Chapter 96: The God of Death of the River Council
Upon hearing that voice, Hethorik immediately lowered his head slightly:
“Mother God, please forgive my rudeness.”
“However, I believe what we should be focusing on now is the survival and future of our race.”
“And if I succeed, it would mean that our dragonkind would have two True Gods simultaneously—it would give us enough confidence.”
At that moment, even the Earth Mother God fell silent.
Seeing the scales within the hearts of the two gods begin to tilt, a trace of a human-like smile appeared on his ferocious draconic face.
Then, he turned his gaze toward the blue light:
“God of Spirituality, if you’re willing to support me, then I can promise to help you escape your current predicament once I succeed.”
“After all, as a true deity, no one would wish to be bound.”
As his words fell, the God of Spirituality neither expressed support nor opposition, maintaining the usual silence that had marked all of His past actions.
To this, Hethorik merely smiled noncommittally, then turned toward the deep purple light:
“River Council, my previous promises to you still stand.”
“Moreover, I’ve already found the traitor you mentioned. Trust me, it won’t escape.”
Upon hearing those words, before anyone behind the grand doors could respond, Sylvia’s brow furrowed.
River Council?
Why was this quasi-True God negotiating with the River Council instead of speaking directly with the God of Death?
At that moment, she turned to look at Lakdevo, and the crow also ceased its trembling, locking eyes with Sylvia.
A few seconds later, it spoke in a faint voice:
“Master, the God of Death... the God of Death does not exist.”
“The River Council reclaimed the remnants left behind by the Ancient Moon God and used them to fabricate the image of a god.”
“And with the infusion of divinity, it gradually began resembling a real deity.”
“But a fictional creation is always a fictional creation, and the God of Death is no exception. He possesses no wisdom of His own, nor will He ever be permitted to.”
“He is nothing but a puppet. The true God of Death has always been those seven Senators of the Upper Parliament.”
“This... is the greatest secret atop the River of the Dead.”
“After all, who would ever believe that a True God could be something fabricated?”
At that moment, Sylvia felt her entire worldview of mysticism begin to collapse.
There were actually beings in this world more capable of “fabrication” than her?
She only fabricated authorities and abilities—but they had fabricated an entire True God?
And succeeded?
There was a moment of silence—one tinged with helplessness.
Sylvia then turned her gaze back to the sky, listening to a vague and ethereal voice that whispered, “Alright.”
This was the first deity—or perhaps merely a supposed deity—to express agreement.
“Anyone else?”
“For instance, you Senators of the Lower Parliament.”
Suddenly, she asked, though she did not turn her head.
“…Yes.”
“We, the Senators of the Lower Parliament, were not promoted from among the extraordinary.”
“One could say we are fragments of the God of Death.”
“The Senators of the Upper Parliament split off individual entities from the God of Death, manipulated their fates, and enslaved them to do their bidding.”
“And those entities—that’s us.”
Sylvia nodded slowly, saying nothing further.
Because at that moment, she heard the sound of something beginning to shatter.
At the same time, behind the great door, the voice of the Lord of Radiance rang out:
“Everyone, I still believe this is unwise.”
“No, I think it’s acceptable.”
The God of War scoffed and then rebutted.
He had made His stance clear.
“Because of you humans, the Dragon Kings of my race fell one after another.”
“I believe giving Hethorik a chance is a form of compensation for my kind.”
“You…”
At that moment, the voice of the God of War rang out once again—sounding as though He was about to mock or rebut—but He ultimately held His tongue.
His chosen restraint was for Himself, and also for His Emperor.
At the same time, an ethereal female voice sighed:
“Let it try.”
“If it becomes lost in power, then let it fall completely, just as you once did to us.”
The deity of the elves had now made her stance known as well.
“So it seems you’ve all chosen to ignore the covenant that was agreed upon.”
Just then, a voice that had not spoken before echoed forth.
From the words alone, His identity was easy to discern—
The God of Law and Order of the southern Republic of Ulis.
Now, only one deity had yet to truly declare their stance.
And Sylvia most hoped to hear that one voice.
That was the suspected transmigrator—’the God of Industry and Machinery’!
“Very well.”
The Lord of Radiance’s voice gradually turned cold, and at that moment, pure-white light erupted, echoing throughout the entire Manifest Realm.
Yet as the countless stars beside the gate quivered, the deep-blue tide resonated with the dark full moon that had appeared in the sky, forcibly suppressing the surging holy light.
“Very well. In that case, how about no one interferes at all?”
The God of War’s amused voice rang out. With a burst of crimson flames, the massive gate began to close gradually.
Just before it fully shut, a faint point of light seemed to fall from within—but it appeared to be a mere manifestation of a god’s power and thus didn’t attract much attention.
Four versus four. Even if the God of Industry and Machinery, who had yet to take a stance, was counted, the deities supporting Hethorik could still hold the others at bay, ensuring his ascension would proceed undisturbed.
As this thought crossed Sylvia’s mind, she glanced around. The interstitial space was gradually aligning with reality, and the godly kingdom, evolved from divine density, now overlapped with Hethorik’s figure.
At this moment, she was left with two choices—
Escape, or confront.
Should she run?
Would she run?
The gray-haired puppet girl lifted the corners of her lips, and a thread of blinding starlight bloomed between the fingers of her right hand, tearing open the seal of the Manifest Realm.
She then raised her hand and plucked the fat crow squatting on her shoulder, tossing it through the rift.
Simultaneously, the brilliant starlight flowed like water, surging into Lakdevo’s body before the crack closed.
“Take care of Isabella and Adela.”
“If you can escape the pursuit of the River Council.”
She looked at the bewildered fat crow and gave her final instruction, unilaterally severing the master-servant contract between them.
“Caw!”
Lakdevo flapped his wings, but the closing rift obscured his vision.
Having done all this, Sylvia turned toward the shadowy dragon, which had turned its head to her at some unknown moment, and let the curve of her lips spread even wider.
“Hethorik, I know you can hear me.”
“You want to become a god, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
The shadowy dragon’s deep voice echoed, his gaze toward Sylvia filled with amusement.
Yet the gray-haired puppet girl paid it no mind. Instead, her voice gradually grew tinted with madness and pain:
“What a coincidence. So do I.”
“If—if I can devour you, devour that divine throne…”
“Then I’ll have a foundation of my own, a power of my own.”
“That way, before my true body… before it… I’ll have a stronger trump card…”
“Heh… you’re gambling, and so am I. Let’s see whose luck is better…”
“What do you say?”
With those words, she suddenly raised her head.
In that instant, her exquisitely beautiful face cracked with fine fractures.
And beneath those fractures surged starlight so dazzling it defied belief!