Chapter 376

In a dark gutter somewhere in the City of Light, a desperate woman sat slumped, her eyes vacant, a frail body resting on her legs.

The little girl, barely seven or eight, hung her head limply, blood caked around her nose and mouth, barely breathing.

Her chest had caved in, as if crushed by something, and such severe injuries could hardly be healed in time unless the Bishop of Light appeared before her.

But what kind of person was a Bishop? A lofty figure who wouldn't even deign to glance at peasants like her—how could he possibly save them?

Without hundreds of gold coins, they couldn't even enter the church's gates.

The city had descended into chaos and disorder; everyone had gone mad, either beating each other or screaming hysterically, darting about like headless flies—the little girl had been trampled by the panicked crowd and ended up like this.

What else could the woman do but wait helplessly for death? Pray?

This was the City of Light, the place closest to the gods, yet her prayers received no response. Watching her daughter's breath grow weaker, what else could she do but stare in despair?

"Mama… Mama… my chest hurts…" The little girl suddenly stirred, struggling to speak.

The woman wept uncontrollably, bowing her head in guilt as she kissed the girl's face: "It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt, just hold on—when you reach Heaven, there will be no more pain."

In her final moments, the woman clung to the hope of the sacred Heaven the Church described—flowing with sugar and honey, forever free of hunger and suffering.

"Heaven…? I don't… want to… leave… Mama… Mama…" The girl's breath grew fainter, her voice broken, as if struggling to draw air.

The mother's heart felt like it was being torn apart.

Finally, the girl's hand fell limp.

"Wu… wu…" The woman sobbed, drowning in despair, agony, confusion, and a dull numbness.

This scene felt familiar—hadn't every neighbor's, brother's, relative's family lost one or two children? Perhaps this was simply the fate of the poor.

At that moment, the girl's fallen hand suddenly lifted, startling the woman—then a faint holy light glowed from her body, and her sunken chest slowly rose with each breath.

Yes—breathing. The little girl, moments ago on the brink of death, had resumed normal respiration.

Was this… a miracle?

The woman, once sunk in utter despair, seemed to see new hope; she clasped her hands and whispered devoutly: "Light protect, Light protect—please make my child well, make her well, I will give everything I have."

It truly was a miracle. The girl blinked open her eyes drowsily, dazed at first, then cleared her mind, incredulous: "Mama, I saw the Goddess of Redemption. She hit me with a hammer."

The woman laughed through her tears, hugging the girl tightly: "Thank you, Goddess of Redemption—quickly, thank the Goddess of Redemption! She's saving you, saving you!"

No words could describe the woman's shock and elation—what else could be called a miracle?

Similar miracles were occurring in every corner of the City of Light.

Several strong men were fighting each other—some in tattered clothes, clearly paupers; others bald-headed but fat and bloated; still others with squinting eyes and crooked teeth, grotesquely ugly.

Yet now, none of them cared about wealth, status, or appearance—they fought passionately, grabbing hair, biting foreheads, tearing clothes, locked in a brutal tangle.

Every face bore expressions of terror—some wept uncontrollably, others screamed hysterically, all desperate to see their opponent dead.

Just as they were locked in struggle, a holy light flared from their bodies, and the frenzied men suddenly snapped back to clarity.

They paused, hands still gripping each other, confused, then released their grips, utterly bewildered.

Why? Why were we fighting each other? Why were we so terrified? Why did we want to kill each other?

Something had been purged by the holy light; now calm, they immediately sensed something was wrong.

The wounds on their faces and bodies slowly healed. The bald man suddenly felt his scalp itch—he reached up and touched it: short stubble.

Disbelieving, he rubbed twice more, confirming the stubble—he excitedly turned his head to the man he'd just been fighting: "Did my hair grow back? Did it grow back?"

The tattered pauper stared for a moment, then said: "Give me a copper coin, and I'll tell you why."

The bald man said nothing, pulled out a gold coin, and shoved it into the pauper's hand.

The pauper took the coin, stunned: "It's a miracle! A miracle! I heard a voice in my head telling me how to make money—look, I earned a gold coin! It's a miracle! The gods are answering us! Is your wish to grow hair?"

The bald man—now with hair—nodded frantically: "Yes! Yes! My wish was to grow hair! I heard the City of Beauty had a hair-growth technique—I almost went there, but I'm a follower of Light, I didn't want to bow to heretical gods, so I didn't go."

The pauper saw through the rich man's hypocrisy and sneered: "You're poor. I heard the Beauty Goddess's hair-growth package costs a fortune."

The rich man's oily face flushed red.

Another ugly man couldn't hold back his tears: "The gods answered you—why not me? I haven't changed at all—not even my lost teeth grew back! Your wounds healed, but mine didn't—I'm a devout follower of Light too!"

The rich man and the pauper exchanged glances and said: "The gods have answered you. After losing your teeth, you look much handsomer."

The ugly man hesitated, then shuffled over to a filthy gutter to look at his reflection—huh, maybe he really did look better?

"Quick, quick, pray! Pray! A miracle! A miracle! The gods have manifested! This is divine grace! Hurry, hurry!"

Faced with this unimaginable miracle—massive and widespread—all hearts were shaken. Without hesitation, they knelt, praying with a devotion they'd never shown since birth, offering their sincerity wholeheartedly.

Those emaciated, starving people, lamenting why the miracle hadn't touched them, suddenly felt something in their palms.

It was a bean—a fragrant bean, so aromatic it made one want to devour it instantly. Many couldn't resist and ate it; instantly, warmth flooded their bodies, strength surged, and hunger vanished.

Some with broad knowledge recognized it: wasn't this an elf bean? But even stronger than an elf bean—this "full of strength" sensation was beyond what elf beans could offer.

The starving people became devout too. The entire City of Light became an ocean of believers, a sea of prayer—prayers rose in waves, echoing for miles, audible even far beyond the city walls.

The surging tide of faith energy flowed to the farthest reaches of the faith network.

In the realm of consciousness, the Arbiter God let out a desperate scream: "Impossible! Impossible! Absolutely impossible!"

As he screamed, the entire orb of light blazed—holy, luminous figures emerged one after another from its surface: the manifested beliefs of countless believers.

The Arbiter God rejoiced: "Ha ha ha! A wave of faith! A wave of faith! See? Heretical deities—this is the faith surge of billions of believers! Come to me! Come to me! Light of Annihilation!"

Endless light erupted from the giant of luminous figures, flooding the entire consciousness realm, drowning all darkness and color, leaving only infinite white light.

Yet when the white light faded, Ange's manifested objects stared at each other—all unharmed.

"How? How? Why is my attack ineffective? The Light of Annihilation is powered by the faith surge, not by a Primordial God's essence—why is it useless?" The Arbiter God was nearly driven mad.

The Dragon God explained: "Because the faith surge was triggered by us."

The Arbiter God wanted to spit blood. He was the strongest among the Light deities—why did these heretical gods feel more like his own?

Did this mean he could never defeat these enemies within the Primordial God's consciousness realm?

Deciding to retreat from the consciousness realm and destroy them physically, Ange suddenly opened his arms.