Chapter 97: Verifying the Light

“I don’t know if they believe it, but your gods of light would vaporize you outright.” Negrilis sneered, dismissing the absurd notion.

What is a Chosen One? Someone blessed by the gods, forever under their gaze. Anthony actually wanted to impersonate a Chosen One? The first to hunt him down would be the Gods of Light.

Anthony hesitated, glancing around like a thief caught in the act, then saw Ang had already run off, pulling out a new vial of Life Essence, the angelic skull and little zombie flanking him on either side, rushing to every new thing to drip a drop, then gathering around to watch.

“Oh no, what a waste! You’re not even stopping him? Life Essence—World Tree produces barely a drop a year. Even with your best ties to the elves, you can barely get any. This is pure extravagance!” Anthony groaned in pain.

In past lives, the hardest thing to obtain was always Life Essence. Even when he rose to the rank of Grand Archbishop, wielding immense power, he still needed luck—often going three, five, even ten years without enough. Seeing Ang play with it like this broke his heart.

A strange expression crossed Negrilis’s face; he held back for several seconds before muttering, “Heh, I can’t control him. The Undying Godhead is on him—I’m under his command now.”

But inside he thought: Soon, even the elves won’t get Life Essence. The World Tree’s Life Essence belongs to us now. If the elves use too much, they’ll have to beg Ang for it.

This was one of the benefits he’d negotiated with the World Tree.

Meanwhile, in the elven realm of the Prime Material Plane, High Priestess Kaelandael stared at the collected Life Essence, worried: “The World Tree’s Life Essence output has dropped by four-fifths. Has the God of Life begun to wither?”

She inquired about the World Tree’s condition, but received no response, so she attributed it to natural aging.

“I hope this day doesn’t come too soon,” Kaelandael whispered, pressing her forehead against the World Tree’s rough bark.

Anthony turned away, refusing to look—out of sight, out of mind—and lowered his voice to Negrilis: “For years I’ve suspected something. After seeing Purification, my doubts grew stronger.”

“What?” Negrilis perked up. This was the Abyss of Rest, surrounded by their own people, with the Wind of Rest brushing past. And Anthony, former Black Knight Emperor and Red Cardinal, was whispering—this had to be important.

“I suspect the Gods of Light, like Your Majesty, have vanished.”

“Impossible!” Negrilis cried out, then saw Anthony lunging to cover his mouth—he quickly lowered his voice: “Last time you sent people, there were priests and holy knights. Their holy light still inflicted extra damage on heretics. If the gods vanished, how are you still using holy light?”

“The holy light still exists,” Anthony whispered, “but the gods who govern it may be gone.”

“Can holy light and the gods be separated? If they vanish, they vanish together.”

Anthony pulled Negrilis down into a crouch: “That’s why I only dare suspect. I can still borrow divine power, but holy light and the gods can still be separated. Didn’t you once say believers create gods, not gods create life? If the gods are gone but believers remain, could it be that the Light Godhead still exists—but the one who controls it has vanished, like Your Majesty?”

Negrilis frowned, deep in thought, then said: “Theoretically possible. The Undying Godhead still exists too, but believers are gone—you know how bad it was when Ang first arrived at the Undying Temple. Only one Silver Skull Priest remained. His first believer was bought with grain.”

“I only suspected before, never dared confirm. So when they tried to make me Pope, I faked my death and fled—afraid the Gods of Light would see through me. But after seeing Purification, I can no longer ignore this possibility. The Church of Light hasn’t produced a new divine art in over a thousand years. No one can define holy light anymore.”

Negrilis’s expression turned grave.

To define holy light meant creating a new divine art. What is a divine art? A spell infused with divine will.

Creating a new divine art isn’t easy, but it isn’t impossible either. Creating something entirely new requires exceptional magical skill, deep theoretical grounding, a flash of inspiration, and profound understanding of divine will.

But creating is hard—copying shouldn’t be. Take Purification: originally just an arcane spell to purify water and food. After being adapted into a divine art, it became a foundational divine art for cleansing heretics.

And once adapted, the casting threshold dropped drastically. No longer needed a mage—any priest, even devout lay believers, could use this basic divine art.

This made the Church of Light unstoppable in its spread.

In this age, across every plane, life’s greatest enemy is disease and famine.

Clean water and food are the best way to reduce disease. Someone once did a survey: two villages of similar population—one with clean water and food, one without—the disease rate difference reached twentyfold.

Even for wounds, bandages purified by divine art healed faster than unpurified ones.

So what happens when a village gets a priest who can cast Purification? Disease rates plummet tenfold—isn’t that a miracle?

Creating new divine arts is hard. But copying arcane spells into divine arts—is that hard? If it’s hard, why did Lisa create a new divine art the moment she met Ang?

Even if it’s hard, with a religion of hundreds of millions, millions of clergy, and a thousand years of time, why hasn’t a single new divine art emerged? That’s a serious problem.

Either the gods are like the World Tree—naturally fading—or something else is wrong—or they’re gone.

After a moment’s thought, Negrilis asked: “What are you going to do?”

“Nicola must die—for daring to ambush me. But I don’t want to kill him simply. I want to take what he treasures most, then crush him with it. So I plan to run for Pope. But before that, I need the Chosen One status—and I must verify whether the Gods of Light still exist.”

“How will you verify it?” Negrilis asked. Though he was the God of Common Sense, verifying whether a god was dead or alive fell outside his domain.

Anthony glanced at Ang, then whispered: “Will Ang allow his followers to worship other gods?”

Negrilis thought, then said uncertainly: “Probably. No, definitely. This guy? As long as you offer fair exchange, you can worship a hundred gods if you want.”

Ang had no concept of followers. Others offered him soul-flame, and he’d return something of equal value—didn’t care if they believed in him or not.

“But the Gods of Light won’t. Non-believers are lambs needing redemption. Worshipers of other gods are heretics needing salvation. Undead and demons are abominations needing eradication. If I worship the Undead now, and the Gods of Light burn me alive on the spot, then they haven’t vanished.”

Saying this, Anthony strode to Ang’s side, knelt in the most humble posture, and spoke with deep devotion: “My Lord Ang, I offer my most sincere faith, seeking your protection. Your will shall be my guiding path—”

A Black Knight Emperor with an immensely powerful soul, a man who had reincarnated over a dozen times, each time rising to the rank of Red Cardinal in the Church of Light—his faith was no longer mere soul-flame.

A luminous figure emerged from Anthony’s body, step by step, walking toward Ang until it stopped just within reach, its palms upturned in humble offering.

Ang tilted his head, curious, and poked the luminous palm. The figure instantly dissolved into a beam of light, sinking into Ang’s body.

Negrilis gasped, murmuring: “Lisa, come quick—this is a true Divine Soul Warrior.”

True Divine Souls, once offered to the god, become warriors the god can command. The god grants them power. When the believer needs it, the soul descends directly. A Divine Soul’s strength has no limit—it depends on how much power the god bestows, and how much the believer can endure.

Fun. Ang kept summoning the Divine Soul, then injecting a strand of soul-flame. Each time, the soul grew slightly more solid. He injected another strand—it grew even more solid.

After completing the ritual, Anthony returned to Negrilis’s side, opened his left palm and summoned a beam of holy light, then opened his right palm and summoned another.

He brushed the left holy light over Negrilis—no reaction. He muttered:

“Now we see—will the Gods of Light burn me alive on the spot? If they do, remember to have Lord Ang resurrect me.”

Then he brushed the right holy light—holy light with extra damage against undead—over Negrilis. Sizzling, sizzling, the holy light roasted him, oil popping from his skin.

Negrilis leapt up and lashed out with his tail at Anthony: “Damn it! If you want to test it, use a skull instead!”