue jacket trimmed with silver, a pleated skirt in the same color, and a white shirt with a red rose bow at the collar—the crest of House Castell.

In the mirror, the girl’s golden hair fell smoothly, her blue eyes were bright, and her cheeks had a healthy flush. She carefully tucked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear and gave herself a small smile.

Breakfast was cheerful.

Her father browsed the latest issue of the Capital Times, occasionally exchanging a few quiet words with her mother about politics or business rumors. Her mother placed a pancake spread with jam onto Charlotte’s plate and asked with concern about her classes for the day.

“This morning it’s General History of Myria and Basic Elemental Theory. In the afternoon, Etiquette and Literary Appreciation.”

Charlotte took a sip of fragrant rose tea and added.

“Oh, right, Father—about what you mentioned last night, the exchange visit from the elves’ kingdom. I heard they’ll be attending today’s class with us, and they’re bringing a well-known scholar from Luna Island. I think his name was… was…”

“Sebastian Flameheart.”

The count looked up from behind his newspaper and supplied with a smile.

“He’s a well-known elven historian and a friend of Lord Nicholas.”

The golden-haired girl frowned slightly.

“That pervert tomcat who loves turning into a black cat and sneaking into our estate’s library?”

The countess gave her daughter’s head a light tap.

“Show some respect. He’s a legendary figure, and an old friend of your grandfather’s besides. Back when it came to Elaine’s case, he was the first to notice something was wrong.”

At the name “Elaine,” Charlotte’s expression dimmed a little.

Elaine… or rather, Elaine de Castell.

She was Charlotte’s step-grandmother, and had treated her very kindly when she was small.

Yet no one had imagined that the kindly old lady’s true nature was that of a witch who wanted to seize the Castell bloodline.

Ten years ago, when her parents had been dispatched from Borde by the duke to subjugate monsters, Charlotte had been the only one left at the estate. If not for Dame Carla of the Patrol Office arriving just in time to rescue her, she might have been sacrificed and killed at the age of five.

“My little scholar. Lord Sebastian is an honorary advisor to the kingdom and very knowledgeable. I’ve sat in on his lectures—they’re fascinating. Listen carefully, and you can tell Father what you’ve learned when you come home tonight.”

Seeing his daughter’s mood sink, Count Castell tactfully shifted the topic.

“I will.”

Charlotte nodded with a smile.

She was naturally curious about history—especially the ancient eras and divine myths buried beneath the passage of time. The strange and marvelous accounts in those heavy tomes in the academy library never failed to capture her attention.

She was particularly obsessed with legends of the Moon Goddess; with the myths of the Holy Court, said to originate from the elves’ Sun God; and with those even older tales after those myths—stories of a Goddess of Creation who shared her name.

After breakfast, under her mother’s gentle reminders and her father’s fond gaze, Charlotte picked up her leather school satchel and left the house.

At the residence gate, a low-key yet finely crafted carriage was already waiting. The coachman was Old Luff, a northern werewolf who was always silent yet utterly reliable.

“Good morning, Mr. Luff. To the Royal Crescent Academy!”

“Yes, my lady.”

The carriage rolled smoothly over the neat stone-paved streets.

Old Luff held the reins in silence, his posture in the morning light upright as a pine.

Charlotte leaned back against the soft seat, her gaze drifting over the scenery sliding past the window: elegant townhouses of many styles, lush greenery beaded with dewdrops, early-rising vendors pushing squeaking carts, and in the distance, tall spires sketching out the capital’s graceful skyline.

The air carried a fresh scent that mingled bread and blossoms. Everything seemed orderly and full of life.

The wheels rattled over the last stretch of tree-lined road and came to a stop before a vast complex built around a broad plaza and multi-storey main halls.

This was the Royal Academy—the top choice for young nobles of the capital and the children of scholars seeking education.

Charlotte stepped down from the carriage, bid Old Luff goodbye, and, accompanied by maid Shirley, entered through the academy gates.

There were already quite a few students gathered in the plaza in groups of three or five. Morning chatter, laughter, and the faint sound of an organ practice drifting from afar blended together, brimming with youthful energy.

“Good day, Charlotte!”

A clear voice called out.

Charlotte turned toward it. It was Emily, a girl with lovely chestnut curls, standing with a few other familiar classmates.

“Good day, Emily.”

Charlotte walked over with a smile.

“Have you heard? Today’s ‘On the Origins of the Extraordinary’ will be taught by Mr. Sebastian Flameheart himself! The very scholar who published that sensational paper in On Ancient Elven Runes!”

Emily said excitedly, her eyes sparkling.

“They say he’s also a friend of Lord Nicholas!”

“I know. He’s very learned.”

Charlotte nodded, but her gaze was unconsciously drawn toward the notice board on one side of the plaza.

Besides academy announcements, there was also a beautifully illustrated poster of elven customs from the western continent. Beside it, in elegant flourished script, were the words:

“Guest Scholar: Sebastian Flameheart (Honorary Fellow of the Royal Society of the Elven Kingdom) — The Origins of the Extraordinary: From Myth to Reality.”

“All right, let’s go, quickly—we need good seats!”

Emily hooked her arm through Charlotte’s, and together with the others, chattering and laughing, they headed toward the large tiered lecture hall on the east side of the main building.

The lecture hall was spacious and bright, with heavy oak desks arranged in a gentle arc. Behind the lectern at the front was an enormous wall-filling blackboard.

By now, many students were already seated.

Besides young nobles and commoner students from the Crescent Kingdom, there were also exchange students wearing clothing marked with obvious elven, dwarven, or other racial styles. Most of them sat together, speaking quietly in their own tongues.

Charlotte and her friends took seats near the center of the front rows.

She had just set her books and notebook on the desk when the classroom door opened again.

A red-haired elf in a well-tailored charcoal morning coat walked in at an unhurried pace, hair neatly tied back and gold-rimmed glasses on his nose.

He was handsome, with a gentle, scholarly air—that was Sebastian Flameheart.

His appearance immediately quieted the previously lively classroom.

And the one who walked in behind him and stepped onto the lectern first was the official instructor for today’s course—Mr. Yurst.

He looked to be around thirty, with pale, handsome features and an almost inhuman refinement. His dark brown hair was immaculately groomed, and his deep red eyes swept calmly across the room.

He wore an impeccably tailored black suit, the style so strict it bordered on rigid.

Despite appearances, Charlotte knew he was at least over a thousand years old.

He was one of the Favored, a mysterious race said to be the Goddess of Creation’s own retainers—the only truly immortal, undying kind in the world. It was said they needed to regularly enter long slumbers to reduce the wear on their souls.

“Good morning, everyone.”

Yurst’s voice was even, with a slight chill to it.

“As you all know, for today’s lecture, we are honored to welcome Scholar Sebastian Flameheart from the Elven Kingdom, who will join us in discussing the grand subject of ‘The Origins of the Extraordinary.’ I will be acting as host and supplement.”

“Now, let us welcome Scholar Sebastian.”

Applause broke out.

Sebastian gave a small bow of thanks and walked to the center of the lectern.

“Thank you, Mr. Yurst, and thank you to all you young scholars for attending.”

Sebastian began, his voice clear and pleasant.

“Today, what I hope to share with you is not a definitive conclusion, but rather some clues and reflections drawn from archaeological discoveries, ancient texts, and comparative studies across continents. First, let us begin with time…”

He turned gracefully and wrote several key dates and place names on the blackboard with chalk.

His lecture was clear and accessible, citing a wealth of excavation reports from ancient sites across the western continent by the Elven Kingdom, as well as long-term observational data from elven mages on fluctuations in the source of magic.

He laid out that, based on the traces of transcendent activity that could be confirmed, the timeline could be pushed back to roughly three thousand years ago.

“…Therefore, from the perspective of currently verifiable archaeology and magical empiricism, we can say that the era in which a systematic extraordinary power first ‘manifested’ in the world lies roughly within this range.”

“Of course, this does not mean that extraordinary power absolutely did not exist in earlier times. It may simply be that we have yet to find solid, non-mythical evidence.”

At that moment, a human student raised his hand. Once given permission, he stood up and, with a confidence typical of the kingdom’s academy youths, asked.

“Scholar Flameheart, I have a question. According to what you’ve said, extraordinary power appeared roughly three thousand years ago. So where did it originate—our eastern continent where the Crescent Kingdom lies, or your western continent where the elves dwell?”

The question was like a stone dropped into still water.

The mood in the room immediately grew subtle.

Students from the eastern continent, including Emily beside Charlotte, unconsciously straightened their backs, eyes filled with expectation and an unspoken bias.

The western exchange students—especially the elves—also wore attentive expressions with a faint edge of defensiveness.

“Yes, scholar, we learned in Kingdom General History that the Holy Court’s faith first arose here in the east!”

“But our ancient epics say the Sun God’s radiance first shone upon the sacred forests of the west!”

The students murmured among themselves. They remained fairly restrained, but their stances were already clear.

Sebastian smiled gently and lowered both hands in a calming gesture, signaling them to quiet down.

“That is a very classic and hotly debated question. Back in the Elven Kingdom, I’ve discussed it countless times with many top historians and mages.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room.

“And based on our comparative analysis of the residual magic patterns in the earliest ruins on both continents, our study of the evolution of relevant vocabulary in ancient languages, and our models tracing the origin of geomantic mana currents… the conclusion that currently seems most likely is—”

He spoke clearly and slowly.

“The ‘manifestation’ of extraordinary power very likely occurred simultaneously, or within a very short historical window, independently on both the eastern and western continents.”

A buzz of surprised whispers rippled through the lecture hall.

The answer was apparently not what most people had expected; it favored neither east nor west.

“But… how is that possible? Are there two sources, then?”

A dwarf exchange student rumbled out a question.

“Not necessarily ‘two sources.’”

Mr. Yurst calmly added from the side, his red eyes deep and unreadable.

“Extraordinary power is more like a seed, sprouting at the same time in two different places where conditions were favorable. Its root, perhaps, points to a single, older and more fundamental ‘origin.’ Of course, that is only one academic hypothesis.”

Sebastian nodded approvingly toward Yurst and continued.

“Mr. Yurst put it very well. What we seek are the ‘traces’ of history, and beyond those traces lies a larger backdrop. Which brings us to the next topic of our discussion—myth and faith.”

He transitioned naturally to the next subject, explaining the elven mythos of the Sun God Helios and the Moon Goddess Artemis, and the relationship between them and the Divine Lord later widely worshiped by humans as ruler of the Holy Court.

“Then, scholar…”

A devout-looking human student couldn’t wait to ask.

“Is the Divine Lord of the Holy Court actually the same great being as the Sun God from elven myth? Our theology teachers all have different opinions on this.”

Sebas’s expression grew a little more solemn.

“According to the records in the oldest sacred scriptures of the Elven Kingdom, as well as our studies on certain… extremely high-grade holy relics—”

As he spoke, his gaze, almost imperceptibly and for the briefest instant, swept across Charlotte, who was quietly listening below the platform, then quickly withdrew.

“We can confirm that yes, His Majesty the Divine Lord Harald is the same as His Majesty the Sun God Helios. And Her Majesty the Moon Goddess Artemis and His Majesty the Sun God are siblings. Together, they serve an existence even higher above them…”

“The Goddess of Creation!”

A lively girl blurted out, then stuck out her tongue.

The atmosphere in the classroom relaxed a little. Many students, including several of the elven exchange students, laughed and glanced—intentionally or not—toward Charlotte de Castell sitting in the front row.

For a moment, a cheerful mood filled the entire room.

“That’s right, the Goddess of Creation.”

Sebastian also smiled slightly, but there was an immense reverence in that smile.

“She is the source of all things, the beginning and the convergence of everything.”

“Scholar, does the Goddess of Creation… really exist?”

A young boy with freckles sitting in the back row asked loudly in curiosity. He was clearly a new student.

“I mean, is there really such a deity? And… is it true what they say—that her name is actually Charlotte?”

This time, nearly half the class burst into laughter. Many turned to look at Charlotte, their eyes full of good-natured mischief.

Even the usually stern Mr. Yurst seemed to have the corners of his mouth curve ever so slightly.

Charlotte’s cheeks flushed faintly. She gave the boy who had started the teasing a helpless glare.

Sebastian’s expression, however, became truly serious at that moment, even carrying a kind of almost admonishing gravity.

He adjusted his glasses, and his voice rang out clear and firm in the suddenly quiet classroom.

“Mind your words, young man. The Goddess of Creation most certainly exists.”

His gaze swept over every person there, and from his usually gentle scholar’s presence there suddenly radiated a breath-stealing majesty.

“The air you are breathing at this very moment, the earth beneath your feet, the vitality and possibility flowing in the blood within your bodies… and even the foundation that allows you to study and wield elemental power—all of it is but the afterglow of the Goddess’s grace.”

“Her existence does not require the Church’s proof, and her name is not something mortals may lightly make sport of. Although the Goddess has not established any tangible sanctuaries in this world, every person who knows her name should hold the utmost reverence in their heart.”

“This has nothing to do with rituals of faith. It is respect for ‘the origin’ itself. I hope this is the last time I hear such a careless question in this classroom.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

The boy who had asked the question had already turned beet red, bowing his head in shame.

Everyone was shaken by the unquestionable conviction and deep reverence in Sebastian’s words. Even the most lively of the students now drew back their smiles and fell into thoughtful silence.

Charlotte stared blankly at the stern Sebastian on the platform. The slight embarrassment she’d felt earlier at being teased had already vanished, replaced by a strange, indescribable stirring.

It was as if some string buried very deep in her heart had been gently plucked by those solemn words.

The morning’s lecture ended in an atmosphere both solemn and full of gain.

In the later half, Sebastian analyzed the essence of basic elemental theory from an elven perspective. His insights were so unique and his exposition so exquisite that all the students, no matter which continent they hailed from, listened to him utterly enthralled.

When the bell rang to signal the end of class, the students seemed to wake from a dream. They rose one after another, offering the two scholars a thunderous round of applause.

At lunch, Charlotte, attended by her personal maid Shirley, had a light meal in the academy’s elegant dining hall.

She didn’t have much appetite, so she asked Shirley to wrap a carefully made sandwich and some fruit in oiled paper, took along her favorite apple juice, and headed for the quiet garden courtyard behind the academy—her favorite secluded spot.

The courtyard was small but lush with greenery, with a little fountain at its center murmuring softly.

Charlotte sat down on her familiar stone bench, nibbling at the sandwich in small bites, her gaze somewhat unfocused as she stared at the clear, cloudless sky.

“Shirley,” she suddenly spoke, her voice very soft.

“My lady?”

The girl standing nearby answered at once.

“In the Moon Goddess Church’s scriptures, Her Majesty the Moon Goddess Artemis dwells in the Realm of Moon-Dreams; but the Holy Court’s holy texts say that His Majesty the Divine Lord Harald sits enthroned upon the seat of the Holy Court.”

Charlotte paused. A pure, earnest confusion and curiosity surfaced in her blue eyes.

“Then… the Goddess of Creation who granted them their power and created all of this—where does she live?”

Shirley was taken aback, clearly not expecting her lady to ask such a question.

She tried hard to recall the contents of the morning lecture and repeated, a little uncertain.

“Scholar Sebastian said… the Goddess of Creation is the origin of all things, so… she should be everywhere, right?”

“Everywhere…”

Charlotte murmured the word, her gaze still fixed on the depths of the sky, as though trying to find something beyond that blue.

Suddenly, she gave a light laugh and turned her head, making a joke to Shirley.

“Then tell me, do you think that omnipresent Goddess might be… watching us from somewhere right now?”

Her smile was bright, full of a girl’s natural playfulness.

Shirley, however, was caught completely off guard by the abrupt joke. She opened her mouth, not quite knowing how to respond.

Charlotte was just about to laugh and reassure her that it was only a joke when she suddenly froze.

An extremely subtle, indescribable sensation struck her without warning.

The smile on her face stiffened. Almost by instinct, she turned her head and stared straight in a certain direction.

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the dense leaves of an oak tree, casting a shifting, dappled pattern of light and shadow on the ground.

There was no one there—only the rustle of leaves in the wind.

“My lady? What’s wrong?”

Shirley asked in concern, following her gaze, yet she saw nothing at all.

Charlotte blinked. That strange feeling had already vanished, as swiftly as if it had been a hallucination.

She shook her head and withdrew her gaze, a little amused at her own reaction.

“It’s nothing,” she said softly, picking up the half-eaten sandwich again.

“Maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

…

Not far from the courtyard.

Within the shade cast by that oak tree’s thick crown, three figures that mortal eyes could never perceive stood quietly.

In front was a golden-haired girl wearing a black divine gown in which starlight and moonlight flowed. Her features bore an astonishing resemblance to the girl on the stone bench, yet her eyes were a mysterious, profound red-gold.

At her left stood a beautiful goddess with silver hair and silver eyes, her aura cold and clear as the moon.

The Moon Goddess Artemis.

At her right stood a handsome god with golden hair and golden eyes, his entire being radiating a warm yet awe-inspiring light.

The Sun God Helios.

Artemis gazed at the girl in the courtyard who remained completely unaware, sipping her apple juice in small sips. The goddess’s exquisite face was filled with incredulous wonder.

“It truly is… too marvelous. Even knowing this is the ‘result’ after you reshaped cause and effect, seeing with my own eyes a mortal who resembles you so closely, and yet is completely different, is still astonishing. She’s practically…”

Brilliant divine light flickered faintly in Helios’s golden eyes.

His power was greater, and he saw more.

He stared at the girl Charlotte, brows knitting ever so slightly. He slowly shook his head, cutting off Artemis’s words.

“No, Artemis. It’s not just ‘resemblance.’”

He broke off, seeming a bit hesitant. His golden eyes turned toward the golden-haired girl in front of him, his voice carrying a faint trace of inquiry.

“Her spiritual fluctuations… the ‘imprint’ of her existence… part of her soul seems… connected to Teacher’s origin…”

He did not finish speaking, but his meaning could not have been clearer.

Artemis understood at once. She, too, turned to the golden-haired girl, curiosity in her gaze.

The now-Creator God Charlotte simply stood there.

Her gaze fell gently on this “self,” watching the girl’s sky-blue eyes narrow slightly from the sweet-tart taste of the juice, watching the naturally coquettish manner that appeared when she spoke to her maid.

Hearing the two gods’ low murmur, Charlotte slowly shook her head. The corners of her mouth curved in the faintest of smiles—a soft arc filled with relief and blessing.

“No…”

Her voice was as gentle as a breeze, heard only by gods.

“She isn’t anyone’s shadow, nor anyone’s echo. She is simply a blessed girl, an ordinary life with infinite possibilities. She is, in this new era, one happy ‘Charlotte de Castell.’”

Charlotte’s gaze seemed to pierce through the present world and see all the peaceful yet precious life this girl might have along this timeline.

No ruined home and untimely death, no plots and hunted flight, no sacrifice and crushing burden—only the path of a noble young lady, perhaps with small troubles, but overall bright and warm.

That was enough.

This was the gratitude she could offer the girl, and her final little blessing.

When she finished, she took one last, deep look at that vivid, radiant figure in the sunlight, as though she wished to etch this moment into her divine soul for eternity.

Then she slowly turned.

“We should go. This world truly belongs to them now.”

Artemis and Helios exchanged a glance, said no more, and bowed their heads with respectful deference.

“As you wish, Teacher.”

The three figures began to fade, like mist dissolving into sunlight, becoming points of gentle golden, silver, and crimson light.

At the last instant before they vanished completely, the Creator God Charlotte looked back once more at the girl in the courtyard and, with an intent only she herself could hear—an intent imbued with her supreme authority and deepest blessing—whispered softly.

“May you, in this life, be far from all shadows and misfortune.”

“May your path be paved with flowers and sunlight.”

“May you always be as you are today—smooth, happy, and safe for all your days.”

The motes of light vanished utterly. In the courtyard, only the breeze, sunlight, murmuring water, and whispering leaves remained.

As though the three supreme gods had never descended at all.

On the stone bench, as she was about to pop the last bit of sandwich into her mouth, Charlotte de Castell’s hand suddenly paused.

Once again, for no reason at all, she abruptly lifted her head and looked toward the oak tree.

This time, her heart skipped a few beats.

There was still nothing there, yet in that brief moment, she seemed to feel a gaze upon her—infinitely warm, infinitely reassuring—like being gently embraced by a mother in the depths of a dream.

The feeling vanished in a blink.

She blinked her clear blue eyes in confusion, her long golden lashes casting small shadows on her cheeks.

“My lady?”

Shirley asked anxiously.

Charlotte came back to herself and touched her chest. Her heartbeat was as calm as ever.

She shook her head and gave Shirley a soothing smile.

“It really is nothing.”

She said, her tone turning light again.

“Today’s sunshine is just too warm, I suppose—it’s making me sleepy and seeing things.”

The girl stood up and stretched lazily, her immaculate academy uniform outlining her slender, graceful figure.

“Come on, Shirley. We still have etiquette class this afternoon—we can’t give Madam Miller any excuse to nag.”

She patted a non-existent crumb from her skirt, picked up the empty juice cup and oiled paper, and walked lightly out of the courtyard. Her long golden hair swayed slightly behind her, flowing with a honey-like sheen in the afternoon sun.

The peaceful and hope-filled day belonging to the girl Charlotte de Castell went on.

Afterword

Gospel of Blood has finally ended. Three years… dragging it out and making all you dear readers wait alongside me—I'm really sorry about that.

This ending should still count as warm and gentle, I think. Letting the real Charlotte have a happy life is my own little blessing for her.

That said, the direction of this book after the middle part ended up being completely different from what I originally planned.

The writing style, the main plot, the core… Those three are the things I personally care about the most, but Gospel of Blood ran into problems on all three.

When I first started the book, the style I was using wasn’t actually the kind of style I personally like.

Back then I asked a lot of people for advice, wanting to write a more vivid MC. Quite a few people gave me suggestions, and I eventually decided to make a kind of manipulative, bitchy protagonist.

Unfortunately, with my personality, I really can’t write that type.

I prefer writing protagonists who are at least a bit more proper and serious.

So as I kept writing, the characterization and tone changed. The shift in style during the new-book period affected follow-reading stats, and I’m the type who gets easily influenced by numbers. I got impulsive and changed the plot midway to pull the follow-reading back up.

The result was that, like a butterfly effect, it directly impacted the original outline, and in the end I kept rewriting until even the main plot changed.

Changing the main plot actually wouldn’t have been that bad on its own.

The problem was that the original main plot was tightly bound to the story’s core.

Heaven pity me—at the beginning I just wanted to write a farming/kingdom-building story… spanning a thousand years, tossing in stuff like a Hundred Years’ War, Age of Discovery, religious wars, an industrial (magitech) revolution—I wanted to throw all of that in.

But as I kept writing, it went off the rails. At the very start on Qidian I got impulsive and did a time-travel setup.

And then everything changed.

The original main plot was gone, the core was gone, and I didn’t build a new core in time. The pits just kept getting dug deeper and deeper, so the more I wrote, the slower I got, until it turned into squeezing toothpaste.

Slow updates were the last straw that broke the camel’s back. If the updates had kept up, it might’ve still been okay, but once the schedule collapsed and I lost full attendance, I just completely lay flat.

Still, when wrapping it up, I tried to fill as many holes as I could, and I barely managed to patch the most central parts.

But I have to admit, the pacing in the late stages is on the fast side, and also pretty rushed.

That’s partly because of the update issues, but ultimately it comes down to not handling the main outline and detailed outline properly.

All lessons learned…

Besides that, the lousy update schedule also had some real-life reasons. The family gained a new member in the last two years, and I’m also working part-time—I’m not some octopus, so my time is indeed a bit tight.

But no matter what, insufficient updates are still my fault.

Here, I’d like to say sorry to all you dear readers (bows 90°).

Thank you for staying with me, and thank you for your tolerance. Updating this slowly and this poorly really is something I should apologize for…

Next, a bit about what’s coming.

Even though my updates have been trash for the past half year, I have been preparing for the new book the whole time, and stockpiling chapters. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Now that Gospel of Blood is finished, it feels like I’ve put down a set of shackles, and my drafting efficiency for the new book has obviously gone up.

Seriously.

This weekend, I wrote 36,000 characters in three days—it completely stunned even me.

WTF! So I can actually be this strong?!

But now I’m burned out…

Turns out I really am not an octopus. After those three days, right now, as I sit in front of the computer and open Word, just looking at the title makes me want to puke.

The new book is still Western fantasy with a gender-bender MC, backstage scheming, nurturing, family oriented, and an ensemble cast—but the protagonist won’t be a background prop like in World Tree.

I’m planning to stockpile 150k characters or even more before I publish. I’ve already written 88k.

This is also to keep my writing state from being affected by stats again during the new-book period.

Also, before the new book goes up, I should find time to update the extras for World Tree.

Readers have been urging me about that one for a long time. I’ve kept everyone waiting and waiting, for years now, and I really am sorry about that too.

Lastly, thank you all so much for staying with me. I’ll seriously reflect on the lessons this book taught me and, once the next book launches, do my best not to repeat the same mistakes.

Thank you all for supporting Gospel of Blood.

咯嘣, respectfully.