Chapter Seventeen: The Believer

After the ritual concluded, Chen Ming returned to his physical body and spent several uneventful days, letting the aftermath unfold naturally.

Meanwhile, in another place where Chen Ming's avatar resided, yet another ceremony was about to begin.

Since displaying divine power publicly several days prior, Bamu had become a hero revered by all. Upon learning that Chen Ming’s god required no living sacrifices, Bamu felt a great weight lifted from his heart, and immediately resolved to promote this faith throughout his tribe.

He decreed that every member of the tribe must gather nightly in the village center to worship the God of Nature. He even had an idol fashioned based on the vague impressions received through prayer, so the people could have a sacred image to venerate.

For Bamu, as long as the deity did not demand blood sacrifices from his people and brought no harm to the tribe, any conditions were open to discussion. Besides, after experiencing that vast and gentle divine power, none would lightly give up such a blessing unless absolutely necessary.

Tribes living upon the primordial earth were pragmatic and simple. This particular tribe, still young and small, had yet to establish a unified ancestral faith. Thus, as long as the supernatural was revealed, their devotion could be easily won.

Chen Ming, ever timely, ensured that so long as prayers were offered that day, the next would bring a sign: illnesses and injuries would visibly heal, bodies grew stronger, all at a pace that could not be missed. Especially on the third day, when an elder of the tribe gained insight into divine arts and displayed extraordinary power, the fire of faith within the tribe was utterly ignited.

Under such circumstances, when Chen Ming requested Bamu to build an altar in the village center and hold a grand ritual, there could be no refusal.

Now, the entire village had assembled. Even women and children, whom custom had previously excluded from worship, participated at Chen Ming’s request.

Before the gathered eyes, Bamu stepped onto the platform with an elder beside him to begin the ceremony.

This elder was the first, after Bamu, to comprehend divine arts within the tribe. Upon his awakening, Bamu appointed him High Priest to oversee the tribe’s rituals.

With a face full of piety, the elder recited the sacred words. After each phrase, the crowd below echoed him, creating a mighty resonance.

Seeing this, Chen Ming nodded in satisfaction.

To gain divine insight and wield divine arts in merely three days, especially in such a primitive and rudimentary environment for spreading faith, was truly remarkable. This proved that the elder’s affinity for Chen Ming’s divinity was exceedingly high—almost worthy of a saint.

“Alas,” he sighed inwardly.

A saint required not only deep faith and affinity with the deity, but, more importantly, an understanding of the god’s way.

Within the divine essence, there were strict hierarchies for believers.

Those who merely heard the god’s name, prayed occasionally, but neither understood nor acknowledged the god’s principles—in fact, even scorned them—were false believers.

Those who understood the god’s station and authority, prayed seriously but inconsistently, and had yet to internalize true faith, were shallow believers.

Those who recognized and understood the god’s teachings, acknowledged his authority, prayed diligently without neglect, and held a profound devotion in their hearts, were devout believers. At this level, followers might lay down their lives for their faith—save only for those rare acts that grossly violated their own moral compass.

As for zealots, they met all the above criteria and, save for a few deeds that would shatter their fundamental beliefs, would never disobey the god. These were the most fervent among the faithful; some, in their fanaticism, would not hesitate even if the god demanded they slay their own family, believing them to be demons in disguise.

Finally, saints were those who completely grasped the essence of the god and walked the same path. At this stage, there were no set forms or boundaries—each saint manifested differently. Among the saints of the same deity, some could calmly endure hearing their god blasphemed, while others would react with the madness of zealots. They were the deity’s eternal companions, undying and inseparable, the only ones to break the shackles on the path of faith, and the true treasures of a god.

Yet such followers could not be sought—they appeared only by fate. Not even a true god who had kindled the divine flame could take one for granted. Should one gain a saint, it warranted grand celebration and, at the very least, the bestowing of a holy spirit’s benediction.

Thinking of this, Chen Ming sighed softly.

The way of a god lies in accumulation, and his own foundation was still far from sufficient.

He focused his senses. Within his true spirit, a single divine essence hovered, radiant with divine brilliance, its many threads of faith—some thick, some thin—stretching outward.

Chen Ming examined them closely. There were over three thousand threads of faith, densely woven, most still in the early shallow stage; only a small portion were devout believers, the rest being false or shallow, and zealots were exceedingly rare.

He calculated quietly. The Assur tribe accounted for about a thousand followers. Though few in number, their faith was strongest—nearly half were devout. Bamu’s tribe and the people of his current body’s tribe numbered around two thousand more, but as their devotion was still new, most were only at the false or shallow stage, with very few devout believers.

“It’s almost time,” he mused, recalling the tribe where his true body resided. If he could bring that tribe under his sway, his followers would exceed ten thousand.

A congregation of ten thousand was a significant milestone for any god. For, in a sense, only with ten thousand devout believers could a divine essence be fully sustained. Whether or not a god had passed this threshold was a crucial measure of their stature.

For Chen Ming, surpassing ten thousand followers would likely shatter the next seal upon his divine essence, allowing his faithful to advance further, and his power would soar to new heights.

With that thought, Chen Ming’s mind returned to the present. The ritual was drawing to a close.

As the old priest devoutly recited the final vow, in the unseen realm, the scene transformed.

Upon the once gloomy and ominous land, a beam of light rose from the center of the altar. As the people’s prayers resounded, the light gradually expanded, driving out every lurking spirit and shade within its reach.

Around them, nature spirits drawn by the scent of blood from past battles, and even some evil ghosts formed from fallen warriors, seemed to sense something terrifying. With chilling screams, they retreated, unable to linger near the congregation.

A few defiant phantoms, faces twisted with rage, hurled themselves at the gathering, only to be swept away by a ripple—utterly annihilated, soul and spirit dispersed.

At this, Chen Ming sneered.

Wherever the god’s faithful gather, the union of life’s vital force and the diffuse power of faith gradually forms a divine domain, expelling all evil from its bounds. Such stray spirits, not even fully transformed, could never hope to enter.

As the divine domain expanded, it soon enveloped every corner of the village before finally halting.

And as the domain ceased its spread, Chen Ming felt a boom in his mind. In the unseen realm, a golden light descended from the heavens, radiant with the splendor and force of the world.