Chapter 1529: Secrets Beneath the Nightfall

Night had fallen over the Arcane Capital. The radiant glow of the magic crystal lamps illuminated the streets and plazas, while a tranquil starry sky stretched overhead, blanketing the land in quiet darkness. Yet beneath the starlight, the vibrant nightlife of the Cecilian people was just beginning to stir—bustling night markets, taverns and theaters open until dawn, and the ever-bright neural network immersion hubs. A myriad of modern entertainments filled the leisure hours of this era, keeping the city alive and sleepless.

But in the southern district, an unusual stillness had settled over the entire neighborhood.

The entire church quarter was sealed off.

Judgment monks and nuns from the Theocratic Council stood guard at every church entrance. Security forces had erected conspicuous warning signs and barricades at all access points. Earlier that afternoon, several heavy trucks had entered the district, delivering high-powered anti-divine barrier generators. Now, a formidable protective shield enveloped all the ecclesiastical facilities.

Under the quiet night sky, the faint glow from the force field generators formed hazy columns of light in the air. Beneath each pillar stood fully armed Inquisitorial Knights, personally leading squads on watch.

Bathed in the soft light of the arcane devices and shrouded in the deep silence of night, the judgment monks and nuns kept vigilant eyes on every church. Their heavy mechanized warhammers and steel-bound sacred tomes—imbued with various combat spells—were their earthly gospel. These cold, powerful instruments allowed the awe-inspiring enforcers of the Council to guard the fragile boundary of mortal reason beneath the shadow of the divine. Tonight, such vigilance was especially crucial.

Before the Temple of the Three Bountiful Goddesses, a Judgment Knight Commander clad in pure white armor glanced up toward the main sanctuary. A “Messenger of the Gospel” battle tank, freshly dispatched from the Holy Light Armory, stood stationed at the front gate. Nearby, several tech monks adjusted equipment, monitoring every movement around the temple.

Soft footsteps approached. A silver-haired judgment nun came to stand beside the commander. She glanced toward the temple and lowered her voice. “We just received word from the Council’s upper echelon. They’re requesting another prayer test—this time involving high-level divine magic. It’s a recommendation from the advisory board.”

“Another test?” The commander’s voice was muffled beneath his heavy helmet. “We just completed one an hour ago… Well, if it’s an order, then the clergy in the temple will have to endure it again.”

The silver-haired nun bowed slightly. “Yes.”

Inside the temple, a senior acolyte sat nervously on a bench. Before him lay sacred scriptures, but the words blurred in his mind. Nearby, several fellow clergy rested on adjacent benches, their expressions taut with tension.

This tension stemmed partly from the heavy pressure imposed by the Theocratic Council’s monks who had sealed off the entire church district. But more deeply, it arose from anxiety over the state of the gods themselves.

For mortals to worry about the well-being of their deities would have been laughable in the past. Yet for those senior clergy who understood some of the hidden truths and had witnessed the strange phenomena within the temple, this concern was very real.

“Don’t be too worried,” a gentle voice spoke from nearby. A woman in simple robes had quietly approached the bench. Seeing the senior acolyte’s anxiety, she smiled reassuringly. “The Theocratic Council isn’t some cruel enemy. They are His Majesty’s arm, the guardians of the mortal realm. Right now, they’re trying to protect the church. This is actually a good sign—the Council acted swiftly but hasn’t arrested anyone. That means the situation is still under control.”

The senior acolyte stood and saluted, then gave a wry smile, spreading his hands. “I know, Your Holiness. The Knight Commander said the same—it’s probably just a false alarm. But the scene in the Court of Harvest was terrifying. Even now, images flash through my mind… those marks on the ground, I can’t help but…”

“Don’t dwell on it. Don’t recall. Don’t question. You are a devout soul, which means you must understand where the true test lies. Hundreds of prayers in times of peace are no real trial. It is the heart’s faith in adversity that reveals a believer’s true strength.” The woman gently shook her head and placed a hand on the acolyte’s shoulder. “I share some blame, too. After receiving the Council’s notice, I should have been more alert. You shouldn’t have stayed so long in the Court of Harvest.”

“No, Your Holiness, please don’t say that. It’s my fault for faltering.” The acolyte hurriedly waved his hands. “I understand what you mean and what I must do. You have nothing to worry about.”

“That’s good.” The temple’s steward nodded softly but couldn’t help adding, “If you feel overwhelmed, go rest in the side chapel. The Council’s psychological counselors are there, or you can connect to the neural network to relax. It’s not a holy season now; some entertainment won’t go against the Three Goddesses’ will.”

The acolyte hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you for your concern. I’ll rest in the side chapel.”

After he left, the steward sighed quietly. She glanced back at the sanctuary’s far end, where the statues of the Three Bountiful Goddesses stood silently on their dais, bathed in the soft glow of divine crystals. The goddesses’ half-human, half-deer forms were as elegant and beautiful as ever. Wreaths of flowers, sheaves of wheat, and vessels of fine wine—offerings from devout worshippers—clustered around the statues, preserved in an unchanging, incorruptible state.

Satisfied that the miraculous power still protected the sacred objects with no sign of decay, the steward relaxed slightly. She lowered her head and softly recited the sacred verses inscribed in the scriptures. Her flaxen curls fell gently beside her cheeks—until the sudden sound of metal boots striking the floor shattered the hall’s calm. She snapped her head toward the source.

A silver-haired judgment nun strode through the rows of benches, her battle staff in hand, her expression grave.

The steward immediately stepped forward, greeting her with ecclesiastical formality. “What has happened?”

“We need you to perform another prayer,” the nun said solemnly, “a prayer explicitly invoking high-level divine magic. You don’t need to fully release the spell, but please share every sensation you experience during the prayer.”

“Another prayer?” The steward was surprised but quickly nodded. “Understood.”

Turning, she walked to the foot of the Three Goddesses’ statues and bowed her head, beginning to chant the sacred prayer.

Raised within the temple as a “Pure One,” devotion was as natural to her as breathing. Her powerful spiritual gifts allowed her to effortlessly call upon the blessings of the Three Bountiful Goddesses. As her gentle, measured incantations filled the air, layers of shimmering energy visibly rippled around her. A vast, potent yet gentle force radiated from within her, spreading like warm spring sunlight at her feet.

This was the power granted by the Three Goddesses—a miracle capable of bending reality on a small scale. It could make barren land flourish in the dead of winter, cause stones to sprout, and revive withered trees. But since the Council’s nun had requested only a test, and the temple’s floor was costly to repair, the steward ended the invocation just as the magic began to take form. She exhaled softly, steadying her breath.

“It appears the magic is functioning normally. Your Three Goddesses should be in good condition,” the silver-haired nun nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation. Did you notice anything unusual during the prayer?”

The steward didn’t answer immediately. She seemed momentarily lost in thought, staring down at her hands. Her curls veiled her expression, but the nun beside her sensed something was amiss. Her fingers subtly moved near the trigger on her staff, while her other hand hovered close to her emergency signal device. “Lady, are you feeling something strange?”

“I…” The steward finally snapped out of her daze, slowly lifting her head. Her expression showed no sign of mental disturbance, but her voice trembled with unease and confusion. “I don’t know. I only felt… emptiness and silence.”

“Emptiness and silence?” The nun frowned sharply. She judged that the steward had not suffered any divine spiritual corruption, but her fingers remained poised on the trigger. “Please describe in detail what you felt. Keep calm and clear-headed. If any abnormal memories or sudden hallucinations arise during recall, try to signal me if possible.”

“Don’t worry, I’m lucid. I’m not corrupted. I’m just confused. Something… incomprehensible happened.” The steward noticed the nun’s unusually serious expression and quickly shook her head, regaining composure. “I prayed to the Goddesses, but I didn’t feel their usual gentle, loving response. Nor did I sense their watchful presence. That has never happened before.

“Nun, forgive me if this sounds boastful, but I am a born Chosen. Though I haven’t reached the heights of the ‘Divine Elect’ and cannot hear direct oracles, I can at least feel the Goddesses’ gaze—especially when invoking high-level magic.”

“But your magic worked as expected,” the nun said firmly. “The deities answered your prayer precisely, as always.”

“Yes, the magic took effect. The Goddesses granted power immediately. But I didn’t feel their… warmth during the process. I know that’s hard to understand, since normally there’s no special sensation when casting magic, but…”

The steward’s composure faltered. She shouldn’t have been so easily unsettled, but the abnormal reaction rooted in her faith and the tense lockdown of the church district weighed heavily on her. Yet she remained rational enough to share every clue she had noticed with this “professional,” rather than hiding anything out of fear or reserve.

At the same time, across the entire cathedral district—in other churches, temples, and shrines—the same test was underway. High-ranking clerics and chosen ones, all blessed with strong spiritual gifts and able to communicate with the gods to some degree, began their prayers. Under the watchful eyes of the Theocratic Council, they sought, through this indirect method, to glimpse any changes within the divine realm.

…

An invisible wind swept across the endless gray-white desert. The unchanging pale sky stretched over the grand throne, towering like a mountain. Suddenly, a powerful force shook this ancient, eternal space. Fierce winds howled, sand and dust swirled, and fine gray-white grains whipped into the air, forming a massive vortex. From within that swirling maelstrom, a colossal figure stepped forward, drifting like a dark cloud over the sea of sand, moving toward the throne.

Behind this figure, the enormous dust vortex did not dissipate immediately. The power of the anchor generator kept it intact for several more seconds before it gradually collapsed. Through the fading gray-white sandstorm, strange and otherworldly scenes flickered faintly—an immense hall shrouded in a magnificent light curtain, its roof partially collapsed and broken. But this vision lasted only a moment before vanishing entirely as the sandstorm dissolved.

At the very last instant before the vortex disappeared, a faint, barely audible voice drifted on the wind—like someone utterly exhausted struggling to speak: “…Thank you.”

The towering figure, now standing before the throne, did not look back. Instead, it waved a hand in response. Only after confirming that the anchor generator had fully closed the passage did it turn to glance toward the direction where the dust vortex had vanished. Then, dragging its weary body, it sank back onto the throne and let out a deep breath.

After catching its breath, the figure casually flicked the black-and-white scepter in its hand, then glanced at the small stone pillar before the throne. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“No real changes,” came the voice of Wilde from the top of the pillar. “By the way, was that blood you just flicked off the scepter?”

The Lady of Night waved her hand dismissively. “I cleaned it before I came back—and this isn’t a stick, it’s a scepter.”

Wilde: “…”

“Your silence is suspicious, Mr. Great Adventurer,” the Lady of Night said with a half-smile, eyes fixed on the black leather tome atop the pillar. “I remember last few times I returned, you’d be all curious, asking this and that. Why so quiet this time?”

“I asked everything I could, and you answered what you wanted. I didn’t ask what you wouldn’t answer. I’ve guessed most of it anyway. What else is there to ask?” Wilde muttered. “You’ve opened more than a dozen passages recently. Every time you come back, you’re soaked in the aura of battle. Sometimes, a glimpse of the other side leaks through the portal. I didn’t dare look too closely, but I caught a few glimpses. It’s terrifying—so for my own sanity, I’d better not pry any further.”

The Lady of Night looked down from the sky at Wilde on the pillar. Her amber eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement, but she said nothing. Her mood appeared good. After a few minutes of rest, she broke the silence herself.

“Now, I’ve basically done everything I can.”

“May I ask—what exactly are you trying to do?”

“You see, you just can’t help but ask,” the Lady of Night laughed cheerfully, clearly enjoying the moment. “Mr. Great Adventurer, I’ll tell you a secret. It might just shock you.”

“A secret that could shock me? Madam, forgive my frankness—but is there really anything more shocking than ‘The Lady of Night sweeping through the gods’?”

“Sounds like you’ve been training your mindset well lately, no longer startled by ordinary things,” the Lady of Night lowered her gaze, a smile playing on her lips. “But what if I told you… by a stricter standard, I’m actually a mortal?”

(End of chapter)