A God's Weeping

"Cheers!" "Cheers!" Mr. Bede took a small sip, while Piaget drained his glass in one gulp. Seeing this, Mr. Bede cuffed him on the back of the head. "You brat, pace yourself! Don't you know this is the only bottle we have?!" Piaget picked up the bottle and poured himself more wine, grumbling, "That's why I suggested you buy two more in the first place." "Buy two more? Do you have any idea how expensive this wine is?!" "Don't we still have point coupons?" "Then what are we supposed to do about next week's rent and our boat tickets back?" Piaget pointed into the distance toward the Gate of Samsara and asked, "The great Mural God is right ahead, and you're still worrying about next week's rent and return tickets?" "The great Mural God is right ahead, and you actually expect a god to solve your rent and ticket problems?" Piaget's eyes widened in astonishment. "Mr. Bede, I think there is a serious problem with your faith." "No, the one with the problem is you." "You aren't sincere. You're actually thinking about a way out." "I'm not sincere? Do you know what happens if we're stranded here without point coupons? That studio with the male portraits hanging outside the door will be your final destination!" "Given the taste and needs of the female clientele here, Mr. Bede, I think you'd be far more popular than me." "Women are no different from men—they all prefer younger partners." "Except for mature, charming ones." "You little rascal, do you even know what you're saying?" "To be honest, I have no idea what either of us is talking about. The great Mural God is right in front of us, and here we are debating who would be more popular in an art studio!" "Do you know, I've spent ages painting, yet I've never been able to depict what happens after the Mural God steps beyond the gate." "That is a god. You can't predict what a god will do." "I know what I'm doing." "No, you don't. In fact, I'm getting a little angry now, Mr. Bede!" Piaget stepped forward and seized Mr. Bede by the collar. "I'm appalled by the weakness you're showing right now! I followed you not to pursue some artistic path, nor am I a follower of the Mural God out of wholehearted devotion to what you people chase. I only want to see my Linda one more time, or see the sights she wanted to see on her behalf! And now, you're telling me you want to back out?!" "You will have what you seek." Mr. Bede did not struggle. Instead, he reached into his robe and drew out a painting. "I haven't lied to you." Piaget took the canvas and unfurled it. In the painting were two figures—one was himself, and the other was Linda. All around them was a sea of blood-red. "What does this mean?" "I am a devotee of the Mural God, not a Chaset diviner." "Will I get to see my Linda?" "I don't know." "I'll definitely see her." Piaget smiled as he picked up the bottle, preparing to drink straight from the neck. "You brat, give that back!" Mr. Bede snatched the bottle away. Piaget turned to look at him and asked, "Mr. Bede, I'm curious." "Curious about what?" "Curious about what you're really pursuing." "That question is too broad. I can't give you an answer." "Then let's return to Linda. Is my Linda still alive?" "That is another question I cannot answer." "Wasn't Linda your subordinate?" "Subordinate?" Mr. Bede gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Do you really think your wife was just a pawn I deceived and manipulated?" "Yes." "Then why were you still willing to follow me? You should hate me. You should be looking for a chance to kill me." "Because I know Linda did it willingly." "Fine. I admit that in the beginning, I treated Linda as a pawn. I struck a deal with a respectable figure, and Linda was just an attachment to that transaction. But now, I realize I was wrong. Linda was never my pawn. She is a far more devoted believer than I am." "Are you praising her?" "Perhaps. I don't know how to put it into words. I thought what she sought was merely a fleeting blaze of brilliance, like fireworks. Now, I see that she looked much farther ahead than I imagined. It wasn't about bearing witness with her own eyes—it was about throwing herself entirely into it." "Why Linda, and not you?" "My faith simply isn't as pure as hers. Linda could sever her feelings for you to pursue her devotion. As for me..." "You couldn't do it?" "If I could, I wouldn't have agreed to that deal, nor would I have arranged a marriage contract between my daughter and Karen. I once painted the future of my family. I thought that if that night of blood and fire truly came to pass, I would complete a masterpiece themed around the destruction of my own clan, achieving my personal transformation. It was an opportunity I had anticipated for a very long time. But... I was hesitant, conflicted, anxious. So while I didn't personally intervene to do anything directly, if I had truly wanted that painting to be born, I wouldn't have made those other choices." "Sounds profound." "I'm lost." "Sounds lonely." "I feel a heavy melancholy." Mr. Bede patted Piaget on the shoulder. "Tell me... if you see Linda shortly, what will you say to her? Tell her how much you love her, miss her, long for her?" "I've already said all of that in my dreams, night after night." "Then what do you want to say?" "I have a stomach full of words—a stomach full of curses for the Mural God." "You are a servant of the Mural God." "I am a slave to a devil." "You are blaspheming a god." "A deformed monstrosity like that—do you really think of her as a god?" "Art requires embellishment and glorification. Just like when I paint men, that certain area is always exaggerated." "Mr. Bede, if even a god requires beautification... what is our faith? Just an admiration for raw power under a different guise?" "The Mural God is trying to break through, trying to tear through the encirclement, trying to truly descend upon this world. Saying such things right now is inappropriate." "I used to imagine what the Mural God truly looked like, but it was nothing like this. If I were the Mural God, upon awakening, I would have stayed inside the gate, or stopped before it. I wouldn't have scrambled through at all costs, exposing myself in such an ugly state. Instead, I would have picked up a brush and painted a picture. If time permitted, two, three, four... Painting blessings for this world, hopes for civilization, warnings for the gods..." "Piaget, how is that any different from insisting that an artist must starve?" "Mortals need food, of course. But does a god need to eat, dress, and find lodging?" For a moment, Mr. Bede had no reply. Piaget took a sip from the bottle and continued, "Both Linda and you told me the stories of the Mural God. Back then, she painted the mural that prophesied the end of the God of Order. She was a being who dared to provoke the mighty God of Order at the end of the last era. And now... what has she become?" Mr. Bede froze, completely forgetting to take back the bottle in Piaget's hands. At that moment, the ground began to tremble. The sound of an ancient war horn resonated through the air. It was not shrill, but carried an overwhelming solemnity. "I like this horn," Piaget remarked. "It has a powerful emotional resonance." "What it stirs is more than just emotion. That is the Church of Samsara's Horn of the March. During the God War of the last era, whenever the God of Samsara went forth to battle, this horn was blown. Back then, the God of Samsara was a chief god of the Light faction, with seniority exceeding even that of the God of Order." *** "What a familiar horn sound. It reminds me of days long past." Lord Dal swirled the kumis in his hand. "Did you know? During that era of the God War, for a time, the horn of Samsara marked the start of the charge. The horn of Order came much later." "I know," Karen replied, nodding. He was also aware that although the God of Order and the God of Samsara belonged to the same faction, friction had always existed between them. "Marchettini, one of the Twelve Knights, was inspired after watching Samsara march to war, and only then did he refine the march of Order." "I've mastered the [Black Prison Castle] created by Marchettini." "Oh, that war machine? I've seen it. Quite interesting. Kid, open your eyes and watch closely. What comes next is the true foundation of the Church of Samsara. I've always felt my original self made a mistake. Can you guess what it was?" "Failing to found a religion of his own." "Exactly. Yes. A church is simply too important for a god. Think about it: if the Church of the Mural God were as powerful right now as the Church of Order outside, would the Mural God have to face being besieged all on her own when she sought to return? Consider this as well: the God of Samsara hasn't even returned, yet the Church of Samsara can withstand a returning deity purely through its accumulated foundation. Well, I suppose I can't blame my original self entirely. Founding a church is never easy, and as a god, the price you pay is steep; it can even drag you down in the early stages. My original self didn't have the time or the energy, and he was unwilling to stop his stride. In his eyes, there was only Goddess Mills." "Looking at it from another angle, if not for Goddess Mills, your original self might never have embarked on the path to godhood, and you wouldn't exist either." "A fair point. All right, time for me to prepare." Lord Dal stepped in front of the new body. Karen watched as his soul detached from his current form and merged into the new vessel. Moments later, Lord Dal, now wearing the new body, walked over to Karen and asked, "How does it look?" Seeing someone standing before him with the exact same face as his own, Karen felt thoroughly uncomfortable. "I think you could alter your appearance a bit." Lord Dal punched Karen lightly on the chest. "I didn't expect you to be so stingy. Well, I'm definitely keeping it now. What, got a problem with that?" "None at all. As long as you're happy." *** The bird of prey's detonation inside the black hole meant that the Church of Samsara's high-end combat strength had been crippled to a certain extent, at least for the moment. While the Church of Samsara possessed more than just those Temple Elders, only those twelve had been persuaded to act earlier. Indeed, in a crisis like this, enlisting the elders required their consent. It was like informing them that dinner was sashimi—anyone who didn't care for it simply wouldn't come downstairs. While the clan forces within the church could be pressured into stepping forward when Samsara Valley was threatened, the lofty Temple Elders, having gained extended lifespans through serving close to the god, felt increasingly detached from their family ties—not to mention that some had no families to begin with. The longer one lived, the harder it often became to look upon life and death with indifference; rather, the fear of death only grew. Even the twelve elders who had acted together earlier had merely deployed projections, refusing to put their true bodies on the front lines. The current situation was dire. With the peak combatants not fully engaged, the legions below suffered from poor coordination and failed to achieve their expected effectiveness. Lacking top-tier power to pin down the enemy, their casualties mounted catastrophically. Driven to desperation, Romir had no choice but to invoke her authority as the contemporary Gatekeeper of Samsara and order the Horn of Samsara blown. This was the final trump card Samsara possessed. Its original purpose was to safeguard Samsara Valley, serving as the ultimate line of defense for the church's heartland. Samsara Valley was an enormous island, but the inhabited area where the believers lived occupied only a tiny fraction of it. Amid the sounding of the horn, orderly, resounding noises rose from the island's caves, rifts, mists, swamps, and countless unexplored depths. To the south, a phalanx of skeletal soldiers marched forth in neat ranks. Within the skeleton army were massive black skeletons, purple skeletons, and three skeletal giants covered in runes. To the north, a horde of wraiths drifted over, radiating intense rancor, guided by a contingent of spirits so dense they had nearly materialized into physical form. To the west, a tide of living corpses swarmed forward in dull, numbed unison, howling as they advanced. To the east, the phantoms of colossal beasts stampeded across the terrain, some still trailing ancient iron chains. They converged on the battlefield from all four directions, quickly blanketing Rielsa's form. Moreover, being undead creatures or enslaved souls, their damage tolerance was exceptionally high. Even for a god, wiping them out demanded a tremendous exertion of power. *Boom!* A bone dragon crashed down from above, slamming into Rielsa. Immediately after, two skeletal giants seized each of her arms. The rest of the endless undead surged forward, gnawing and tearing at Rielsa's body with savage frenzy. Even though any creature that bit into the god was instantly annihilated, they threw themselves forward in unrelenting waves under the command of the horn. Golden flames ignited across Rielsa's body. The bone dragon and the two skeletal giants dissolved in an instant, and the dense swarm of undead clinging to her turned to ash alongside them. Throwing back her head, she let out a furious roar and began thrashing about in madness. The insects she had spawned began to fissure and mutate, transforming into humanoid shapes that shrieked before lunging at the surrounding undead. The war of attrition raged on. Romir looked on with a calm gaze, periodically issuing new orders to deploy fresh forces into the fray. Yet the undead streaming in from all directions seemed inexhaustible. Rielsa's spawned creatures were gradually drowned in numbers, and the undead swarmed over her body once again. "Begin," Romir commanded. Priests clad in Samsara robes bearing different clan crests levitated into the air. They summoned their contracted souls, burning their own life force to fuel them with maximum power in a short burst. In an instant, more giant skeletons and bone dragons appeared, accompanied by numerous exceptionally formidable undead entities joining the fray. Rielsa was slowly forced down. Her struggles remained ferocious, but the number of undead she pulverized and drove back was outmatched by those lunging forward. The ants were tearing an elephant to death. *** "Kred, in the last war contingency plan, was this scenario included if the fighting reached Samsara Valley?" "In response to Your Eminence, yes, it was accounted for. The plan stipulated that if the war reached Samsara Valley and we encountered this situation, we would deploy the First Knight Order to minimize casualties among our current generation." "Mhm. As we should," High Priest Norton said with a nod. Cardinal Kred asked further, "Your Eminence, Samsara Valley is bleeding heavily this time. Even this card has been drawn. While these forces are far inferior to our First Knight Order, they represent the true foundation accumulated by the Church of Samsara." "I know what you wish to say, but a weakened Church of Samsara is no longer a suitable target for us to press further—at least, not for now. I don't want to provoke resentment and fear toward our Church of Order from the other orthodox churches, driving them to form a unified alliance. Furthermore, I intend to push forward a resolution to enact a series of support and subsidy programs for the Church of Samsara. For instance, doubling the quota of young talents they send to us for exchange and study under the previous peace treaty. With Samsara so heavily damaged, they certainly won't be able to cultivate their young properly. We'll simply be doing them a favor. After all, the youth are the future of a church. In terms of benefits, provide them the very best." "Yes, Your Eminence. Understood." Norton clasped his hands and asked, "Is it about to end?" "It seems so." "A pity. It lacks a crescendo for the finale; otherwise, it would have been perfect." "Such is reality, Your Eminence." "Heh." High Priest Norton raised a hand, and beside him, Foden, the highest whip-wielder of the Whip of Order, offered him a freshly lit cigar. "Kred, you were the one who told me that a war against a god cannot be measured by conventional logic. Heh." A plume of smoke drifted from the High Priest's mouth, veiling his features. Below, Kred couldn't help recalling the scene from when he had entered the grand hall earlier: one Norton attending to official duties while another leisurely read a book. He also remembered the rumor that although this High Priest had no clan backing him, he was very likely the inheritor of a certain figure from myth. Originally, Kred had dismissed the rumor. But considering High Priest Rasma's attitude toward the Temple of Order during his tenure, and comparing it to Norton's current stance... Kred found his skepticism wavering. The church's upper echelons had widely assumed that Norton was merely a temporary transitional successor rushed into office after Rasma's abrupt departure. Now, many were beginning to realize that Rasma's swift exit might well have been intended to clear the way for him. *** Rielsa had been brought down, pinned to the ground. Her body was being ravenously gnawed and worn away, hairline cracks even spiderwebbing across her bones. It seemed as though everything was about to conclude. Yet right then, Rielsa's eyes burned into an unbroken crimson. The silhouette of Linda appeared on her forehead, arms crossed, head bowed. "God, are you weeping?" "God, are you mourning?" "God, are you enraged?" Linda lifted her head and cried out aloud: "Then let them hear your weeping, feel your sorrow, and bear your wrath!" *Hum—!* Though nothing physical appeared to change, the entire world seemed to fall dead silent in the perception of everyone present. Romir's eyes widened, and she raised her hand at once, barking an order: "All... units... re... treat...!" Yet both her voice and her movements became impossibly, agonizingly slow in the perception of herself and everyone around her. Rielsa's crimson eyes slid out from their sockets. In an instant, the entirety of Samsara Valley was bathed in blood-red!