Chapter 307: Divine Blood

After Rod threw the banshee Kris back to the other side of the mountain path,

he made his way to the Hansen River basin in the Claw Valley highlands — the water-route defensive line.

From afar he saw the elf Caliste busy setting up a spell ritual at the edge of the sheer cliff.

She had gone out early that morning and hadn't stopped even once until now.

"Where's Selina? She didn't come over?"

Rod walked over to her side.

"She left not long ago. Even if she came it wouldn't help — better to let her hurry up and reach seventh tier, so your spirit seed doesn't go to waste."

The elf didn't even lift her head, still venomous-tongued as ever.

With one hand casting, she picked a spot on the cliff face, used Stone-to-Mud to level the wall surface, then hardened it into a flat plane suitable for carving.

"Ah, figured it out?"

"In one night my body's mana pathways became smooth and wide, my whole aptitude jumped a tier — I'm not blind. Why give it to me? I don't need a spirit seed."

"Worried you'd run dry on mana."

Rod smiled.

He took out the Crystal Swan treasure and cast a group Flight spell on Caliste, easing the strain of her casting.

Caliste didn't accept his kindness and gave a cold laugh.

"Don't try that stuff on me. Call it me owing you — I'll find a chance to pay you back later."

Rod shrugged, not minding.

He had long since grown used to dealing with elves; one of the key points was never to talk back at them.

Stubborn old mouth, this one.

But her body was honest enough — look, those elven ears had flushed a faint pink.

Rod, bored, played around with Tally in midair while chatting about what he'd seen and heard that day on the Koch Plains.

Winter days are short.

The dark-red dusk barely stood out through the haze, so blurred one couldn't even tell where the setting sun was.

"There have been many theories about Therianthropy."

The silver knife in Caliste's hand flew swiftly as she spoke. "After all, it's a symptom that can't be cured — and may not even qualify as a disease. Among them, one professor at the Bahadur Academy of Magic had the most unusual theory."

"The one Seamus mentioned?"

Last night, Rod's black-slime split-body had come into contact with the Bahadur mage who had tried to bewitch Ryan.

During that time it had picked up the relevant ravings.

Namely, that the golden chalice in the Meru Labyrinth which the rat-men had once contacted held the ancient blood of a long-dead god.

"Most likely." The elf nodded.

She went on: "That professor believed this ancient god hadn't actually died, but had fallen into a deep slumber, merging into the divine blood of the golden chalice by making itself formless. Those infected with Therianthropy — that is, those who come into contact with the ancient god's blood — undergo mutation because, upon contact with the god's genetic material, their minds synchronize with it."

"But I remember you saying that when the rat-men first came into contact with the divine blood, nothing happened."

The first large-scale outbreak of Therianthropy was caused by the human Labyrinth Fever incident.

The fact that rat-men can now be infected by the disease is the result of passing through humans as a culture vessel.

Rod was taken aback.

He suddenly recalled how various high-level beings loved to tamper with the human bloodline.

What happened at this stage of transmission?

He shook his head and stopped thinking about it.

Caliste shrugged.

She had never made that gesture before — it looked rather charmingly naive.

"Nobody knows. If what that mage said last night is true, then I'd guess they might want to keep expanding Therianthropy on a large scale, constantly increasing the number of people mentally synchronized with the old god, in order to achieve the result of awakening the deity."

"They want to create a god — but this is only an awakening."

"Right. So based on their theory, I have another guess: this formless god's soul and body may have already died completely, leaving only the spirit. Bahadur, then, wants to use large-scale infection to build up the energy of mental synchronization, using it as a culture vessel to create a new god that borrows that spirit."

Rod smiled.

"Still following the principles of biological composition."

"After all, the three elements of biological composition — soul, spirit, body — were published by Bahadur Academy of Magic themselves twelve hundred years ago. I've gone off topic; what I wanted to talk about is the connection between Therianthropy and the Star Spirits."

His smile deepened.

It reminded him of a language teacher he'd had back on Earth during his school days.

That teacher would often, in the middle of a lesson, jump over to the Three Kingdoms period — chatting about Cao Cao, then about Liu Bei — and only when the bell rang realize he'd only covered two reading-comprehension questions.

Caliste was made a little awkward by his smile.

Only what she showed was an even icier expression.

"Stop grinning like an idiot! What kind of look is that?"

"Yes, Teacher Caliste."

But the moment that smiling "Teacher Caliste" came out, it was as if a feather had brushed right beside her heart.

Making her whole chest down to her lower belly go numb and tingling.

She couldn't help but recall that night's ambush.

Caliste forcibly suppressed the feeling and went on:

"I told you during the day — the Star Spirits' desire to be infected with Therianthropy, and their belief that they are children of the stars, is derived precisely from that Bahadur professor's theory.

The Star Spirits believe that formless ancient god is their ancestor, and that it is precisely because of His bloodline that they have semi-transparent bodies; their inability to be infected with Therianthropy is the ancestor's gift to them, keeping them far from madness.

But in order to return to their homeland among the stars, the Star Spirits believe they should temporarily set aside the ancestor's gift, deliberately infect themselves with Therianthropy, and synchronize with the ancestor's spirit, so as to guide them on the path back home."

Hmm.

Building one's racial faith and history on the basis of an unproven theory?

Is it really that baseless?

This might have something to do with the Astirali's background.

The Astirali were originally a race transformed from humans, much like witches, ghouls, and zombies — the result of some hidden workings of bloodlines.

But later, for reasons unknown, humans simply stopped transforming into Astirali.

A race that propagates through transformation has always been unable to bear children, so after a century or so they should have become scarce — or gone extinct outright.

Yet, as if favored by fate itself—

Within a mere twenty years, they actually evolved the ability to reproduce naturally.

They were the first race in the continent's history to undergo that kind of evolution.

Precisely because of this, the Astirali, as a new race, had no real history to speak of, and so they had to do something to foster a sense of racial identity.

That included fabricating and forging all manner of relics, and altering the script that humans had passed down to them.

They were past masters at manufacturing old objects.

Ninety percent of the fakes on the market were the work of Astirali.

They chatted for a while.

The sky had already gone completely dark.

Lady Kali had wanted to keep working, but she had only just recovered and shouldn't be taxing herself, so Rod took her back to the forest.

At first the elf was unwilling.

It was only after Rod showed a bit of annoyance that she went along with a cold face, reluctant and unwilling.

Of course, if Tally hadn't been standing there threatening to eat dinner right in front of her, they probably could have persuaded her back even faster.

(End of Chapter)