“More or less.”

Crow let out a sigh and glanced at the notebook in her arms. “Although I am also a remnant, now I am just a segment of record from above.

But if you confuse me with ‘Heaven’, that would be truly ridiculous.”

Saying things Henry Parker couldn’t understand, she suddenly shifted the topic, her crimson eyes locking onto Henry Parker: “But this has nothing to do with who I am. The real question is—

—do you really think I was trying to trick you just now?”

She asked softly, “Didn’t you personally experience the records of those people before they died?”

Henry Parker thought of the endless nightmares he had last night, and shivered instinctively, his tone turning dry: “Are they really… all dead?”

“Ah, that’s right.”

Crow nodded. “Except for you, everyone who has seen that box is now dead.

There were quite a few good things in there. After sleeping for so many years, it’s rare to replenish so much source matter. Although it’s a bit messy, if you count it up, it’s about the amount from eight or nine hundred people, right?”

She smacked her lips with lingering satisfaction, looking at Henry Parker with delight. “For the sake of those welcome gifts, do you need my help, boy?”

.

.

“40 grams of copper, 57 grams of silver, 12 grams of tin powder… a set of crucible and gas stove, and the leftover lead blocks were basically given for free…”

In the evening, after running around the city all day, Henry Parker finally returned home, tossed the plastic bag onto the table, picked up the leftover mineral water from the day before and gulped it down, not caring whether it was healthy or not.

“My Huabei and Jiebei are both maxed out, I’m deep in debt—what’s the point of buying all this stuff?”

“Alchemy.”

Crow was preening her feathers, speaking calmly: “It’s not easy to create a stigmata that someone as ordinary as you can use.”

“Stigmata?” Henry Parker chuckled. “Are you asking me to become a janitor who does splits in midair?”

“What’s that? Some modern joke?”

“No, just a scam by trashy game companies to make money.”

Thinking of those classmates who spent thousands or even tens of thousands on in-game purchases, Henry Parker couldn’t help but feel… really envious.

“It’s not the same, Henry Parker. Although the name is the same, the stigmata I’m talking about is not that ridiculous thing.”

Crow explained calmly: “If the essence of the soul possessed by an Ascendant is the prototype of divine authority, then the stigmata is the result born from analyzing the legacy of the gods.

By tracing the remnants of miracles to find the path to the divine, imitating the gods, investigating the authority and lingering traces of the divine—what is studied is the existence of the stigmata. Using metals and incense to form rituals, creating small miracles by imitating grand miracles.

That is the stigmata.”

“…Gods?”

Henry Parker was stunned. “Do gods really exist in this world?”

“They once did.”

Crow was silent for a moment. “But they’re all dead now. Things abandoned by the times are no longer a concern for the world today. I’m afraid that before long, they won’t even be worth remembering.”

On this topic, Crow was unwilling to say more, only urging Henry Parker to set up the crucible and begin the refining as soon as possible.

“Is it really enough to just use these?”

Once the flame was hot enough, Henry Parker followed Crow’s instructions, put on a mask, ground the lead blocks into powder, and carefully mixed in his own blood to write unfamiliar inscriptions on the thinned metal. The structure of those inscriptions was extremely simple, but allowed no deviation.

Crow’s eye for detail was terrifyingly sharp—even the slightest mistake meant he had to wipe it off and start over. After wasting who knows how many CCs of blood, he finally finished this simple task.

“These are just auxiliary materials. Even the simplest stigmata cannot be forged by mortal fire and mortal metal. What you’re making now is just the crudest emergency item. In the future, if you want to make more advanced stigmata, you’ll even need the blood of phantasmal beasts and a great deal of sacrifice, maybe even…”

It paused for a moment, then said no more, only adding lightly: “Rest for ten minutes. Start at eleven fifteen. Remember, you only get one chance. If you miss it… well, I don’t think you have enough money to try again, right?”

At the mention of money, Henry Parker grew even more nervous, clutching the notebook and repeatedly confirming the sequence Crow had dictated, rehearsing it in his mind.

Meanwhile, Crow stood by the crucible, gazing into the flames.

In an instant, the crimson blaze suddenly turned pure white, and finally, countless streams of light emerged from within, magnificent and dazzling.

But Crow’s figure grew ever more faint.

“What is that?”

“Source matter, ignited source matter.” Crow glanced at him, and before he could ask, explained: “Source matter is the substance that makes up the soul, the spirit stored within matter… just think of it as fragments of the soul.

Your materials are insufficient, so you can only work with the fire. Now, every second burns away a soul’s worth. Ah, don’t worry about the source—these are all stock from that box.”

Henry Parker swallowed, not knowing what to say.