Chapter 667: The Long-Term Plan of the Defiant

The study fell silent for a few seconds. Ophelia seemed to be gathering her thoughts, while Gawain was busy digesting the information she had just shared. After a moment, he finally broke the silence.

“So, you launched the Defiance Plan just because of those two sentences?”

Before Ophelia could respond, he added, “I’ve been considering another possibility—could it be that the knowledge and essence of the gods are simply beyond human perception? Beyond what the human brain can process? Maybe any attempt to approach the divine inevitably drives people mad, regardless of whether the gods themselves harbor ill intent. Perhaps what those doomed explorers and the half-crazed survivors saw wasn’t the gods themselves, but knowledge so overwhelming it shattered their minds.”

Though his words sounded like a defense of the gods, Gawain knew Ophelia would understand his true meaning—he was no believer, nor did he hold any innate reverence for the divine. He was simply being rigorous, laying out every possibility. And as a scholar of the ancient empire, Ophelia’s professional integrity demanded the same.

As expected, Ophelia responded calmly, “That’s one possibility we considered early on. That’s why we conducted extensive verification and further investigations. But the deeper we delved into the gods’ knowledge, the more unsettling the vague truth became.

“During our excavations of ancient ruins, we uncovered fragments left behind by civilizations that had once survived the magical tides. Their destruction was sudden, without warning, occurring at the height of their prosperity and social stability. This ruled out nearly every other explanation except ‘the gods’ apocalypse.’

“We also made contact with some ancient races—the sea witches and dragons you know of, as well as primordial lords from the elemental realms. The ancient empire had close ties with these elemental beings, who are immune to the magical tides. From their scattered accounts, we learned that the downfall of ancient civilizations often coincided with major upheavals in their belief systems.

“And among the rarest archaeological finds were texts from the eve of these civilizations’ collapse. They occasionally mentioned phrases like ‘the gods forbid,’ ‘mortals have crossed the line,’ and ‘the gods have descended, the end is near.’ These seem to be the words of a few seers who sensed the divine disturbances too late to prevent disaster.”

Gawain nodded slightly as he listened.

The Defiant didn’t launch their massive plan on a whim—they uncovered these increasingly despairing truths bit by bit through relentless investigation. The looming darkness left these heretics no choice but to secretly prepare to resist the gods.

“Perhaps we still can’t fully confirm the truth behind the gods’ apocalypse,” Ophelia continued in a low voice, “but with the magical tides approaching and the shadow of the gods growing ever closer, even if the end has only a one percent chance of coming, we must prepare one hundred percent. Maybe all our efforts will be laughed at in the end, but if it really happens, we need to have some means of resistance.”

“People living in peace and stability probably can’t understand such extreme measures,” she added softly, “but as a pioneer, you should.”

“Humans are suspicious and timid creatures,” Gawain sighed. “That’s why we always arm ourselves.”

“That suspicion and timidity ensure our survival as a species.”

Adjusting his posture, Gawain looked Ophelia in the eye. “You mentioned that the destruction of those ancient civilizations usually happened during major shifts in their belief systems. What exactly do you mean?”

“In short, their temples rapidly declined, and the size of all their churches shrank sharply around the same time.”

“Abandoning their faith, thus angering the gods?” Gawain frowned, a sudden thought striking him. “Then what about the current reforms in the Holy Light Church…?”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to say,” Ophelia replied. For the first time, a rare spark of genuine passion flickered across her usually serene, mask-like face. “The reforms we’re implementing in the Holy Light Church have not triggered the ‘awakening’ of the Holy Light God.”

“Awakening?” Gawain caught the word carefully chosen.

He pressed on, “You mean the southern doctrine’s teachings—‘Holy Light comes from the heart,’ ‘morality and justice take precedence over dogma,’ ‘everyone has freedom of faith’—these don’t provoke any adverse reaction from the Holy Light God?”

Ophelia smiled. “People still seek the Holy Light, embracing its core tenets: protection, banishing evil, justice, and illumination. Our temples haven’t decreased, nor has the church’s size shrunk. Though we’ve replaced many elements, the Holy Light Church remains the Holy Light Church, doesn’t it?”

Watching Ophelia smile, Gawain’s mind suddenly connected many dots from the past years—the church’s obvious moves, the role of Saint Princess Veronica Morn, and other seemingly unrelated events now formed a pattern.

The church’s rejection of heretical ideas fueled rapid growth but also led to many low-quality, ill-behaved grassroots clergy; reforms in divine magic lowered the threshold for using Holy Light magic, expanding the clergy but allowing less devout priests to wield the same powers, shaking the faith of many ascetic monks; disputes over scriptural interpretation and morality split the lower clergy, giving rise to progressive priests like Leight and Seven…

These appeared to be natural consequences of the church’s decline after reaching its peak, internal power struggles causing fragmentation. But what if behind these “natural changes” was a pair of scrutinizing eyes belonging to researchers?

What if all this was a test—testing the gods’ “operating rules,” probing the boundaries of their “personality”?

No wonder Ophelia was so supportive of Leight’s reforms and Cecil’s new policies. Without sufficient experimental data, how could a researcher make such decisions so easily?

Ophelia merely smiled serenely, meeting Gawain’s gaze. “What are you thinking?”

“These are your ‘research findings’ from within the Holy Light Church, aren’t they?”

“If there were no gains, why would a defiant infiltrate the enemy’s church for so long?”

Gawain’s eyes drifted to the platinum scepter in Ophelia’s hand. Since the previous pope’s death, it had remained with her. Even after Leight took over as the High Shepherd of the northern church, she never passed it on.

The scepter was originally the pope’s symbol, said to connect with the divine realm and hear divine oracles—a bridge between gods and mortals. But after the church’s restructuring and the reshuffling of senior clergy, it had been largely forgotten. Yet now, seeing it and recalling Ophelia’s assertion that the Holy Light God had not “awakened,” Gawain had a hunch.

“You’re monitoring the state of the Holy Light God through that scepter?”

“Every experiment requires strict monitoring and documentation,” Ophelia said, raising the scepter slightly. “That’s the attitude a researcher must have.”

Looking at the platinum scepter, Gawain’s curiosity flared. Should he try it himself?

It seemed capable of establishing some connection with the divine realm, even monitoring the gods. Ordinary people who touched it might be brainwashed into devout believers, but he was a satellite spirit refined over hundreds of thousands, even millions of years—he had strong resistance to such influence. His experience with the Eternal Stone Tablet proved that. So touching the scepter now… should be fine, right?

Would it be like the Eternal Stone Tablet, where others heard divine oracles but he received messages from the super fleet? Or maybe something even more unexpected?

His curiosity burned fiercely, almost impossible to suppress.

He was even prepared for the worst—dying on the spot from mishandling it.

But at the last moment, he forced himself to stop. He realized a huge risk—the Eternal Stone Tablet was inert, but the Holy Light God was alive.

Though the god seemed to have been killed once in ancient times, it had likely been resurrected.

What if touching the scepter provoked the Holy Light God? Ophelia and Leight’s work was essentially “stealing divine authority.” The most important thing was not to awaken the god. If he accidentally jolted the deity awake, and it opened its eyes to see the mortal world—where was its church? Its vast following?

A thousand years of the Defiant’s efforts and all his own achievements would be for nothing.

Suppressing his impulse, Gawain cleared his throat awkwardly and asked, “If the reforms in the Holy Light Church succeed, and we manage to block the ‘worldly bridge’ without alerting the gods, what’s your next step?”

Ophelia met his gaze calmly. “Using this as a model, we will transform all faiths across the world.”

As a soul who had lived a thousand years, she seemed to have all the patience and time in the world.

“Do you really think the gods will just wait quietly to be cut off? Even if the Holy Light Church’s reform hasn’t awakened the god yet, when the day comes to sever all connections between gods and mortals, won’t the gods react?”

Ophelia nodded slightly. “The gods operate according to certain laws. Though the ‘transponder’ hypothesis proposed by a few scholars in the Gondor era wasn’t entirely accurate, it did approach part of the truth. So as long as we understand these laws, we can safely avoid the gods’ gaze and complete the replacement and transformation of faith.

“Moreover, our research shows that while the gods’ power doesn’t come solely from mortal belief, the transfer of mortal faith greatly weakens them. Without the ‘faith baseline’ in the mortal world, the gods will face enormous obstacles and losses if they try to descend again. Meanwhile, mortals will grow stronger by reclaiming divine magic. When that day comes, the gods will no longer be invincible to us…”

She left the last part unsaid, but the implication was clear:

When that day arrives, the gods who descend will be no different from demonic invaders from other worlds.

The world’s churches will rise to fight back, purging demons and defending the path in the name of faith.

This was the Defiant’s plan—but it was only part of it.

Even this fragment was chilling enough.

Yet Gawain still believed the plan had flaws, too many uncontrollable variables. Even if everything went smoothly, the outcome might not be ideal.

But at least for now, the plan had to proceed. Reforming the Holy Light Church was inevitable—whether for social stability or the new empire’s development, he had to ensure the most influential and widely followed church complied with the laws of “divine right monarchy.”

After discussing more details about the Defiance Plan and church reforms, Gawain slowly exhaled.

“Let’s call it a day for now. That’s all we’ll discuss about the rebellion plan,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I need to sort through all this information. If I think of any more questions, or if you feel there’s something else I should know, we can continue our conversation.”

“As you wish,” Ophelia replied with a faint smile. “But before I go, there’s one more thing.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“It’s about our earlier topic—the church’s restructuring,” Ophelia said. “The female clergy within the church are currently in a rather… awkward position.”

(End of chapter)