Chapter Eighty: Divine Grace

Within a small garden, Gramah and Kuruba walked quietly, saying nothing.

“Did you sense it?” Gramah suddenly spoke, his gaze fixed on the branch enshrined ahead.

Kuruba looked up, turning his attention forward.

There, atop a modest patch of garden, a branch was laid to rest, its verdant hue akin to jade—pure and translucent. From this branch, an immense, divine vitality emanated, tinged with a sacred aura, ceaselessly spreading forth and gradually infusing the surroundings, silently altering the environment.

At the sight of the branch, Kuruba’s body trembled ever so slightly. Within him, a divine bloodline—originating from the same source as the branch—began to stir; faintly, it resonated with the branch, each drawing the other in.

As the resonance deepened, a pale green mark on Kuruba’s forehead grew sharper and clearer.

“This is…” Kuruba hesitated, feeling the changes within the branch. “The power of the relic seems to be strengthening.”

“Indeed,” Gramah nodded, then glanced aside. “You may enter.”

At his words, an elderly, gaunt figure emerged from the side, his age apparent in every motion.

“Brenda, tell us about the situation in the south.”

Brenda nodded, first performing a ritual salute to Gramah and Kuruba, then began to speak.

“Several months ago, at the command of His Holiness, I carried the relic to the southern city-states to assist His Majesty, the King of Adis.”

“When the relic came into contact with His Majesty’s aura, it transformed—almost as if it had been awakened.”

He spoke with calm assurance.

“So, it can be confirmed, then? His Majesty of Adis is the reincarnation of our god?”

Kuruba nodded, questioning in return.

“There can be no doubt!” Brenda replied solemnly. He stepped forward, his face suffused with fervent devotion. “Upon His Majesty, I sensed a mighty divine power and that familiar essence—there could be no mistake.”

Seeing this, Kuruba and Gramah exchanged knowing nods, their doubts dispelled.

Priests’ sensitivity to the divine grows with their rank. From white-robed to yellow-robed priest, it is a process of ever-purer refinement of the soul’s essence. The more devout the follower, the more divine power is returned from their faith, strengthening their essence and drawing them closer to divinity. The most devout ascend faster.

At the rank of High Priest, not only is unwavering faith demanded, but also a true understanding and affinity with the divine essence—a prerequisite for advancement.

Thus, as High Priests, their sensitivity to the divine is unmatched. While other things may be feigned, the essence cannot.

Contemplating this, Gramah smiled quietly, turning to Kuruba. “Moreover, Kuruba, have you noticed?”

“Ever since our tribe was first to discover our god more than ten years ago, and continued to support Him, our tribe’s protection has grown ever stronger.”

“You must be close to ascending yourself, are you not?”

Kuruba paused, then nodded slowly. “You mean, the divine grace?”

“Yes,” Gramah affirmed, then walked ahead. “Kuruba, do you know?”

“Most of the priests we sent to aid our god have already advanced a rank. Even those who were mere white-robed priests, upon journeying south, are now red-robed.”

“It is akin to the blessings gained through proselytizing—all are gifts from our god.”

As his words faded, Kuruba nodded in silence. The three fell quiet, and the garden was hushed.

Yet, around them, elemental forces continued to swirl and vibrate, subtly affecting their surroundings.

Time passed thus. Months later, along a broad wilderness path, dozens of people slowly made their way.

At their head, a young man exuded heroic spirit and striking good looks; his golden eyes carried a powerful authority that none dared meet directly.

“Sire, we have arrived at the northern steppes,” Bill quietly announced, standing respectfully at his side.

Hearing this, Adis looked up, gazing forward.

From his vantage, faint lights rose in the distance, coalescing into pockets of divine faith, each enveloping its own domain.

All around, the elemental forces vibrated, attuning themselves to the world, lively and active.

“This place has been utterly purified,” he observed, delight flickering in his heart.

Decades of faith had nourished these lands, the divine domains strengthening and cleansing the earth, endlessly.

The southern lands’ pervasive demonic aura was nowhere to be found, expelled and purified by the radiant power of faith and divinity.

“If this continues, the land will grow ever stronger under my divine nurture, and will surely surpass the southern city-states, becoming the center of this world.”

He watched the lively elemental forces and the scattered threads of fortune in the distance, sighing internally. “Moreover, fortune is beginning to coalesce—if another twenty years could be granted, perhaps a true tribe might emerge, its own tribal luck condensed.”

“And perhaps, from among my followers, a true king, born of this land’s destiny, would arise.”

He felt a pang of regret. “If only it had happened twenty years sooner, I could have fully supported the destined king among my followers, and need not intervene myself.”

Such is the matter of timing; had it come twenty years earlier, the situation would be ideal. Now, it was already too late.

By the time the destined king grew fully, the world would have transformed beyond recognition.

“Sire, this is the boundary. Another half day’s journey will bring us to the place the tribes have prepared for your arrival.”

Bill spoke thus, then hesitated. “However, Sire…”

“The tribes here rank just below the church, and have always been at odds with the High Priest. They may deliberately create obstacles for you. I hope you will not mind.”

Adis’s expression remained unchanged. “It does not matter. Let us proceed.”

“Our welcoming party has arrived.”

As his words fell, Bill looked back.

Where once the land was deserted, several figures appeared, mounted on horseback, their bodies faintly shining with divine power.

Yet, none wore priestly robes, only small divine emblems, marking them as unofficial clergy.

They rode straight up, the leader a middle-aged man who bowed upon seeing Adis and his retinue. “Please, follow me.”

Adis and Bill exchanged glances, then followed in silence.

After a short walk, they arrived at a grand encampment, meticulously arranged.

The camp was vast, its grandeur and order a testament to careful planning.

But at the sight, Bill and the priests’ faces darkened.

Within the camp, countless guards and warriors stood watch, armored and cold-eyed, clearly masters of martial skill.

At the gate, burly soldiers stood with swords and spears, unmoving as mountains, exuding a fierce aura.

It felt less a welcome than a show of force.

Bill’s face grew grim. “What is your chieftain’s intention?”

Beside him, dozens of priests watched silently, their expressions dour.

Before anyone could reply, a warrior approached.

“Honored guests, our chieftain has ordered unrelated persons to remain here as guests.”

“His Majesty, King of Adis, may enter. Our chieftain awaits inside.”

“What!” Bill was shocked. “He expects His Majesty to enter alone? How dare he?”

His face darkened, teeth clenched. “Are you not afraid the church will rally the tribes and punish you?”

Yet, the man ignored his threat, looking quietly to Adis.

The scene fell silent.

After a moment, Adis observed the situation, and smiled faintly. “Lead the way.”

“Sire!” Bill cried out, anxious, about to protest.

But within his sight, Adis merely shook his head, signaling him to remain silent.

In Adis’s golden eyes, a cold gleam flickered, and a vast divine might began to surge forth.