"Artist?"
The Human Emperor furrowed his brow instinctively.
He hadn't heard that name in a long time, but he remembered the organization clearly enough—once, they had caused an enormous stir throughout the entire continent.
Back then, they were a rogue group of lunatics obsessed with forbidden technology and godly remains. Their twisted experiments nearly tore through the balance of the world. In response, the ten great races had banded together, and under that unified front, the Artists had been completely eradicated—or so it had seemed.
And yet now, at the cusp of the Millennium Apocalypse, they had resurfaced again?
It didn't make sense.
What baffled the Human Emperor most was this: how had these maniacs gotten their hands on a god's corpse?
The ten great races had jointly sealed and stored all godly remains long ago. Every trace of those ancient entities had been catalogued, secured, and hidden from public reach.
