Chapter 1117: A Marginal Threat

Belsethia fixed her gaze steadily on the deity before her—the sacred figure who, until three thousand years ago, had sheltered the Silver Elves within these vast forests and fertile valleys. Revered by the Druids as the supreme presence of nature itself, she had never imagined that one day she would stand here, face to face with Him, meeting His gaze without flinching. As a Druid priestess who had long since abandoned her faith, she had come closer to the god of nature than any devout cleric ever had.

And at this proximity, she could perceive far more than those faithful worshippers, even more than the ancient priests who had lived for over three millennia.

It was a bitter irony: the one who no longer believed was the one who truly saw Him; the one who was not devout was the one who understood.

This suddenly reminded her of words spoken many years ago, when her father, the emperor, abdicated and passed the throne and the title of High Druid Priest to her:

“You are the first imperial ruler not blinded by piety. Perhaps your eyes can see farther than all of ours.”

“I understand,” Belsethia bowed her head solemnly and said to Amon, “I will carry out your will—of course, no one will ever know you still live in this world.”

Amon gave a soft hum in acknowledgment. After a brief silence, his gaze returned to Belsethia, shining with a holy light and a hint of expectation. “Go and do what you must, Silver Queen.”

Belsethia respectfully bowed again, then stepped back to stand beside Gawain. Gawain nodded toward the two former gods present. “I’ll escort her back first. We can talk more when there’s time.”

With the visitor gone, the courtyard, shrouded in dim chaos, fell silent once more. The two ancient gods seemed lost in their own thoughts, quietly brooding for several minutes before Mirmirna finally broke the silence.

“I thought you’d mention the ‘Queen’s’ grandmother—the last High Priestess before you left three thousand years ago. After meeting an old friend, shouldn’t you reminisce about the past?”

“At first, I did want to learn how Kostina Morningstar spent her final days,” Amon’s voice was low and steady. “But after hearing how the Silver Elves live now, I realized the past is truly past. Even without asking, I can guess what Kostina endured… She was once my devoted priestess and one of the closest mortals to me. Yet she laid the groundwork for the secularization of the Elven Court, suppressing the fundamentalists and allowing Belsethia’s father to grow up free from their influence. For a devout cleric, every decision she made in her later years must have been agonizing.

“So there’s no need—and it would be wrong—to pry into her final days through her descendants. Some things are better left unspoken.”

“Sometimes you seem slow to catch on, but other times your insight cuts straight to the heart,” Mirmirna sighed. “But that’s for the best—for you and the elves.”

As she spoke, the goddess of magic turned her gaze to a nearby arcane terminal. The projection crystal above it lit up, displaying a clear hologram. “Want to watch something? I won’t compete with you today.”

“Find the ‘Voices of the Forest’ channel. It’s been a long time since I heard the elves’ songs.”

…

Gawain and Belsethia walked side by side along the upper corridors of the Rebellion Fortress. As they neared the surface, the air flowing through the ventilation shafts grew fresher and crisper. The bright, steady glow from the magic crystal wall lamps cast a warm, comforting light, gradually soothing Belsethia’s restless thoughts.

“You look troubled,” Gawain’s voice suddenly broke the silence, interrupting her reverie. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m just wondering how far you’ve come on this path,” the Silver Queen stopped and looked ahead. The spacious, well-lit corridor stretched before her, a testament to the legacy of the ancient Gondor Empire and the wisdom of its modern heirs. The labs and busy workers reminded this elven ruler of the many secrets operating deep within the facility. “I once thought you only possessed some hidden knowledge about the gods, maybe unearthed a few ancient relics like the Eternal Tablets, and built the framework of the ‘Divine Authority Council’ on that basis… I thought that was already a bold guess. But everything here far exceeds my expectations.

“The Rebellion Project, the fortress in the Shadow Realm, divine relics, even the gods themselves—and more than one at that… No wonder you proposed so many advanced ideas. You’ve already come so far down this road.”

Gawain chuckled. “Just some secret knowledge and ancient relics wouldn’t be enough to build the Council’s framework. Your guess was too conservative. But tell me, is that all you’re thinking about?”

Belsethia fell silent. The horrifying image from moments ago flashed through her mind—the metal wreckage that had pinned the god of nature to the earth, the god’s battered, bloodied form. Then she thought of the fallen god of war, the apocalypse of Talrond. After half a minute of silence, she finally spoke her true thoughts.

“There’s never been a savior, has there?”

Gawain nodded. “We can only rely on ourselves. We and our gods can only be our own saviors.”

Belsethia said nothing, turning and walking forward in silence. Gawain followed quietly beside her. They walked a long way, until they neared the exit of the Rebellion Fortress. Then Belsethia suddenly asked, “When can I visit the Great Tree of Solin?”

“Anytime—if you’re pressed for time, we can go tomorrow. There’s now an air route between Cecil City and Solin Fortress, so you can make the round trip in a day.”

“Then tomorrow it is,” Belsethia nodded. “It’s been a long time since I last saw Beltira. I wonder how much she still remembers from back then. By the way, does she know your… ‘identity’?”

“She does,” Gawain replied casually. “She learned about the ‘Wanderer from Beyond’ a long time ago. I suppose I’m like a ‘half-brother Gawain’ to her—just as I’m a ‘half-uncle Gawain’ to you.”

Perhaps recalling old memories, Belsethia smiled faintly, then shook her head as if speaking to herself. “Seven hundred years have passed, and in the end, we’re still walking the same path. That’s not so bad.”

…

Near the center of Cecil City, inside the Cathedral of the Holy Light, Veronica ended a long meditation. She slowly opened her eyes to see soft, flowing holy light filling her vision like water. The streams of light gathered around her, forming a steady, stable “force field” that then settled quietly.

“…Efficiency has improved further, meaning the ‘interception’ and ‘redirection’ of the Holy Light God’s power is progressing smoothly. The effects are clear, and no signs of backlash have been detected. A good sign.”

Veronica murmured softly to herself as she rose from the cushioned bench. She glanced at the empty prayer chamber, then heard some noise in the corridor outside. Straightening her slightly wrinkled nun’s robe and gripping her platinum staff, she left the room and walked down the hallway leading to the cathedral’s inner sanctum.

Not far ahead, several craftsmen in work clothes busily moved equipment and new furniture into a vacant room. Two researchers in white lab coats stood at the doorway chatting with Leight, who wore ordinary clothes. A young attendant held a hammer and nails, carefully affixing a new door plaque to the frame.

Veronica approached and looked at the freshly nailed plaque. On the deep black wood were two rows of sharp, clear letters: “Holy Light Church Headquarters; Theological Archives.”

In the corner of the plaque was the emblem of the Divine Authority Council: an open book topped by a watchful eye, with two crossed daggers between them—symbols of divine liberation, the return of knowledge and reason, and the necessary resolve to break chains.

“Veronica,” Leight noticed her approaching and turned with a commanding smile. “Come see the church’s new facility. This is the Council’s office within the cathedral. We’re setting up a special research group here to study the earliest versions of the Holy Light scriptures and compile all historical records of the church. You should be a great help with this.”

“Good day, High Priest,” Veronica smiled in greeting and stopped at the door. Inside, the spacious room was already filled with bookshelves, long tables, chairs, and platforms for arcane terminals. On the far wall hung a large emblem of the Divine Authority Council. Her gaze lingered on the symbol for a long moment before she looked away and nodded gently to Leight. “Of course, I’m happy to help.”

The era of rebellion was over, the former rebel leader from ancient Gondor quietly reflected.

Seven hundred years ago, hidden underground, she had not witnessed the fall of the Gondor Empire’s banner. Seven hundred years later, wandering the human world, she had not seen the official end of the Rebellion Project. But standing here, watching the Council’s emblem hang before her eyes, she couldn’t help but think: the era of rebellion is over.

Yet she felt no regret, for this was not an ending of destruction. A new banner had risen, and a new group of brave souls sought a brighter future.

The newborn Divine Authority Council would inherit the legacy of the Rebellion Project. Building on the foundation laid by their predecessors, they had gone further and seen wider. If the rebellion of Gondor’s time was a desperate, frantic resistance by those suddenly confronted with a dark truth, then the current Council was a carefully considered enterprise born from that inheritance.

It would be more rational, more rigorous, and gain broader support—making success far more likely.

Veronica’s only regret was that so many had not lived to see this day, including the old rebels and the countless Ophelia copies lost through repeated iterations and uploads.

Leight’s voice beside her pulled her from her brief reverie. “By the way, are you attending the bishop’s meeting in the cathedral later?”

“I’m going to meet His Majesty today,” Veronica shook her head. “Sorry, you’ll have to go on your own.”

“Oh, that’s fine, I can manage,” Light chuckled, his rugged yet sincere smile instantly putting people at ease—though, admittedly, it could also make strangers a bit uneasy in a different way. “You’ve seemed a bit preoccupied these past few days. I’ll handle things with the Church here; you should focus on your own matters.”

Veronica immediately frowned, almost unconsciously. Had her emotions already slipped out enough to be noticed by others? It seemed her personality settings still needed some fine-tuning…

…

After escorting Belsethia back to the Autumn Palace, Gawain returned to his study. As he pushed the door open, he found a figure already standing inside, as if waiting for him: Veronica, holding her platinum staff, dressed in her nun’s habit.

Few had the privilege to enter his study unannounced, and this rebellious leader from the days of Gondor was one of them.

“Veronica?” Gawain looked at the saintly figure, her gentle smile ever-present. “Is there something you need?”

“Your Majesty,” Veronica turned to him, her usually serene expression now carrying a rare solemnity. “I want to discuss the situation in the Gondor Wastelands.”

Gawain was heading toward the chair behind his desk but stopped in his tracks at her words. He sensed something unusual in her tone. “The Gondor Wastelands? Why bring that up all of a sudden?”

“I suspect a force is stirring deep within the Gondor Wastelands—one that poses a serious threat to the outside world.”

Gawain’s expression grew grave. “A force? What kind of force?”

“Do you remember the intelligence we found in the ‘End of All Things’ dossier recovered from the Thalin Catacombs?” Veronica met his gaze steadily. “It mentioned two factions of the ‘End of All Things’ cult still active in the world. One operates in the human lands beyond the Grant Wall, carrying out the ‘False God’s Vessel’ project. The other hides within the Gondor Wastelands, seemingly engaged in peripheral activities like intelligence gathering and data support…”

“Of course I know,” Gawain nodded immediately. In fact, even without those dossiers from the Thalin Catacombs, he was aware that remnants of the ‘End of All Things’ cult lurked in the wastelands. He had personally dealt with them and learned much from Beltera about their operations. “From what I understand, the cultists hiding in the wastelands act with extreme secrecy. Even their brethren outside don’t know exactly what they’re up to. The Empire has tried various measures, but the wasteland’s contamination zones make it impossible to reach them. Even knowing they exist, we’ve been powerless to act.”

“Perhaps it’s time you considered a solution,” Veronica said solemnly.

(End of chapter)