Chapter 163: He Kate’s Smile Cracks.

Chapter 163 Hekate's Smile Cracks.

On the day of the Harvest Season, when the sky was still dimly lit and a wispy morning mist still clung to the land, the territory under the Iris family's rule had already awakened.

People streamed in from villages and towns in all directions—whether driving stately carriages or urging along ramshackle donkey carts with repeated flicks of a whip—their faces adorned with equally joyful smiles.

As tradition dictated, the grand ceremony would be held in an immense square.

Looking out across the fields from the square, one could see golden waves of wheat swaying in the wind, with haystacks piled like rolling hills along the fields.

At the center of the square stood the statue of the Nature Sculptor, its gentle gaze overseeing the scene. Layers of stone steps rose to form a circular platform, where the clergy could perform ceremonies and give blessings.

"I can't wait for the ceremony to start... Praise nature, praise the harvest!"

A farmer couldn't help but exclaim, snatching up his straw hat and waving it lightly to shoo away a fly.

Suddenly, he felt his elbow brush against someone behind him. He quickly turned to apologize, only to pause in surprise—most residents from nearby villages knew each other, yet the woman standing quietly behind him was completely unfamiliar.

The stranger wore a wide-brimmed black hat, her hair neatly coiled at the back of her head, with only a few golden curls framing her ears.

The shadow of the hat obscured her face, but her distinctive dove-gray eyes stood out, their luminous green pupils seeming to glow faintly, brimming with quiet amusement.

The farmer blinked, then quickly recovered: "My lady, have you traveled from afar to attend the ceremony?"

"Indeed."

Hekate, dressed in a red and black gown and the black hat, nodded lightly. "Today marks the day my child will come of age—I came here to witness it."

"Was your child born on the Harvest Season?" The farmer assumed she meant her child would celebrate their coming-of-age today and offered congratulations. "What a day to look forward to."

"Thank you for your blessings," Hekate replied cryptically. "And thank you... for being part of *His* birth."

*His*?

The farmer wondered if he'd misheard, but before he could ask further, Hekate had already lifted her skirt and blended into the crowd flowing toward the square.

She gazed up at the towering statue, her ambition swelling at the thought of soon grasping a portion of divine power.

Her blood raced, spreading warmth through her body and washing away the inexplicable fear and unease that had plagued her since the night before.

For some reason, Hekate had felt—deep in her subconscious—that a terrifying presence was targeting her.

It was as if she had been slaughtered and crushed by this entity countless times, the agony and despair of near-death leaving an indelible mark on her soul. The faintest reminder of it filled her with unspeakable dread.

But... why? What was she afraid of?

Had she forgotten something crucial?

Hekate herself was bewildered.

As an NPC in the dream, her memories of what shouldn't exist had been erased, and she recalled nothing of her repeated near-death experiences the previous night.

Only the lingering fear remained, shadowing her heart like a final warning.

Yet as Hekate strode toward the center of the square, the dawn of her triumphant plan reflected in her ambitious, fluorescent green eyes, even this last trace of unease was overwhelmed by joy, and her smile grew radiant.

By nine in the morning, the square was overflowing with people.

Hekate frowned slightly, discreetly guiding bystanders to step aside, clearing a path for her to the front rows near the ceremonial platform.

At the stroke of the hour, distant bell towers rang out with deep, resonant chimes, startling flocks of white doves resting around the square into flight, their wings beating toward the sky.

Their shadows crisscrossed with sunlight as Bishop Eric adjusted his embroidered clerical robes and ascended the platform with the same solemnity as every year.

The beloved bishop was well-respected in the region, and as soon as he stepped onto the stage, the murmuring crowd quieted naturally, leaving only his calm yet powerful voice echoing across the square.

"Thanks to the Nature Sculptor, who shelters us for this bountiful harvest and gathers us here as kin..."

Everyone except Hekate listened intently to the bishop's words.

Thus, no one noticed—on the platform, a faint, almost imperceptible sheen lingered, as if some liquid hadn't fully evaporated, leaving glossy streaks on the stone.

This, too, was Hekate's doing.

Before sunrise, she had manipulated a drunkard, sending him stumbling from a tavern with clinking bottles in his arms to lean against the platform and drink.

Given the solemn nature of the ceremony, guards patrolled the square all night, keeping strict watch—especially with the Harvest Season's tradition of burning straw, making them vigilant against fire hazards.

But that was under *ordinary* circumstances, without supernatural interference.

In the early hours, the guards' eyes had glowed with faint green glimmers, like fireflies settling in their pupils, blinding them to the drunkard's presence.

Thus, they allowed him to defile the platform with spilled liquor, bottles scattered haphazardly before the statue.

Years of alcohol abuse had left the man's hands unsteady, and as he raised a bottle in drunken celebration, most of its contents splashed onto the platform.

Clear liquor spilled across the carvings of wheat, suns, and vines, blurring the angelic figures meant to honor the divine, pooling into shallow puddles.

Through the rippling liquid, the drunkard locked eyes with the distorted, smiling angel faces on the platform and came slightly to his senses, realizing his mistake.

Fearing punishment, he didn't dare report it, instead gathering his bottles and slinking away.

And thanks to Hekate's influence, every passerby, patrolling guard, inspecting official—even the bishop himself—found reasons to overlook the anomaly.

What the "Scheme" Domain concealed would remain unseen—even as the liquor continued reflecting light, it stayed utterly hidden.

Every staff member reassured themselves:

In decades, the Harvest Season had never had any mishaps. The clergy wielded divine power—what danger could there be?

Besides, the territory was full of devout believers... Past experience told them no one would dare disrupt the ceremony.

Under Hekate's guidance, each careless thought was a snowflake.

—And when enough snowflakes gathered, an avalanche would follow.

Returning to the present, Hekate smiled faintly, sensing Bishop Eric's speech nearing its end.

*It's about time...*

She mused inwardly, shooting a meaningful glance at a certain viscount in the front row.

The middle-aged viscount stood at the forefront, his round belly straining his coat buttons, yellowed teeth visible beneath neatly groomed mustaches.

When Hecate's gaze lightly settled upon him, the viscount suddenly felt a tickle in his throat—his nicotine craving crashed over him like a tidal wave without warning, compelling him to fidget with his fingertips and instinctively reach for the pipe, tobacco, and matches in his pocket.

So itchy, his throat was so itchy, so unbearable...

He felt utterly restless. If only... if only he could take one drag of tobacco...

The moment this thought surfaced, it startled even the viscount himself. Smoking a pipe during Harvest Season's opening ceremony, right before the statue of the Nature Sculptor—how blasphemous would that be!

Yet nicotine cravings were like thirst—unless satisfied, they would never subside.

The viscount's eyes gradually lost focus, and before he knew it, cold sweat had soaked his expensive silk shirt. Nervously, anxiously, he picked at his cuticles, his mind fogged with one desperate thought:

No, just one puff... just one... would make him feel so much better!

If he could just take one quick puff away from prying eyes, no one would notice!

It wouldn’t undo his reputation for piety and dignity!

Thinking this, the viscount furtively glanced around, then bent slightly, fumbling to pull out the matches from his pocket. His hands trembled as he struck one.

The spark ignited—then a sudden, violent force knocked into his arm, sending the match flying from his grip. It landed precisely on the round platform.

If time froze at this moment, one could see—

The viscount’s dawning realization and horror, as if waking from a dream;

The flames erupting instantly, nourished by the alcohol;

And the white-haired bishop, still delivering his speech, oblivious.

Unknowingly, each person had fulfilled a tiny part of Hecate’s plan, linking together into an interlocking chain. Under the gods’ witness, the most absurd drama unfolded.

"We gather here to give thanks to nature..."

Bishop Eric’s voice continued.

Fueled by the wind, the flames spread rapidly across the alcohol-soaked surface, forming a blazing ring.

Before the onlookers below could react, the fire surged like a fiery demon’s hand reaching from the earth, engulfing the bishop’s frail frame in its grasp.

The crowd fell silent for a moment—until someone shouted in terror, "Put out the fire!"

Only Hecate kept smiling, her grin even widening.

The plan was proceeding unusually smoothly—so much so that even she found it hard to believe. The farm girl who had recently arrived at the estate, evading her "propagation," and the inexplicably lingering top-ranked Fate Domain user... None of these wild cards had appeared.

Perhaps today, even fate was on her side.

The only regret was that Hecate had originally envisioned her own son igniting the flames, pushing the sacrificial rite to its climax, shattering Ernos’ heart to its core—leaving her daughter utterly isolated, with no choice but to rely on and obey her mother...

Still, this minor setback remained within her tolerance. She could simply select a few vulnerable minds from the chaotic crowd after the bishop burned to achieve the same end.

—Sooner or later, the fire was destined to arrive.

Hecate lifted her eyes to the bishop, using her gaze as a conduit for the emerald-hued sparks to multiply rapidly within him.

Mere flames, of course, could not kill a mid-tier Ability User of the "Remolding" Domain. But she could leverage her divinity to instantly freeze the bishop’s resistance and movement.

In her years in hiding, Hecate had never dared tamper with the clergy, fearing divine attention.

Only today—she *wanted* to enrage the Nature Sculptor, then steal the wrath He unleashed!

Believing her scheme near completion, Hecate was about to smile in triumph—when she realized the "bishop" figure on stage was still mechanically repeating:

"We gather here to give thanks—give thanks—"

With a crack, the "bishop’s" body split apart like a sculpture shattered by flames, revealing a slender serpent coiled in its chest cavity—and a hollow interior filled with an extravagant bouquet.

The crowd gasped as fire seeped through the cracks, igniting the delicate Irises. The petals twisted in the blaze, transforming into dazzling streaks of light that shot skyward, bursting into beautiful fireworks.

Even in broad daylight, these "Remolding"-forged fireworks were vivid enough—dappled, multicolored sparks weaving and reforming in the air, until they coalesced into a clear message across the heavens:

"Let us all praise nature!"

The handwriting belonged to a certain mysterious prophet—sinuous and serpentine, with a lopsided smiley face at the end, as if mocking Hecate.

After a stunned silence, the crowd erupted in joyous cheers, raising their arms in unison: "Praise nature!"

Crack, crack...

—It was not just the sound of the "bishop’s" imitation sculpture breaking apart. It was also the sound of Hecate’s smile shattering completely.