Chapter Thirty-Seven: Awakening

In a small town, tucked away in a quiet corner, a group of people conversed among themselves. Across from them, Barton posed a question, prompting those present to exchange glances, their eyes betraying a bitter smile.

“This matter is rather complicated,” the white-robed priest replied.

“Is it because of the conflict between the Pope and the tribes?” Old Jetton asked.

The priest nodded, confirming, “That’s right.”

“In the past decade, faith in the deity has spread swiftly across these lands. Many tribes now worship the gods, but for various reasons, there are still tribes that neither recognize nor accept the church’s authority, some even resisting it. This has been happening since ancient times.”

“This time, several tribes have openly torn apart the church’s edicts, sparking conflict and raising tensions in the region. Moreover, numerous bandits have recently appeared along the trade routes, forcing us to heighten our vigilance.”

As the priest spoke, old Barton’s expression grew grave. He nodded and then asked, “Which side does our tribe support?”

“We support neither side—we remain neutral,” a woman’s voice replied from nearby.

Everyone turned toward the source of the voice.

She was a tall and striking woman, mature yet beautiful, exuding a natural and sacred aura, dressed in the same white ceremonial robes.

“Priest Jelina,” the white-robed priest nodded in greeting.

Jelina looked at Jetton and said, “This little town was built from nothing, gathered bit by bit by the High Priest and us, to shelter refugees journeying north from the south.”

“Now, the town and its surroundings have amassed tens of thousands of followers, most of whom are refugees from the south. Though they share our faith, they have no interest in the disputes between the tribes.”

“Indeed,” the white-robed priest sighed, “the will of the believers residing in this town is our will. Since they are uninterested in this matter, we cannot force them to support either side.”

“Besides, we ourselves disagree with some of the Pope’s actions,” a warrior standing nearby added.

The atmosphere grew heavier still, and everyone fell into contemplation. After a while, Jelina turned to old Jetton and asked, “Uncle Jetton, did you encounter any bandits on your way here?”

“Bandits?” Old Jetton sounded surprised.

“Yes,” someone across from him nodded.

“It’s said that a notorious bandit group from the south, drawn by the immense profits of the trade routes, has come here to plunder. There have already been reports of several small merchants robbed on the tribal trade routes.”

“If it were only the conflict between the church and the tribes, it wouldn’t make us, bystanders, so anxious,” another person sighed helplessly.

A companion nearby looked somewhat puzzled. “What kind of bandits dare come here after all these years? Are they not afraid of being wiped out by the church?”

A trade route brimming with enormous profits naturally attracts not only merchants and travelers, but also countless bandits. In the early days, this region was thrown into chaos, but later, when even some followers of the god of nature were brutally slain by these bandits, the tribes were forced to eradicate those near their territories.

Though such troubles are never fully stamped out and recur several times each year, rarely have the priests regarded them with such seriousness.

“These are not ordinary bandits,” someone sighed.

Then, a silent guard suddenly interjected, “If it were an ordinary bandit group, we wouldn’t even need to intervene—devout believers who have mastered divine arts could handle them easily.”

“This time, it’s a large bandit group, notorious for their activities in certain southern regions, and among them are several knights.”

“Knights?” Barton was astonished, staring at the others, “Bandits with knights among them?”

The white-robed priest sighed, “Not only that, there are rumors that their leader is a great knight—a formidable force. In our town, only the High Priest, a red-robed priest, could surpass him.”

Knights and great knights are ranks of power in this world. Knights are akin to apprentices, comparable to white-robed priests who wield certain divine arts, but since their system is tailored for combat, they often outmatch most priests. Great knights are equivalent to red-robed priests; however, after attaining the red robe, the ability to channel divine arts and power surges, making priests stronger than great knights.

Hearing these revelations, everyone fell silent, and the mood grew somber.

After a while, the white-robed priest glanced at the heavy atmosphere around them and smiled at Barton, “But there is good news as well.”

He winked mysteriously at old Barton. “It’s said that recently, the High Priest received a sign in prayer—our god has awakened.”

···

Night fell swiftly. Under the cover of darkness, Chen Ming strolled through the once-familiar tribe, observing his surroundings.

“Truly, the tides of time change all things,” he said with a wry smile, tinged with nostalgia.

The once-familiar sights around him had changed beyond recognition.

At the heart of the ancient tree, where dilapidated huts once stood, all had been removed, leaving only the solitary ancient tree. The surrounding vegetation grew wildly, brimming with incomparable spiritual energy, infused with the elements of nature. Bathed in moonlight, the place appeared incomparably beautiful.

After his slumber, the ancient tree—home to the god of nature—had unconsciously released its aura, subtly transforming the environment and turning it into something new.

The people of the tribe, fearing to profane the divine, relocated all nearby buildings, leaving only an altar for worship.

He lifted his gaze to the sky.

Beneath the vast and magnificent stars, a faint aura shimmered, an endless stream of faith pouring into him with unparalleled divine power.

Above him, a deep green thread representing his true self emerged, encircled by a dense, astonishingly vivid green. In the depths, wisps of mysterious world power transformed into pale violet, drawn by a faint star.

“Fourth rank already,” he sighed.

“Twenty years of slumber, nearly a million devout believers, and a portion of the world’s chosen continually drawing source power—only now have I reached this stage.”

He looked to the star-like fragment above. Compared to twenty years ago, it had grown much larger—if it was one-thousandth then, it was now nearly one-hundredth.

“So, it’s the increase in power,” he realized.

The world’s chosen are the holders of authority, deriving from heaven and earth, from all things, but ultimately, most substantially, from life itself.

Life—especially sentient life—is the core of a world. Unless it perishes, each life possesses a share of authority in its realm, differing only in degree.

Compared to twenty years ago, he now had a million believers, and naturally, his authority had grown.

With this in mind, Chen Ming turned to his true form.

Under the night sky, the ancient tree stood proud, even taller than before, radiating a subtle glow.

Upon its branches, dozens of blossoms had appeared, and several fruits were nearly ripe, each bearing distinct colors and shapes. The pale green fruit was the most vigorous, surrounded by tendrils of world source power, slowly nurturing them.

Chen Ming distinctly sensed several consciousnesses already formed, slumbering inside—still weak, like newborn infants.

Feeling the familiar sense emanating from the depths, he smiled and then turned his attention to the divine soul within.

Within his true soul, two divine cores quivered gently.

One was complete and ancient, unmoving, its fourth seal unlocked and the fifth halfway open; the other, broken and somewhat ethereal, shone brightly, with several strands of divinity fully formed within.

Around the two divine cores, more than a dozen strands of divinity hovered—most accumulated from the insights of his believers over twenty years, condensed into divinity as Chen Ming’s divine core operated.

Gazing outward, Chen Ming’s soul gradually manifested.

The fourth rank marked a boundary of sorts. At this level, the soul and body were one, with only rare exceptions.

In the moonlight, the silhouette of a youth appeared beneath the ancient tree.

He was graceful, handsome, his form faintly glowing with pale green, every gesture imbued with a divine aura, resembling a god awakened from antiquity.

“It’s time to go,” he murmured, facing south.