Chapter 1547: Movers and Shakers

The reasoning of High Lord Gawain and Belsethia fully demonstrated one thing: when it comes to religious rituals, if you want to exploit loopholes, you either have to be an expert or shameless. And as long as you meet one of these two conditions, you can exploit loopholes as big as you want. Religious practices inherited from primitive worship have evolved slowly over millennia, and hardly anyone ever thought to approach these sacred rites from the angle of “finding loopholes.” No one would actively try to fix bugs or seriously debate the irrational parts of the rituals. Yet the natural principles underlying these ceremonies don’t care about believers’ ignorance—they don’t avoid loopholes just because no one notices them. Now, these loopholes, long ignored for centuries, had become a golden opportunity in Gawain’s eyes.

Come to think of it, the existence of such loopholes was almost inevitable. After all, the most important condition of devout faith is “do not question.” What does that mean? Simply put, divine authority is absolute. Anything related to the gods is beyond mortal doubt. Encounter a problem? That’s a test from the gods. The scriptures seem illogical? That’s your own lack of insight. The house next door disappears halfway through the sacrifice? The gods have a deeper meaning behind it—don’t think too much, just keep praying. Even if the whole street vanished, that too would be divine will…

That’s true devotion.

Of course, this is just looking at it from the church’s perspective. In practice, things can’t be so crude or simplistic. As a ruler in the mortal world, Gawain had to consider social stability and the lives of ordinary people. He couldn’t just hold a massive sacrificial ritual and make a building—or half a block—vanish in front of civilians. That would require negotiation with the god involved. They could just remove the items inside the house beforehand…

A brief silence fell over the assembly. The gods were clearly stunned by Gawain’s bold idea. Even Amone, usually a bystander enjoying the spectacle, was frozen in place. Then Gawain’s voice suddenly broke the quiet: “What do you all think of my proposal?”

A gentle breeze stirred the courtyard beneath the golden oak, rustling the grass. At the edge of the assembly, Amone’s voice finally sounded: “I think it’s worth trying. Judging from the sacrificial ritual’s procedures and their loopholes, this operation is feasible. Of course, the details of execution still need discussion… such as the designation of the sacrificial site.”

“Yes, the sacrificial site is symbolically significant and can’t just be arbitrarily sized,” Baofal, god of commerce, nodded. “And we can’t just take anything from the ritual at will. It requires ‘approval’ during the ceremony itself. It’s best to hold a closed ritual inside a church—that’s where the mortal world and the divine realm connect most closely, ensuring stable transmission. The church’s enclosed environment also helps conceal any unusual activity around the ritual site.”

“But are there any armories near the churches?” Nafali, goddess of dance and wind, frowned. “I don’t recall any major churches having such things nearby…”

“Our sister churches don’t have them either,” Eve, goddess of harvest, shook her head. “Church facilities just wouldn’t be near something like that.”

Gawain looked at them all seriously. “That can be arranged.”

“…True,” Nafali blinked, then realized, “That should be easy for you to manage.”

“But wouldn’t we need a legitimate reason to suddenly hold such a large-scale sacrificial ritual?” Blood God Danmo raised another concern. “Devout believers won’t question divine will, but such a massive church event affects not only the devout but also ordinary and casual believers. Their doubts could impact the state of the divine avatars…”

“We can coordinate that in the mortal world,” Gawain replied. “Winter is ending, and the upcoming Month of Renewal is packed with festivals. We can organize various celebrations. Churches already hold sacred rites during these events to please the gods, so adding a sacrificial ritual alongside the usual prayers wouldn’t be strange. If we need a reason, it can be to pray for the world’s beings after the victory in the Wasteland War.”

“Similar sacrificial rituals can be held multiple times,” Rosetta Augustus added after Gawain finished. “After the Month of Renewal comes the Midsummer Festival, then the Harvest Festival, and next winter the Winter Veil Celebration. Traditionally, not all festivals include sacrifices, but this is the first year after the Wasteland War’s end. Whether to honor the war’s fallen or to bless the world, we can require major churches to hold such rituals.”

“And we don’t have to limit sacred rites to festivals,” Belsethia broke the silence. “We can create small-scale miracles at certain ‘holy sites,’ stir up public opinion around them, and then hold extra religious ceremonies under the pretext of ‘heavenly omens.’ With a good enough reason, devout priests won’t refuse—especially if these events have the Divine Authority Council’s approval. Of course, this might require cooperation from the gods… Can you still cause miracles in the mortal world now that you’re separated from your divine avatars?”

Belsethia’s last question was directed at the gods present. The god of winter and forests, Faul, immediately responded: “Of course. This is almost instinctual for us. Both divine and mortal avatars possess this power.”

Gawain nodded. “That solves another problem. In short, we need extremely close cooperation—mortal world and gods must work hand in hand to ensure the plan’s success without disturbing the divine avatars or stirring ideological unrest.”

The three mortal emperors and the gods exchanged ideas, discussing the plan to usher in the Twilight of the Gods. Bold, even shocking proposals quickly took shape. Amber, standing nearby, couldn’t help but widen her eyes. After a moment, she blurted out, “How come you guys are so good at making these plans? It feels like even ordinary priests don’t handle things as smoothly as you!”

Gawain let out a soft sigh, his expression calm. “Those who end divine authority must understand it best. If you want to destroy an order, you first have to be an expert in that field. Empty anger and ambition alone won’t get you anywhere.”

“This might be the first—and last—large-scale cooperation between mortals and gods,” Blood God Danmo sighed. “Ironically, it’s only when deciding to end the Age of Myth that mortals and gods finally find some common ground.”

“Better than not understanding each other until the very end,” Nafali comforted. “Once this is over, without the threat of mad gods, the Divine Authority Council can push many plans more boldly. We mortal avatars who remain can work with the council. Didn’t Gawain Cecil paint a picture of a ‘Final Order’? That day will come sooner or later…”

Amber’s gaze flicked between these towering figures and the three mortal emperors. She seemed to be pondering something, then suddenly asked, “But is it really okay to organize so many church events in just one year?”

Gawain glanced at her. “What kind of problems do you mean?”

“Public opinion, the official narrative,” Amber said, carefully choosing her words. Having followed Gawain for a while, she was now familiar with many of his new terms. “Whether holding these rituals will strengthen ideological connections—we won’t debate that now. The gods’ faith still exists, and ideological links remain. Whether they strengthen or not doesn’t matter much. The whole plan lasts at most a year. If all goes well, the Age of Myth ends after that. But what about the aftermath?

“The Divine Authority Council has always sent signals to control large faith gatherings and weaken church authority. Now we’re organizing so many big rituals in one year, many with the council and governments backing them… Could this send the wrong message? Could the public think the ‘official stance’ has changed? On a bigger scale, could some churches get ‘inflated,’ thinking they’re powerful again? What if the sects push back, and the Age of Myth is extended right after it ends?”

Gawain pondered briefly, then shook his head gently. “These problems do exist, but compared to ending the Age of Myth early and safely passing the ‘coming of age’ ceremony, I think this risk is acceptable. Besides, even though we’re holding these rituals within a year, it doesn’t mean the council will allow sects to expand operations without permission. After the Twilight of the Gods plan ends, all restrictions will return to normal. The council still has the power to hit the brakes.”

He paused, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “As for your worry about churches misunderstanding things, thinking they’re powerful again, or doing unauthorized activities… remember this—only officially approved rituals count as ‘prayers for the people.’ Any ritual without documentation, no matter how large, is ‘illegal assembly.’

“We have a complete legal system to deal with such illegal gatherings.”

Amber’s lips twitched. “You really are you—still the same style.”

“That’s not my style. It’s just how the real world works,” Gawain shrugged. “Faith activities are tools to maintain social cohesion. Tools shouldn’t have their own will.

“In fact, I’d welcome them holding some illegal gatherings—that would give the council plenty of reasons to crack down. We’ve shut down countless troublemaking churches in recent years, but lately they’ve gotten smarter, hiding their activities. I’d like to see them go back to those simple days of underground masses banned by the council. Back then, the tribunal’s inquisitors had busy and fulfilling days.”

Amber thought for a moment, then glanced at the gods listening intently to Gawain’s speech. Her expression was a little odd. “What you said makes sense, but… don’t you think discussing this stuff openly in front of the gods is a bit… inappropriate?”

Before she finished, Faul, god of winter and forests, suddenly spoke up: “What’s inappropriate about it? It all makes sense—I actually like hearing this kind of thing.”

“That’s about it. If you’re interested in the council’s affairs, I can have some materials sent over for you to study,” Gawain chuckled. He suddenly found these diverse “divine mortalities” quite fascinating. They had such distinct personalities, a full range of emotions, likes and dislikes, and a deep love for this world. Talking with them felt like confiding in friends—if you could handle the pressure of facing powerful beings and get used to speaking with ‘gods’ as equals, it would be a truly interesting experience.

“Then the general plan for this matter is settled,” Gawain concluded, his gaze sweeping across the entire assembly. This was a conspiracy destined to change the fate of the entire world. “We will coordinate with the gods of the mortal realm to hold large-scale sacrificial ceremonies across the world. During these events, we will send mortal weapons into the divine realm. These mortal weapons sent to the gods will be codenamed ‘Wude.’

“While the sacrificial rites take place in various locations, the Defiant Courtyard will serve as the main communication hub going forward. The Council will install a permanently active secure communication terminal here in this assembly hall. Through this terminal, any visiting deity can contact me directly or the Council member on duty.

“On the other hand, if we need to reach out to a god, we will continue using the current procedure—we send letters through the ‘windows’ in churches scattered everywhere to the divine realm. If the matter can be openly stated, it will be written plainly in the letter. If it cannot be mentioned directly… then we leave a code. Once you see the code, come here.

“Whatever the situation, we must contact each other immediately through these channels. Remember, seamless cooperation is essential.”

Gawain’s expression was grave, and the gods listened with equal seriousness to the commands of this mortal emperor. When he finished speaking, Flora, the Goddess of Spring, asked, “What exactly will the summons code be? Will we still mark it with shadow dust like before?”

She suddenly shrank her neck, glanced nervously at her equally tense ‘colleagues’ behind her, and added, “I just want to confirm—if shadow dust is still used in the future, we can all prepare ourselves mentally.”

Gawain thought for a moment. He was about to nod when he suddenly remembered that he and Amber would soon be traveling to the Shadow Divine Realm. If they were gone, the Council member on duty might not be able to obtain shadow dust to use as a ‘code.’ Quickly, he shifted his thoughts. “Since we’ve reached consensus today, there’s no need to use shadow dust as a signal anymore. Let’s agree on a universal code phrase instead…”

He paused, then looked toward Belsethia and Rosetta. “What do you think?”

“I believe the most fitting code would be ‘Twilight of the Gods,’ but those words might alert the demigods,” Rosetta shook her head. “What does the Silver Queen think?”

Belsethia pondered for a moment, then her gaze suddenly landed on Gawain.

“‘Twilight of the Gods’ is the dawn of the mortal world, but Cecil already has an airborne fortress named that. So maybe we should tweak it a bit…” She smiled and spoke deliberately, word by word, “How about ‘Sword of Dawn’? What do you think?”

“‘Sword of Dawn’… sounds good.” Gawain was momentarily taken aback, then smiled in return. He turned his head to the gods gathered in the hall.

“Then let us agree that ‘Sword of Dawn’ will be our code phrase. If you see this phrase in a letter, come here to discuss urgent matters.”

(End of chapter)