Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Council in the North

Several months later, on a broad expanse of open land, priests hurried through the area, their faces tinged with both excitement and a peculiar anticipation. This was the very heart of the Central Tribe—the very tribe where Adis first awoke. After decades of nurturing and fermenting, faith had taken root here more deeply than anywhere else.

In this place, every child was baptized at birth by their elders or a visiting high priest. From their first birthday, to their tenth, to adulthood, and even in death, the presence of the God of Nature pervaded every rite. From the moment they could understand, the people here sang hymns, recited legends of the God of Nature, and wove their faith into the fabric of daily life.

It was the most natural of processes; in the north, faith was inseparable from the people's way of life. In labor, in learning, in growth, in hardship—at every moment, the shadow of the God of Nature was present, as if this land itself had become a divine kingdom on earth.

The people living here were extremely devout; among the countless tribes of the north, only a handful could rival their faith. Nearly every clansman was an ardent follower of Adis, the God of Nature. And when such a multitude of believers gathered together, their collective devotion formed a vast and majestic divine domain. The pure light of nature enveloped the land, subtly influencing all within its bounds.

Within this sacred domain, the natural elements were far more vibrant and potent than elsewhere; life flourished with abundance, ancient forests thrived, wild beasts roamed in droves—a panorama of vitality. As for corrupted beasts, they were all but extinct in the north, driven out and purified by the overwhelming might of the divine domain.

At the heart of this devout tribe stood a grand temple. All around it, flowers of every season and the finest grasses blossomed in riotous splendor, each vying for attention. This was the headquarters of the Church of the God of Nature, nominally governing all the deity’s followers. Within, dozens of people were deep in conversation.

On the highest seat, Grama wore the papal crown and scepter, gazing down at the assembly. Below him, dozens of seats were filled with attendees. Behind these, priests stood in silent rows, their presence solemn and composed. The atmosphere was tranquil, natural—utterly devoid of tension.

Any who knew the north well would have been stunned to witness this scene: beneath the temple roof, over a hundred priests stood arrayed, their robes glimmering faintly in the light—none of them of lower rank than the Yellow Robe. Seated were the chieftains and elders of the great tribes, and among them, several high priests.

Grama surveyed the assembly as the last person arrived. “I trust you have all received word from the south,” he began. “The incarnation of our god has been crowned king in the south. The kingdom has been founded and now extends its reach northward, awaiting our support.”

He paused, his gaze steady. “I have already ordered my people to prepare for support. What are your thoughts?”

A silence fell. The assembly bowed their heads, lost in contemplation.

After a time, an elder rose. “If this is indeed our god’s incarnation, then as followers we are bound to obey. I am willing to lead my tribe in support.”

With his declaration, several more chieftains stood to voice their agreement. Soon, Grama saw that most chiefs were now on their feet, though a few still hesitated.

One man rose, uncertainty clouding his face. “If it is truly the incarnation of our god, there is no question—we must give our all. But to decide so hastily, before full confirmation, is it not somewhat imprudent...?”

Several around him nodded in quiet agreement.

“Nonsense! The priests we sent south delivered the news themselves, and it was verified by His Holiness. How could there be a mistake?” A tall, broad-shouldered man in leather rose abruptly, his imposing gaze sweeping the priests. “Do you doubt the judgment of the Church, or the priests you yourselves sent south?”

At this, many faces changed color at once.

“Never!” the previous speaker replied. Under that powerful gaze, divine energy rippled within him. “Are you implying I lack devotion to our god?”

The burly man snorted, withdrawing his aura without another word. Discord was not uncommon among them, but even the lowest present was a Yellow Robe priest. While they might harbor personal ambitions, their devotion to the God of Nature was unquestionable—at the very least, fanatical.

For such zealots, power, influence, and wealth meant nothing compared to faith. Their conviction was unshakeable, their worship fervent beyond measure—no outside force could sway them. To question another’s devotion here was almost laughable.

“Your Holiness!” Another man stepped forward—broad and strong, yet his eyes betrayed a weariness that belied his appearance. Deep divine power undulated within him, surpassing most others present—he was of high priest rank.

He approached in silence, meeting Grama’s gaze as an equal, without a hint of fear. “If you wish for the support of our entire tribe, then unless we can verify it ourselves, we must decline.”

“The matter of our god’s incarnation should not be judged by you alone. It must be seen and confirmed by all of us, or doubt will remain.”

At his words, those who had not yet spoken rose quietly to stand behind him, signaling their agreement.

Grama sighed softly. “Gude, what is it you want?”

“Nothing more than a little time,” Gude replied. “Let us wait for our own priests to return before we decide.”

At this, Grama simply bowed his head, his sigh growing heavier.

“No need for that... You may begin your preparations. In one month’s time, the god’s incarnation will come to the north in person.”

Shock rippled through the assembly at these words.

…

Time passed. As the chiefs and priests gradually departed the grand hall, the once-lively temple grew quiet. Grama sat motionless, eyes closed, savoring the silence. With each breath, gentle waves of divine energy radiated from within him, intertwining with the flora and fauna throughout the temple—profound and mysterious.

“Grama, is this truly wise?” a voice sounded from nearby.

In the hush, a towering figure emerged from the shadows. He was massive and powerful, his flesh and blood seemingly forged of iron. Merely by moving, he resonated with the abundant natural elements, drawing strength from them—steadily, inexorably growing stronger. On his brow, a faint blue mark was visible, and if one looked closely, golden threads could be glimpsed within his eyes—mysterious and regal.

“Our god’s incarnation has been confirmed by us. Shouldn’t we lead our people south to greet him, rather than wait for him to come north in person?”

He raised his brow as he spoke.

“That was the god’s own wish—there could be no refusal,” Grama sighed. “Besides, consider the north: hundreds of tribes, nearly two million followers, a landscape of chaos. If our god does not come himself, and we are forbidden from using force, it will be difficult to subdue them all.”

“Moreover, Kuluba, have you sensed it?”

“Sensed what?” Kuluba asked, puzzled.