"Lord Grom, I just returned from the Netherworld."
Grom's hand paused.
"The Netherworld?"
His voice rose slightly, sounding utterly incredulous.
"Indeed. I accidentally fell into the River Styx and soaked at the bottom for over half a month." Lynn took another gulp of tea.
"If I hadn't encountered a seepage point that led back to the Main World, who knew when I would've returned."
Grom was completely dumbfounded.
He had escaped from beneath the River Styx?
After living for so many years, this was the first time he had heard of such a thing.
In that place called the Netherworld, the living could not get out once they entered, and neither could the dead. Only Stigmas could survive there.
But what about Lynn? He had actually gone into the River Styx for a bath. Not only had he entered, he had come out safely.
After catching his breath, Lynn seemed to remember something and set down his teacup.
"Lord Grom, I need to take care of something. Please wait a moment."
He raised his right hand, and grayish-white light surged from his palm, spreading through the stone hall.
It was not a complete Stigmata Domain, merely part of a projection.
Lynn's figure flashed, and he vanished within it.
Grom sat in his chair, staring blankly at the light gate. He watched everything inside while still holding his teacup.
Within the projection, the Rule Net stretching across the sky made his heart pound with dread.
Was this the Myriad Phenomena Stigma?
If he was not mistaken, the threads forming that Rule Net were Rule Chains, one after another.
Then what did the "Death Rule" he had spent all these years comprehending even amount to?
Lynn stood on the black scorched earth of Death Island.
The Netherwolf King lay at the center