Around these two peaks, numerous revelations have unfolded—overall, this part is solid, helping to shape the world’s framework and establish a more coherent structure. With this foundation in place, in the seventh volume I can smoothly present long-buried information and clues about the ancient deities and outer gods, weaving a complete narrative of the early solar dynasty. A family, in this sense, seems especially grounded and warm. Speaking of warmth and humanity, it’s hard to avoid addressing the recurring criticisms from many readers regarding the wars and the concept of "justice." Only when I began writing about the martial arts path did I truly develop a personal writing methodology—though at the time, many aspects remained somewhat vague. It wasn’t until I started exploring the realm of the mysterious and accumulated practical experiments and insights that these ideas gradually clarified and matured, allowing me to refine and expand upon them further. For me, the most fundamental and essential aspect of writing—right from the beginning—is simply the word: expression. What I want to express, what I want to convey—that is the crucial consideration before I begin writing. Around this core, I then make narrative choices, ensuring the focus remains sharp and doesn’t drift. In simple terms, this can be described with a word we all deeply resent: the central theme. So, what do I wish to express in Book Six? First, the powerful impact created by two climactic peaks. Second, the human sense of smallness and helplessness before the presence of the divine. Third, even if as small as a moth, the relentless pursuit of light. The second point is not unique to Book Six—it is inherent in both the K-type and related K-type worldviews, the fear of the unknown, the sense of smallness before that unknown—and this theme is also directly connected to Book Two’s motif of straw. Therefore, even before writing Book Six, and in fact even before writing Book Five, I have been carefully crafting narrative elements that will effectively carry and deliver these ideas directly into readers’ hearts. If I were to elaborate on the war, the focus would shift toward extraordinary abilities, battleships, machine guns, and cannons—something fresh, and I could incorporate themes like sacrifice, passion, the brutality of war, and deeper existential elements. Yet this would slightly diverge from what I intend to convey, because once one steps onto the battlefield, the meaning and reasons for life and survival become clearly evident—there’s no sense of being lost in either life or death. Similarly, my narrative has consistently centered on extraordinary battles, and by the sixth volume, even the unveiling of the Angel King and divine beings begins. If I now expand it into a comprehensive, human-scale war, not only would the tone clash, but the narrative would feel awkward and inconsistent. Given this, I had long ago decided not to dwell extensively on the war itself, but instead to focus on ordinary individuals within it—deliberately blurring their faces, never naming them. This is the second instance of the "faceless" approach, serving to convey a sense of abundance and collective presence, while mitigating the associated pain and sorrow, emphasizing instead a sense of bewilderment, numbness, and uncertainty. The only characters with clear names and identities are the landlord couple; their section deepens the sense of anguish and discomfort. Without them, Audrey’s decision to kneel and kiss her parents would have lacked sufficient emotional weight. Originally, Audrey didn't need to appear so frequently in charitable activities. To emphasize that sense of numbness, stiffness, pain, and bewilderment, I deliberately repeated those passages several times, which resulted in a somewhat monotonous and repetitive portrayal of her inner changes—lacking in depth and variety. However, in her two subsequent conversations with Caine—each marked by a different reason for confusion, followed by decisive actions and subsequent maneuvers—I don't find any issues: they are neither sluggish nor redundant, and they effectively convey internal contradictions and corresponding narrative tension. In essence, I've woven together Audrey's accumulation of inner strength, her personal growth, and the human sense of fragility into a single narrative thread. As a result, at times when I write about her, the true focus ends up not being on her—making her feel a bit like a supporting character at times. This, I suppose, is an inherent responsibility and sacrifice expected of a storyteller. I've sighed about it, yet I'm deeply grateful for everyone's patience and support. The demand for the series remained steady, barely dipping below 53,000, which allowed me to write with calm confidence and gradually unfold the messages I wanted to convey. Finally, in the Battle of Beckettland, shifting the perspective to Audrey serves two purposes: it reflects the evolving dynamics of the divine war, and it brings together all the elements I've previously laid out. When this audience member walks through the streets and alleys, returns home, and sees the common people, the nobility, and even himself—this half-god—each of them equally bewildered and numb, exclaiming spontaneously with a sense of wonder that "death is unknown to me, and life, even more so," I feel the narrative has not been in vain. The plot that once seemed to drift upward now finds its grounding in the earth—solid, heavy, steady, and well-anchored. This is exactly what I hoped for. Moreover, this structure naturally creates a threefold emotional progression: starting with Audrey’s line—her sense of confusion, smallness, and sorrow—then moving to Bernard’s journey—his pursuit, determination, and unwavering resolve even in the darkest, most hopeless circumstances—and finally culminating in the Silver City’s centuries-long struggle in darkness, only to finally open the door, glimpse the light, and discover the very concept of hope. For this reason, the imperial storyline, originally intended for the sixth volume, has been postponed to the seventh. Well, these three emotional developments could also be arranged in reverse, which would make the situation extremely despairing—contradicting the theme of "those who pursue the light." Regarding the death of the Chief, since the earlier death of Lovie had already established a sense of sorrow, I didn't repeat my expressions of grief or add further emotional flourishes. Instead, I portrayed his condition with restraint, allowing the corresponding pain to remain deeper and more subdued, so that the light remained central, with emotions of regret, release, and hope guiding the tone. One issue in Book Six is that there are too many battles, some of them quite dense, with insufficient moments of respite in between, which can lead to reader fatigue—something that Book Seven needs to address carefully. Moreover, without writing about war, we lose the opportunity to unfold the entire world, making the story's setting feel narrow—yet this was exactly what I anticipated. With twenty-two paths, stories from different countries, numerous deities and angels, if each were fully developed and required small K to travel across the entire map, the narrative would become overly cumbersome and heavy, with each location only briefly touched upon. It would be better simply to omit them altogether. Therefore, despite having carefully detailed the conditions of places like Intis and Feneport, I never proceeded to expand on them. My colleague, who is five feet five inches tall, can attest to this. During the period of mysterious preparations, when she asked me how I was outlining the plot, I simply copied over a portion of the Intis setting for her—what should have been a fairly detailed version. This was something I determined right from the beginning, before even starting the book—make minimal map movements, focus deeply and meticulously on crafting the distinct atmosphere of a nation, subtly highlighting characteristics of other nations and pathways, thereby fully outlining the world's framework and setting. That way, the book would fulfill its own mission. You can probably sense that I'm writing with intention and restraint. As for the development of other nations and pathways, I originally intended to solve this through a clever, indirect approach: within this established world, write a second, and even a third volume, bringing into play previously underutilized elements such as Indis, Feneport, various secret organizations, and the Western Continent—expanding and refining the entire world of Xigu through fresh perspectives and new angles. I've even already conceived of several stories that I might write or possibly abandon—such as one of the old clan's members secretly infiltrating to sabotage a project, only to suffer an unforeseen accident, lose their memory, and be taken in by the god of knowledge and wisdom, who then becomes deeply absorbed in textbooks and exams. Or perhaps a hunter who, under the guidance of Saint Daniz, learns to endure the emotional strain of gently licking his package of Anderson's food while engaging in strategic battles with the Red Angel—there are so many such possibilities. These might well become the central narrative threads of the second volume. As for the third volume, it will likely unfold on the Western Continent, featuring an Eastern-style enigmatic and subtle atmosphere. I've been observing your efforts to develop the "Primordial" storyline with a calm, smiling demeanor. Of course, while I've established the foundational framework for the Western Continent's power system, I haven't yet refined its specific details. Well, the third one might not happen yet—right now, I can only commit to the second. And it won’t be the next book I write immediately. I’d like to switch genres, refresh my mood, and explore something different. I’ve already gathered plenty of inspiration and have two solid, interesting ideas—one more grounded, the other leaning toward fantasy. I’m still undecided between them and haven’t made a final choice. I’ll wait until the current mysterious storyline is complete to make a more detailed decision and begin gathering materials.