Looking at this black electronic telescope, I couldn't help but be speechless.

Earlier, I had heard about how much effort Zhu Shi had put in behind the scenes for me, only for Patrol Lu to bypass everything effortlessly.

Honestly, I did have some complaints about Patrol Lu.

Of course, I was fully aware that he was just fulfilling his duties and that there was nothing inherently wrong with him.

This was purely my personal feelings at play.

But now, seeing this object, those emotions were instantly dispelled, replaced instead by speechlessness towards both Patrol Lu and Zhu Shi.

Patrol Lu, after all, was a demon hunter proficient in various divination and investigation spells, yet in the end, it was an electronic telescope that allowed him to uncover my secret.

The irony was truly staggering, and Zhu Shi, after taking so many precautions—preventing the reading of land memories, warding against divination spells—ended up overlooking such a mundane object.

I couldn’t really blame them either because, honestly, I had never considered that something like a telescope would come into play here.

“So… while we were fighting, you were watching us from afar with this thing?” I asked.

“Yes. It was my duty. I hope you don’t mind,” Patrol Lu said with a faint, humorous smile.

Then he added, “And please don’t blame Zhu Shi for being negligent. It’s not that she doesn’t understand modern technology; it’s that she has a stereotypical view of Transcendentalists, believing that we despise modern technology. There are indeed many among us who do, but that’s just their ignorance. It’s not something you can generalize.”

“Transcendentalists?”

“Zhu Shi must have described the faction I belong to,” he said.

“Transcendentalism is a general term for our ideology. The group I belong to is also referred to as the Transcendentalist Faction.”

“You once referred to demon hunters as cultivators. Is that also part of Transcendentalist terminology?” I asked.

“Precisely.” He paused thoughtfully before continuing, “Zhuang Cheng, when you first encountered demon hunters, did you ever wonder why Mount Luo referred to people with supernatural abilities collectively as Demon Hunters?”

This was indeed a question I had pondered before.

If it were simply about possessing special powers, the term supernatural ability user would be far more fitting.

The term Demon Hunter carries an active implication.

If someone’s powers have nothing to do with combat, and they have neither the will nor the experience to fight supernatural entities, referring to them as a Demon Hunter would clearly be inaccurate.

Mount Luo would even refer to those who use their abilities for malicious purposes as Fallen Demon Hunters, rather than using a term that more accurately reflects their actions.

If I had awakened my powers at fourteen and immediately begun causing trouble, I would have also been labeled as a Fallen Demon Hunter—even though I had never been a Demon Hunter in the first place.

I could only draw one conclusion from this.

“It’s about defining identity, isn’t it?” I said.

“Exactly.” Patrol Lu nodded in agreement.

When children are young, some might give unpleasant nicknames to peers they dislike and rally others to use them.

While this is undoubtedly childish behavior, in the adult world, "giving names" also carries considerable power.

Naming something is, in essence, an act of authority and an act of defining identity.

By giving a serious subject a comical name, its seriousness is diminished—and vice versa.

This phenomenon is quite common in real life.

If someone with the power to hunt supernatural creatures is called a Demon Hunter, those around them will gradually come to believe that hunting supernatural creatures is a natural and unquestionable duty for this person.

Even if the individual has neither the intention nor the experience to hunt supernatural creatures, society will assume that since they are called a Demon Hunter, they are inherently obligated to shoulder that responsibility.

Even the individual themselves might unconsciously adopt this mindset, feeling guilty for not fulfilling this supposed duty or resigning themselves to the belief that they are simply selfish.

In reality, whether someone has the power to fight and whether they should engage in combat are two entirely separate matters.

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There’s no reason for such a person to feel ashamed or selfish—it’s an ideology imposed upon them after the fact.

Even those whose abilities are inherently unsuitable for combat might still find themselves drawn into this defining narrative, under the assumption that they can at least play a supportive role from the rear lines.

This phenomenon reminded me of the occult knowledge I’ve encountered in the past.

In the world of the occult, names have power.

The correct name can even determine a person’s fate.

Even if we consider it solely from a psychological perspective, the term Demon Hunter undoubtedly exerts a force of fate on this group.

But it’s not in a mystical sense—it’s in an ideological sense.

This isn’t to say that the occult is using psychology to mystify itself.

In ancient times, feng shui wasn’t entirely mystical either; certain legitimate principles of architecture were classified under feng shui.

Similarly, long ago, some ideological studies were also part of the domain of the occult.

But given the existence of supernatural phenomena, it wouldn’t be surprising if the act of naming actually did involve some so-called force of fate.

“Form is extremely important. Many self-proclaimed pragmatists look down on form, unaware of the profound power form has wielded throughout human history. Names establish trust, and trust upholds authority. Neither authority nor names can be casually entrusted to others.” Lu Youxun sighed before continuing, “One of the goals of Transcendentalism is to change ‘Demon Hunters’ into ‘Cultivators.’ In the future, we will no longer be a group inherently obligated to deal with supernatural threats, but rather free and powerful individuals.”

“And what about dealing with supernatural threats?” I asked.

“We’ll continue doing it,” he said.

“But this work will no longer be a matter of unquestioned obligation. Since ancient times, the state has viewed Mount Luo as an organization that must shoulder tremendous risks to handle supernatural anomalies. This mindset is distorted, and we must correct it.”

Up to this point, I didn’t find anything he said particularly objectionable.

People often say, ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ but in most cases, the ‘power’ in question refers to social power.

An individual who gains power with the support of a collective has an obligation to safeguard that collective.

However, when this principle is rigidly applied to Demon Hunters—these extraordinary individuals—numerous contradictions arise.

The problem lies in what came next.

“So, in return for handling supernatural threats, Transcendentalists believe they should become this country’s gods?” I asked.

“If we are to bear the responsibility, then shouldn’t we also be granted the corresponding authority? Isn’t that reasonable?” Patrol Lu countered.

"I don't know whether the responsibility of fighting supernatural threats is truly equivalent to the power to dominate ordinary people. I lack knowledge in that area. But if this idea is really so reasonable, then why didn’t Mount Luo ever do it in history?" I deliberately said, "There must be some crucial reason behind it, right?"

"There’s no reason," he replied without hesitation.

"The reason Mount Luo never chose to rule humanity in the past is simply because they ‘never thought of it.’ I’m not saying they were foolish or mad, but rather that some external force prevented them from even considering such a possibility.

"Perhaps it was a kind of collective hypnosis, or maybe it was some other inexplicable phenomenon. Whatever it was, that force was incredibly powerful. Even the Great Wuchang of past generations were influenced by it, to the extent that they defined us—what should have been ‘Cultivators’—as ‘Demon Hunters’.

They forbade us from revealing our existence to the secular world and from stepping onto the grand stage of history.

And strangely, none of us ever questioned these commands.

This continued all the way to the present era.

"But now, that force has dissipated. We should reclaim our rightful titles and return to our proper place."

"If that’s the case, then why haven’t you acted yet?" I asked.

"According to Zhu Shi, that force dissipated as early as three years ago, yet you still haven’t exerted your influence on society. Why is that?"

I had asked Zhu Shi a similar question before.

She had blamed it on ‘internal divisions within Mount Luo,’ but I felt that explanation was insufficient.

Besides, Zhu Shi didn’t seem like someone particularly concerned with the political dynamics of Mount Luo.

She was likely unaware of many details.

Patrol Lu, on the other hand, was entirely different.

He was clearly someone who cared deeply about ideology and factions.

He stood on a completely different side from Zhu Shi, offering a different perspective and insights into matters she couldn’t see.

I wasn’t particularly interested in ideology or factions, but mysteries—those intrigued me.

Patrol Lu spoke in a low voice: "Because we are wary of the Divine Seal."

Divine Seal?

Hearing that name sent a shiver down my spine.

"What is the Divine Seal?" I asked immediately.

"It’s a term used by a small group within Mount Luo to refer to the source of that force," Patrol Lu explained.

"There are many theories about the force that prevented Mount Luo from stepping onto the stage of history.

One of the lesser-known hypotheses suggests that somewhere in this world exists an artifact called the Divine Seal, capable of granting any wish.

"According to this hypothesis, long ago, a human came into possession of the Divine Seal.

For reasons unknown, they made a wish upon it.

"The effects of that wish rippled across the world, making ordinary humans the protagonists of history while forcing Cultivators like us to retreat into the shadows, operating in secrecy."

I instinctively touched the shard of the Divine Seal in my pocket and cautiously asked, "Do you believe in this hypothesis?"

"It’s hard for me to believe such an artifact exists.

I wouldn’t call myself well-read, but I’ve certainly studied diligently.

If such an artifact truly existed, why have I never heard of it before?" He shook his head.

"It’s just that someone higher up once mentioned this fringe hypothesis to me in passing, so I’ve adopted the term as a convenient label for that unknown force."

In other words, when he said, ‘we are wary of the Divine Seal,’ most of the ‘we’ he referred to neither believed in nor even knew about the Divine Seal.

He was simply using the term as a shorthand to describe the mysterious force.

But I knew that the Divine Seal was real.

Even a mere shard of the Divine Seal was enough to pull me, the traitorous Great Wuchang, the survivors of an apocalyptic world, and the enigmatic Subject No.1 into that unfathomable Fog Dream Realm.

A phenomenon that transcended both space and time might very well possess the power to grant any wish.

I said ‘might’ because the scale of this topic was simply too vast.

Such a phenomenon could shape the course of human history.

Could the tiny shard in my possession truly hold such divine power if made whole? I still found it hard to fully believe.

"So, Transcendentalists believe… that the master of the Divine Seal is still alive? And if Mount Luo makes any reckless moves, the master will intervene?" I asked.