Mira's mouth fell open in astonishment.
If she had such an ability, how wonderful would that be? She would never have to trouble herself searching for shelter again, no matter where she went.
"If you're tired today, go inside and rest," Locke said.
"But Master… didn't you say I had to find or build my own shelter?"
Mira looked at him, puzzled. She couldn't understand why he had suddenly changed his mind—though, truthfully, she very much wanted to go inside.
"Yes," Locke replied, glancing at her, "but my foolish disciple chose to spend all her time hunting."
"What was I supposed to do? Watch you sleep on tree branches or in some cave?"
"Hehe…"
Mira gave an awkward laugh and said nothing.
She had only thought that her master might go hungry since he carried nothing, so she hunted first before planning to find a place to stay.
She hadn't expected him not to need the food at all, wasting so much of her time.
All of this had been seen by Locke.
Since she had shown such thoughtfulness, he naturally wouldn't let it go unrewarded.
This house… could be considered his response to her sincerity.
Besides, compared to the training he had in mind for her, hardships like sleeping in trees or caves were nothing more than trivial additions.
—
While Locke's water divine clone had gone to the Frostsnow Plane, his Fate divine clone had not remained idle.
He traveled directly from the Water Divine Plane to the Netherworld, hiding the Fate clone within his Saint-level body. Then, using Water Elemental Movement, he transformed into water and sped toward Mount Nether.
Three years later, he returned once more to his waterside residence.
On the floating bridge, another "Locke" still stood there, fishing.
It was an illusion he had left behind before departing—one that carried his aura, appearance, and even his pressure.
"Mirror Flower, Water Moon."
This was the result of over two million years of effort.
Even the Death Sovereign had not detected that the figure was merely an illusion.
Arriving at the spot, Locke merged with the illusion, using the water divine power stored within his Fate clone to tint his hair blue. The illusion dissipated into water.
Releasing the last trace of it, Locke lifted his head and looked toward the peak of Mount Nether.
His divine sense spread out, quickly locating Lillia.
"Oh? How rare, Locke. You're actually looking for me today?"
Lillia sounded surprised.
Ever since Locke had come here, he had done nothing but fish endlessly.
"Go on," she said. "What do you need?"
She knew well that if Locke came to her, it was for a reason.
"Lillia… is your Sovereign clone available?"
"Oh?"
She rose to her feet, looking down from the peak.
Not her—but her Sovereign clone?
That could only mean one thing.
Trouble.
The kind of trouble that only a Sovereign could handle.
"Locke, you do know what it costs to ask a Sovereign for help, don't you?"
A faint smile curved her lips.
Their relationship might be amicable, but certain rules still had to be upheld.
Without responding, Locke's figure flashed directly to the entrance of the Sovereign's palace.
"Your Excellency, Locke requests an audience."
"Enter."
The Death Sovereign's cold voice echoed from within.
Stepping inside, Locke bowed slightly.
"Locke, if you want my help, that's no problem. I'm even willing to assist you."
"But what can you offer in return?"
"If it is within my ability, I will act once on your behalf," Locke replied.
The Death Sovereign chuckled.
"One time for one time? It sounds fair."
"But tell me—what makes you think a god's action is equal to a Sovereign's?"
"Because I am an invincible Paragon, Your Excellency."
Locke remained calm.
"Though I cannot compare to you, among gods, I dare say none can match me."
"There are matters you cannot personally intervene in. Those… I can handle for you."
"How amusing," she said lightly. "If it's only gods, my divine clone is already sufficient."
"No," Locke said.
"A Sovereign's divine clone is not invincible."
"If it encounters another Paragon, it could still be exiled into spatial turbulence."
The Death Sovereign fell silent.
He wasn't wrong.
Her divine clones carried only part of her Will. Against a true Paragon, the gap still existed.
And if one Paragon had appeared…
There could be another.
"Three times," she said at last.
"You act for me three times—I act for you once."
"One time is my limit," Locke replied without hesitation.
"What I'm asking of you is only worth one action in my eyes. If the price exceeds that, I would rather not ask at all."
She studied him carefully.
He meant every word.
"…Very well. Tell me what you want."
"Your Excellency," Locke said quietly, "I know that the souls of mortals enter the Netherworld after death."
"I wish to know whether my younger brother, Cole, still exists there."
"And if he does… I ask for your guidance in bringing him back."
"That's all?"
A trace of surprise flickered in her eyes.
She had expected something far more serious.
Instead—
He only wanted to find a soul.
Still, a hint of suspicion arose.
The ability to trace souls and restore memories was tied to one of her greatest treasures—a secret she had never revealed.
How did Locke know?
She said nothing.
Closing her eyes, she connected with the Heart of the Netherworld.
Moments later, she found him.
Tearing open space, she reached into the Netherworld, seized the soul, and returned.
With a casual motion, she threw the figure before Locke.
"There. Your brother."
"Shall I restore his memories now?"
Locke stared in shock.
His brother… had truly survived.
Not only that—
He had become a peak Saint-level undead.
Stronger than he had ever been in life.
"Yes. Please."
At his words, the figure on the ground stiffened.
Memories surged forth.
"I… am Cole?"
"I am Corwell?"
"No… I am both…"
Hearing his murmurs, Locke let out a quiet sigh.
In the Netherworld, undead beings were no different from magical beasts.
At first, they had no intelligence.
But as they grew stronger, they developed awareness.
By the Saint level, their intelligence rivaled that of humans.
Cole had spent over a million years as an undead.
But as a human, he had lived less than five hundred.
How could those five hundred years compare?
This being before him—
Was his brother.
And yet…
Not entirely.
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