A pitch-black temple hovered in space, guarded by a squadron of silver warships. Nearly a thousand kilometers beneath the temple was the largest ocean on the Third Star of the Thirteen Connected Stars. Several massive armed platforms floated on the sea surface, their firepower sufficient to instantly turn the space near the temple into a dead zone.

Poppibi, along with many high-ranking officials of the Gods' Alliance, poured out of the warships and strode into the dark, unlit temple.

The interior of the temple was adorned with obsidian glaze from volcanic eruptions, and all the high officials of the Gods' Alliance navigated the winding corridors swiftly, like bats. What looked modest from the outside spanned over a hundred kilometers within. After passing through layers of magic arrays, wicked mechanical traps, and dozens of authentication systems that perfectly combined magic and science, Poppibi and his group finally arrived at the temple’s core—the Hall of Gods.

Unlike the chaotic mix found in the Pantheon of the Romans, the Hall of Gods of the Gods' Alliance was magnificent and grand, housing only a sparse collection of over one hundred statues. Every deity enshrined was a tremendously powerful figure from Earth's myths and legends, a principal god holding significant status within their respective pantheons. For instance, Zeus, who commanded the power of thunder, stood alongside Thor, the Norse god of thunder; Hades, the Lord of the Underworld, leaned shoulder-to-shoulder with Anubis from ancient Egyptian mythology; and Apollo stood laughing opposite Ra, hand-in-hand.

Around a massive round table, the leaders of the one hundred and thirty-nine temples of the Gods' Alliance were seated casually, without regard for rank or status.

After everyone, including Poppibi, had sat down, he slammed a fist onto the black stone circular table rumored to be several thousand years old. He roared in a low voice, "Brothers, we have been insulted today!"

All the temple leaders simultaneously let out a low growl of anger.

"The one who insulted us was not that detestable Gu Wuchen. Rather, our Chief Financial Officer, Black Jack, insulted him. Black Jack has won us honor and respect," Poppibi rasped. "I propose that Black Jack be granted greater authority and stronger power. I propose he become the Minister of Internal Affairs of the Gods' Federation, responsible for all budgetary matters, financial investments, tax collection, and all related tasks. With his capability, and with his inherently miserly nature, we need never worry about a single copper coin being wasted!"

The temple leaders burst into knowing laughter. Black Jack's stinginess was already infamous throughout the Gods' Federation; his direct superior, Hekoms, had several times stormed out of his office with a darkened expression.

Poppibi’s proposal was unanimously approved, and everyone cheered for Black Jack, the miser, to become the chief steward of the Gods' Federation.

Nodding with satisfaction, Poppibi violently pounded the round table before him and roared, "Then, we must discuss the most crucial agenda item today. Our current allies, those who conspired with us to divide the Earth Federation, have treated us rudely. They drove us out like rats kicking out an old dog, and several of our brothers were severely wounded!"

Several temple elders, heavily burned by Holy Flame, emerged furiously from the surrounding darkness, displaying their horrific wounds to all the temple leaders.

The leaders began cursing the ancestors of Andre and the Church Bishops, greeting all of Andre’s direct and collateral female relatives with a torrent of vile obscenities. After venting his fury to the best of his ability, Poppibi, panting slightly, proposed, "So, what we previously discussed..."

A chief priest of the Sun Temple froze, muttering hesitantly, "Isn't that a bit inhumane?"

Another chief priest from the God of War Temple frowned. "Setting aside humanity, it lacks any warrior spirit."

All the temple leaders turned their eyes to Poppibi. A black-robed mage serving Anubis spoke ambiguously, "The Church insulted us, which means they insulted our gods. However, dear Archbishop Poppibi, we should let you make the final decision on this matter. You know, discretion is paramount."

Several black-robed priests whose lords were the three Gods of Destruction managed a dry laugh. "Of course, we don't mind that kind of thing, but this could provoke a full-scale attack from the Romans on us."

Poppibi stared coldly at these 'brothers,' sneering, "You don't object?"

All the leaders nodded simultaneously. "We truly do not object, but we won't say we approve of your course of action either."

Seemingly sensing Poppibi's darkening mood, several temple leaders sighed deeply. "Lord Poppibi, confidentiality is the most important thing. If you succeed, without a doubt, you will become the supreme leader for all of us. We will obey your commands as we serve the gods, and we will submit to your will, just as we submit to the will of God."

Poppibi ground his teeth, rose slowly, and nodded once. Then, Poppibi slowly vanished in a plume of black shadow.

A large contingent of temple guards surged into the Hall of Gods from all directions, driving countless captured Romans and Spirit Race members from the recent wars into a corridor beneath the hall.

The Earth Federation and the Romans had been fighting for several years, during which several Roman armies had been captured intact. The Earth Federation government needed to uphold humanitarian principles so as not to give the Romans any excuse. The Church also needed to maintain its veneer of righteousness and could not be seen mistreating prisoners. All captives were handed over to the Gods' Alliance for management. Before the establishment of the Gods' Federation, these prisoners had been working in dark, sunless mines for a considerable time.

Over twenty thousand Roman warriors and one hundred and fifty thousand Spirit Race slave soldiers were driven by the ravenous temple guards into a secret cavern beneath the Hall of Gods.

Here, a statue of a silver wolf, carved entirely from silver, was enshrined. This silver wolf, one hundred meters tall, was howling at the sky, its pitch-black eyes inlaid with two strange black crystals. Black markings of unknown material branched out from these eyes, outlining complex, intricate magic array patterns across the silver wolf's surface.

Poppibi stood before the massive silver wolf statue, gazing down at the tens of thousands of restless captives, and spat out two cold words: "Blood Sacrifice... Kill them."

The black markings on the surface of the silver wolf suddenly writhed, and two beams of black light shot from its eyes, fixing upon the captives.

In the boundless Subspace, a region where time and space were subtly warped by some immense force, a star nearly a hundred billion kilometers in diameter floated amidst a hazy nebula of stardust. This enormous, dying star emitted only a thin layer of scorching red light from its surface; the vast majority of its interior was a terrifying, pitch black. Immense amounts of stardust were sucked into the star every moment, forming tens of thousands of colossal, unprecedented tornadoes around the star. These long funnels stretched hundreds of billions of kilometers into the infinite void.

The violent friction and collision of the tornadoes and stardust ignited countless bolts of lightning and flames, making this star field resemble the deepest pits of Hell, a prison meant to punish the unforgivable, saturated with destructive kinetic energy.

Dozens of planets, pitifully small compared to the giant star, were sparsely dotted across this star field, like raisins in a loaf of bread. These planets rotated slowly, but their relative positions to the star never changed. They hung silently in the infinite stardust, quietly turning.

Near one of these planets, nearly twenty million kilometers in diameter and covered everywhere with jungles, grasslands, and lakes, three enormous moons, comparable in diameter to the Sun in the Sol system, revolved rapidly around it. The surface soil of these three moons had bizarre coloring, appearing purple, blue, and pale red, respectively.

On the central, massive planet, in a valley covered by tall trees, millions of long-haired werewolves were ferociously coupling under the moonlight.

Strong, densely muscled young male werewolves excitedly embraced the females they desired, spraying their vital essence and primal urge almost madly upon them. A surge of raw vitality rushed through this vast valley. The long roars of excitement from the young werewolves, driven to their absolute limits, filled the air, mixed with the suppressed moans of the female werewolves gritting their teeth.

Tens of thousands of elderly werewolves sat upright on the cliffs surrounding the valley, watching their kin revel with delight. They seemed to see vibrant new lives already being conceived in the wombs of the female werewolves. Under the illumination of the three full moons, all eligible members of the clan were passionately engaging in procreation for the next generation—this was the Werewolf Clan's most important Lunar Mating Rite. The power of the Wolf God would reach its peak tonight; some fortunate ones would receive the Wolf God’s blessing and attain divine strength. Tonight, on this planet belonging to the noble and proud werewolves, such coupling ceremonies were taking place in thousands of giant valleys simultaneously.

The eligible youths of the Gold Wolf, Silver Wolf, and Moon Wolf clans, all seven great clans, would conceive descendants this very night.

This was also the final stage of the Wolf Clan’s most significant Coming-of-Age Grand Festival, held once every three years. Only the youths who had passed the Wolf God's test and successfully hunted their own formidable prey were qualified to claim their mates in this sacred ritual. The weak, the inept failures, would not appear at such a grand ceremony; they were unworthy of possessing a female, and even less worthy of propagating the next generation.

The Wolf Clan was a powerful warrior race that adhered strictly to the doctrine of strength above all else.

In the depths of another valley where a mating ceremony was also underway, within an ancient cave, seven elderly werewolves—their fur no matter the original color now all faded to ash-white—sat clustered around a pile of smoldering, murky-green fire, quietly watching the visions manifesting in the green smoke rising from the bonfire.

A hulking brute, standing six meters tall, sat beside the fire, holding a wolf head carved from what looked like crystal, vaguely luminous, obscuring its exact form. He muttered incantations to the sickly fire in a low, garbled voice.

As the brute chanted, the image slowly materialized in the column of green smoke, showing the scene occurring on the purple moon.

It was a breathtakingly beautiful planet, whose soil and rocks shimmered with a crystal-like luster. As light and shadow shifted within the green smoke, the group's vision penetrated deep underground, where they saw the planet’s core. It was an incredibly magnificent space; within viscous, purple crystalline fluid, a giant wolf, perhaps ten thousand miles long, was curled into a ball. This behemoth was robust and handsome, its contours flawless. It breathed softly, each exhalation causing violent tremors in the surrounding crystal liquid.

The hulking brute smiled with satisfaction, lowering his voice to the most devout whisper. "The mission commanded by the Great Wolf God is nearly complete. The esteemed Son of God has been successfully conceived. At most, within three lunar cycles, our Purple Wolf Son will be born from his mother. The Great Werewolf Clan will gain another lineage: the Purple Wolves!"

An elderly werewolf chuckled. "Three lunar cycles? Have the beautiful virgins been prepared for the Great Son of God? How fortunate they are! The children they bear will become the progenitors of the Purple Wolf lineage. They will become the mother goddesses worshipped by the Purple Wolf Clan. They... are so very lucky."

The hulking brute nodded. "They are lucky, which is why there can be no mistakes. Only the most perfect virgins are granted the fortune to serve the Son of God. The most perfect ones!"

The seven elders exchanged glances and nodded, smiling. "Of course, the most perfect, without the slightest flaw."

One elder’s eyes glimmered faintly with silver light, and he added flirtatiously, "However, it seems the maidens of the Gold Wolf Clan are taking the lead again among those offered to the Son of God this time. Heh heh, among our seven great clans, the beauty of the Gold Wolf maidens is certainly the most captivating!"

The elder whose eyes flickered with gold light threw back his head and laughed proudly at the sky. "Only within our own clan are their charms considered alluring... If you really speak of the most tempting among our many brother races, tsk tsk, it has to be those slutty foxes!"

Even the hulking brute couldn't help but stick out his long tongue and lick his nose. The few old reprobates laughed 'hee-hee-hee,' lowering their voices as they began discussing which foxkin family had the most charming daughters, which one had the best curves, and which one had the softest skin.

As they talked, these old lechers began drooling onto the ground. The hulking brute excitedly reached down below, chuckling softly, "After this Mating Rite, I'll treat everyone to a trip to the territory of those sluts. Hey, I really miss their Clan Leader... that slutty fox, after all these years, only I can keep her in check!"

The seven old wolves chuckled again. One old wolf, whose eyes faintly glowed blue, frowned and nervously patted his waist pouch, grumbling softly, "However, a trip there is quite costly. Ah, but it’s worth the price. This time I plan to buy a hundred foxkin virgins. My own children are a bit slow-witted; let them give birth to some descendants with foxkin blood, perhaps that will raise our clan’s IQ a little."

While they were joking, the old wolf whose eyes shone silver suddenly stiffened. He raised his voice in alarm, exclaiming, "Someone is using our Silver Wolf Clan's Blood Sacrifice Ritual... Someone is trying to communicate directly with my soul! Who is it? Hmph, an outsider, an outsider how can they learn my clan's secret arts? Damn it... How audacious! What kind of thing dares to communicate with me directly?"

The enraged old wolf stood up, mumbled a few incantations, and his body shuddered, suddenly falling rigid.

"The Milky Way? ... The Sol System? ... The Earth Federation? ... The Curse Temple of the Gods' Alliance? ... Ganglu's inheritance?..."

The old wolf’s face grew increasingly ferocious. Suddenly, he spat out a mouthful of blood, leaped up hundreds of meters high in utter fury, and howled madly: "My son, my Ganglu, he was killed! He was not killed in an honorable duel; he was treacherously murdered by a trap! A noble Wolf Prince, he was assassinated!"

Everyone around the bonfire, including the hulking brute, immediately jumped up, roaring madly: "Revenge... Murder? Shameless murder! Only blood can wash away such disgrace!"

A group of werewolves roared madly, pacing frantically around the bonfire, their low growls sending chilling curses into the air.

The hulking brute was the first to calm down. He roared, "Quiet... My kin, the seven wisest patriarchs of our clan... Quiet!"

The seven old werewolves returned to the bonfire, seating themselves as if nothing had happened, each watching the hulking brute intently.

"Ganglu was exiled; his crime did not warrant death!" The hulking brute sneered. "But he was murdered! A prince of our clan has been assassinated! This is a provocation to all subjects of the Wolf God, and we must react. Retaliation, we must retaliate against those who dared!"

"Yes! We must retaliate!" The eyes of the seven old wolves spun rapidly as they calculated the potential gains and risks involved.

The place where Ganglu was exiled was a legendary demon land where the ancestors of all races had once been routed and forced to flee in defeat when facing a powerful enemy. That place held terrible foes.

But the fact that a sect of believers devoted to the Gods survived there proved there was potential for development. Although it could never be as perfect as the homeland of the werewolves, still...

"Plundering a batch of slaves and females is permissible!" one old wolf sneered. "The price for alien females has been very high in the market lately. Some rare alien females can fetch the price of a hundred foxkin maidens, or one hundred Minotaur virgins."

"We aren't interested in the Minotaurs, but the foxkin are good," another old wolf frowned. "But we must welcome the birth of the Son of God. The Clan Leader, the elders, and I cannot leave this place. If the Son of God feels we have not shown him respect, we will be in grave trouble!"

The hulking brute clapped his hands and frowned. "Ganglu was a philanderer. Though he was a noble prince, his strength was negligible. But he is still a Prince of our race; we must retaliate, avenge him. Taking so long to kill him suggests his enemies are not overwhelmingly powerful; we don't need to deploy our highest-ranking figures."

Ganglu's father, the old patriarch of the Silver Wolf Clan, held up one finger. "Let each clan dispatch one general to lead three thousand elite warriors there. They will kill the one who murdered my child, survey the local resources, and plunder a batch of slaves and women on the way back. What do you all think?"

The hulking brute nodded. "Let it be so... Remember, they must be elite warriors; don't try to fool us with softlings!"

The seven elders instantly agreed, each transforming into a streak of afterimage and rushing out of the cave.