Erika opened his eyes in the silence of his cell. The mad plan to "lure the wolf" was suppressed by reason, but the clouds of despair did not disperse. Steal data? Easier said than done. Getting near a communication node was a monumental task in itself.

  His gaze swept the room absently, finally settling on the Mark on his left hand. The searing pain overlapped faintly with the memory of his attempt to connect to the Circuit's energy in the Mark-Forging Hall.

  Energy... Connection...

  A possibility he had completely overlooked lit up his mind like lightning in the dark. He had been looking outward for a breakthrough, searching for Blighted or data streams. But wasn't he already carrying a ready-made, high-level access point deeply bound to the Sanctum's energy system?

  This Mark wasn't just a shackle. It was an interface.

  The black-clad Clerics observing Cecilia within the shielding field must carry similar Marks, allowing them to safely draw upon the energy without triggering purification. Erika knew his permissions were low; forcibly connecting to the core energy was suicide. But what if he didn't try to "draw" energy? What if he only tried to create a ripple?

  He recalled the chilling term the Silent One had mentioned—the "Resonance Protocol." It was a deep-level interaction mechanism embedded in the system's underlayer. If those black-clad Clerics needed to exchange data, or if the system recorded their observation logs, those information streams had to be transmitted through this ubiquitous network.

  He didn't need to capture a Blighted. He just needed to become a weak, controllable anomaly.

  He hesitated no longer. Taking a deep breath, he carefully stored Anna's note away, his eyes regaining their sharp, focused intensity. He would return to the shadows beneath the Angel's Descent, not as a scout, but as a virus embedded within the system.

  Erika, a pale shadow, slipped once more into the vast gloom cast by the complex. The festival's din was reduced to a distant echo here. He found an external maintenance recess for a disused energy conduit—a cramped space just large enough to curl into, like a coiled viper.

  Closing his eyes, he pushed the 'Harmonic Convergence' to its absolute limit. His breathing grew long and shallow, his vital signs suppressed to a minimum, his entire being merging with the cold, Auric-energy-forged bedrock.

  Inward sight. All consciousness plunged into the searing Mark.

  He could "see" countless intricate, golden threads of energy using his Mark as a node, extending into the endless void of the Eternal Circuit. With painstaking care, he separated a thread of energy from his own meager flow, finer than a hair. He couldn't draw external energy; that was too conspicuous. Using only his own power, like the most precise micro-sculptor, he guided that thread on a brief, irregular path—a detour through an extremely minor, redundant pathway within the Mark.

  It was like using a fingertip to gently stir the water beneath a calm surface, creating a ripple almost invisible to the eye. The process demanded unimaginable focus. Fine sweat beaded on his forehead. Each minute deviation brought a needle-prick of pain, a profound fear that his soul was being torn apart.

  At the very instant the tiny, forcibly opened energy path reached its peak, just before dissolution—

  A vibration, not from the physical world but acting directly on his soul, slammed into him. The automatic response of the Resonance Protocol network!

  He immediately abandoned all control over the energy, converting his entire mental strength into the most sensitive receiver. He emitted no outward ripple, purely and passively listening to the system's automated diagnostic triggered by his disturbance.

  Countless fragmented, cold, non-human pieces of information flooded his awareness:

  Success.

  "Elysian-Vault-7"

  A new anomaly struck.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  A different mental probe, carrying a sense of inquiry and avarice, brushed against his presence like a shark scenting blood. It was using the brief disturbance caused by the system scan to make a hidden, swift contact. This perception was icy and experienced, utterly unlike the Silent One's pure, non-human monitoring.

  It held clear will and purpose.

  Terror-stricken, Erika instantly severed all external perception, retracting his mental force entirely within himself, his heartbeat nearly stopping. Who was that? A black-clad Cleric? Or another faction entirely, lurking within the Sanctum's network?

  He crouched in the darkness, not daring to move for what felt like an eternity, before that eerie perception finally receded like a tide. Only then did he dare to breathe, his under-robes soaked with cold sweat.

  He had obtained the coveted key. But the cost was attracting the attention of unseen predators.

  Carefully crawling out of the recess, he felt as drained as if he'd fought a life-or-death battle. As he merged back into the shadows, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Far off, in a high tower window, a figure in a dark cloak seemed to vanish, the light snuffing out immediately after.

  Erika's heart sank. He didn't linger, quickening his pace and disappearing into the labyrinthine alleys.

  Back in the safety of his cell, Erika leaned heavily against the cold wall, piecing the intercepted fragments together. The chilling truth assembled itself. Cecilia wasn't being saved; she was a living container for a brutal experiment, kept on the razor's edge of life and death so they could study the collision of Auric and Blight energy.

  He gripped his left hand. He had the designation, but it was useless without the high-level permissions to access the core data. He was staring at a locked door, lacking the strength to kick it open.

  Just as the crushing weight of his powerlessness began to settle in—

  BOOM!

  A dull, thrumming roar of an energy explosion, mixed with a piercing shriek of agony, violently shook his secluded cell.

  Erika instinctively rushed to his narrow window, peering out into the Sanctum's periphery. His breath caught in his throat.

  Two figures were fleeing for their lives, their path erratic and desperate. They weren't high in the sky; they were skimming perilously low, tearing just feet above the rooftops of the Priory buildings, their boots shattering clay tiles into the narrow streets below. They wore heavy black cloaks.

  One of them was grievously wounded, his body limp, dragging heavily on the arm of his comrade. Close on their heels, moving with blinding, lethal speed, were two pursuers wearing pristine white robes edged in deep crimson—high-tier Clerics.

  "Surrender the artifact, heretics!" one of the crimson-trimmed pursuers shouted, hurling a searing golden spear of light. It grazed the injured black-clad's shoulder, detonating a chimney into a shower of hot brick and ash.

  They were losing altitude, mere yards from the Sanctum's main gate and its absolute safe zone. At the brink of capture, a look of grim resolve flashed across the face of the severely wounded black-clad Cleric.

  With his last ounce of strength, he grabbed his companion's arm. All the remaining energy within him—not just Auric energy, but a sudden, terrifying surge of grayish, decaying power—rushed into his companion like a bursting dam.

  Erika's pupils contracted. He felt the sickening resonance through his own Mark.

  Energy Feedback.

  He was witnessing the very phenomenon described in the logs, used as a desperate, sacrificial combat stimulant! Infused with this dying, corrupted power, the receiving black-clad Cleric's speed skyrocketed. Burning his comrade's life force, he shot forward like a cannonball, crashing violently into the glowing aura that marked the absolute sanctuary of the Sanctum's main gate.

  Yet, the two crimson-trimmed pursuers didn't hesitate. They crossed the threshold right behind him. One of them manifested a sinister black-flamed blade, its tip aimed directly at the heart of the collapsed, exhausted survivor.

  "HALT!"

  A voice like a booming bell, carrying annihilating authority, thundered across the courtyard, rattling the very glass in Erika's window.

  A massive figure clad in ornate golden vestments materialized out of thin air. He didn't stand on the ground; he hovered imposingly high above the Sanctum's great doors, looking down upon the intruders like an angry god. It was High Priest Hongbo.

  His gaze was sharp as lightning as it swept over the black blade. His voice wasn't loud, but it brooked absolutely no argument.

  "This is the Sanctum! Not the backyard of your Inquisitorial Tribunal! Do not overstep your bounds!"

  The Cleric holding the black blade stiffened, halting his strike. A flicker of wariness and resentment crossed his face, but he didn't lower his weapon. "High Priest Hongbo," he replied, his tone chillingly cold. "We are tracking heretical energy signatures, acting according to the Law. This individual's energy is tainted. He must be taken in for questioning!"

  Hongbo snorted. A vast, suffocating pressure radiated from his hovering form, physically pressing the two crimson-trimmed Clerics toward the paving stones.

  "Questioning? Using the 'Soul-Corrosive Blade' for 'questioning' at my doorstep?" Hongbo's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Go back and tell your master if he wants this man, he can come see me himself with a Mandate of Command. Now, GET OUT!

  The two crimson-trimmed Clerics' faces turned ashen under the crushing spiritual weight. Exchanging a look, they knew they were utterly defeated for today. The blade-wielder shot a venomous glare at the barely breathing survivor on the ground.

  "Harboring heretics..." he snarled, sheathing his blade. "I reckon your tenure as High Priest is nearing its end. Let's go!"

  With that, the two transformed into streaks of crimson light and vanished into the night sky.

  Calm slowly returned to the Sanctum entrance, but the lingering energy tremors and the scent of blood painted a grim picture. Erika slowly retreated from the window, sliding down until he sat on the cold floor, his heart hammering against his ribs.

  He had just witnessed the absolute brutality of factional strife. He had seen the terrifying real-world application of Energy Feedback. And he had observed the bitter, lethal antagonism between High Priest Hongbo and the Inquisitorial Tribunal.

  The terms swirled in a chaotic vortex in his mind. The direct path to the truth seemed blocked by permissions, but this bloody chase had just ripped open a much more treacherous window.

  The waters of the Sanctum were far deeper, and far more polluted, than he had ever imagined.