From Secret Clan to the Divine Dynasty

Time flew by, and the Fischer family had become the most respected family throughout Nasir Town.

Irene, healing diseases almost without pay, had aided many of the elderly, in whose eyes she was nothing less than a saint sent by the Lord of Salvation.

Lucius, the hero who had saved Nasir and led the guards to slaughter the despicable natives, was the man every boy in town looked up to.

For a full three years, Baron Hovern had not returned to Nasir Town. He had been gravely injured during the war against the jungle natives and was the only one to survive an encounter with the Mighty Bloody Demon. Accordingly, the baron, badly shocked, had been recuperating in Fein City and no longer visited.

At that moment, within the Fischer family’s courtyard, an intense swordsmanship duel was in progress.

“Ha!”

Byrne, tall and lean, launched a casual thrust with his sword, and the confronting Guards Captain quickly parried. The two men, swords in hand, engaged in a give-and-take combat within the courtyard.

Thanks to his extraordinary memory, Byrne’s skill in swordsmanship was advancing rapidly, to the point where even the most experienced ordinary guard could not best him.

The fierce swordsmanship struggle continued.

Byrne suddenly spun around, drawing a dark-golden flintlock from his bosom and pointing it at the Guards Captain.

The Guards Captain stood motionless, frozen in place.

“Bang, the times have changed, you’ve lost.” He mimicked the sound of gunfire with his mouth.

Then both men could not help but burst into laughter.

“Hahaha, well fought, Captain. Let’s call it a day,” Byrne said with a mild smile, his face remarkably pale, his eyes clear and rational.

He was clad in a layered, light-colored Haute couture garment that exuded a grand design, truly the dashing image of a noble gentleman.

If Irene was the one many men longed for in their hearts, then the grown-up Byrne was the man most girls in Nasir Town dreamt of by their pillows.

In three years’ time, Byrne had grown increasingly confident, no longer the boy who would shake behind his father at the sight of strangers.

“Eh?”

He suddenly looked down at his slightly aching palm and frowned, saying:

“My hand’s a bit chafed. The craftsmanship of this sword isn’t very good, is it one of Uncle Ramon’s last few pieces before he retired?”

Byrne sighed, understanding that some things were inevitable; aging was a mighty force humans struggled to contend with.

Old Ramon, the blacksmith, had retired after he abruptly started producing some poorly made ironworks.

The truth was not that the old man was slacking off but rather that seventy-year-old Old Ramon was becoming senile.

The old man had just last week mistaken Dr. Irene, who had come to visit, for his granddaughter and, while talking, had suddenly burst into tears, leaving Irene quite embarrassed.

There was no helping it. His family and friends had to persuade him to stop working. Although Old Ramon was reluctant, he retired to maintain the blacksmith shop’s reputation and handed over the business to his son Hugh.

Injuries during training were common, and Byrne simply shook his head, no real concern in his thoughts.

He had to find Robert Taylor, the man who had studied abroad in the Empire and had become Byrne’s best friend.

“Trouble you to put away the sword for me, please.”

As Byrne put down his sword and walked away, the old servant responsible for gathering the weapons had already approached. He saw the bloodstains on the hilt and paused.

A rumor had long persisted among the people: if one obtained the blood of an Extraordinary Exponent, there was a chance to be an Extraordinary Exponent themselves.

In truth, the claim about acquiring blood was baseless “superstition,” yet many still believed in it.

“The blood of young master Byrne…”

What if the rumor was true?

The old servant silently looked around, nobody was passing by, and he couldn’t help but lower his head and lick the bloodstain on the hilt with his tongue.

He didn’t know whether the rumor was true, but it was something many had said, and even if the rumor was false, there was nothing to lose.

Within the transparent bottle, Karl’s consciousness stirred.

He suddenly felt an unusual connection—not with the four members of the Fischer bloodline, but with someone else.

Who could it be?

Karl slowly elevated his will, and soon locked onto the individual forming the connection—a thatcher family’s old servant.

He tried to convey his intentions but found no way to communicate directly.

The connection between them was too faint.

The next moment, the old servant knelt trembling with fear on the ground, shivering as an immense fear welled up from the depths of his heart.

Oh?

He had sensed his presence!

This was an interesting development.

Karl quickly realized that although he couldn’t communicate and also wasn’t able to bestow abilities or inhabit a body,

But the other party could detect his presence, and he could pinpoint the old servant’s position anytime and anywhere, sensing his emotions.

“The time has come; the current development of the Fischer family has reached a bottleneck and must further expand the recruitment of more people dedicated to my resurrection.”

The resurrection was taking far too long, and Karl had realized deep down that the mere three and a half “chess pieces” at his disposal were utterly insufficient.

He had to further expand the scale of the “chess pieces” under his control.

It was late at night when Byrne returned home in the family’s carriage after dining with the Taylor family. As soon as he stepped out of the carriage, he saw the old servant approaching him with a tense expression, clearly having waited at the courtyard gate for a long time.

“Master Byrne, I heard it! I truly heard it!”

Byrne was slightly taken aback, not understanding the servant’s meaning at all, and asked instinctively, “Heard what, what exactly are you talking about?”

The old man looked at Byrne with an expression of sheer terror, incessantly claiming to have heard the voice of that great entity.

“Yes, it’s Him, I don’t know who He is, but I heard His voice!”

“He is the Lord of the Lost, so great; I am as insignificant as dust in His presence, utterly humble.”

Byrne’s expression grew increasingly troubled.

The old man, after speaking, could not help but kneel on the ground and began to silently pray.

Wait a minute!

The Lord of the Lost he is speaking of couldn’t be!

Byrne was extremely shocked in his heart, completely clueless about what was going on, and managed to say in a lowered voice, subdued by astonishment, “Come with me.”

He then took the old servant to the basement and summoned his father and Irene, telling them about the incident.

The core members of the Fischer family were shocked upon learning of the matter, finding it utterly incredible.

The old servant was ordered to wait outside the basement while the three Fischers resumed their discussion.

Karl’s will also took residence in Irene, becoming an observer of yet another Fischer family meeting.

Sometimes he found family meetings amusingly interesting, as the thought processes of mortals, constrained by their horizons, were often bizarre and curious.

“We must never allow our blood to flow out carelessly in the future; it appears that our blood contains mysterious power,” said Byrne with a pale face.

“What exactly is going on? Someone actually noticed the existence of the Lord of the Lost,” Lucius said, his face already showing traces of aging, his expression more grave.

The matter at hand was extremely important. Irene and Byrne remained silent, finding it difficult to directly reply.

“Perhaps, directly asking our Lord could simply resolve the issue.”

Irene, with her flowing black hair and eyes like incredibly precious gems, closed her eyes and began to murmur to herself.

“Great Lord of the Lost, please let us know if this is your will.”

“We are your faithful followers, the beneficiaries of the Fischer family, awaiting Your guidance here.”

Lucius and Byrne both kept silent, and after a while, Irene finally reopened her eyes.

She spoke with a somewhat excited tone, “I have received the guidance of the great Lord of the Lost!”

Byrne and Lucius looked at each other and continued to listen.

The great Lord of the Lost desired them to share His blood with the common people as much as possible, as He could influence those ordinary individuals.

But the blood of members of the favored clans would have effects on common people, while the power contained by Extraordinary Exponents would neutralize the very weak influence in the blood.

For the time being, it could only affect ordinary people, but still, Lucius sternly instructed Byrne that they should not let the old servant be responsible for matters close to them in the future.

Lucius strongly approved of establishing a secret society, analyzing with utmost seriousness:

“The time has also come, the assets the family can possess are accumulating more slowly; we need new sources of income to acquire Extraordinary Materials and Mysterious Rare Artifacts.”

The Fischer family itself had recently fallen into difficulties; after expanding the guard to twenty people, the prices of various goods had been rising year by year, while the family’s wealth accumulation slowed down, just maintaining a balance between income and expenses.

Until now, the Fischer family had amassed about fifty-five Gold Coins, and the price of Extraordinary Materials had been increasingly inflated in recent years, even the cheapest Class 2 Extraordinary Material costing fifty-two Gold Coins.

Irene had no choice but to consider going outside the town to treat people in other areas, and next month she was about to visit the nearest other town, where wealthy locals suffering from diseases had already heard of “Dr. Irene.”

The main reason the Fischer family had not established a cult in the past was that it was difficult to keep a secret; historically, no matter how unbreakable a society seemed, if it continued to spread and develop, it would eventually be exposed.

Now that the great Lord of the Lost had given His command, and moreover, His great power could influence the faithful who partook of His blood, ensuring a high degree of loyalty in the “Blood Receivers,” the Fischer family could no longer afford to stay indecisive.

So, what should the secret society, established with the Fischer family at its core, be called?

After discussion among everyone, Irene finally suggested that the name of the cult should be “Dawn.”

Lucius and Byrne both felt it strange after hearing it because the image of the Lord of the Lost was a black cross halo, so why should the name of the cult that believed in Him be called Dawn?

Irene explained calmly, “If the cult’s name isn’t chosen with a good intent, ordinary people will feel resistance when they hear it.”

Karl truly felt the same inside.

A secret society called “Dark Killing Martial Fight Club” or “Pink Fluffy Rabbit” would likely scare and completely dissuade ordinary people from wanting to join upon hearing the name.

She paused for a moment, then continued to explain:

“Moreover, on that night, I saw a white light more dazzling than the sun, cutting through the suffocating endless darkness of the stormy night, bringing me the most beautiful dawn.”