Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 245: God Hunting – Part 3

Murdoc opened his eyes once again. This time, he wasn’t lying on rotting straw or a stinking magic circle, but on soft, dry bedding.

It was a strange room, adorned with a heavy yet cozy sense of antiquity. Half of the view from the window showed clear blue sky, and the other half a beautiful forest scene. There was a cup of perfectly warm honey lemon water on the bedside table, thoughtfully prepared with a drinking glass.

This setup didn’t resemble a hotel or a personal residence. Murdoc glanced around the room and didn’t see any religious symbols or emblems, suggesting it wasn’t a place of worship either.

A strange place.

Instinctively, Murdoc touched his wound. The stalactite piercing in his abdomen had already healed, and his blood- and mud-stained monk’s robe had been replaced with an everyday long robe.

Had those two people saved him?

Murdoc only had a vague memory of what happened before he fainted. He wasn’t sure if those absurd visions were real or hallucinations from being in a state of blood loss. Given their bizarre nature, he was more inclined to believe they were hallucinations.

Right, the Cat Tail Spirits! He had spent two whole days with them. That certainly wasn’t a hallucination.

Murdoc shivered and began feeling around his body. After some frantic searching, he found a round wooden box on the windowsill, cushioned with soft silk. Under the sunlight, the two little furballs were squeezed together, their small bean-sized eyes closed, emitting tiny snores.

Relieved to see the two little creatures safe and sound, Murdoc finally relaxed. Whoever had rescued him and was kind to these soft little beings couldn’t be all bad.

Murdoc poured himself a glass of lemon water to moisten his parched throat. He decided to go out immediately to find someone to confirm the current time—he didn’t know how long he had been unconscious, and with the clerical exam looming, he couldn’t afford any delays.

But before his feet could touch the ground, the room’s door creaked softly open.

Instead of human footsteps, he heard the tapping of claws on the floor. Murdoc’s startled gaze fell upon a bizarre young figure that squeezed into the room, half-man, half-griffin.

The youth appeared to be in his twenties, with handsome, gentle features that radiated a kind-hearted aura. He had almost black, dark brown short hair and rare deep purple eyes.

His human upper body was covered in silver light armor, while his muscular griffin lower body bore armor fit for a warhorse. A sturdy belt wrapped around the junction of his human and griffin halves, with a long sword hanging from it—a sword longer and more imposing than a typical knight’s blade.

A monster knight?

Knights usually swore fealty to someone, Murdoc thought uncertainly. He still couldn’t see any religious emblem or noble family crest on him.

“It’s lunchtime,” the griffin knight said a bit shyly. “Miss Perradat said you would be awake by now and asked me to take you to dine.”

Miss Perradat? That name felt ominously familiar.

Murdoc glanced at the knight’s powerful hind claws and swallowed. “You are…”

“Just call me Piel.” The griffin knight nodded amiably.

“Alright, Mr. Piel. I am, uh, Murdoc Farrell.”

Murdoc responded awkwardly. Piel himself seemed friendly, but the intimidating presence of his griffin half was overwhelming.

He followed the griffin knight out of the room, continuing to cautiously observe his surroundings. Before long, he encountered several “people”—beautiful young men and women who looked human but whose aura was definitely not human. Their pupil shapes were exceptionally odd, instinctively making one’s hair stand on end.

Murdoc only felt this blade-like sensation at the back of his neck when facing lethal monsters. The theological school had emphasized that only “boss-level monsters”, at the pinnacle of their species, could master the ability to morph into other races.

Like these “people”.

Despite Murdoc’s efforts to restrain himself, he couldn’t help but tremble, silently reciting prayers from the Temple of Life.

“Please tone down your aura, everyone.” Knight Piel raised his voice understandingly. “Murdoc is just a regular person.”

The young men and women exchanged looks, their faces melting into varying degrees of benign smiles. The suffocating sensation vanished, and Murdoc was finally able to breathe again.

“Aw, you frightened the kid… Here, want some malt candy?”

An elegant lady stepped forward, speaking in a voice that belied her youthful appearance. “The cafeteria just came up with it. It’s quite tasty.”

“No, thank you,” Murdoc replied stiffly.

He almost stumbled to the hall.

In a corner of the hall, a female succubus was sprawled out on a sofa, dressed in oversized and bizarre clothing. Opposite her sat a Saint Bernard dog-headed beastmen in knight’s attire, eagerly watching the hall’s main door, his tail wagging furiously—even though there was no one there.

“Mr. Painter,” Knight Piel suddenly slowed his pace and bowed.

Who?

Murdoc spun around, his heart nearly stopping on the spot.

Burgundy semi-long hair, fresh green eyes. That familiar face, Murdoc had seen countless times in the holy texts. It was indeed Godfrey Painter, the embodiment of the God of Life.

In that moment, Murdoc finally realized where he was—

The Kingdom of God, Paradise.

Wait, why does Lady Tilia also need to disguise herself as a man in Paradise? No, no, the urgent matter is to pray. This was a rare opportunity, and he must not show disrespect to a god. Murdoc clumsily began to kneel.

“No need for prayers, Mr. Farrell. I hope you have a good appetite today.”

For some reason, the God of Life looked very tired. “Tell the cafeteria to save some lunch for me. I need to make a trip to Whitebird City.”

The casual demeanor of the God was too much! Murdoc didn’t know how to respond, and he could only stand petrified.

“Didn’t Mr. Eugene just go there?” Knight Piel asked with curious yet terrifying candor. “Or did Lord Teest specifically send him?”

“It was a traitor from the Temple of Life who caused this mess.”Painter rubbed his face tiredly. “That kid Eugene, in his effort to uphold the honor of the Temple of Life, tends to go overboard… He’s indifferent towards his own followers, and one mishandling could spark a conflict between the followers of the God of Strife and the God of Life.”

Piel thought for a moment before sincerely offering his opinion. “Maybe that’s exactly why Lord Teest specifically tasked Mr. Eugene to handle it.”

Tasking one to trouble two gods, that wicked God of Destruction would certainly do it.

But since Lord Nol and Lord Teest were together, and since Lord Nol had tacitly consented, Piel decided not to say more.

“What about Miss Perradat?” Piel skillfully changed the subject.

“She’s busy twisting malt candy,” a familiar voice chimed in. “Drake and Lynn have been dragged into playing with her. You’d better not get caught by her.”

“Lord Nol!” Piel exclaimed excitedly.

It was the black-haired follower!

Murdoc’s overheated brain finally cooled down a bit. He tried to ignore the terrifying conversation he had just overheard and looked for the source of the voice.

The black-haired and silver-haired duo stood nearby, with the one known as “Teest” standing behind “Lord Nol”, his fur cloak draped over Nol.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Painter gave a small bow.

“Why are you still here?” Teest wrinkled his nose. “Your godson is clearing out the traitors for you. His methods are too harsh, and the City Lady is somewhat displeased—a friendly reminder, she was never fond of the Temple of Life to begin with.”

“I was just about to head over.” Painter sighed. “I’ll make sure everything is handled properly on Miss Hannah’s side.”

“It’s not as serious as all that,” Nol reassured him. “Your approach is relatively gentle. Having you there is more reassuring.”

Murdoc: “……”

The scene before him was far too irreverent, and he truly didn’t know how to react. After hesitating for a while, he couldn’t help but move closer to Knight Piel.

“Who exactly are those two?” he pointed to Nol and Teest speaking with Painter.

“Lord Nol of Creation and Lord Teest of Destruction,” Piel replied honestly. “They are really nice people. They even saved my life before.”

Murdoc: “……………Ah.”

If his physical condition had allowed, he really would have fainted again. Now, it seemed that the absurd visions he had before passing out were very likely “real”.

Until he was brought to the dining table, he still hadn’t quite recovered.

Apart from himself, six others were seated around the round table—

The frighteningly approachable two supreme gods, a blond girl so beautiful she didn’t seem real, and a young man with blue eyes frowning as he twisted brown sugar syrup.

Besides these four with overwhelmingly strong auras, there was the female succubus who had been napping in the hall and a red-eyed girl dressed like a witch.

“Perradat, didn’t you say you weren’t coming to eat?” Nol casually served Teest some fried meat.

“I wanted to come see Avra’s child,” the blond girl muttered. “Besides, I’ve already won.”

“That doesn’t count as winning.” The blue-eyed young man scoffed emotionlessly. “Someone shamefully wasted food, flinging sugar everywhere. And in my view, Miss Lynn clearly let you win.”

“I collected the sugar with magic. It’s not wasted! Drake, you’re just unhappy you lost—”

“Collecting? You clearly didn’t want to eat it yourself.” Drake sneered. “If you had eaten all that sugar, I would acknowledge your victory.”

“You’re just unhappy you lost,” Teest interjected leisurely.

“……” Drake’s mouth twitched, swallowing a venomous response.

Teest: “You’re just unhappy you lost, great—magical artisan—Drake—”

Nol glanced at the three gods, bristling with tension, deciding to distance himself from the fray and seize the opportunity to eat more. Noticing Murdoc’s panicked gaze, Nol smiled gently.

“Relax,” he said. “Your exam doesn’t start for another two days. You won’t miss anything. We won’t tamper with your memory—if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Right, the exam.

Murdoc stared blankly at the gods squabbling together, finally grasping a bit of reality.

A modest-sized table was laden with homely food, with the gods noisily bickering like family members.

The God of Life pleaded for leftovers to oversee the God of Strife’s work. The God of Fate tried to monopolize all the caramel pudding on the table, while the God of Guardianship, with a darkened face, studied the syrup as if it were a matter of world-ending importance.

The legendary God of Creation forked a piece of meat, affectionately feeding it to the God of Destruction. The latter pointed at a dish, asking for the God of Creation’s taste opinions, and casually kissed his ear.

Their smiles were soft, the kind unique to lovers.

Murdoc thought his theological exam was doomed.

Two days later, Murdoc stared blankly at his test paper.

[Please discuss your views on the “God of Creation” and the “God of Destruction” and elaborate.]

As a follower of the God of Life, lying was not a commendable act. Murdoc sighed deeply, dipped his quill in ink, and tiredly wrote a line.

[They are a sweet couple. I have seen it with my own eyes.]

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The author has something to say:

The main story is finished! Wow, I’ve completed another novel _(:з」∠)_

This! Done! Managed to update daily without interruption! But the update times were erratic, annoyingly. I’ll try to be on time with the next novel!

Next up are extras like the sweet wedding and sweet adventures of the couple! Extras are [not necessarily] daily updates. I’ll find time to correct typos or minor issues.

————————————

Completed works include fantasy-themed “Stray“, apocalyptic “Happy Doomsday“, wasteland-themed “Access Denied“, xuanhuan “Sendoff“, and modern fantasy “Evil As Humans“. You can check these out in the author’s column~

Please click [Favorite this Author] in the column (〃ω〃)

————————————

The next novel, “Help” is tentatively scheduled to begin in June or July~

I’m still not satisfied with the blurb for “Help”. I’ll update it here after revisions.

It’s a pseudo-infinite flow, expected to not be longer than this book—harmless (?) ghost gong x super fierce human shou, a partner duo _(:D」∠)_

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Kinky Thoughts:

With this, we reached the conclusion of Full Server First Kill. Hopefully you enjoyed the novel. I quite like it and rank it quite close to Stray, my favorite Nian Zhong novel.

In terms of cohesiveness and plot points coming together, this has been Nian Zhong’s strongest, in my opinion. The twists were extremely well executed, and the tension and action scenes were superb.

Where I think it was weak was the romance (at the start). While I like the concept of Teest learning to develop feelings and what love is, the romance at the start seems a bit forced on Nol’s side. I do like how, in the end, it’s about Teest learning what love is (though it took only about 200+ chapters), but then again, a lot of Nian Zhong’s characters have this trait. It’s understandable, given the plot undertones.

Overall, if you enjoyed this novel, I highly recommend you read Stray. Many concepts in this novel came from Stray, and you would appreciate them much more had you read Stray first. Not only that, Stray, in my opinion, is still Nian Zhong’s best novel she’s written.

You can also read other novels by this author that I’ve done: Happy Doomsday, Access Denied, Sendoff, and Evil As Humans.

As always, if you enjoyed this novel, please consider supporting the author by buying the raws. You can use Google Chrome with their auto translate and this guide on how to buy novels on jjwxc. Remember, only with your (financial) support can artists continue to produce more great works.

Lastly, I would like to thank everyone for your comments, encouragement, help with my translations, and ko-fi donations.

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<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 244: God Hunting – Part 2

“You are from the Temple of Life.”

As he made this judgment, Murdoc frantically searched his memory. He had no recollection of this old man, which ruled out the well-known archbishops.

The fact that this man knew about the Alva family suggested he was likely one of the senior bishops, just below the archbishops. There were only two archbishops, but every major city had its senior bishop, and Murdoc couldn’t recognize this one.

Whitebird City naturally had its senior bishop too. That old bishop had been transferred from Grape Collar about twelve years ago and hadn’t been reassigned since.

If Murdoc remembered correctly, the old bishop was about to turn ninety-two. He was elderly and rarely appeared in public. Murdoc, even as a cleric, had only seen him once—from a distance, the old bishop looked as dry as a twig.

In contrast, the old man before him could be considered robust. Unfortunately, the features of the old man were obscured by the shadow of his hood, making it difficult for him to see clearly.

“You have betrayed the Temple.” Murdoc continued hoarsely, “Why? With your status, you could have enjoyed a peaceful retirement. Even if you killed me, the glory of Lady Tilia wouldn’t be tarnished…”

“So pious.”

The red robe swayed as the old man walked towards the corrupted blood magic circle. “I have no interest in the glory of that bitch, Tilia.”

With a casual wave of his hand, a shadow flickered, and a stone column as thick as an arm shot down from the top of the room.

It pierced through Murdoc’s abdomen, pinning him like a specimen in the center of the magic circle. Blood quickly flowed out, mingling with the corrupted blood that drew the magic circle. The two types of blood, like oil and water, didn’t blur the magic circle at all.

Murdoc first felt a terrifying heat, then the spreading intense pain. Through his sweat-blurred vision, he noticed the strange black-haired follower step forward half a step, only to be held back by the silver-haired follower.

In his chest, the two balls of Cat Tail Spirits still slept, continuously radiating warmth.

…Would he really be okay?

The stone column had pierced through Murdoc’s body, making it impossible to treat, and he himself had nowhere to run.

The magical fluctuations in the air grew stronger, and the stench of decay intensified. His blood felt like it had mixed with strong acid, causing a fine, corrosive pain all over his body. It was as if he was being devoured alive by insects, and Murdoc trembled all over.

Unknown magic was activating. That old guy stood in front of him, his boot tip nearly touching his head.

Stay calm, think calmly, Murdoc. This wasn’t like a torture display; the adversary’s goal probably wasn’t to insult the God of Life, Tilia.

Magic circle, underground space, the disappearances his sister had warned him about. Speaking of which, Whitebird City had similar cases about a decade ago…

“I am… a sacrifice.” Murdoc’s fingertips dug into the soil. “The Eternal Church is gone. You—”

“I too was once devout.”

In the black and red glow, the old man stepped on the back of Murdoc’s head. “Until I discovered the true nature of the world.”

“…The truth…”

“Yes, the truth.” The old man’s tone became bitter. “Let me tell you something interesting. According to records, before becoming a god, Eugene Malloy, the Eternal Pope, and the hero Drake, before his disappearance, all had very similar levels of ability.”

“In the language of so-called Players, that’s called ‘max level’. Once you reach that limit, you have a chance to become a god.”

“Nonsense… According to what you’re saying, everyone could become a god…” Murdoc didn’t believe a word.

“In theory, yes. Unfortunately, those Players are limited by a system of rules, and we are limited by our own talents. How sad it is that most people die of old age before they can touch that line.”

The old man leaned down and lowered his voice. “I was about to give up on this path, if not thanks to our remarkable God of Strife. If you must hate someone, hate him.”

“Why…” Murdoc struggled to keep the conversation going.

His body was in pain, fear made his limbs feel leaden. But feeling the warm little furballs on his chest, his thoughts were unbelievably clear.

The magic took time to activate, and this old man, fortunately in a good mood, was willing to talk more with him, a soon-to-be-dead man. The Cat Tail Spirits said they “needed a witness”. They were probably interested in these events…

“The Eternal Pope is dead, and Drake has become a god. There’s no comparison. But that damn Eugene becoming a god confirmed the existence of the ‘limit of godhood’.”

As the magic neared completion, the old man’s tone was thick with excitement.

“That guy sent me to this place, where I could monopolize the Eternal Church’s ‘little legacy’—under you, are the results of my decade-plus of research.”

“I can’t grow stronger, but I can devour the strength of others to break through that wonderful limit. A blessed, talented young man like you is the best nourishment.”

Murdoc’s vision gradually blurred, and his arms weirdly shriveled. The old man’s body grew slightly stronger, he appeared younger…

It turned out this magic circle that was emitting a strong stench and the “Supplement Demon Potion” were similar…

How blasphemous…

In his ears, the mad voice grew increasingly vague.

“I will certainly obtain a power stronger than ‘Strife’. I will become the seventh god of Tahe—”

“Really?” A young voice came from the corner of the room. “Which do you prefer, Creation or Destruction?”

Murdoc strained to look with his peripheral vision. It was the silver-haired follower. That guy had removed his red mask, his golden eyes sparkling brightly. The black-haired follower hadn’t removed his mask and just sighed deeply.

The rows of followers around them remained motionless, no one stepped forward to stop them. After a moment of surprise, the old man seemed to treat them as rash newcomers.

“The ‘God of Creation’’ and the ‘God of Destruction’ are just concepts, like light and shadow.”

The old man rasped, “Eugene was accepted by Destruction, and since I am his enemy, I must be on the side of Creation.”

After saying this, he narrowed his eyes, and another stalactite shot down from the ceiling. It grazed the foot of the silver-haired follower and thunderously struck the ground.

“Today I’m in a good mood, so I won’t kill you. Now you can step back and go relearn some manners.”

“Wow.” The silver-haired follower clicked his tongue. “I was already unhappy, and you managed to make me even more so—quite a talent. Honey, he just said he prefers you—”

“I formally refuse.” The black-haired follower rubbed his forehead. “Do as you like.”

“Praise you.” The silver-haired follower took the other’s hand, kissing it quite solemnly.

“You—” the old man suddenly choked as if his throat was caught.

In the old man’s wide eyes, the followers on both sides of the room slowly turned around. Unbeknownst to him, they had stopped breathing… They were corpses, corpses that were moving.

His most elite followers, right under his nose, had silently perished.

Who exactly are these two?

Come to think of it, he hadn’t even noticed their presence until they spoke up. The Investigation Knights? No, the Investigation Knights aren’t this powerful… Besides, these two are far too young…

The silver-haired follower pulled off his hood, his long hair cascading down. Under the glow of the lanterns, his smile was especially sweet.

“Unfortunately,” he said softly, “the God of Creation and the God of Destruction aren’t concepts. They’re a pair of lovers.”

“…And they both don’t like you.” After saying this, he emphasized it again.

The old man looked down in confusion. His magical ritual was also silently terminated. Murdoc gasped for air. His blood had stopped flowing, and his previously shriveled arms gradually plumped up.

Why? How was there no trace of magical fluctuation?

The old man’s teeth chattered.

No trace of murderous intent, no fierce attack. Everything had ended quietly before it even began, as if reality itself was denied.

Right, he had to attack. He had already successfully devoured many people, operated in secrecy for many years, and his power had already surpassed that of the archbishops of the Temple. Although he didn’t know what these two lunatics were up to, he couldn’t just…

When he came to his senses, the old man found his perspective had gotten lower. Through his blood-filled vision, he saw his own body slowly fall, hitting the ground like a sack.

Blood spurted from his neck, staining the dim magic circle red. This time, his blood mixed with the rotten blood on the ground, and the magic circle was completely destroyed.

Ah.

As his consciousness faded, the old man dully marveled. Near death, he finally felt the other’s power fluctuations. It was Destruction—not hostile, not murderous—just pure destruction.

So that’s how it is. The two supreme gods weren’t mere concepts…

His thoughts lingered between confusion and regret.

Not far away on the ground, Murdoc finally caught his breath. He feigned fainting, carefully observing the two opposite him.

“This guy’s doctrine is so poorly written that it lacks any aesthetic.”

The silver-haired young man, holding the old man’s head in one hand, flipped through a booklet with the other. “His followers seem to operate near the forests around Whitebird City. I plan to use local resources to make a more visually pleasing scene for him—waking up to find his divine artifacts scattered and hanging from trees will certainly be thrilling.”

“You… Forget it. Don’t scare the innocents.” The black-haired young man finally removed his hood.

“Though he did get one thing right. It’s all Eugene’s fault.” The young man referred to as Teest said, “He actually didn’t notice this trash. If we hadn’t passed by here, the old guy would have continued his antics.”

“This man is a traitor to the Temple. I thought you would condemn Painter,” the black-haired young man jested.

“I just dealt with him last week.” Teest expressed regret. “If I had known, I would have waited and settled it all at once.”

Murdoc tensed up. Is it okay to talk about gods in this tone?

Who exactly are these two… No, I’m going to faint.

Murdoc’s last memory was of the black-haired young man’s smiling face.

“I told you, you’d be fine,” he said.

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The author has something to say:

The current power rankings in Tahe:

Nol > Teest > Perradat >>> other gods

Nol, the true supreme god, needs no explanation. He is the only master of the system.

Teest has accumulated two powers himself, breaking away from the system, and will gradually create his own power system.

Perradat is a foreign god, born at the god level. However, she can’t compete with Teest, the local advantage Player.

Other (local) gods haven’t truly transcended the system yet. They’ve been co-opted by both sides, with a clear upper limit.It’s not that Eugene ascended to godhood quickly. It’s because the “god” Eugene became isn’t on the same level as the “god” Teest became. ☆

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<<< || Table of Contents || >>>

Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 243: God Hunting – Part 1

Whitebird City, on the ground floor of the inn’s resting area.

“As of the year 737, Tahe has a total of six gods…”

A young man dressed as a monk muttered, leaving lines of text with a feather quill on his notebook, which featured delicate illustrations. A large book titled “The Divine History of Tahe” lay open diagonally above his notebook.

The theology written exam was coming up—it was part of the comprehensive test for monks. The exam would determine whether he could advance to Grape Collar’s Temple of Life. Murdoc Farrell had been preparing for this exam for two full years.

“The existing six gods are divided into two major pantheons—the Creation Pantheon and the Destruction Pantheon. Among them, the God of Creation and the God of Destruction are recognized as the highest gods, with the rest being their subordinates… Hmm…”

“Brother, you’re memorizing those troublesome things again.”

A girl dressed as a merchant pulled out a chair and sat opposite the young man. “Just listening to it makes my head spin.”

“Coralina.” Murdoc nodded.

“When are you finally coming back to Grape Collar? Mom misses you.” Coralina complained with a smile, “This place is terribly remote. I wouldn’t come here if it weren’t for work.”

Murdoc smiled. “I’ve already accumulated enough merits. As long as I pass the test, I can apply for a transfer to Grape Collar.”

“If you don’t pass, I’m cutting your allowance.”

Coralina clicked her tongue. “Really, why did you have to choose the Temple of Life?”

“Fate’s Poet Society has absorbed the Eternal cult. If you can’t accept it, forget it. The emerging Church of Strife and the Guardians Assembly are both good. There’s much less competition there.”

“This isn’t about choosing a job, Coralina.”

Murdoc clasped his hands together, making the prayer gesture of the Temple of Life. “Both you and I have been blessed by the descent of the God of Life. I still hold gratitude for That One.”

“But mom doesn’t believe in the Temple of Life.”

Coralina grabbed a piece of bread from the table. “Mom believes in the Cat Tail Spirits. She insists that the Cat Tail Spirits saved us, and it seems like the God of Life doesn’t mind.”

“Coralina!”

“Forget it. As long as you’re happy.” Coralina stuck out her tongue and picked up the “Divine History of Tahe”.

“Subordinates of the God of Creation, the God of Life Tilia, and the God of Guardianship Drake; subordinates of the God of Destruction, the God of Fate Perradat, and the God of Strife Eugene.”

Reading this, she frowned.

“I remember Drake was one of the heroes of the divine war, a dragon hybrid who slept for over two hundred years. He’s always been very strong, so it makes sense that he became the ‘God of Guardianship’ after the divine war.”

“I’ve been wanting to ask, what’s the deal with Eugene? Wasn’t he the Pope of the Temple of Life? …Even if he didn’t become the ‘God of Peace’, he’s not even in the same pantheon as the God of Life…”

“The awakening of divine powers and the inherent traits of the gods themselves are linked. One cannot simply choose them.” Murdoc explained, “Lord Eugene, during his tenure, was notoriously uncompromising. Although he caused conflicts both large and small, in the end, he reformed countless longstanding malpractices within the Temple.”

“As for the relatively negative power of ‘Strife’, many scholars have researched this. The prevailing view—let me think—Lord Eugene is fundamentally fanatic; his reforms of the church weren’t out of goodwill but were meant to please the God of Life…”

“Cough! Cough!”

Suddenly, a coughing sound came from the next table, where Murdoc saw two young men in traveler’s cloaks—the one with black hair choked on his tea, and the silver-haired one was patting his back.

“He was once the former Pope of the Temple of Life. Is it okay to speak so frankly?” Coralina gasped through her teeth.

“Lord Eugene never hid his true nature.” Murdoc sighed. “Actually, I admire Lord Drake more, who endured hardships without changing his original intentions and eventually acquired the power of ‘Guardianship’—his friendship with the God of Fate Perradat is still praised by people.”

“Wait, wait, I’m dizzy.” Coralina rubbed her temples. “So you’re saying, Lord Eugene of the Destruction Pantheon follows the God of Life from the Creation Pantheon, and Lord Drake from the Creation Pantheon, has good relations with the God of Fate from the Destruction Pantheon…?”

“Yes, it’s a balance.”

“It seems even gods avoid forming cliques.” Coralina remarked, “So the God of Creation and the God of Destruction are completely opposed to each other?”

“Regarding this matter, there are currently two prevailing opinions… those two do not have their own religions, nor are their names widely known. Many believe they are merely conceptual gods.”

Murdoc rustled through his notebook. “But there is also a peculiar theory circulating that they are a pair of sweet lovers.”

“I prefer that latter theory,” the silver-haired young man at the next table laughed.

Murdoc glanced over at the next table again—the silver-haired young man had just finished speaking when he was fed a large spoonful of sugared peach water by his companion.

“It seems you’ve reviewed well.”

Coralina didn’t pay attention to the next table. She snapped the “Divine History of Tahe” shut. “Good luck, big brother. They surely won’t actually test you on the love story of the highest gods.”

“…Coralina…” Murdoc weakly covered his face.

“By the way, there have been disappearances nearby lately.” Coralina lowered her voice. “You’re living here alone. Be very careful, and don’t interact with any suspicious characters.”

“I’ll remember that. Send my regards to mom.”

……

Murdoc smelled a strong odor of blood. The next second, a horrific pain struck him. It felt as if a spike had been driven into his head, causing it to split with pain.

He blinked laboriously, his eyelids sticky with semi-dried blood, much heavier than usual. Undoubtedly, his head had been struck, and the blood that had flowed out was drying in his hair, becoming stiff and hard.

Only a thick darkness surrounded him.

What happened?

Murdoc remembered saying goodbye to his sister, remembered leaving the inn. He had planned to buy some parchment and paint before heading home, and then… and then…

“Ugh…”

Murdoc groaned, struggling to prop himself up. His eyes gradually adapted to the dark surroundings, and he could faintly make out the outlines of objects.

Rusty iron bars, moldy straw, damp stone bricks. A faint stench of decay lingered, accompanied by the barely audible sound of water from the neighboring cell. If his guess was correct, this was a repurposed dungeon located beneath Whitebird City in the sewers.

Why would anyone want to kidnap him?

Murdoc was only nineteen years old, a naive cleric with nothing of value on him.

He was good-looking, but at nineteen, he was too old to be trafficked… Moreover, criminals typically wouldn’t target clergy, preferring vagrant children who “nobody would miss if they disappeared”.

Was this a kidnapping for ransom?

Setting aside the fact that his mother was in Grape Collar, a place far too distant, his family had changed their names and moved, making it impossible for ordinary people to know their financial situation.

“Is anyone there?” Murdoc called out hoarsely. “Hello?”

Apart from the sound of water, he received no response.

Murdoc felt along the iron bars, searching for any gap that might offer escape, but instead, his hands found the thick iron chains that entwined the cell door. These chains had been treated to resist magic, feeling exceptionally cold to the touch. The Temple often used them to bind escapees. Ordinary magic couldn’t open them.

…Better to conserve energy for now.

Breathing heavily, Murdoc sat back down on the straw, trying to tend to the wound on his head.

Right, Coralina had mentioned disappearances… If only he had asked her more about it…

Coralina was traveling with a merchant caravan. She should be safe… May the God of Life protect her…

The dizziness from blood loss persisted, and Murdoc’s limbs grew cold. He curled up, his eyes half-closed. Suddenly, something furry and warm appeared next to his hand.

A rat?!

Murdoc stiffened and turned to his right hand—next to his palm, unbeknownst to him, two small furry balls had appeared.

One black and one white, they were the size of the tip of a cat’s tail. They clung together tightly, blinking their small, bean-sized eyes.

“Moore, don’t be afraid,” the black furball chirped lightly. “You’ll be alright.”

Murdoc was stunned. That was his long-discarded name. These two little creatures really resembled the Cat Tail Spirits from his mother’s stories.

“You need to endure a little longer.” The white furball leisurely nibbled on the black one’s fur. “I’m very curious about what’s going to happen next.”

“We need a witness. Believe me, we have a history with your mother. She must have mentioned us,” the black furball squeezed the white one and continued to explain in a soft voice.

“You’re Cat Tail Spirits,” Murdoc nodded.

The two furballs: “……”

“Close enough,” the black furball said. “Anyway, we’ll stay with you.”

Murdoc breathed a sigh of relief. The kidnappers had left his clothes. Murdoc opened the inner pocket of his monk’s robe, allowing the two little furballs to hide inside. They were warm and comforting, and he unconsciously felt reassured.

For the next two days, Murdoc was left alone. No one came to check on him, let alone bring food or water. The kidnappers were very cautious, probably planning to act once he weakened.

But this plan was thwarted by the two furballs.

The white furball conjured a large amount of food out of thin air, including but not limited to vegetable salad, bagels with nuts, cold cuts, boiled eggs, and sparkling grape juice. They all shared common traits—they were odorless, didn’t need heating, and were delicious.

Thus, Murdoc was well-fed and lay in the dungeon for two days. He had wanted to talk more with the furballs, but aside from mealtimes, they would squeeze into his pocket and fall into a deep sleep.

On the third day, things finally changed.

A man carrying a lantern and dressed in a dark red robe opened the cell door, picking up Murdoc, who feigned exhaustion. Murdoc struggled feebly as the man dragged him deeper into the sewers.

By the dim light of the lantern, Murdoc discreetly observed the man beside him.

The man’s face was covered with a red cloth, cut out only for the eyes and nose. His eyes, hidden in shadow, looked like two black holes.

Murdoc’s gaze moved to the man’s chest. In the center of his chest was an odd emblem he had never seen before. His garment’s hem was somewhat darkened, emitting an unpleasant odor of decay.

A cultist… His attire didn’t match that of a stubborn member of the Eternal Church. It was probably some emerging cult.

Whitebird City, located remotely, only had a chapel of the Temple of Life. But the City Lord was adept, making it difficult for messy religions to take root. In other words, anyone who could operate here was no ordinary character.

Murdoc continued to feign weakness, his heart racing. If not for the two furballs continuously warming his chest, he would have been genuinely terrified.

May the God of Life bless him, may the Cat Tail Spirits protect him. In silent prayer, Murdoc was led into a spacious underground area.

This place didn’t seem to be part of the sewers, but rather someone had used magic to repurpose the ventilation system of the sewers.

The walls of this “room” were mere rubble and clods of earth. Both sides of the room were filled with red-robed individuals holding lanterns, illuminating the vast space like daylight—

In the center of the room was a large magical circle drawn with blood, mixed with bits of flesh, emitting a foul smell. In the center of the circle, a rotting arm protruded from the loose soil, with an unknown number of bodies buried underneath.

Murdoc was roughly thrown at the edge of the circle, his face pale.

“What do you want to do?” His question was absolutely sincere.

The two rows of red-robed individuals remained silent, not moving an inch. If not for the breathing visible at their chests, Murdoc might have mistaken them for corpses.

Something was off… The rows were asymmetric. There were two extra individuals on his right side, who were fully cloaked in red robes without holding lanterns.

Their height and physique stood out from the other followers. Murdoc noticed a glimpse of their hair—black and silver, a frighteningly familiar combination.

Were they the two people he had encountered at the inn, having followed him since then?

Murdoc stared at them, his mind in turmoil.

This wasn’t the time to assign blame. He needed to find a chance to escape…

“Murdoc Farrell.”

A solemn voice echoed from the shadows. An elderly man, around sixty, stepped out from the darkness. He was dressed in a fiery red robe. His hair and beard were white, yet his body showed no signs of the frailty typical of old age, appearing quite robust.

“Or should I call you Moore Alva, the miraculous son of Avra Alva.”

Murdoc involuntarily clenched his fists.

During the divine war, his family was taken to a safe hideout by a Temple knight. After the war, the high officials of the Temple of Life had specially met with his family.

At that time, Murdoc was only seven years old, unable to remember much. He only recalled that those dignitaries had said his father was controlled by a malevolent god, and his mother had slain him on the spot.

The malevolent god was defeated, and his father died in the divine war. Concerning the reputation of the Alva Merchant Group and the lack of evidence, “Enbillick Alva being controlled by a malevolent god” wasn’t widely known. In the end, his mother was still seen as a madwoman who had killed her husband.

To honor Avra’s bravery, the Temple of Life was willing to provide protection—

They helped Avra and her two children create new identities. The Alva family thus became the Farrell family. They also secretly transferred Enbillick Alva’s fortune, a substantial amount that ensured that Avra’s family lived comfortably.

On the eve of the family’s departure from Bissus, in front of the Temple knights, the figure of the Goddess of Life Tilia appeared in their room.

The Goddess’s face was identical to the statues in the church.

With a gentle smile, she touched the children’s foreheads. The robust life force flowed into their bodies, and Murdoc still remembered that feeling—the stiffness and coldness inside him disappeared. His body became agile and strong, and his mind became much clearer.

Before the apparition vanished, the Goddess specifically turned to the Temple knight, smiled, and made a “shh” gesture with her finger.

That was undoubtedly a divine blessing.

Considering the Goddess’s will, whether it was their past identities or that miraculous night, only the high echelons of the Temple of Life had the right to know.

Which meant…

“You are from the Temple of Life.”

Murdoc stared at the old man, gritting his teeth.

---

The author has something to say:

People of Tahe: The God of Creation and the God of Destruction have no names, no churches. They must be conceptual gods…

In reality: The two just want to use their real names to sweetly travel √

The real Tahe production team has expanded! Nol is super happy.

The current work projects of the people are as follows:

Farmers, breeders, healers, etc., believe in the God of Life.

Adventurers, knights, travelers, etc., believe in the God of Guardianship.

Magicians, scholars, merchants, etc., believe in the God of Fate.

Blacksmiths, arms dealers, mercenaries, etc., believe in the God of Strife.

————————————

Fischer was thrown to the side of the God of Fate by Teest. He should now be the Pope of the God of Fate, but he still believes in Teest. (A kind of triple-named Pope)

Old Painter quietly changed the “Goddess of Life” to “God of Life”. It’s not a typo… Unfortunately, the name can’t be changed, so accept your fate, Painter.

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Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 242: Kingdom of God

After officially returning from Earth, Nol felt a real sense of “it’s all over” for the first time. At the same time, he was struck by the bizarre illusion of “joining a foreign company”.

The flow of time in Tahe was six times that of Earth. According to the agreement, he and Teest have to travel back to Earth every month or so. If they visit home too frequently, it might arouse his parents’ suspicions.

After years of brainwashing and captivity by Star Stealer Sol and a year of non-stop fleeing and counterattacking, Nol enjoyed an almost luxurious bewilderment—as if he had retired.

Anyway, he would never consider actually becoming the God of Creation.

That job of playing god and challenging his own integrity, he had to delegate to Perradat and Painter. It had to be said, these two were quite experienced in fooling others. After the end of the divine war, for easier supervision, Perradat and Painter formally moved into the Lost Tower.

Nol kindly implemented a five-day work week, and a nine-to-five schedule. Painter could even manage the Drifting Mercenaries on weekends.

Thus, Painter took full control of the Temple of Life, while Perradat managed both the Fate’s Poet Society and the Eternal Church. Currently, it seemed she planned to merge the two and transform the Eternal Church from within.

To Nol’s surprise, Perradat was very skilled at manipulating religion. According to her, it was “a racial talent”.

Inside the Lost Tower, most of the neighbors had gone home. The succubi and dog-headed beastmen, with no more temple threats, decided to carve out their territories in the Black Forest.

Nol had tried to retain them, but the queen and the village chief tactfully expressed that continuing to stay wasn’t quite appropriate—the tower was too crowded with four gods running around; they couldn’t expand their tribes here. However, they agreed to leave emissaries and promised to visit during festivals.

“You know where our tribes are located,” the two leaders expressed. “We will always welcome you, Lord Nol.”

Now, aside from Perradat and Painter, only a handful of neighbors remained in the tower, including those like Little Piel, who considered the Lost Tower their home.

Such idleness.

Nol lay sprawled out on the bed of the Lost Tower, deeply pondering. He was beginning to miss the lively scenes of the past. It was nearing noon, and he still hadn’t gotten up.

The good news—Teest hadn’t gotten up either.

Teest was sprawled out on the soft bed with an arm draped over Nol’s chest.

“We’re going to see my parents tomorrow,” he lazily said. “This time let’s just look at them from a distance first. I want to introduce you to them properly. To be precise, introduce you to the family in my memory.”

“Okay.” Nol fiddled with Teest’s fingers.

“I’ve bought back the Flama’s land. Once Painter finishes the procedures, the Temple of Life will formally apologize and bury them publicly… Can I bury them inside the Lost Tower?”

“Of course,” Nol replied. “How about the forest level? I’ll prepare a beautiful cemetery.”

“You’re so considerate.” Teest rolled over. “But they only have their heads left. One room is enough—I’d rather have a room, a ‘Flamas’ room.”

Nol: “……” Teest always had unique views on death.

But he didn’t dislike this mad idea.

Not a tomb, just a room, no different from other rooms. They could knock on the door, visit it like visiting a friend.

“Then I’ll prepare a beautiful room,” Nol said.

“Praise be to you.”

Teest kissed Nol’s forehead, and the sheets rustled. “What would you like for lunch? Or would you like to take a walk through Grape Collar?”

Nol: “I—”

“Eugene Malloy requests entry to the tower.”

The room’s communication crystal lit up on its own, broadcasting Lynn’s voice tinged with schadenfreude. “He’s coming alone, says he wants to meet with you both.”

Nol slowly pulled the covers back. He was wrong; carefree leisure was so precious, and he didn’t want a religious meeting just now.

Teest looked excited, but Nol felt that the excitement wasn’t out of goodwill.

“Why does the Pope of the Temple of Life have time to come here when they’re so busy?” Teest wondered.

“He says he wants to apologize to you both.” Lynn couldn’t hide her eagerness to watch the drama unfold. “I was going to prepare an explanation, but that kid came up with one himself. I almost applauded him—”

According to Eugene’s guess—or rather, his delusion—the divine power of the Goddess had been suppressed by the False God Enbillick for the past two hundred years, leading to the gradual corruption of the Temple and the creation of numerous tragedies.

Therefore, Painter, as an incarnation of the Goddess, personally betrayed the Temple to test the devotees’ faith. He secretly helped the God of Creation Nol, who was targeted by Enbillick, and Teest, the God of Destruction who followed Nol. Ultimately, the gods waged a divine war and reclaimed Tahe from Enbillick’s hands.

“Huh?”

Teest’s face of curiosity turned into surprise.

He knew that Enbillick had implanted the memory of “Star Stealer Sol as the goddess of life” into Eugene. Eugene refused to believe it, yet could he come up with such a story? …You know, the Temple and the Mad Monk were at odds before.

“Because the Mad Monk only kills Eternalists.”

Lynn chuckled. “He believes your defiance in front of the Evergreen Church using corpses was a satire on the Temple’s failure to recognize the true gods. Painter often shows ‘disrespect’ to the Goddess himself, so Eugene thinks your actions were perfectly justified.”

“Enbillick targeted Nol specifically, and with Nol able to influence the system and with your and Painter’s help, Painter’s oracle made Eugene guess Nol is the legendary ‘God of Creation’. Star Stealer Sol tried to frame you as the Demon King, but it backfired.”

This time, Nol had nothing to say.

Knight Eugene’s conclusion was very subtle—sort of right yet somehow not quite right… He deeply doubted that even if Painter ran singing around Grape Collar upside down for three weeks, Eugene could come up with an utterly sacred explanation.

“He doesn’t mind that there are two gods above the Goddess of Life?” Nol hugged Teest tighter, squeezing out a question.

Lynn: “He firmly believes that ‘Lady Tilia’ cares more about Tahe than her own status. Don’t worry. He won’t suddenly attack you… probably.”

“I kind of appreciate Mr. Eugene,” Teest said. “He makes me feel like my faith is healthy.”

Nol slowly covered his head with the blanket. “Let Painter handle it.”

Teest, smiling, pulled the blanket back. “Come on, it sounds like fun!”

“Oh yes, Eugene also brought back Fischer.” Lynn earnestly continued, “He recognized Fischer’s magical fluctuations. Based on the low-profile actions of the Eternal Church recently, he speculated that the ‘God of Destruction’ had already dealt with the Eternal Son, Anstis, and gained the loyalty of the Eternal Pope.”

“Teest, in his capacity as the Pope of Life, he wants to ask you about the handling and future development of the Eternal Church…”

Teest, as he uncovered the blanket, also shrank back under it. He lifted an arm, and now the blanket covered both of their heads.

“Nol is right. Let Painter handle it,” Teest said from under the blanket. “What a troublesome guy.”

“What about Fischer?” Nol whispered.

“Fischer Reginald is an adult. He can go home by himself,” Teest said coldly. “He can even hop back on one leg.”

……

Knight Eugene, no, Pope Eugene, stood at the edge of the Black Forest, gazing at this sea of trees.

After a long wait, he didn’t get permission from the Lost Tower. Eugene wasn’t surprised by this outcome. If he was right, after the God of Creation returned, the Lost Tower would become a realm of gods—unreachable yet omnipresent.

His intentions had been conveyed. Regardless of the outcome, this was a successful pilgrimage.

But if he was right…

At the forest’s edge, an anomaly suddenly occurred.

It was spring, and most of the trees were sprouting new green leaves, sparsely. But the trees in front of him suddenly grew wildly. The new green turned into a lush, dark green, filled with divine vitality.

Under the most flourishing tree leaned a familiar figure.

It was a tall, thin middle-aged man with red hair, wearing a wooden mask carved with the emblem of the Goddess of Life. Through the holes in the mask, a pair of light green eyes still shone like the buds of spring.

“Good afternoon, my child.”

Godfrey Painter greeted openly.

“My God.”

Eugene stood still, and after a few seconds, he knelt on one knee, making a well-practiced prayer gesture.

Painter lamented, “What about my ‘good afternoon’?”

“…Good afternoon, my God.” Eugene expressed respectfully, his tone filled with joy. “Your servant sincerely thanks you for your descent.”

“I’ve heard about your speculations,” Painter said as he walked up to Eugene and touched the back of his neck. “I know you came looking for me. Ask whatever you want.”

He had an expression that said, ‘I knew this day would come,’ like an old father caught snacking by his child.

“Did I do well?” Eugene eagerly asked.

Painter’s expression sank, and after a moment, he sighed and placed a hand on the young Pope’s head.

“Barely passing,” Painter said, and under his palm, Eugene trembled slightly, whether from awe, fear, or excitement.

“Please tell me where I can improve,” Eugene said with his head bowed, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Your will is my desire.”

“It wouldn’t be fun to tell you.” Painter spoke in his usual tone. “You used to not recognize me as your godfather, and you still don’t… haa.”

“I was hoping you’d ask something else—something more interesting.”

Eugene maintained his bowed position, embodying confusion.

“From today, come see me once every three months and ask me a question,” Painter said softly, like he used to tell stories to that little child years ago. “How about that? This time I won’t just disappear.”

“It would be my honor.” Eugene kept his head down. “Do you have any other instructions?”

“You will be a good pope, Eugene Malloy,” Painter said, no longer pressing down on Eugene’s head but gently touching it. “I’m more worried about you personally.”

“I will remember your words,” Eugene said.

His head lightened, and when he looked up again, Painter had disappeared.

The opportunity for stable inquiries, concerning his own “personal” worries… Indeed, his God didn’t just want him to be a good pope. He implied a fatherly relationship, wanting him to keep ambition and aim for the Kingdom of God.

He would not disappoint Him.

Meanwhile, at the entrance of the Lost Tower.

Painter sat melancholically on the steps. He had given that boy a stable opportunity for dialogue, hoping Eugene would soon ask normal questions.

Like, the true form of the Goddess of Life being a middle-aged man—how odd is that? Why don’t you ask?

Hopefully, Eugene Malloy, whose destiny he had altered, could break free from the chains of fanaticism and return to a normal life sooner.

Fortunately, they still had plenty of time.

---

The author has something to say:

Painter: Kid, you’re too rigid… Be normal. Life has so much beauty…

Eugene: Understood, He wants me to become a god.

——————

Years later, faced with the soon-to-be god Eugene, Teest was torn between killing and not killing…

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