Chapter 46: True Spirit

Within a vast and magnificent cathedral, an old man stood silently before a divine statue. The statue depicted a youth, bearing a faint resemblance to Chen Ming; before it, there rested a branch of jade, vibrant and green, as if freshly severed from its source, emanating a powerful vitality.

The statue's form had been crafted by the faithful, shaped by the vague impressions sensed during their prayers. As the believers advanced in rank, their essence drew closer to the divine, allowing them to perceive the god's image with increasing clarity. As the Pontiff, Grammar was the one most attuned to the deity, and thus his vision of the divine was the most profound.

At that moment, several figures stood quietly within the cathedral; outside, over a hundred priests in crimson robes sang hymns, their prayers filling the sanctuary. Grammar raised his head in silence, gazing at the statue before him. A suffocating surge of divine power radiated from his body, inspiring awe and dread.

He was no longer the decrepit elder he had been two decades prior. Now, he wore the ceremonial robes of gold and azure reserved for the High Priest, the crown exclusive to the Pontiff upon his brow, his form enveloped in a gentle, holy light that drew the admiration of all present.

He looked down upon the dozen priests in yellow robes and Kuruba, who stood nearby, and spoke: "All those gathered here must have felt the will of our god."

The congregation nodded, their eyes fixed upon Grammar, waiting for him to continue.

Without hesitation, Grammar declared, "Our god commands us priests to go forth and spread the faith in the southern city-states."

"This is the first divine edict since our god awakened twenty years ago. How do you intend to respond?"

The assembly bowed their heads, murmuring prayers. Then, in unison, their voices rose: "We shall obey the divine command."

Grammar nodded, turning to Kuruba. "How are the preparations among the other tribes?"

Kuruba lifted his head, his armor gleaming softly as he addressed Grammar: "People from the other tribes are already heading south, including those who have resisted the church's authority."

"This latest edict was sensed by all priests of crimson rank and above. Even those who defy our governance have responded eagerly under our god's summons."

Grammar smiled, a gentle and benevolent expression upon his face. "Naturally. No matter their resistance to us, their devotion to the deity is absolute; otherwise, they could never have risen to the rank of High Priest."

Kuruba nodded in agreement.

The vast northern lands, with nearly a million believers, could never be served by just Grammar and Kuruba alone; their adversaries would not dare defy them so openly otherwise. Indeed, the opposing priests' faith was no less fervent than theirs, each a zealous devotee.

Regrettably, though their devotion was equally sincere, differences in ideology had led to conflict and division.

This situation had arisen because Chen Ming had slumbered for nearly twenty years. Though the faithful could still sense the presence of their god during that time, they received no guidance or response.

Thus, as conflicting beliefs collided, discord spread naturally among the followers, dividing them.

Reflecting on this, Kuruba could not help but sigh inwardly as he looked at Grammar.

Sensing Kuruba's gaze, Grammar nodded gently, then addressed the gathered priests: "However, my purpose today is not merely to announce this news."

The priests looked at him, surprised.

"According to the divine edict, our god's incarnation will be reborn in a few days."

He gazed at the assembly, and amidst their astonished expressions, delivered the revelation.

···

Elsewhere, Chen Ming regarded his own body, pondering all that had transpired.

"This world has reached a certain threshold. From without, the remains of the demon god scattered across the continent breed demonic energy, ceaselessly corrupting the world's creatures; from within, the ancestral spirits demand blood sacrifices without restraint, and resentment has already condensed."

"To change this, each problem must be addressed, perhaps even overturning the existing order."

A subtle divine light flashed in Chen Ming's eyes, as an unseen power wrapped around him.

He lifted his gaze to the sky.

Above, currents of primordial energy surged and roared, as if urging him to act.

"If I wish to merely alter the present situation, sending the priests south to spread the faith will suffice."

"But if I wish to truly transform, to redeem this world on the brink of destruction, then I must proceed step by step, overthrowing all that exists and starting anew."

He looked upon his motionless body; above it, fruits of myriad shapes trembled gently, nurtured by the world's source energy and his own form, nearing ripeness.

Sensing his consciousness approach, several mature spirits like children struggled to draw near, yet remained separated by an invisible spatial barrier. Still, the kinship they shared stirred Chen Ming's heart, softening his gaze.

He regarded his soul.

A fourth-level soul appeared no different from an ordinary person, capable even of marriage and children—though not yet of offspring.

Feeling the consolidation of his body, Chen Ming smiled wryly. Then, in the depths of his being, a mysterious origin emerged, two divine cores faintly coalescing.

This was the true spirit, the imprint of all that a life embodied, the most fundamental essence, from which survival was always possible so long as a trace remained.

He sensed his true spirit, and memories resurfaced in his mind, leaving him momentarily dazed.

After a while, Chen Ming steeled himself. Within his true spirit, the two divine cores suddenly blazed with light, a powerful and resolute force slowly manifesting and strengthening the spirit.

As this power appeared, a fine crack formed upon his true spirit; then, with a shattering sound echoing in the depths, it split in two.

The larger half, with the two divine cores glowing softly, began to heal the wounds upon the spirit, gradually stabilizing the two fragments.

Meanwhile, Chen Ming felt a wave of pain from the deepest reaches of his soul, his face paling as he staggered back several steps. His hand gently touched his chest, as if something vital was missing.

As the divine cores radiated light and repaired the spirit, Chen Ming slowly recovered, though his complexion remained pale and his aura weakened.

"At least I haven't fallen below the fourth level," he sighed, sensing his previously peak-level aura gradually diminishing.

Then, the newly split true spirit stirred abruptly; from within its core, golden merit flowed forth, nurturing the spirit.

As the merit was consumed, nearly half depleted, the spirit trembled and began to recover from its damage, now suffused with a faint golden glow.

Following an intangible resonance, Chen Ming gently pushed the separated spirit. Within his body, an ancient divine core activated, enveloping the spirit in an unseen force.

Guided by the river of fate and the world's response, the spirit vanished, swept away by a mighty current into the distance.

Witnessing this, Chen Ming could no longer resist the weariness rising from his essence and slowly retreated into his body, drifting into slumber.