Chapter 100: Religious History and the Power Engine

For a whole year after the outbreak of the magical cataclysm, all believers lost the ability to hear divine revelations—not just low-ranking priests and clerics, but even the bishops, popes, and holy seats of every sect simultaneously lost this gift.

Of course, even in normal times, humans cannot directly hear the voices of the gods. The so-called “hearing divine revelation” actually refers to devout followers who, through sincere prayer, performing sacred rites, and fulfilling holy covenants, bring their spirits close to the “divine essence.” In this heightened state, they perceive faint, whisper-like murmurs—almost like hallucinations—that echo in their minds. These whispers leave a lasting “spiritual imprint” that gradually transforms the believer’s soul, drawing them ever closer to the divine essence. This spiritual imprint is the primary path through which clergy ascend and grow stronger in this world.

Because those vague whispers truly possess the power to alter human spirit, making people stronger and purer, they transcend mere hallucinations and are regarded by the clergy as a sacred phenomenon.

Yet, during that year of the magical cataclysm, no believer could hear these “whispers from the gods.” They were terrified to find that no matter how fervently they prayed or how strictly they performed rituals, their gods remained silent, as if the pantheon had vanished altogether.

Without divine grace, no clergy could advance in rank that year. Among shallow believers and ordinary folk, no new practitioners of divine magic emerged. Even infants born during that time were later proven utterly devoid of any divine talent.

If this trend had continued, the future of the continent’s faithful would have been bleak indeed. But as if clinging to a last thread of hope in despair, people discovered that the divine magic already mastered had not vanished—though its power was somewhat diminished, priests who had become official clergy before the cataclysm could still wield their magic. These remaining practitioners barely held the fragile churches together. Still, many smaller sects collapsed, disappearing into the wastelands as people fled the ruins of the Gondor Empire.

Gawain remembered that the leaders of the major sects held multiple secret meetings and attempts at cooperation. They set aside old prejudices and hostilities, just as ordinary people had stood shoulder to shoulder during the cataclysm. Clergy no longer cared about their differing faiths or historical grudges; instead, they gathered to seek solutions. Eventually, several large sects—led by the gods of Holy Light, War, and Fertility—made progress. After several emergency meetings, their leaders ascended to the summit of “Ancestor’s Peak” on the eastern border of the Ogure tribal lands to attempt communication with the gods. This was a closed-door meeting; even Gawain Cecil did not know the details. All he knew was that when the leaders descended, they announced that the gods had sent a new divine oracle, urging mortals to abandon disputes and unite for survival—and that the cataclysm was a disaster brought on by human folly.

At Ancestor’s Peak, the sects signed what later generations called the “Sacred Covenant,” pledging to forsake all faith disputes, cease hostilities, and dedicate themselves to preserving human civilization. And it seemed this act truly pleased the gods. On the second month after the Sacred Covenant was signed—exactly one year after the cataclysm—the gods once again favored humanity.

Believers could hear the divine voices once more.

This was the historical event Gawain knew that led to the current state of multiple sects coexisting in relative peace across the continent.

This event changed many things:

It ended the conflicts between faiths, united the clergy to help humanity resist the cataclysm and rebuild their homes. Yet some stubborn sects refused to accept this reality. They chose to fall into corruption, opposing all who signed the Sacred Covenant, becoming twisted heresies that evolved into the most feared dark organizations in the world. Their magic is known as “dark divine arts”…

To this day, those fallen zealots remain one of the most chilling shadows in the world.

As a rational man with a sound mind, Gawain held the Sacred Covenant in high regard. Though he was not religious himself, he admired the faith-driven people who, in the face of existential crisis, set aside disputes, united, and strove to preserve civilization—whether or not their efforts were commanded by the gods.

But he also knew that for a short-lived species like humans (compared to elves), even the Sacred Covenant was not eternal.

Seven hundred years had passed. Though the covenant was still inscribed on the foundation stones of every sect, just like the long-forgotten “Brotherhood Pact” between Typhon and Ansu, later generations gradually lost sight of the covenant’s true meaning.

Today, while the continent’s many faiths maintain a facade of peace, private rivalries, exclusion, and suppression are common. Some sects with drastically divergent doctrines have nearly reached the point of open war.

After all, no one can truly hear what the gods are saying. Even the pope of the Holy Light sect only hears vague whispers, and the ambiguity of divine revelation leaves room for interpretation—

“What if the gods want us to fight the heretics? That’s what I think, and it definitely has nothing to do with me having smoked too much dreamgrass before praying…” many think this way.

Still, the Sacred Covenant carries more authority than mere alliances between human kingdoms—after all, it is made in the name of the gods. Even as sects bicker behind closed doors, publicly they maintain a “live and let live” stance. It’s common to see several churches clustered in large towns, with clergy from different sects constantly crossing paths—though it’s equally common for them to greet each other politely, then turn away to spit and curse in private.

No one speaks of this openly, especially not high-ranking clergy. They would never say in public, “There are many gods, but mine is the strongest.”

Except Veronica.

Gawain wasn’t sure if the saintly princess was deliberately hinting at something or if beneath her holy and wise exterior hid a reckless tongue. Either way, he took it seriously. The high-ranking female cleric who accompanied Veronica, shining like forged light, only deepened his suspicions. Under such circumstances, he dared not accept anything they offered without caution.

As for whether to build churches or introduce the church into his lands in the future, Gawain had no strong objections. After all, gods truly existed in this world, and divine magic was an integral part of daily life. As a pragmatic man, even if he didn’t believe, he wouldn’t stop others from believing—after all, in such a fantastical world, clinging stubbornly to atheism would be too idealistic.

But when the time came, he would certainly strengthen oversight of the church to keep everything under his control. Divine magic was real, and divine authority could influence political power—he had no intention of falling into traps on that front.

Like any competent traveler between worlds, Gawain viewed divine magic as a means of production.

Of course, planning such things now was premature. With not even a small chapel built in his territory, worrying about controlling faith was less practical than focusing on infrastructure. So Gawain decided to use this lull in external threats to lay a solid foundation for his lands.

The news Veronica and her group brought about the eastern border served as a wake-up call. In this unstable world, dangers were far more complex than just the magical cataclysm in the Gondor wasteland. The continent had enjoyed seven centuries of peace, but beneath the surface, many forces stirred. To live comfortably in such times, he had to stay vigilant.

Back in his tent—though more and more tents were being replaced by sturdier wooden or even stone houses, and his own tent was due for an upgrade—Gawain woke Betty, who was curled up on a mat, drooling in deep sleep. He had her bring all the blueprints he had accumulated over the past few days.

He spread the drawings out one by one, discarding the impractical ones (though not destroying them—just in case), until he found what he wanted: simplified mechanical designs cleverly combining metal wheels, linkages, and cylinders. Several supplementary diagrams detailed the components, but at the bottom of the main blueprint was a bold red note: “Initial power source unresolved; temporarily shelved.”

“You go fetch Rebecca and Hetty,” Gawain said to the little maid standing by the table, lost in thought. “Just tell them I have something… never mind, just remember to bring them here.”

Betty scampered off, leaving Gawain to ponder the half-finished blueprints. Suddenly, Amber’s voice came from behind him: “What are you drawing? I don’t understand any of this.”

“A kind of power engine,” Gawain replied without looking up, deftly brushing the half-elf thief’s hand away from his silver seal. “In theory, it’s a device that consumes energy to keep moving on its own, driving other mechanical parts. But it’s not finished yet.”

Amber fully emerged from her shadow form, leaning over curiously to examine the drawings. “Oh? You mean those magical puppets powered by elemental cores?”

Gawain shook his head. “No, it’s something more universal and fundamental, but far more valuable than those puppets… Unfortunately, it’s missing the most important part.”

Yes—the part that can’t boil water yet…

(End of chapter)