Chapter Sixteen: Faith

Beneath the altar, as Krimm let out a thunderous roar, the surrounding scene instantly froze. Time itself seemed to halt, motionless and unmoving.

But Krimm paid no heed to this. He rushed up the altar, staring blankly at the two skeletons, his eyes brimming with grief and confusion.

The moment he set foot on the altar, the scene around him changed.

The high priest clutching his staff, the guards gradually closing in, the thousands of tribesmen below, and all the flowers, trees, birds, insects, and snakes in the forest—everything slowly transformed into streams of wind-blown sand, fading away with the breeze. In the end, only the two skeletons and Krimm remained upon the stage.

Krimm stared, dumbfounded. Beneath him, the two skeletons too began to weather away, turning into pure sand that slipped through his fingers. Somewhere in the depths of his senses, he seemed to feel the gentle touch of two familiar souls, gliding past his body.

“How does it feel?” Suddenly, a voice rang out. Krimm jerked his head up and saw a figure before him.

It was a radiant being, its form glowing with light, its features obscured, exuding an awe-inspiring majesty that made one tremble—a presence as dazzling as the sun itself.

“Are you… a god?” Faced with such splendor and the miraculous events just now, Krimm was stunned, asking in a daze.

“Indeed,” the figure replied with a gentle smile, radiating warmth. “Would you be willing to devote your faith to me?”

Krimm was taken aback, hardly daring to believe it. He didn’t know how powerful this deity before him truly was, but the feats just performed—restoring the past, bringing him back in time, even reversing his aging—were already beyond comprehension.

That such a mighty god would even need the faith of others—it was hard for him to fathom.

Yet, despite the disbelief in his heart, he did not hesitate. He knelt immediately, declaring, “I am willing.”

Chen Ming nodded. As soon as Krimm’s words fell, a thread of faith was established between them. Because of the wonders just shown, his devotion was especially sincere, which pleased Chen Ming greatly.

Of course, with his current abilities, Chen Ming could never truly reverse time or restore youth. He could perform such feats only because this all took place in the sea of consciousness. Within that domain, to manipulate the mind and, using the divine spark, forcibly reconstruct a world from memory was hardly a challenge.

But he said nothing of this. He merely nodded to Krimm. “I am Adis, the God of Nature.”

With that, the entire scene dissolved into a shaft of light, fading into nothing. Krimm felt a surge of warmth propel him outward.

Back in the real world, Krimm’s long-shut eyes snapped open. He quickly looked around him.

“I’ve returned, then?” he murmured to himself, a strange melancholy in his heart.

“My god, Adis.” He silently called out the deity’s name in his mind. Instantly, a divine power descended, slowly enveloping him. He felt a warmth and comfort he had never known, and his prayers became even more devout.

In the distance, Chen Ming watched Krimm praying quietly, exhaled softly, and then let his spirit drift away, heading toward another part of the land.

This was a secluded place, rarely visited, cut off as if by some invisible barrier from the surrounding dwellings, though many lived here.

It was the refuge for the wounded and the sick.

In a tribe of ten thousand souls, there were always many who fell ill each year. In a world without medicine, people were often helpless against disease, left to live or die as fate decreed. Over time, all such unfortunates ended up here.

The wounded from hunts and battles, too—unless they held high status—were mostly sent to this place.

Chen Ming looked up and saw a heavy pall of resentment and death hanging over the area, refusing to disperse.

He smiled, ignoring these baleful energies, and strode inside, only pausing when he saw people lying on the ground.

Most who ended up here were gravely ill or wounded—doomed in the eyes of the tribe. Sometimes they were denied even proper food, let alone decent shelter. As Chen Ming walked, he even saw some lying on the bare ground with only a thin mat of grass for warmth.

He sighed and looked down at a young man.

The youth was gaunt, his chest slashed by a great wound that ran from side to side. He lay pale and bloodless atop a grass mat, shivering in the cold night air, covered only by a thin layer of grass.

Chen Ming’s eyes softened with pity. A wisp of divine power flashed from his hand, entering the young man’s mind.

The youth was not quite asleep—pain and hunger had left his mind clouded.

As Chen Ming’s power swept over him, he seemed to fall into a vast dream, in which a mighty god descended and bestowed divine energy. The youth felt himself grow light, wrapped in an endless warmth that washed away every trace of pain.

Chen Ming smiled and moved on, repeating the miracle for each person he passed, sowing warmth and banishing sickness.

There were maybe a few hundred souls in this place. Walking among them, Chen Ming finished his work in no time at all.

When he was done, he looked up at the sky.

Above, the black miasma of resentment and death was gradually driven away by a shaft of divine light.

The next morning, those here were astonished to find their wounds and illnesses much improved. At the same time, each of them had dreamed the previous night of an immense god in the form of a primordial tree, towering to the sky, which stirred a fervor in their hearts.

“My god, you are Adis, Lord of Nature, god of all things…”

A young man prayed silently, and as he did, a gentle warmth enveloped him, easing his pain. He felt, as if from afar, a profound and kindly gaze resting upon him.

A silent emotion welled up in his heart. Had Chen Ming been present, he would have seen the thread of faith above the youth’s head suddenly thicken, becoming one of true devotion.

There were many such cases. Everyone here was, in some sense, abandoned—left to live or die on their own. They had no one, young and old alike, barely scraping by, lost in despair.

Now, Chen Ming had planted a seed of faith among them, and in no time it had taken root and flourished—so quickly that even Chen Ming was amazed.

That night, as Chen Ming surveyed the place, he was astonished by the change. The scene was familiar, but the atmosphere was utterly transformed. The resentment of the previous night had vanished, replaced by a field of pure white faith, faint, but already taking shape.

Within this field, Chen Ming found that the people had gathered of their own accord, praying together to him.

“My god, you are the Lord of Nature.”
“My god, you are the incarnation of all things.”
“My god, you are the omnipotent one.”

With each vow, the prayers coalesced into a vast power of faith, flowing continuously into Chen Ming.

Watching this scene, feeling the surge of new divine power within, Chen Ming smiled and focused his thoughts.

A shaft of light gathered in the center of the clearing, shimmering with starlight, and fell upon the crowd.

Each time the starlight touched a person, it burst forth with divine radiance, enveloping their bodies.

Bathed in the starlight, all felt a constant surge of power transforming them. Some aged followers even sensed their wrinkled skin smoothing, their bodies growing younger.

This sudden miracle sent the crowd into a frenzy of devotion. Bathed in the glow of the setting sun, Chen Ming quietly absorbed the power of faith, strengthening himself, while those around him prayed in reverent silence.