Chapter 394 – Holy City (XIX) – God’s Birth Day

In the Eastern District, after hearing the truth proclaimed by Floor, the believers instinctively scattered again, knocking on every door to preach the new faith and the new oracle. Within minutes, every resident of Holy City knew how the clergy had deceived them.

The resentment had smouldered for years, yet no one dared speak of it; only today did they realise everyone shared the same grievance, their fury finally merging into a torrent.

They needed no proof—only the belief that the life controlled by the clergy was not the one they wanted—to embrace irrational frenzy and chase an illusory alternative.

Floor turned the parchment over and read: “God declares: He will be nailed to the cross, and we shall resurrect Him through faith.”

Thereupon every believer stepped outside, gathering in the filthy, muddy streets. Raging, they surged toward the temple, shouting broken slogans that layered into an indistinguishable roar.

Humans are herd creatures; thought is swept along by the group. Once a voice grows loud enough to become a flood, every stray note uncontrollably resonates, infected, incited, and finally honed into the same tone.

They may not be fanatical or devout, yet when others show fervour and piety, they instinctively employ their inborn gift for mimicry, feigning the same—or even deeper—passion, terrified of falling behind or being cast out.

Amid the chaos, Floor—the one who had received the “divine revelation,” the new prophet chosen by the crowd—raised his right hand for silence.

Facing the temple, he intoned in a flat voice: “God says the priests have twisted His decrees and must be driven from His house. God cannot err; we must demand an answer from Father Laki.”

The believers shouted their assent and rushed forward, ramming the temple gates with brute, uncoordinated force.

With a thunderous crash the doors fell. Father Laki stepped out, weariness in his eyes yet his gaze still gentle. Spreading his arms, he said, “Infidels, enter.”

Though puzzled by the title, the believers no longer cared for trifles. Pushing past Father Laki, they stormed inside, charged toward the Idol, and discovered the long corridor hidden behind it.

Suspecting secrets hidden for years, they rushed forward as one, shoved open the stone door at the end—and saw light.

The temple’s rear court was actually Holy City’s Graveyard, space fused in a bizarre way. A stone altar carved with runes pulsed with blood that rose skyward, becoming beams of golden light that filled the world like solid matter.

Sensing the believers’ arrival, the golden light abruptly condensed into sharp, hair-thin filaments that shot straight at the gaping crowd…

On the temple plaza, after every believer had poured inside, the players emerged from the shadows to gather before the towering black cross.

Held by two players, Veidt could only glare at Fu Jue and bellow, “Will someone tell me what’s going on? Fu Jue, is this how you cooperate?”

Fu Jue replied coolly, “Cooperation requires both sides to stand on the same tier of strength, unable to subdue the other by sheer force, hence compelled to negotiate a stable, trusting, mutually beneficial relation.”

“I analysed your strength and temperament; you lack the basis for cooperation and won’t place trust in a mere talk. Comparatively, turning you into a one-off tool via force yields higher returns.”

The phrase “one-off tool” sounded perilous. Veidt turned to Qi Si beside Fu Jue. “Qi Si, and I even mistook you for an NPC—what an act…”

Qi Si smiled. “In a sense I really can be counted as an NPC; right now I could set a few death points and let you sample them firsthand.”

“Damn it!”

Listening to their unbending words, Veidt felt stifled to death. After killing Asakura Yuko he’d thought the threat to his life was over; instead, everything had only just begun.

He even suspected Asakura Yuko had foreseen this, deliberately binding him to the treacherous Identity Card 【Forbidden Scholar】 just so Fu Jue and Qi Si would mark him.

They’d claimed Fu Jue was being targeted by other players—now the whole instance was his team; what the hell was there left to play?

Judging by the anomalies of the two players pinning him, Veidt formed a terrifying guess. He sneered in threat, “God Fu, did you forget? Dying inside an instance still leaves half an hour for last words in reality. Let’s see how everyone reacts when they learn the famous God Fu is actually the same person as the Puppeteer.”

Fu Jue gave no answer, gazing quietly at the sky as if he hadn’t heard.

Veidt slowly realised: right, the Final Dungeon is about to open; fermenting public opinion on the Forum takes time. However loud the uproar, it won’t change the fact that Fu Jue holds two top-tier Identity Cards.

Both 【Fallen Savior】 and 【Closed-Eyed Dictator】 are in his hands; he already holds a hefty advantage. Everyone else can only turn a blind eye and pray he stands with humanity—no other choice.

Sigmund leaned toward Veidt, showing a friendly smile. “My friend, there’s really no need to oppose Fu. I once foolishly defied him too, yet the moment I understood his great ideal I mended my ways, followed the good, and threw myself at his feet…”

Qi Si silently muted the shameless Jewish orator and turned his gaze toward the temple.

There a sacrificial feast before a god’s birth was taking place—bloody, cruel, and frenzied…

In the temple rear court Graveyard, the believers’ skin was pierced by hair-thin golden threads; on closer look those threads were rootlets of a colossal tree.

Blood dripped onto the stone altar, spreading along the sunken patterns, seeping outward until, at some instant, it burst into fresh golden beams.

The beams spilled aimlessly like flares shot from a planet slammed into the sun, exploding in the sky and sprouting phantom vines of gold.

The vines fetched distant flesh, and from the branch grew a huge bud. The golden flower swelled until it nearly brushed the vault of heaven, and a brilliant sea of blossoms unfurled above Holy City.

Crystal petals layered round the translucent stamens, motes of light drifting in the clear golden liquor at the heart, raining down a golden torrent.

Watching the golden bloom, Qi Si was flooded with visions of utmost beauty; in an instant he seemed to remember everything, yet also nothing.

Ancient whispers echoed in his ears—one voice was Li, the other from himself… “That is the Flower of Rule; from there we came, and to there we shall return. Perhaps when the day of extinction arrives, I shall devour you.”

“Qi, what is it like?”

“Tch, I almost forgot—your eyes were just seared by the Ancestor God… It drinks the flesh I discard, drawing nourishment from rotting husks, bloated with filth and pus.”

“Sounds ugly.”

“Yeah, who told me to keep feeding it trash? It deserves something better—you look tasty.”

Two indistinct silhouettes wavered beneath the World Tree’s phantom. In Qi Si’s eyes, the undead roaming the earth and rivers of pus were mirrored, his pupils dilating and contracting.

What he saw wasn’t his memory but an objective record of heaven and earth. The Ancestor God’s influence had never left; every move of countless lives had once been gathered under Its gaze, and the original plan would probably veer off course.

Bluff, or final warning? Qi Si half-closed his eyes; deep within the Hall of Thought the scarlet-robed figure bowed slightly, thousands of crimson leaves linking across time and space.

The Crimson High Priest greedily seized the power of faith, yet the blood-colored mist was blocked by an invisible barrier at the edge of the Holy City.

The silver-white eye high above widened to a grotesque degree, dyeing the whole sky in daylight; countless spider-silk threads rained down.

All was soundless—even the city’s original noises were diluted into silence. Time seemed to slow; every thing and creature froze for this grand Ritual, irresistibly gazing in childlike adoration.

No proclamation, no telling—simply by being alive, information poured into the bottom of every mind: It is the Ancestor God, mother of all, returning to the land It created… The system interface produced no new prompts—whether crashed or delighted by the god’s revival, who could say? The phantom pain of staring at a higher-dimensional being struck everyone; except Fu Jue and Qi Si, every player bled from every orifice.

Sigmund had long fallen silent; he scrambled into a stone cave, shield-like prop planted in front of him.

Veidt, pinned down and about to be cocooned by silk, swore and yelled at Fu Jue, “Hey, disaster! I bet this wasn’t in your script. You know what god-resurrection means—team up while we still can!”

“Bind your Identity Card if you don’t want to die from looking at the Ancestor God.” Fu Jue’s voice was cold; after a pause he added, “Pause.”

The moment the word left his lips, a golden four-sided die appeared at his fingertip, spun wildly, and became a colossal pyramid overhead.

【Name: Dice of Fate】

【Type: Prop】

【Effect: Slightly tugs the threads of fate; higher numbers, larger tug.】

【Note: Does a god roll dice?】

Four!

All spider-silk was blocked; the sky’s pupil swiveled toward Fu Jue. More blood-mist and golden light steamed from the temple, entwining and devouring each other while believers’ skulls chanted chaotic prayers.

【Lord of Gods Banished Beyond World Rules】

【Sovereign of Death Who Creates and Annihilates】

【An Existence Older Than History】

The two gods’ honorifics merged in a bizarre way. Qi Si kept his calm and walked step by step toward the temple.

Beneath the golden blossoms hovered a slowly turning sundial phantom—the Authority of Time… Inside the temple rows of believers collapsed on the altar, flesh melting into mud that painted the walls, coating the ground with crimson soil.

Believers in the back sensed danger and tried to retreat, but it was too late; web-like threads dropped, binding their limbs and dragging them like marionettes.

Floor’s corpse, its duty done, toppled and withered to bone in seconds, fusing into the mass. From the bloody mire golden motes drifted like fireflies, weaving vast auroras overhead.

Father Laki watched the forced sacrifice with a smile, joyfully reciting the prayers the god left. The former god had been too selfless, giving Its authority and flesh without reservation, receiving neither faith nor love, only stoking the greed deep in human nature, making them push for more.

Now the god that reopened Its eyes had learned to reclaim what It once bestowed. Why fear or resist? Returning things to their rightful owner is only proper; a god should be lofty and majestic, inspiring awe to harvest devotion… A tear slid from Father Laki’s eye; he still remembered the day he first saw the god—a beautiful, loving woman knelt, tapped his forehead with one finger, granted him prophecy, and made him the god’s agent.

He had loved the god for Its selflessness, then come to hate that very selflessness because of his love—so let the world return to its original form… The Ancestor God’s gaze acted like an anchor; more and more sights—human, Ghosts, animal—converged on Fu Jue, weaving an ever-tighter net that pinned him in place.

Qi Si reached toward the sundial; the instant his fingertip touched its gnomon, the sky-eye swiveled, shifting those locked sights toward him.

His body grew heavier, the sense of bondage clearer; shadows in gutters, under eaves, behind walls condensed into pitch-black ghost-hands that clawed at him.

Qi Si seemed oblivious. From his wide sleeve blood-colored vines snaked out, coiling round the sundial phantom; the golden flecks on its surface ground into bloody foam.

Veidt finally completed binding the 【Forbidden Scholar】 Identity Card; vitality returned at a perceptible speed, the blood from his nostrils flowing backward.

At the bottom of his mind a male and a female voice chatted fervently.

“Another newcomer! Good sir, you may have heard my name—Xiao Fengchao, at your service…”

“Veidt, fancy you binding your card only now; I thought a chuuni like you wouldn’t hesitate…”

“Shut up!” Veidt roared, gasping for breath.

Tentacles writhed beneath his robe; the silver-white eye was drawn again and turned… The Ancestor God loves the world and watches every move; before Its true resurrection this is an automatic program written in the rules, beyond subjective control.

The rank of three Identity Card holders is enough to attract Its gaze; if planned well, they can steadily tie down Its power.

Yet this is only one cornerstone of the layout—far from enough. Everyone is gambling, betting that using the Holy City’s rules to restrain the Ancestor will be easier than confronting It inside the Final Dungeon.

All believers in the temple’s rear court had fallen, becoming the most lavish offerings of the resurrection rite. Father Laki stood amid flesh and blood, mounting the altar step by step.

The newborn god knew no mercy; beneath the golden bloom, fleshy roots like blood-vessels stabbed into Rachi’s heart. A drop-shaped golden light rose and merged into the sea of light above as the flower unfolded its last petal and bloomed in full.

At the same moment, a white-robed, white-haired figure descended the silver threads of the void, white fish and snowy birds flying beside him.

The spirit of the Ancestor God had truly awakened.