Chapter Forty-Seven: Reincarnation

Several months later, on a tranquil night, a streak of starlight swept across the heavens, accompanied by a gentle ripple of primordial world energy, as if heralding some profound change. On this night, no matter where they were, all followers of the gods of nature suddenly looked up, sensing, in the depths of their souls, a mighty and boundless will drawing near the earth.

Most ordinary believers only experienced a fleeting sense of confusion, the sensation vague and indistinct. Yet among those of the rank of white-robed priest and above, the higher their status, the more keenly they could perceive this phenomenon.

Across countless tribes, throngs of believers, led by their priests, prostrated themselves before their deity.

“Our god has descended to this world. All priests sent south must strive with all their power to sense and discover the incarnation of our god,” declared Grama within a cathedral, his gaze sweeping over the hundreds of priests before him.

A chorus of assent echoed from the gathered throng.

As the unequivocal news spread from the high priests of each tribe, the fervor of the faithful mounted; they grew desperate to uncover the deity’s mortal vessel.

Meanwhile, in the south, atop the ruins of a dilapidated town, a young woman in white robes was preaching doctrine. She was no more than eighteen or nineteen, possessed of a gentle and serene temperament, her every movement imbued with a natural grace—this was Elena.

Above her head, a current of white fortune slowly rose, tinged with a deep crimson glow. Compared to before, she had fully attained the rank of white-robed priest.

Suddenly, as if sensing something, she paused, gazing skyward. In that moment, she seemed to see a benevolent and vast will descending from the heavens, transforming into a star that gently fell to earth.

“My lady, what’s wrong?” asked a knight behind her, a symbol of the god of nature pinned to his breast.

“The god of nature has descended,” Elena replied, gazing at the sky with a touch of reverence.

“What?” The crowd was stunned.

Elena, seeing their reaction, offered reassurance. “There’s no need for concern. The advent of the true god can only bring us blessings. Only with the radiance of the divine spreading across the land can we, the faithful, walk openly beneath the sun, instead of furtively spreading our faith as we do now.”

Those present nodded silently in agreement.

...

Elsewhere, across a vast plain, two armies were locked in fierce combat, their martial energies entwined and colliding. Each side held its own advantages; the battle was evenly matched.

Then, suddenly, a radiant light appeared, imbued with the essence of the world, descending as if drawn by fate and suffusing one side with a trace of violet aura.

At once, under the blessing of this violet energy, the martial spirit of that army surged, overwhelming their foes.

On the battlefield, a man in armor, wielding a greatsword, fixed his gaze ahead where the enemy lord’s carriage stood.

As a beam of true spirit flashed above, a wisp of blue-violet energy settled upon him. With a thunderous roar, his battle aura exploded, and he charged forward.

Somehow, all the enemy commanders were entangled with their own adversaries, leaving the path clear. The man swept forward unhindered, cleaving through the ranks to face the enemy lord. In the lord’s astonished gaze, the greatsword fell, beheading him before he could react.

With another roar, the man plunged back into the fray, unstoppable, leaving a trail of carnage in his wake.

On the opposing side, with their lord slain, their lines finally broke. One by one, noble knights surrendered, and the battle ended, leaving only corpses and shattered weapons scattered across the field.

Days later, within a sprawling estate, the warrior paced anxiously in a grand hall, the ferocity that had once dominated the battlefield now entirely gone.

Dressed in formal attire, he retained a certain handsomeness. His battle aura, fluctuating with his restless mind, imposed a subtle pressure on the servants around him.

“Bagel, your fretting now serves no purpose. You’d do better to sit and await the news,” a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged man said nearby, his eyes weary yet fixed intently on the doors of the room, betraying an anxiety he sought to conceal.

Bagel forced a bitter smile at the man. “Father, there’s been no word for so long from inside. I fear something may have gone wrong.”

Such anxieties were common in ancient times; with primitive production techniques, childbirth was fraught with peril for women, and many succumbed to its dangers. Even in this world, where supernatural powers like battle aura granted certain individuals exceptional vitality, such blessings were reserved for a select few. The cultivation of battle aura required a body honed through long training, a standard most women could not meet, leaving childbirth as perilous as ever.

Seeing this, the middle-aged man sighed, about to offer words of comfort.

But at that moment, faint sounds emerged from the room beyond, and change was afoot.

Had a priest of the god of nature been present, they would have been astonished to witness the immense natural power gathering here, rejoicing, bearing witness to the descent of a vast will.

“What is that!” Bagel exclaimed in alarm.

Above, a brilliant star flashed across the sky. In the stunned eyes of father and son, it seemed as though a sun itself descended, falling into the room beyond.

When they looked up again, the heavens were empty. After a while, the door slowly opened, drawing their anxious gazes.

A maid emerged, carrying an infant in her arms.

“My lord viscount, it’s a boy,” she said between gasps, relief evident on her face.

“Excellent!” Both men rejoiced. Bagel hurriedly took the child. “You may go—collect five sacks of wheat for yourself.”

Delight flickered in the maid’s eyes at these words. She glanced at Bagel’s elated face, then withdrew swiftly.

Once she was gone, Bagel gazed lovingly at the child in his arms.

The newborn was strikingly adorable. Unlike most infants who kept their eyes shut, his were wide open—clear, dark, and unclouded—his skin full and healthy.

At the sight of his son, Bagel’s heart overflowed with emotion, a primal connection stirring within him, softening his expression.

Beside him, the elder man smiled, then asked, “Bagel, have you thought of a name for the child?”

Bagel paused, momentarily troubled.

Unseen, a ripple of world power intertwined above his head, subtly influencing his choice.

After a while, under the sway of this power, inspiration struck. “Let’s call him Artis,” he said.

“Artis Nalba, my eldest son, and heir to the House of Nalba.”

As he spoke, a faint tremor passed through the world’s essence. Far away, a towering ancient tree stood silent, exhaling pure energy, its spirit resonating in harmony with the newborn.