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第439章 439.三周目故事〔2转3轮回〕（二合一）（16）

From that day on, time seemed to continue flowing smoothly at the same pace as before, with spring ending and autumn arriving, in an endless cycle.

After the celebration, the Pope of Light began to reorganize the Papacy and issued an arrest warrant for her. Vera moved to the domain of the God of Original Sin and continued to develop her faith in the God of Green Leaves.

Because Effie had awakened her healing powers, Vera allowed her to participate in healing and saving lives, and gave her the title of "Little Fairy Doctor".

Through their daily efforts, this faith spread quietly like ivy, gradually covering the entire continent of faith.

It soothes the sick and rescues countless people from the abyss of illness, freeing them from the heavy burden of medical care.

However, as time passed, Aoba's presence eventually alerted all the Vatican members.

These long-established clergy organizations on the mainland are filled with hatred for this new god—it has deeply shaken the foundation of their faith, causing believers to continuously leave like quicksand.

At this time, most of the lower and middle-class nobles had been moved by the blessings of the God of Green Leaf and began to speak out for him publicly.

Therefore, the Vatican could not openly express its hostility, and a silent but dangerous siege against Delis Vera herself was quietly launched in the shadows.

An expeditionary force, jointly formed by multiple papal courts, entered the domain of the God of Original Sin and began searching for Vera's whereabouts.

Having learned of the impending danger in advance, Vera had no choice but to embark on a perilous escape with Little Fairy Doctor.

During the journey, a sudden attack occurred, and Effie was pierced through the chest by a spear, a fatal blow.

The power of healing can bring back the dying, but it cannot bring back the dead—her soul has already entered the cycle of death, with no chance of returning.

Having lost her best friend and brother in succession, and now witnessing new companions wither away before her eyes, Vera's heart is gradually filled with obsession amidst long-term grief and pain.

With trembling hands, she ran to the bookstore and opened the dark, silent holy book, ready to save Effie at all costs.

The Dead Scripture contains many unimaginably powerful spells, one of which is that extraordinary powerhouses can be resurrected by sacrificing all their power until their cultivation is completely exhausted.

Now that the belief in the God of Green Leaf has taken hold and spread across the continent, Vera has also lost the will to live due to the multiple blows of psychological trauma.

She used forbidden magic, sacrificing all her healing power to the Throne of Death and restore Effie's life.

The healing power dissipates slowly, but on the very first day it begins to spread, the old ailments accumulated from childhood hunger and cold begin to retaliate against the body.

Her remaining healing power could no longer maintain the original balance, and as she grew weaker, she ultimately could not escape the pursuit of the Papal Expeditionary Force.

As she was bound to the high stake, Vera raised her smoke-filled eyes and looked at the dozen or so figures standing before the fire.

They wore magnificent robes and held jeweled scepters, chanting prayers in unison, as if the rising of flames and her demise were a sacred celebration.

The flickering firelight stretched and distorted their shadows, casting them onto the stone surface of the square like a group of restless ghosts.

A gust of wind swept by, lifting the hoods that were hanging low on the group.

The firelight suddenly illuminated the face in the shadows—no, it could no longer be called a face.

The bull's head was ferocious, its curved horns gleaming with a cold, hard glaze in the flames; the sheep's head was tilted, its pupils reflecting inhuman chaos; the horse's face had a long, snorting nose, bulging frog eyes, and sticky skin reflecting leaping sparks... Each standing human figure was topped with a twisted, bizarre head.

They growled and hissed, making incoherent sounds.

Vera's gaze settled on one of the figures.

She was all too familiar with that figure—the curve of the shoulder line, the way it stood.

But attached to his neck was a sheep's head covered in curly wool, its eyes empty, with only two clusters of ghostly fire burning deep within.

The man also held a scepter, waving it up and down in rhythm with the surrounding monsters, like a marionette.

--elder brother.

He was submerged in them, his self-awareness completely erased, and he became one of them.

Vera's lips moved, but no sound came out.

There was no sorrow, only a chilling weariness that seeped into my bones, and a loneliness as long as an endless night.

"Crackling—!"

The pile of firewood exploded with a series of loud noises, flames suddenly shot up, a wave of heat hit us, and our vision began to blur and melt.

Those grotesque figures twisted and deformed in the hot fog, as if the murals of hell had come to life, and the scepter was waved in a frenzied and celebratory manner.

The burning pain began to penetrate deeper, and the flames had already climbed up her waist, licking her green tutu and greedily devouring everything in their path.

The final healing power shimmered with a lake-green light, as if to save her as always.

Vera gradually suppressed the healing power, causing the light to dissipate little by little.

In the instant the light went out completely, the excruciating pain was no longer localized; it became a pervasive presence, enveloping and suffocating her.

My vision completely melted away, leaving only the pulsating, all-consuming light and color, mixed with the swaying black shadows of bull and sheep heads.

In the instant before being completely engulfed by the crimson, all sounds abruptly ceased.

Vera's body lost its outline in the flames, turning into a wisp of almost transparent blue smoke that rose straight up into the night sky, which had been dyed dark orange by the firelight.

The smoke rose and dissipated, growing fainter and fainter until it finally merged with the boundless night, leaving no trace.

It was as if her last trace was nothing more than a wisp of embers scattered by the wind.

"Om..."

A deep tremor, seemingly emanating from the depths of the void, permeated the still-lingering ashes and the heavy night sky.

Before the lingering warmth of the ashes had cooled, the hem of the black robe fell silently, and a figure materialized from nothingness.

He was shrouded in a black robe that seemed to absorb all light, his face blurred in the deep shadow of the hood, with only an absolute aura of ending and silence surrounding him.

"Thank you for your faith and strength."

The black-robed deity said coldly.

“I have obtained the complete divine scepter and achieved complete victory. Now—I am called the God of Death and Silence.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he casually waved his hand towards the distant sky.

The silhouette of a gigantic, illusory scythe flashed by.

Wherever the blade passed, the floating ashes and lingering smoke instantly froze, then disintegrated, turning into countless tiny specks of light that drifted away silently.

"Let's completely rewrite the past."

The figure of the God of Death began to fade, about to merge into the deeper night.

However, just as His form was about to dissipate, His movements paused slightly.

Above that desolate sky, purified by the scythe marks, a faint yet resilient patch of turquoise hangs suspended.

It was a vibrant green leaf.

It was so thin it was almost transparent, yet it remained undisturbed by any airflow, as if it were quietly supported by countless invisible and devout beliefs, preventing it from falling into the mortal world.

The God of Death stretched out a hand covered in a black robe towards the void.

The green leaf trembled slightly, as if drawn by the gentlest of tugs, and slowly drifted down, finally hovering before his pale, cold fingertips.

"A... already formed god..."

The God of Death gazed at the ever-flowing halo of light within the veins of the leaves, and the shadow beneath his hood seemed to ponder something.

Her ascension to the throne was inseparable from the faith of the God of Green Leaf. Now that she has officially inherited the Godhood of Death and Silence, Green Leaf has also contributed to the divine succession.

The ignorant mortals do not know, but she knows very well that all the gods, except for those above the truth who govern life and death, are false gods created by faith.

Now, Shengxu has been imprisoned for many years and no gods are accepted under her command. Only the gods of reincarnation and miracles take turns serving under her.

Right now, it is the moment when [Miracle] is in charge of making a judgment.

The God of Death Silence said no more, and gently stroked the green leaf with his fingertips.

In an instant, the warm and resilient turquoise faded, transforming into a dazzling yet not blinding golden stream of light, which burst forth from His fingertips like a shooting star flying in reverse, heading straight for the realm of laws in the high heavens that is invisible to mortals.

"When the green leaves arrive, all calamities vanish..."

His whispers rippled like the laws of nature:
"Since it carries the power to eliminate calamities, it is placed under the seat of 'miracles' and holds the authority to 'cross over calamities'."

When the divine word is established, the laws tremble accordingly.

That leaf, originating from mortal compassion and unwavering faith, at this moment, woven by the will and laws of the gods, shed its mortal nature and formally ascended to—

The True God Who Saves from Calamity. ...

"Today is the inauguration ceremony of the new Holy Son!"

"Hahaha, we'll soon witness Lord Edric succeed as the Holy Son of Light!"

"I can't wait! The master is a level ten innate spiritual being! Level ten!"

"The most powerful Son of Light in history is about to be born."

"That's wonderful! Our Holy See has a worthy successor."

The brilliant sunlight poured down on the magnificent square paved with white jade, making the towering twelve pillars of light look like burning torches.

Amidst the watchful eyes of the crowd, a young man dressed in a pure white holy robe slowly walked out from the end of the corridor.

As the most outstanding direct descendant of the Divine Servant family in this generation, his level ten spiritual talent makes him the only choice for the Holy Son.

Three days ago, the Pope of Light completed the final communion ceremony in the Holy Prayer Hall.

As the young man steps onto the high platform, the seven sacred bells of the Temple of Light will ring simultaneously, signifying the gods' complete approval of this holy son.

The entire process was originally fixed and extremely easy and simple.

Edric walked to the center of the platform and stood still.

Below are tens of thousands of faces turned upwards, ignited by anticipation.

Among the crowd, the family elders were staring at him intently, their gazes burning with suppressed excitement beneath their calm demeanor.

He suddenly felt a sense of disorientation.

Something was struggling at the edge of my consciousness—it was last night's dream.

The shattered images flashed by suddenly: a ram's head totem that overwhelmed consciousness, a twisted and swaying black shadow, and a heavy, suffocating, ashen smell.

A sharp, piercing pain suddenly shot deep into the skull.

Edric staggered almost imperceptibly, raising his hand to press his temple.

"Your Highness."

Below the platform, a cardinal dressed in a platinum priest's robes offered a low, steady reminder:

"Please begin."

The boy took a deep breath.

The slightly chilly air of early spring rushed into my chest, suppressing the surging dizziness.

He closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again, the last trace of emotion in his eyes returning to calm.

Then, he stretched out a hand into the void ahead.

"Om——"

A clear, luminous light, as if condensed from the heavens, emerged from his fair palm, flowing and extending, quickly outlining a huge and intricate transparent magic circle that slowly rotated in front of him.

That is an ancient mark for making a request to communicate with the gods, and the starting point for the holy children of the mortal world to receive divine revelation.

The light illuminated his young and serene face, and also the countless pairs of eyes below that held their breath in anticipation.

The bells will soon toll for His chosen Son.

However, arriving earlier than the expected clear and sacred chimes was another sound—

"clang……"

It came from a place so far away it seemed to be the end of the world, deep and resonant, carrying a weight that pierced the soul, one sound after another.

"clang……"

"clang……"

"clang……"

It slowly and steadily swept across the sky, completely drowning out the hurried and fragile chimes of the Temple of Light.

The sound was less like a celebration and more like a declaration, striking heavily into everyone's hearts and freezing all the jubilant expressions in the square.

"This...this is the sound of a bell from which temple?"

Someone whispered.

"It's the Temple of Deathly Silence!"

A well-traveled and knowledgeable old believer cried out, his face drained of all color:
"It is the death knell of the god of death! It is His death knell tolling!"

"The God of Death and Silence?! That supreme god of the dark pantheon?"

"It's a death knell, but the number of times it's tolling... the scale of it..."

Someone was calculating, their voice growing increasingly surprised and suspicious:

"This is not celebrating the Holy Son! This...this is clearly..."

The commotion in the audience spread like a tidal wave.

The bells of the Temple of Light had long since fallen silent under the oppressive weight of the deathly chimes, but the heavy, cold "clang—clang—" sound still echoed slowly and steadily, each note causing the air to freeze a little more.

"clang……"

As the last chime of the bell, with its long, lingering echo, sank completely into the earth, the entire square fell into a deathly silence.

"Priest..."

In the deathly silence, a hoarse voice rang out like a stone thrown into a still pond:
"This is the bell tolling for the priests! The Supreme God... the God of Death and Silence, is establishing His priests!"

"boom--"

After a brief silence, an even more violent uproar ensued!

Almost simultaneously, the sound of dense flapping wings came from the sky.

Dark wings surged in from all directions—it was countless crows.

They converged into a churning black ocean, instantly obscuring the clear sky and plunging daylight into twilight.

Edric took a step back in astonishment.

The crows did not swarm towards the crowd, but instead circled around the altar, layer upon layer, ultimately isolating him in the center of that ever-swirling black vortex. The rustling of feathers drowned out everything else.

This result completely exceeded his and everyone else's expectations.

He called upon the gods, but the response he received was not from the God of Light. Instead, he bypassed the Holy Son and the Pope's ladder, and was chosen by the supreme ruler of darkness, promoted to the rank of "Priest".

It should be understood that the God of Light's representative on earth is the Pope of Light, while the Holy Son is merely the Pope's successor.

Now, however, he has risen to the top, becoming the sole priest of the God of Death and Silence, whose status is equal to that of the Pope of Light.

Shock spread throughout my body.

The circling flock of crows suddenly parted to create a path.

In the distance, the eerie sound of bones grinding against each other echoed as a colossal bone dragon broke through a flock of crows, descending with a chilling aura.

Its eye sockets burned with eerie blue soul fire as it silently gazed down at the boy on the altar.

The crows gently but irresistibly picked up the hem and cuffs of his holy robe, lifted him up, and placed him on the bony back of the dragon.

The bone dragon raised its head and let out a silent roar that tore through the sky, then spread its giant wings and soared into the heavens.

Edric sat among the cold bones, looking back blankly.

Below, the God of Light's domain bathed in holy light, the majestic temple, and the countless stunned believers in the square were all rapidly shrinking and fading away, eventually turning into a blurry dot of light in the field of vision.

Ahead, on the other side shrouded in boundless gloom, a majestic and imposing black temple, entwined with blooming and withering spider lilies, slowly opened its abyss-like maw, silently welcoming his arrival.

The first prospective Holy Son from the divine servant family who failed to succeed the Holy Son of Light sat on the back of a bone dragon heading towards the Temple of Deathly Silence, his face filled with utter bewilderment and a profound sense of absurdity.

--why?
Why would the supreme god of darkness, who holds the power of ending and silence, choose him?