Chapter 299: Invitation from the Gods

Oranke, Steam Grand Cathedral.

Pope Zieg III, the venerable old man who ordinarily wielded awe-inspiring authority over the fate of countless believers, was at this moment walking with uncharacteristic urgency.

His steps carried an anxiety that clashed with his dignified position, as he rushed down a secret passage that only the highest-ranking clergy were permitted to tread—descending deeper into the underground of the cathedral.

Before long, a colossal bronze door etched with intricate patterns and steeped in the aura of ancient mythology blocked his path.

The door was cold and heavy, carved with ancient legends of saints descending to the mortal realm during the Age of Myth.

Flanking either side of the door stood two figures clad in Judgment Armor, their bodies radiating divine light. These were Sequence Four Saints—guardians in human form.

Their watchful eyes scanned the surroundings with unwavering alertness. Only after confirming Zieg’s identity did they activate a complex mechanical mechanism that slowly opened the first barrier.

Beyond the bronze gate stretched a long, dim corridor, its walls lined with soft-glowing steam lamps. Under the light, one could see clearer frescoes that depicted ever more detailed legends.

Passing through the hallway, a second door emerged—the Silver Gate.

This gate emitted a soft and holy glow. The reliefs engraved upon it portrayed a grander era, when deities walked the earth and lived in harmony with humankind—an age of divine myths.

The figures guarding the Silver Gate exuded even more terrifying auras. They were Sequence Three demigods of the present age, nearly fully merged with the shadows, their forms blurred, but emanating a pressure so great it could make even saints tremble.

They gave a subtle nod to the Pope and the Silver Gate silently parted.

Beyond the Silver Gate, the temperature abruptly rose. The air thickened with purer, more vibrant extraordinary energy.

What greeted Zieg III next was the final and most sacred door—the Golden Gate.

Golden light, nearly fluid in its glow, flowed along the surface of the door. The mythological scenes carved upon it had reached their most magnificent and tragic: the epic war of the gods.

Stars fell, the earth split, and amidst the ruins, the Seven True Gods returned to their thrones, establishing the divine order of the current world.

Standing on either side of this last door were two celestial beings wrapped in blazing wings of divine light—Sequence Two Earth Angels.

They were attendants of the divine thrones, existences on the cusp of godhood.

The three gates opened one after the other for the Pope, signifying his journey into the very heart of the Steam God Church’s sanctum.

Zieg III took a deep breath, calming his slightly ragged breathing, then stepped alone into the inner sanctum beyond the Golden Gate—the hidden divine hall.

The interior of the hall was neither dazzling nor ornate. Instead, it exuded a certain solemn emptiness.

At its center burned an eternal flame of faith on a raised altar.

Above the altar, within a gentle halo of light, sat a young man in a simple white robe, cross-legged and motionless.

He possessed the appearance of a serene, refined youth—like a kind neighbor’s son—and seemed to have been waiting quietly for some time.

Upon seeing this white-robed figure, all of Zieg III’s previous urgency and authority vanished. In their place was an awe that came from the depths of his soul.

Without the slightest hesitation, he adjusted his robes and deeply bowed, performing the most formal ecclesiastical rite.

“Your Highness, King of Angels, good day. May I ask why Your Highness has summoned me so urgently?”

The white-robed youth slowly opened his eyes. Within them shimmered the weight of time itself, a river of ancient wisdom and sorrow that could shake the soul of any who dared meet his gaze.

He did not speak immediately but stared silently at the Pope, who held supreme authority in the mortal realm.

Just that single, silent gaze caused Zieg III to tremble violently, as though he had realized something in that very moment. A mix of ecstatic reverence and terror spread across his face.

Without delay, he dropped to his knees, prostrating himself on the cold ground with unshakable devotion. In a voice that was nearly like a hymn, he cried out:

“Welcome, O Lord—God of Steam and Machinery! Welcome, Your Majesty, for returning ahead of time!”

During the long slumber of the Seven True Gods, the Steam God Church was officially governed by the Pope. But all high-ranking members knew that the true wielder of divine power was the King of Angels, a Sequence One existence.

He was not only a being one step away from true godhood, but also the vessel and incarnation of the Steam God’s will.

According to the divine cycle, when the Steam God awoke, His true form would remain in the astral realm to resist the indescribable Outer Evils beyond the world.

The King of Angels would become the sole vessel through which the Lord’s will descended into the world.

The King of Angels was one of the strongest entities in the Mysterious Version, battling hidden heretical gods alongside his fellow hidden angels.

As for the Seven True Gods—they had long transcended beyond the mortal world.

Under normal circumstances, the Steam God’s full awakening was at least a month away.

But the current state of the King of Angels, and the divine will reflected in his eyes, clearly indicated that the Steam God had already projected a strand of consciousness into this vessel ahead of schedule.

The implications of this were not lost on Zieg III.

“Rise, Zieg,” the King of Angels finally spoke.

His voice was no longer that of a young man, but instead vast and eternal—like a heavenly decree descending from the skies. Each syllable resonated with irresistible power and majesty.

Just hearing that divine voice made Zieg III’s soul quiver with an urge to kneel once more.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Zieg III rose respectfully, still slightly bowed, fully attentive.

“There has been a disturbance in the Astral Realm,” the King of Angels said, his tone carrying a subtle weight. “We have each split off a sliver of awareness to return to the mortal realm, in order to investigate the root of this anomaly.

“During our slumber, has anything unusual occurred in this world?”

At the mention of “anomaly,” a peculiar expression flickered across Zieg’s face.

He paused, organizing his thoughts, then responded respectfully:

“Your Majesty, a few months ago, a mysterious entity claiming the name ‘Fengdu’ descended and introduced an entirely new cultivation system—unlike anything seen in this world—called the ‘Underworld Dao Lineage.’”

He continued, “This ‘Fengdu’ used workers and commoners as foundation, forming an organization called the ‘Guild,’ which has been quietly spreading the Underworld’s faith. He even suppressed the Undying King and stole the concept of the River of the Dead.

“At the time, Your Majesty and the gods were in the deepest part of your slumber. We dared not speculate on his origin or act rashly, so we placed the matter under surveillance and took no further steps.”

“Underworld? Fengdu?” A flash of light passed through the eyes of the King of Angels.

He slowly closed his eyes, and a boundless divine will swept across the entire world.

In an instant, all publicly available information, classified records, and even vague beliefs about the Underworld and Guild were drawn into his awareness like a tidal wave.

Within moments, he had complete understanding of this emerging force.

However, when he attempted to trace it further—back to the true identity of “Fengdu”—something changed.

No matter how he utilized his Sequence One power or mobilized the belief of billions as coordinates, he could not uncover any true information about the name Fengdu.

It was as if a barrier beyond comprehension had cut Fengdu off from this world’s space-time entirely.

The King of Angels abruptly opened his eyes, a rare sharpness flashing deep within them.

His gaze pierced the dome of the cathedral, the iron skies of Oranke, and reached toward the endless stars above.

As fragmented clues assembled, a vague realization began to take shape in his mind.

“Could that Fengdu originate from outside this version?”

His voice wavered slightly.

As one of the Seven, even a True God forged from the Old One’s remains, he retained the right to know secrets about other versions of the world. However, the Seven Gods of the Mysterious Version had never actively explored those realms.

Other versions’ only seekers were those who longed to surpass the status of “this world’s only one.”

But the Seven had always walked a clear path—at least, until the Old One’s corpse had been fully divided—so they never cared for outside powers. Even the Great Collapse Version was handled by proxy through the Church.

But now, combining this information with the earlier disturbance among the stars, the King of Angels murmured:

“So that Fengdu Emperor was the one who stirred the Old One’s corpse upon his brief appearance among the stars?”

At the same time, in the holy temples of the other six True Gods—the Sunlit Sanctuary, the Infinite Library, the Silent Holy Land, and other sealed forbidden grounds—similar scenes played out.

The unprecedented informational upheaval from the Old One’s corpse, followed by the manifestation of a towering Emperor among the stars, sent tremors through the just-awakened gods preparing to feast.

They did not fear outsiders. Throughout countless cycles, foreign forces had descended, trying to intervene. But in the end, all had been erased by the gods’ collective retroactive history, leaving no trace behind.

Underworld? Fengdu? Even if he truly were “this world’s only one,” even if he had established a mortal faith on par with the Seven Churches—such feats were, in their eyes, illusions.

Because once the feast ended, they would simply return to their preordained safepoint.

It didn’t matter how powerful the Underworld had grown, or how much faith Fengdu had amassed—it would all vanish with the erased history.

The true reason they built churches and guided faith was not to rule, but to anchor themselves—to resist madness when devouring the polluted power of the Old One.

But this time, an unexpected variable had entered the equation.

That Emperor’s image had deeply intertwined with the disturbance of the Old One’s corpse. This struck a nerve—one of the most sensitive.

They weren’t concerned about faith. They weren’t concerned about competition.

They feared—that the banquet might gain a new seat.

All signs pointed to the same conclusion.

The mysterious Fengdu Emperor had come for the Old One’s corpse—just like them.

His faith-spreading actions might not be to challenge them, but to anchor himself for the coming feast.

Inside the hidden divine hall, the King of Angels’ gaze grew even deeper.

He let out a soft sigh—tinged with subtle heaviness.

“In that case…” His voice slowed, every word heavy with divine will.

Whether he was speaking to Zieg or communicating silently with the other six gods was unclear, but the final decree was unmistakable:

“Then let us see for ourselves… whether this uninvited Fengdu Emperor is truly qualified… to sit at our table and partake in the feast of the Old One.”

Will crossed time and space. Consensus was formed in an instant.

As the divine pressure faded slightly, the King of Angels turned his gaze back to the still-kneeling Pope and calmly declared:

“Zieg, in the name of the Seven True God Churches, extend a formal invitation to the emissary of the Underworld.”

Zieg’s expression changed drastically. Could a mere emissary truly warrant a personal invitation from the manifested form of the Steam God?

But the King of Angels paid no attention to Zieg’s doubt.

After a pause, he seemed to weigh his words, then spoke with subtle irony:

“Invite him—on behalf of the Underworld and Fengdu—to attend the soon-to-be-held… Feast of the Gods’ Return.”

(End of Chapter)