Chapter 1543: The Day of Conspiracy

In the Shadowrealm, within the Courtyard of Rebellion beneath the golden oak tree, only minutes remained before the appointed time.

Since the successful sacrificial ritual involving all the letters, the Theocratic Council had been engaged in a series of intricate preparations. Now, everything was in place.

The radiant crown of the golden oak spread its luminous canopy over the vast courtyard, its gentle glow dispelling the eternal gloom that pervaded the Shadowrealm. Around the tree, large crystal towers stood in neat rows within the nursery, emitting a misty radiance. Their humming maintained the anti-divine barrier at full power. Not far away, inside the Fortress of Rebellion, an emergency command center had been hastily established to coordinate the operation. Experienced technopriests and disciplinarian monks of the Theocratic Council monitored every parameter relayed by the equipment.

Though Lady Night’s precise “surgical strike” had thoroughly severed the gods’ “human halves,” effectively eliminating concerns of divine essence leakage or mental contamination, Gawain was always one to prepare for the worst. Gathering so many gods’ human halves in one place was a staggering feat, and even he couldn’t guarantee everything would unfold exactly as planned. So, having the Theocratic Council ready all protective measures was a prudent choice.

Beyond the courtyard bathed in various shimmering lights lay the meeting ground—a vast open space temporarily illuminated by artificial lamps.

Calling it a meeting ground was generous; it was more like a “wasteland” preserving the Shadowrealm’s original desolation. The blackened earth stretched endlessly into the chaotic distance, crisscrossed by fissures and trenches. Occasionally, massive black stones, seemingly weightless, spun and floated in the air. At the bottom of this world, the wasteland resembled a surreal nightmare born from deathly silence—just one glance was enough to fill a person with oppressive unease.

Amon stood at the edge of his nursery, gazing out at the wasteland serving as the meeting place. The scattered orbs of light and industrial-grade magic crystal lamps illuminated the area but could not dispel the eerie barrenness brought by the shattered earth and floating stones. He sighed softly, “I’ve lain here for three thousand years, staring at this monotonous view all that time… Back then, I didn’t mind at all. I was even glad to finally be free from the constant ‘noise’ and tearing in my mind. I enjoyed the quiet of this dark wasteland. And those Gondorian mages’ experimental fields a thousand years ago were even a bit of an amusing distraction.”

He shook his head. Vines of emerald flowers twined around his massive antlers, two small blossoms swaying gently at the tips.

“Looking back, that was a truly dull stretch of time. And yet, I enjoyed it for so long.”

Gawain stood beside Amon, holding Amber, while the Three Goddesses of Plenty had arrived early, waiting for the meeting to begin. Hearing Amon’s reflection, Gawain glanced back at the lush courtyard and the magnificent golden oak, then at the cluster of magic net terminals, immersion pods, and neural connectors piled beneath the tree like a nerd’s happy den. He murmured, “It’s easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to return from luxury to frugality.”

“Easy to go from frugality to luxury… hard to go back,” Amon mused thoughtfully, chewing over the words. “Such wisdom. No wonder so many are obsessed with studying your everyday words and deeds, even compiling them into books.”

At this, Gawain instinctively glanced at Amber, expecting her to leap up and defend her precious books. But to his surprise, the shadowy assault elf just stood there nervously, seemingly oblivious to Amon’s comment. He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been zoning out since earlier. What’s on your mind? Worried about Violet’s situation?”

Amber snapped out of her daze, her long elven ears twitching rapidly. She looked anxious. “Do you think I’m going to get beaten up later?”

“Huh?” Gawain blinked, caught off guard. “Why would you get beaten? Who would hit you?”

“The gods!” Amber’s face scrunched up. “You forgot they were tricked here by a single note from me? What if they show up and find no Lady Night, just a knockoff half-elf messing with them? They’d be furious—and with my power, I’d be toast right then and there…”

Gawain laughed. “So now you’re nervous? Yesterday when you wrote that note, you were all excited. Why didn’t you think of this then?”

“I never imagined you’d drag me here in person today!” Amber almost cried. “I thought it’d just be a quick stunt, then sit back and watch the fun…”

“There’s no such luck. After the stunt, getting stuck at the scene is every troublemaker’s fate, don’t you know?” Gawain felt inexplicably cheerful—perhaps watching this half-elf get herself into trouble was one of life’s great pleasures. He ruffled Amber’s hair and offered a casual reassurance. “Don’t worry so much. The gods’ human halves are rational. Anyone with a normal mind won’t hold a grudge over this. And even if some hothead does, Amon and the Three Goddesses of Plenty have promised to keep order.”

Amber glanced nervously at the nearby gods. She caught Amon already bending over to inspect a newly sprouted patch of crops, while the Three Goddesses had gathered around him, whispering among themselves. Snatches of their conversation drifted to her ears: “Your beans are growing so well…” “Where did you get this soil?” “Is that eggplant over there?” “Where’s your water source? Divine power conversion?”

Amber’s face drained of color. She felt that a retired old farmer obsessed with planting and three goddesses who could easily outmatch even a retired elder deer were hardly the allies she needed.

After a while, Amon and the Three Goddesses finished their discussion. Flora glanced toward the dark horizon of the wasteland, her tone uncertain. “Say… what if none of them show up?”

“The time’s almost up,” Gaia frowned. “But I doubt none will come. The previous sacrificial ritual went smoothly, which means they sensed Lady Night’s presence in the letters.”

“I understand that mindset,” Gawain said. “After the ‘treatment’ they went through, some reluctance is natural. No god would outright refuse Lady Night’s invitation, but delaying until the last second is expected. Let’s wait a few more minutes.”

Just as he finished speaking, a buzzing sound suddenly came from a magic terminal in the nursery. The Three Goddesses jumped at the noise—these “mortal gadgets” always startled them—while Gawain immediately recognized the two crests and the high-level encryption symbols projected above the device. He smiled. “It’s a communication from Aldern and the Elven Court—Rosetta and Belsethia have arrived early.”

Today’s meeting was personally led by Gawain and Amber. To avoid mishaps during this first attempt, Gawain had barred ordinary Theocratic Council staff from entering the meeting ground. The temporary command center was secured deep within the Fortress of Rebellion’s layered defenses. Yet, he arranged for two others to participate remotely: Rosetta Augustus and Belsethia Morningstar.

The reason was simple—the Three Empires held the highest authority within the Theocratic Council. The entire plan ahead required cooperation from Typhon and the Silver Empire. Both were among the few nations besides Cecil capable of industrially producing magic crystal explosives (dragons and sea witches had no need for such things). Moreover, they had extensive experience dealing with gods—and even setting traps for them. For a scheme to trap the gods themselves, who else could he turn to?

Under the curious gaze of the Three Goddesses, the humming “little” device activated, projecting a clear hologram into the air. Protected by layers of neural network encryption, the personal blessing of the Overnarrator, and the strict anti-divine barrier, the images of Rosetta Augustus and Belsethia Morningstar appeared at the “Divine Conspiracy” meeting.

“Oh! It’s lit up!” Flora exclaimed, happily pawing the earth with her deer-like legs. “Though I’d heard about this from the faithful, seeing it in person is quite different.”

Rosetta and Belsethia were about to greet Gawain when they were taken aback by the sight of the towering half-human, half-deer goddesses. Their expressions showed visible surprise and confusion. Gawain quickly explained, “These are the Three Goddesses of Plenty: Flora, the Goddess of Spring; Gaia, the Earth Goddess; and Eve, the Goddess of Harvest. The other ‘participants’ haven’t arrived yet.”

“…Speaking with ‘gods’ under these circumstances is quite a unique experience,” Rosetta hesitated a few seconds before speaking. Bowing slightly with respect but no humility, she addressed the goddesses. “I am Rosetta Augustus, ruler of Typhon. I greet you and thank you for your protection and aid over the past 4,700 years. On behalf of the people who toil upon the earth, I thank you for every harvest you have brought.”

“It is the labor of mortals that brings the harvest,” Gaia smiled gently, lowering her head. “We merely respond to the limited prayers, yet are mistaken for embodiments of plenty.”

Hearing this, Gawain shook his head with a smile. “But it’s undeniable that before the age of industrial alchemy and the advent of the Dust of Plenty, the presence of the Three Goddesses contributed at least thirty percent of the world’s annual grain output. This is the result of repeated experiments and statistics by the Theocratic Council and the Coordinating Planning Committee.”

The Three Goddesses looked at Gawain in surprise. He wore a serious expression as he met their gaze. “The purpose of the Theocratic Council is to end the age of divine rule, but we never deny the existence of the gods or your historical contributions. Even after the divine era truly ends, we will forever record these facts in history. So I believe you can accept mortal gratitude at any time, for you have fulfilled your duties.”

Gaia’s eyes widened in surprise. She seemed about to say something, but before she could speak, a powerful presence suddenly surged forward from the far end of the dark wasteland, interrupting her.

A giant shadow abruptly emerged from the depths of darkness—cloaked in a long robe, holding something aloft in his hands. A faint halo of light spread behind him, shimmering like gold and silver, gradually illuminating the gloom. He strode purposefully toward the Rebellious Courtyard, each step heavy and deliberate.

As the shadow drew closer, his indistinct face finally came into view for everyone gathered. High King recognized him instantly—not only because he had already memorized the sacred images of every deity, but also because he had seen this face recently, and it had left a strong impression.

It was Bofar, the God of Commerce. He was the first to arrive at the gathering. What caught High King’s attention, however, was that the object Bofar held was not the golden scales depicted on his standard icon, but a large book with an unreadable cover.

But his focus quickly shifted away from the mysterious tome as more figures began to appear one after another at the edge of the dark wasteland.

Just as he had casually predicted—no god would dare ignore the Lady of Night’s summons, yet none were foolish enough to arrive early and risk a beating. They all, like a flock of procrastinating pigeons facing a deadline, had somehow managed to push their arrival to the very last second…

At this moment, Amber had completely shrunk back into the shadow behind High King, but he had no time to pay attention to her stealthy retreat. Before him unfolded the most astonishing, bizarre, and awe-inspiring scene he had witnessed since rising from the grave—one heavy with religious symbolism.

He saw faint glimmers at the edge of darkness, and countless colossal figures emerging as if from the river of history itself, striding forward with heads held high. Among them were awe-inspiring giants, as well as figures like Amon and the Three Sisters of Abundance, who bore distinct animal forms and retained the marks of primal worship.

These gods—shaped and revered by mortals over thousands, even tens of thousands of years, and protectors of countless lives—were now emerging one after another, converging toward a fortress standing silently in the dark. This fortress had been built a thousand years ago by a group of mortals who called themselves the “Rebels.”

High King stood quietly beside Amon, the “Forerunner” and God of Nature, the first among the gods to be freed. Gazing out at the gods arriving at the gathering, even without spiritual corruption or divine leakage, the overwhelming pressure of the scene made his breath quicken. As they drew nearer, he could make out more details on these great beings—details that both amazed him and would surely confound historians for generations to come.

Some were wrapped in bandages, some bore massive swellings on their heads, others had blood seeping from their eye sockets, the crimson running down their necks. One even leaned on a cane, dressed like Faul, the God of Winter and the Forest…

Amon turned to glance at the three Gaia sisters. The Earth Goddess wiped the blood from her face—finally willing to clean the wounds—and muttered, “I told you, they’re still not healed…”

(End of chapter)