Even though the gods had not walked the earth in this era, legends of the divine had never ceased circulating through the world.
From toddlers to the elderly, from the lowest dregs to the highest echelons, from so-called "civilization" to so-called "barbarism," from humans to monster beasts and aberrant demons, from ordinary society to bizarre secret realms, from here to there—
The influence of the gods had never broken. Far from being mere dry text recorded in church scriptures and mythological narratives, it had long since permeated everything.
Their prolonged absence had not faded their mystique in the slightest; if anything, it had only draped them in ever more layers of fantasy.
Yet fantasy was, in the end, unsubstantial. When a true god awakened and revealed her towering form before mortal eyes, it became starkly apparent that even the grandest imaginings of divinity had been far too conservative and narrow.
Mural God Rielsa was not holy and otherworldly like the gods of traditional depiction. Her bleeding body, battered flesh and bone, and the dense aura of death curling around her made it painfully clear that her current condition was terrible.
Yet the moment she opened her eyes and cast her gaze around, the crushing weight of divine majesty instantly stirred the ancestral memories buried deep within the bloodlines of all living things—the primal instinct to prostrate and grovel from the age when gods walked among them.
The Pool of Mourning was the Mural God's left hand—the palette she used when painting murals.
At this moment, the waters of the pool were not a vibrant swirl of myriad colors, but were steadily dyed a deep, fresh crimson.
Followers of the Mural God Cult favored using their own bodies as pigment for painting. Those who merely painted with their own blood and that of their families were considered moderates within the cult;
Extremists like Linda went so far as to use their own cremated ashes as raw material.
All of this had an origin: the colors on the Mural God's palette came from within her own body—her flesh, her blood, and her divinity.
A deity's passing quirk became, over tens of thousands of years across countless generations of believers, a fleeting moment they were willing to spend an entire lifetime striving to fulfill. To them, there was not the slightest absurdity in it—only a profound, self-absorbed devotion.
The Mural God's right hand was a colossal feather, her paintbrush. Countless murals chronicling the tales of the gods had been completed under the tip of that very brush.
Now, this gigantic feather was also gradually dyed blood-red.
Perhaps the only thing unmarred by crimson was her eyes. Yet they were far from clear and pure; rather, they held the numbness of an emotion pushed to its absolute limit.
Above her, a thick bank of clouds gathered, dripping with black rain. But the falling raindrops did not wash away the bloodstains on her body, nor did they extinguish the magma on the ground; instead, they vaporized upon contact into black cursed vapors, forming a ring of darkness around the perimeter.
As a true god, she had first been suppressed by the God of Order, then traded away, and ultimately buried inside the Gate of Samsara for untold ages.
Taken individually, any one of these would have been a monumental humiliation. Though she had uttered not a single syllable beyond that initial roar, the Mural God was now demonstrating with her actions the fury smoldering within her soul.
She lifted a foot.
*Boom!*
The gargantuan body finally began to move. Moving alongside her were the dark clouds above, the curses surrounding her, and the magma flooding the earth.
Mountains were flattened before her;
Rivers were choked off in her path;
Vast cities were razed to the ground;
When a god awoke, it seemed as though nothing in this world could halt her advance.
And if a straight line were drawn in the direction she was heading, along that path lay an island surrounded by the Sea of Death.
In appearance, the island was almost identical to Samsara Valley, for it was the headquarters of the Church of Samsara in the world within the gate.
At that moment, on the temple plaza of Samsara Valley, Peide and the current cohort of Samsara trialists stood gazing grimly into the distance. Though they could see nothing yet, the ceaseless tolling of the Bell of Samsara warned them that a catastrophe had arrived.
The last time the Bell of Samsara had chimed in the outside world had been back when the Church of Order declared war on the Church of Samsara—though back then, it had tolled for less than a single day.
To the outside world, there had always been only one Gatekeeper of the Church of Samsara. In truth, just as a door had both an inside and an outside, there had been two Gatekeepers ever since the position was created.
Now, Sumir, the Samsara Gatekeeper of the inner world, stood atop the highest point of the Samsara Temple, her gaze fixed on the gargantuan silhouette advancing toward them from far away.
Figures of "Sumir" dressed in various clothes flew back from all directions and merged into her body.
Yet the surge of power from her returning avatars gave her little confidence or comfort. She knew full well that neither she alone nor the forces of the inner Church of Samsara could ever stop that terrifying existence.
Behind her, the elders of the inner Church of Samsara knelt prostrate, awaiting her orders.
Samsara believers across this world were rapidly congregating, the priests on the island had already assembled provisional legions, and defensive formations everywhere had been loaded with crystals, primed for activation.
A young man appeared at Sumir's side, carrying a pair of scimitars on his back.
Sumir glanced at him and asked, "How does it feel?"
"It's a decent body, but only decent. It will take a long time to nourish and cultivate. Still, that was to be expected. Why would our colleagues on the outside ever give me a truly exceptional host?"
"Bitter, Lango?"
"Yes, somewhat. This body will hold me back."
"You should get used to it. In their eyes, our Church of Samsara inside the gate is merely an orchard they wait to harvest every ten years. We are dairy cows that produce milk, sheep that yield wool. If you ask them to throw something inside—heh, how could they bear to part with anything truly good? Well, except fertilizer."
"I can hear the resentment in your voice, My Lady."
"You should hear my upcoming choice even more clearly."
"I had already guessed your choice."
"Heh."
Sumir produced a scroll sealed with the imposing wax emblem of Samsara.
"My elder sister just issued an edict to me in her capacity as the Samsara Gatekeeper, co-signed by the Temple Council of Elders. They demand that we delay that entity as long as possible to buy sufficient time for Samsara Valley on the outside."
"They ought to have prepared for this long ago."
"Indeed, I think so too. I have faith in the heritage of the outside Church of Samsara, I have faith in their efficiency, and even more so in my sister's leadership. Therefore, I believe they are already well-prepared, but were too polite to say something so blunt to me directly. Ah, they are simply too modest."
"Yes, I believe so as well."
Sumir turned around to face the church's senior executives kneeling on the ground and declared, "I order the immediate evacuation of everything portable from the central command at maximum speed, and the abandonment of all containment measures."
A wave of shock rippled through the crowd. Some faces flushed with wild relief, while others filled with anxiety.
"A god intends to step out the door, while our home lies within."
Just then, on the plaza below, several native Samsara priests suddenly launched attacks against the Samsara trialists who had entered from outside. Caught off guard, the trialists suffered immediate casualties.
Lango leaped down at once. His scimitars flashed in a blur, cutting down several priests and swiftly stabilizing the situation.
Moments later, Lango returned dragging a priest. The priest's body had been restrained, but his eyes glowed red, and he muttered incessantly, "Kill all trialists... kill all trialists... find him... find him... find him..."
Sumir stepped forward and placed her hand on the priest's head. After a moment, she pulled back and said, "He has been bewitched."
Lango asked, "Bewitched by what?"
Sumir looked in that distant direction. "What do you think?"
A high-ranking church official hurried over and reported, "My Lady, we have identified a common trait among those who went mad—they all meditated and trained at the Pool of Mourning in the past."
The Pool of Mourning was where Mural God Rielsa had appeared; that intelligence had already been confirmed.
Lango looked at Sumir. "You were right, but I would like you to clear up a question for me."
"Are you asking why a god would order them to target the trialists? Apologies, but I do not know."
"No. I want to know why a god could instantly control people who merely meditated and cultivated near her in the past."
Sumir let out a sigh and countered, "Do you know what the greatest source of corruption in this world is?"
Lango opened his mouth to speak, but Sumir raised a finger to her lips. "This question does not need an answer."
...
Upon opening his eyes, Karen immediately checked on Muri beside him. Muri had fallen unconscious with blood trickling from his nose, but fortunately, he was in no real danger—he had simply overdosed on tonic energy.
Surveying his surroundings, Karen summoned the Sea God's Armor to lend strength to his still-weakened frame, bent down to heft Muri over his shoulder, and walked toward the edge of the woods.
This behavior was pure extravagance, the equivalent of making a troop of Radiant Knights use spellcraft to haul cargo at the docks. But Karen was well-off, so this tiny waste was of no consequence.
Pulling a pocket watch from his pack, he checked the time: four hours had passed, exceeding the three-hour limit he had agreed upon with his squad.
To Karen's surprise, before he even cleared the woods, he spotted the figures of Ventura and Bart ahead.
"Captain!"
Catching sight of Karen, Ventura shouted excitedly and sprinted toward him. Midway through his dash, however, as if suddenly remembering something, he slammed on the brakes, leaving skid marks across the ground.
"Are you... still our captain?" Ventura asked, eyes rimmed with red.
"Let's get out of here quickly. Run a bath for me when we do—I'm exhausted."
"Captain!" Ventura burst into tears. He had been truly terrified that the captain before him was no longer the same person.
Karen dumped Muri onto Ventura's shoulders. Bart walked over and dropped to one knee. "Captain, I disobeyed your order. Please punish me!"
When the agreed three hours had passed, they hadn't left. After waiting perhaps another half hour without seeing him return, they had simply headed inside to search.
Bart had indeed disobeyed Karen's orders, but Karen found it impossible to be angry. Whatever the case, having a team like this was his good fortune. Mutual trust in a squad was built upon moments like these, one by one. Since they hadn't chosen to abandon him as their captain this time, he had no reason to abandon them next time. Karen had always disliked tragic heroics, yet he had to admit that this feeling was genuinely warm.
"Get up. Let's go."
Bart rose to his feet immediately and fired off a signal flare. Karen then dispelled the Sea God's Armor and, supported by Bart, made his way outward.
Before long, Mars, Blanche, and Ashley regrouped with them, having been searching in other directions.
By the time they returned to the spot where they had separated earlier, Paxio and his group were nowhere to be seen.
Bart said, "Captain, once the three hours were up, they withdrew toward Tagima Village."
"Mm."
Karen glanced at Muri, who was still unconscious on Ventura's back, and said, "Once we return, Muri will apply for a transfer to York City to join our Whip of Order squad."
"Really? That's wonderful!" Ashley exclaimed excitedly.
Poaching the captain of another squad into their own—just the thought of it was thrilling! It wasn't merely a matter of prestige; as a squad member whose own spot was secure, one naturally wished for teammates to be stronger and more outstanding.
Karen mentally tallied the head count of his squad. Leaving auxiliary members aside, the standard complement of a Whip of Order squad was one captain and twelve members.
Bart and the others made five, adding Muri made six, plus Richard and Aisen made eight.
Pu'er and Kevin weren't suited to join the roster for now; they could only control puppets, which couldn't meet the tactical requirements of squad combat. The two of them could work for the squad, but couldn't take up official spots.
Alfred, however, could be transferred into the Whip of Order under the authority of the Pavaro Inquisitorial Office, bringing the total to nine.
Three vacancies remained, but there was no rush. He could look for candidates at leisure once they were back—hadn't Captain Neo promised he could send over a few veterans?
As the group was marching, a dreadful surge of energy suddenly swept over them, and the ground began to quake. Everyone turned their heads back; they all felt a terrifying pressure erupting from that direction.
Ventura swallowed hard and asked, "What's happening?"
Karen answered, "Mural God Rielsa has awakened. Pick up the pace."
Hearing that an actual god had awakened, shock registered on everyone's faces. In contrast, they felt remarkably little surprise that their captain was the one stating it so casually.
Yet after traveling another stretch, they spotted Paxio and the others running back toward them.
"Why are they running back?" Ashley asked.
Bart replied, "I certainly don't believe they had a sudden crisis of conscience halfway through and came back for the captain."
Sure enough, as soon as they rushed up, Paxio gasped, "We can't go forward! A mob showed up ahead hunting us down—hunting all of us trialists!"
Having said this, Paxio noticed Karen and the still-unconscious Muri on Ventura's back, hesitating slightly.
Karen asked, "Did you capture any prisoners?"
"You are..."
"Answer me!"
"We caught one, but killed him. He was like a madman, only chanting over and over: 'Kill the trialists, kill the trialists.'"
"From the Church of Samsara?"
"No, all sorts of people. Monster beasts, too."
"Can we still head toward Tagima Village?" Karen asked.
"No. There are crowds in that direction, all coming for us."
Paxio's group had set out earlier and ran into an ambush, but having clashed only with an advance force, they hadn't been bogged down. After scouting and realizing that many more pursuers were massing in that direction, they had immediately turned around to regroup with Karen's team.
Bart spoke up: "Captain, should we try to break through?"
"You think I didn't try?" Paxio retorted. "We can't. That mob of pursuers has all kinds in it, including several formidable figures. What's worse, none of them fear death in the slightest, as if bewitched! We can't break through. They're definitely heading this way right now. Our only options are to relocate or immediately set up a formation to hide."
"Relocating is useless," Karen said. "They can sense our location—or rather, someone is feeding it to them."
"Who do you mean?" Paxio asked.
Bart scoffed, "Didn't you notice that massive commotion over there?"
"We did! We even joked that a god waking up probably wouldn't make much more noise than that."
"A god *did* wake up," Bart said. "Mural God Rielsa."
"The Mural God?"
Paxio and the others turned pale.
Iraman spoke up, "Has the Mural God truly awakened?"
Sijini said, "No wonder... The Mural God is seeking vengeance against us, against Order."
Every one of them had read *Light of Order* and knew precisely who had sealed the Mural God.
*Roar!*
Suddenly, a massive silhouette emerged from the west. With enormous wings, it was a lizard dragon—though a beast of this caliber was vastly different from the kind butchered for roasts, a gap far wider than that between a domesticated pig and a wild boar.
Paxio pointed frantically at the lizard dragon. "That's the beast hunting us! Just as we were about to break through earlier, it swept in spewing molten lava! Without the castle, we have no way to deal with it!"
Karen knew that this was likely the real reason Paxio and the others had fled back here. Without their captain, Muri, they couldn't even summon the Black Prison Castle; and even if they somehow managed to summon it, the scrolls for the magic crystal cannons were still in Muri's possession.
Ashley fumed, "Why is this Mural God so petty? The second she wakes up, she takes her revenge out on us Order juniors! If she has the guts..."
Ashley swallowed the rest of the sentence, for speaking it aloud would be outright sacrilege:
*If you have the guts, go take revenge on our God of Order!*
Karen frowned slightly. He had a premonition that the Mural God was actually looking for him. Linda had mentioned that the slumbering deity had specifically marked him; upon awakening, even if her true body was preoccupied with other matters, she would employ other means to hunt him down.
As for why the bewitched attackers were targeting all trialists, as Paxio had claimed, it was very likely that they were caught in the crossfire because of him. The Mural God had originally locked onto Raniedal's aura.
Yet now, although his body remained the vessel modified by Raniedal, it no longer bore Raniedal's aura. In effect, the Mural God's tracking mark had come up empty, prompting her to naturally fall back on the broader target of "trialists."
After all, within the world of the Gate of Samsara, young trialists possessing physical flesh were conspicuous, anomalous, and exceedingly easy to detect.
Watching the lizard dragon draw ever closer, Karen gave a decisive command:
"Whether we find a place to hide or relocate, we must eliminate this first wave of pursuers before we have any chance. Summon the castle! Prepare for battle!"
Chapter 371