Chapter 1546: What Does It Mean to Be a Professional?

It had to be said—the question posed by Baalphal, the God of Commerce, was exactly the kind of problem that High One had been wrestling with since yesterday.

Using the courtyard area around the Rebellious Fortress as a staging ground for transporting munitions to the various divine realms certainly had its advantages. But no matter how many benefits it offered, it couldn’t hide the glaring flaw of relying on a single route. Setting aside the enormous risk of stockpiling explosives powerful enough to blow even gods away (a concern Amohn voiced seriously), the real bottleneck was the “throughput” of the teleportation gate deep within the fortress.

This gate was a relic from the Gondor era. After being reinforced and repaired by the magi-technicians of Cecile, it was now stable enough that they no longer had to fear it collapsing at any moment, as they did when it was first discovered. But no matter how stable, it was still just a gate—and teleportation gates have strict limits on what can pass through. Excessive mass or high energy reactions could cause the portal to shift or even tear apart. Relying on that single gate to “trap” a dozen or so divine realms was a serious problem.

Granted, with current technology and the progress made in deciphering the gate’s secrets, High One could consider opening more portals within the Rebellious Fortress. But that still wouldn’t solve the fundamental issues: massive energy demands, unpredictable construction timelines, and interference between multiple portals—all huge headaches. And even if those were overcome, there was another factor to consider: the bottleneck wasn’t just the gate itself.

The Rebellious Fortress, buried deep in the Dark Mountains with its complex underground structure, was a challenge in itself. The narrow corridors and multiple security checkpoints inside the fortress formed yet another barrier. These ancient structures were never designed to serve as bulk cargo transfer routes. Many were integral to the fortress’s operation or too structurally sensitive to dismantle and rebuild. High One knew it was nearly impossible to clear all these obstacles in a short time.

Given these practical difficulties, even with a year left for the gods to prepare, whether they could amass the necessary resources for the “Twilight of the Gods” plan remained uncertain.

“Are there any other suitable ‘windows’ in the mortal realm or the Shadow Realm?” After a brief silence, a voice broke the quiet in the assembly hall. It was Danmor, the Blood God. “The Gondor Empire must have established more than just this one ‘otherworldly fortress,’ right?”

“Indeed, the Númenóreans did set up other fortresses,” High One replied, glancing at Amber before shaking his head. “But as far as we know, this is the only fortress located so ‘deep’ within the Shadow Realm. One of the reasons the Númenóreans built it here was to study the ‘reclusive’ nature gods dwelling in this place.”

“There’s another ‘window’ that might be usable,” Rosetta August’s voice suddenly came from the side as he pondered aloud. “The God of War’s realm—now that it’s a harmless testing ground. Since the God of War fell, that realm has become inactive. Maybe it could serve as a gathering point?”

“…Not very safe,” Baalphal, the Nature God, said after a moment’s thought, shaking his head. “Even if a god falls, their realm remains a crystallization of thought currents. It still retains many of those mental imprints. Likewise, even though we are ‘half-divine,’ we carry the full aura of a god. Entering a foreign god’s realm risks triggering a mental backlash. If we enter the God of War’s realm, it could easily spiral out of control.”

With two proposals dismissed in quick succession, everyone in the assembly fell into deep thought. The gods searched their domains for possible solutions, while the mortals flexed their creativity and flexible thinking to find a way out. After a while, Belsethya’s voice suddenly broke the silence.

“I actually have an idea. Not sure if it’s feasible…”

“Speak up if you have an idea,” High One nodded immediately. “Right now, all ideas are on the table. Whether they work is another matter.”

Belsethya nodded slightly, then turned her gaze to the gods gathered in the hall. “Each of your cults must have various sacrificial rituals, right?”

The moment the Silver Queen said this, the gods’ reactions aside, High One was stunned. He almost instantly guessed what this elven ruler was thinking. The creativity of her idea immediately reminded him of Belsethya’s legendary mischief during the allied camp centuries ago—after all these years, the Silver Queen was still as formidable as ever.

Clearly, High One wasn’t the only one who quickly grasped the implication of Belsethya’s words. Na’phali, the God of Dance and Wind, stared wide-eyed at the Silver Queen’s hologram, disbelief written all over her face.

“You mean… have the followers directly offer those things as sacrifices to the gods? Like, literally ‘sacrifice’ the bombs?”

Belsethya nodded slightly. “Theoretically, is that possible?”

“…We do have all kinds of sacrificial rituals. Offering sacrifices to the gods is arguably the most fundamental and original act of faith,” Na’phali said thoughtfully. “That letter you sent before was delivered through such a sacrificial ritual, so in theory, it’s not a problem. But… shouldn’t this plan be kept secret? Especially from the clergy, since they might leak the plan to our half-divine selves, causing us to lose control…”

“We only tell the clergy to offer bombs to the gods, not the truth behind the plan. Would they figure out what the bombs are for on their own?” Belsethya asked seriously. “The half-divine don’t actively think about hidden conspiracies. They only instinctively sense danger and detect the most direct, subjective malice. The clergy don’t know what they’re offering, and there’s no subjective malice involved. So why wouldn’t this work?”

“Wait, hold on—I need to sort this out!” High One interrupted. His thoughts were tangled like a ball of yarn, and he didn’t know where to start. “Your theory is well-structured, but don’t you think it’s suspicious enough for the clergy to be placing bombs on altars during mass and prayers? Those priests would definitely wonder! Even if you don’t tell them, just seeing bombs on the altar would make them suspect the Church Council is up to something crazy!”

“What if the order to sacrifice bombs comes not from the Church Council, but from their own gods?” Belsethya said solemnly. “Although the gods’ half-divine no longer respond to mortal prayers, that doesn’t mean you’ve lost the ability to do so. You can send divine oracles to designate new sacred offerings… Of course, this process needs careful planning and may require cooperation with the Church Council, but overall, I don’t see a problem.”

High One couldn’t help but stare at Belsethya. The Silver Queen sat upright, her expression serious and dignified, as if addressing the highest council of the alliance. But deep in her eyes was the unmistakable gleam of “I’ve got a perfect crime planned, and no one can stop me.” He had seen that look many times in memories from seven centuries ago. After all this time, he thought that mischievous spark had finally been extinguished in the mature, majestic queen. But now he realized it had only been napping.

He turned his expressionless face toward the gods in the hall.

They were even more baffled than he was.

“Theoretically… yes, theoretically this is possible,” Gaia, the Earth Goddess, was the first to break the silence. Her eyes were a little dazed, but her thoughts were clear. “I mean, we can issue divine oracles to require this, but wouldn’t it still be suspicious? Why would exalted gods suddenly ask their followers to change their offerings? That would inevitably raise doubts among them…”

Belsethya smiled meaningfully at the confused Earth Goddess. Her tone was calm and deep.

“You are a god and understand the ways of gods, but you don’t understand your mortal followers. Truly devout believers never doubt any words from their gods. They have a thousand ways to explain and convince themselves, and anything they can’t explain is seen as a divine test or a profound mystery beyond mortal comprehension. Without that blind faith, how could mortals listen to the gods’ words or perform sacrificial rituals?

“Of course, to minimize risks, you can limit who hears the oracles and performs the rituals—only churches and temples above a certain scale, and clergy above a certain rank would be eligible. This also acts as a filter: clergy who obey the oracles won’t doubt the gods’ will, and those who doubt won’t have access to the oracles.

“In any case, the truth will never reach the half-divine, because it takes extraordinary imagination to connect these dots. And those with such imagination and suspicion, who dare to think in terms of conspiracy and blasphemy… they are not true believers.”

The gods exchanged glances. Even Amohn, who had been quietly observing, lifted his head and looked over curiously. Amber tugged High One’s sleeve and whispered, “How did I never realize the Silver Queen was so clever?”

What could High One say? He shrugged and lowered his voice. “Belsethya’s been smart since she was a kid…”

There was more he didn’t say—when it came to professional matters, it was best to leave them to the professionals. Belsethya, after all, held the title of High Priestess of Nature, the last remaining symbol of divine authority in the ancient theocratic Silver Empire. Though she and her family severed ties with the Nature God thousands of years ago, as the saying goes, “Only by understanding can one overcome.” Belsethya had grown up reading church classics and theological works. As a High Priestess who rejected the gods, she understood faith better than most devout believers in the world.

That gave her the edge to exploit a loophole in this plan…

Still, even at this stage, concerns remained in the assembly. Danmor, the Blood God, looked worried.

“But this only minimizes risk to the greatest extent; it doesn’t eliminate it entirely. We all know how complex mortals are. Once this is implemented on a large scale, no matter how many filters and restrictions we add, there’s still a chance it could spiral out of control.”

Blood God Danmo’s worries seemed a bit overblown, but Gawain understood the caution perfectly. After all, this was a plan to assassinate the gods themselves. They were up against the most powerful, most dangerous beings in the world—entities already teetering on the edge of some critical threshold. Even with the delicate balance between divine nature and mortal humanity, even with the Silver Queen’s help exploiting certain loopholes, the risks behind this were very real. And even the slightest risk could lead to irreversible catastrophe. So it was only wise to consider every possible outcome.

After all, until a mortal actually takes action, you can never predict just how much trouble they might stir up—human nature is no joke.

Gawain fell into deep thought. After a long pause, he suddenly brought up a question. “I’m really curious—what exactly happens when you accept a sacrifice? Is it like the item gets teleported? Or is it broken down and reassembled? Or do you actually open a gateway to the divine realm and just pull the offering straight through?”

“Definitely not opening a direct gateway,” Baofal, the god of commerce, shook his head. “Connecting the divine realm directly to the mortal world would be far too dangerous. What you described in the first two cases is closer to the truth. The sacrificial ritual ‘transfers’ the offering to our divine throne. During this process, the offering seems to be broken down and reassembled once, but it maintains its ‘correct state’ both before and after. Even we don’t fully understand the exact mechanism behind it… It’s like how our divine duties and the workings of the divine realm operate—things we can’t explain, but that function instinctively.”

“That might still be related to the ‘Unified Wave Model,’” Gawain mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he listened to Baofal’s explanation. “But that’s not the main point. Here’s my second question: when you accept sacrifices, how do you ‘designate the target’? Do you only accept items explicitly offered by your followers? Or can you take anything within the ritual’s vicinity? Does your own divine role affect this? And is there a limit to how many offerings you can accept at once? If so, what determines that limit?”

Hearing Gawain’s rapid-fire questions, Amber instinctively rolled her eyes—she hadn’t seen the old man go into his “ten thousand whys” mode in ages. Clearly, his relentless questioning was as formidable as ever.

Nearby, Baofal paused briefly to consider before answering. “There’s actually no strict limit on the number of offerings during a sacrifice. It depends on the devotion of the worshippers and the power generated by their collective faith. For gods like us who have already ‘taken form,’ the amount we can receive in a large ritual is huge—far beyond any usual offering limits. But we only take a symbolic amount, instinctively completing the ritual and then ceasing to respond. In this, our divine and mortal halves don’t conflict, so we can operate freely.”

“As for how we ‘designate the target’ when accepting sacrifices…” Baofal suddenly stopped mid-sentence, as if struck by a thought. His gaze toward Gawain turned strange. “What exactly are you trying to do?”

“Just a hypothetical,” Gawain said seriously after a moment’s thought. “What if we held a ritual right next to an armory, publicly declaring the entire street as the ritual site? The priests set up fruit plates and flower baskets on the altar—just the usual ritual stuff. They don’t even need to know what’s in the warehouse next door. Then, when you accept the offerings, you end up taking the whole warehouse along with it.”

The gods: “…?”

Amber glanced between Gawain and Belsethia, suddenly wondering if these two were really siblings…

(End of chapter)