Chapter 95: Your Thoughts (35)

Along with the Mist Mountains appeared a sanctuary forged from the bones of countless races, within which stood a statue of a maiden bowing in prayer.

Deities are difficult to utterly perish, especially those ancient gods born from the world’s origin.

Death is not an end for them; they forever await the right moment, ready to revive when the time is ripe.

Yet the ancient god’s resurrection plan ultimately failed, its power entirely suppressed by the statue.

The holy maiden, in her final act, transformed all of herself into this statue, perpetually suppressing the deity and denying it any chance of awakening.

The Mist Monastery was likewise founded for this purpose—to inherit the holy maiden’s will, guard the seal, and grant the ancient god no opportunity whatsoever.

The archbishop gazed up at the sanctuary, its original grotesque bone structure now indistinguishable after centuries of change, and nodded slightly.

Soon.

Almost completely successful.

“Estimate another thousand years, and He will vanish utterly, dissolving into the Sea of Chaos.”

“… ”

Herbert frowned deeply; having heard Shi Shi’s tale, he was profoundly moved, awed and astonished by the feat of that peerless woman.

The story stirred him deeply, yet something felt off.

Yet at the same time, he recalled a crucial detail.

“Your Grace, is there not some hidden truth here?”

“Oh?”

Herbert narrowed his eyes, studying the statue’s posture—there was no trace of pain or struggle upon it.

She likely did this willingly.

“If the holy maiden could suppress the ancient god even after death, why did she not destroy Him outright?”

If I’m right, the holy maiden held the upper hand in that confrontation.

You’re truly formidable…

“You noticed this.”

The old man nodded approvingly, then sighed softly: “As you suspect, the holy maiden ultimately suppressed the ancient god—she could have digested Him, replaced Him entirely.”

One step further, and she could have seized all of His power, ignited divine flame, ascended the divine throne, and fully risen to the heavens.

But she refused. She rejected becoming a deity.

“The holy maiden did not do so, partly because she had always refused to become a god, and partly perhaps because of her boundless compassion.”

“For this holy maiden, who loved all things in the world, even an evil ancient god might still be redeemable.”

Herbert fell silent.

Was this the holy maiden softening at the last moment, turning into a saintly fool?

Yet he could not believe a being capable of storming a divine realm would change her mind at the final instant over some ridiculous reason like “a moment of weakness.”

Did she discover something at the last moment?

“Child, do not overthink.”

As Herbert drifted in thought, the archbishop’s voice pulled him back from the chaos.

“This was her fate.”

“The holy maiden Nenaisha, because of her love so immense it bordered on greed, willingly walked the path drenched in blood and thorns.”

“She saved all beings, and in saving them, met her own end.”

“This was her love—a love so great it bordered on distortion.”

“For her—love was redemption.”

“Redemption for both the saved and the savior.”

At these words, Herbert’s mind involuntarily recalled the Xieshen ’s once-hissed, mocking whisper, tinged with irritation:

【“Love is a curse.”】

He regarded all love among beings as a curse, blaming all sin upon it.

This view stood in direct opposition to Nenaisha’s, yet Herbert faintly sensed a connection between them.

They shared the same root, yet repelled each other.

So if “Holy Maiden Nenaisha” is truly dead, then who is the “Harmonic God Nenaisha” I know?

Is He her reincarnation? Or an ancient god who stole her name?

Or perhaps… both?

So, my dear ally, who are you truly?

After long silent contemplation, Herbert suppressed all his thoughts and turned to the old man who had been quietly watching him.

“Your Grace, I don’t understand—why did you specifically tell me this story?”

Weren’t you going to scold me?

Why tell me a tale instead?

The archbishop shook his head, avoiding a direct answer, and asked instead: “Child, after hearing this story, what are your thoughts?”

“Thoughts…”

Here it comes.

Herbert narrowed his eyes—he knew the critical turning point had arrived; his next words would shape all future developments.

“… ”

After a moment, Herbert drew a deep breath, straightened his spine, and met the old man’s gaze directly.

He spoke aloud the heretical, blasphemous words he could never utter to anyone else in the monastery.

He said:

“I believe… not all monsters are evil.”

“They are foreign races, not heretics.”

This was blasphemy.

“They can also be trusted.”

He restated his view.

“Among the scenes you showed me, one left a deep impression.”

“Among the followers behind the holy maiden, there were not only humans but also countless monsters—and yet they did not harm each other; they fought together, united as one.”

“Thus, given the right conditions, monsters can also be controlled and employed by us.”

This was heretical speech.

He was questioning the orthodoxy of the scriptures.

Herbert knew this.

He was risking everything—failure meant utter ruin.

He knew this too.

Yet he still spoke.

Thump-thump-thump-thump…

His heart pounded wildly, adrenaline surged, filling him with intense excitement.

Herbert was gambling.

His instinct told him the archbishop had told him this story for a reason—something special, something profound.

And it was certainly not ordinary.

“Your Grace… is my view wrong?”

The sanctuary fell into unbearable silence again.

Long moments passed; just as Herbert began to doubt his gamble, the white-bearded old man smiled gently.

He nodded in approval, murmuring: “Child, you are kind, and you are brave.”

“Because of your kindness, you ponder the plight of monsters, pitying their innocent weak.”

“Because of your bravery, you risk severe punishment to ask me this…”

Here, the old man teased: “Child, aren’t you afraid of being burned at the stake?”

“I’m not afraid!”

Other punishments, maybe—but fire?

Heh↓ Heh↑

If you mean fire, I truly have no fear.

Go ahead, burn me alive!

Fire is my joy.

Herbert stood tall, gaze unwavering, fists clenched, voice low and firm:

“If my execution by fire could make others reflect, I am willing to walk into the flames… for those innocent souls persecuted!”

(End of Chapter)