Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 914 - 849: Artificial Deity

The battlefield resounded with cries of battle and bloodied blades. Triton, connecting heaven and earth, stood in a tacit standoff with his opponent. Ancient voices echoed in his mind, their unchanging monotone like the weight of grave-bound stones, sending chills through his heart.

[You have brought these dust-like invaders into my world. When I sweep you all away, I will take them with you.]

The allied forces led by Raymond were constrained by the rules of the [world] and unable to intervene, left to helplessly watch as reinforcements clashed with duplicates of themselves. The tense scene was further exacerbated by the restless black sludge swirling near Triton.

The Dean and the Scholar approached Raymond one after the other.

"You’d better have a plan; otherwise, we’ll be forced to adopt the Dragon Priest’s proposed final measure."

Raymond turned, casting a surprised glance at the Blue Dragon Priest.

"I’d like to hear your idea first."

The Blue Dragon Priest tightened his grip on his staff. Under the Angel of Light’s gaze, he instinctively lowered his head slightly.

"The Weave still exists. We can detonate it to perish together with the Evil God, forcing the wounded will of the planet into a dormant state. The cost, however, is the erasure of avatars like me and the Blue Dragon tied to the Weave. Any other lives outside your barrier will also die instantly."

The Dean added.

"The dead sacrificed can be revived by Andrey as Liches. That’s the only compensation I can offer."

Raymond looked toward the Soul Reaper. The blue flames of the soul burned quietly, unmoved even under the sacred light’s watchful gaze.

"Have none of you ever considered completely ending the Evil God instead of merely sealing him, as done before?"

The Scholar slowly shook his head. "The fully awakened Triton has vastly exceeded our calculations. For over a century, we’ve schemed and prepared against the Evil God, but our strategies pale in comparison to the complexity of this reality. The presence of the Holy Light gave us hope, and perhaps it was that hope that made us complacent. Ultimately, we should rely on ourselves to solve this."

Raymond’s wings of light dimmed slightly. This was his first time engaging in a calm discussion with a Dragon Priest, yet his tone contained a trace of regret.

"Very well. At one point, I, too, thought I could handle everything, yet even I failed once."

His voice dipped then lifted, carrying a faint tone of relief, like the playful defiance of an Andrey Lich reveling in breaking rules.

"I learned two tricks from Andrey, reckless though they may be, they are highly effective."

"The first is to seek reinforcements."

"The second is..."

"We have Lyle."

At that moment, the Doctor of Plagues emerged, led by the Water Angel Gallaron. He was just about to greet them when he noticed how the Dean, his teacher, and even the reputed leader of the Holy Light, all had their gaze fixed firmly on him. Lyle swallowed hard, coughing twice as he choked on his breath.

"Sir Raymond, Lord Gallaron said you needed me."

The Angel of Light placed one hand across his chest while extending the other in an almost poetic gesture, as if presenting a piece of treasure. His spirited tone of introduction was so dazzling it overlapped with Lyle’s memories of infomercial hosts on a display screen.

"An unexpected Purifier! Just like me! Triton thinks of me as the anomaly, directing his efforts against me. He managed to strike me down, but his fixation blinded him to the fact that there was more than one variable. I will make him pay for ignoring us Purifiers. He will regret not carving Lyle into his ’genealogy.’"

From the very beginning of Raymond’s grand introduction, Morocoy, the Angel of Light’s specialist, had already begun examining Lyle. He was surprised to find that Lyle bore no restrictions imposed by the [world]. Perhaps Morocoy was kicking himself for not noticing Lyle’s unusual nature earlier.

"This is truly strange. My student has revived ancient dragons and reorganized armies of Liches, yet I instinctively thought of him as an ordinary member among us. I forgot he’s an anomaly through and through, though I’ve been a part of his growth all this time."

Raymond burst into laughter.

"Maybe it’s his natural harmlessness. Only someone like me, with eyes full of him, would remember this quirk."

The Saint Heir’s continued admiration for the Doctor of Plagues remained nauseatingly excessive, prompting the Dean to refocus everyone on the matter at hand.

"The Doctor of Plagues indeed satisfies the criteria to contend against Triton. One could say even the Evil God’s rivalries seem steeped in fated inevitability. However, he only meets the conditions but lacks the corresponding power. To have the Doctor of Plague slay a deity, we must at least elevate him to Conceptual Level within a short time. And that’s beyond our capacity."

As he spoke, tendrils of black fog began emanating from the Dean’s body, and the vicious glare he directed toward Raymond seemed ready to rip a chunk from him.

"The power to elevate someone’s boundaries within a short time—the Tribe’s Crown could accomplish this. But the Crown no longer exists."

"Don’t look at me like that. The Oath of Loyalty ritual is ineffective for Lyle. I can’t achieve this, but someone else can." Raymond approached Lyle, patting him firmly on the shoulder.

"Father, it’s this brat!"

Just as Lyle was muddled by these familiar words, he suddenly felt several intense gazes on his back. Warm, sentient attention—not just from one source—pressed upon him. Unbeknownst to him, a host of radiant phantom figures had materialized behind them.

At their head stood an elderly man with a serene expression, clad in simple linen garb that gave him the appearance of a humble fisherman. His genial smile exuded approachability, but this facade was undermined by the luminous holy crown encircling his head and the horde of crimson-robed Cardinals encircling even farther out. Their collective glow resembled the rising sun on the horizon, and Lyle felt its heat concentrated solely on him.

"Who are these people...?"

Apart from Raymond, the other Three Angels respectfully knelt. The Crusader Legion smashed their foreheads into the ground, creating deep gashes.

These were the Holy Spirits—leaders of the Holy Light across the generations who had guided humanity out of darkness. After their deaths, they transformed into pure holy light, merging into the Sea of Holy Light to become the foundations of belief. Raymond had summoned Heaven down to earth, compelling these Holy Spirits to relocate. From their position at the rear, the scowling Cardinals with puffed cheeks clearly bore no small grudge against Raymond, though they refrained from acting out under the affable elder’s smile.

For he was the Father of the Holy See, the First Pope, the Enlightener Aldington Mellock, adoptive father of the Angel of Light and mentor to Raymond.

Aldington softly gazed up at the towering Raymond, his warm smile undiminished. "I’ve always been watching you, boy. I instituted the rule allowing Paladins to have families, hoping you’d carry on the bloodline. But instead of focusing on important matters, you’ve been busying yourself with all sorts of rubbish. Each new Pope’s first task upon taking office has been to complain about you to me. Truly, you’re something else."

Lyle, standing in the path of Aldington’s gaze, felt an awkward self-consciousness darken his thoughts, yet Raymond kept a firm grip on his shoulder, held like a shield.

"Father, I’ve chosen this Saint Heir, a Purifier just like me! He has done so much for me, far more than I can ever repay! Please, you must help me repay him!"

The Three remaining Angels maintained bowed heads while nearby Paladins buried theirs, praying this borderline-heretical father-son exchange would not sully their ears.

Aldington Mellock, however, understood his son deeply. In truth, Raymond’s disposition was largely shaped under his guidance. In its earliest days, the Holy Light lacked today’s majesty—it was closer to a familial exchange of giving and receiving.

"Very well! This lad seems much more obedient than you. Perhaps grooming an earlier successor might have spared the Holy See its current state."

With just a few words, the father and son seemed poised to overturn an era. Those listening couldn’t help but feel their scalps tingle.

Raymond and Aldington completed the handover. Lyle, gazing up at the serene visage of the First Pope, felt dwarfed and humbled as Aldington’s spectral hand gently tapped his shoulder.

"Mr. Lyle, may I call you that? Don’t resist this—great undertakings require adaptability. The world is at a crossroads now, with its fate in the balance. Whether it’s us from the past, you living in the present, or others beyond the scope of mortality, anyone with the power to act must step forward. Don’t worry—you stand on the shoulders of every Holy Light Pope and Cardinal in history. We have deep expertise in uniting people toward the light of hope."

"I once nurtured that adorable boy over there. I simply wished to grant him a life with fewer hardships by offering the tiniest kindness, and the world rewarded me in return. Now it’s your turn, Mr. Lyle. Those small acts of kindness you offered, thinking they were insignificant, have reached the moment of harvest. The gratitude of the Holy Light, the aspirations of life itself, Purifier—an anomaly that bends fate."

"Let the world answer our hopes!"

"Oh, light! Thou art the Holy Lord we jointly seek!"

[Blessing of Grace: Heart of God]