Ch 194: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

Amos walked through Baling City.

Baling was the capital of the Naya Kingdom, one of the two nations formed after the old Naya Empire split apart.

Located in the south, the Naya Kingdom had stood for a thousand years with the support of the Vista Empire, locked in a stalemate against the Nato Kingdom, which was secretly backed by the Tianhai Empire.

Unlike Nato, whose upper class worshiped Tianhai’s God of Light, Naya stubbornly claimed to be the true heir of the fallen Naya Empire. They held fast to their faith in their own god—though that god had long since perished.

The Vista Empire was far less greedy than Tianhai. All they wanted from Naya was a steady stream of grain and goods. They didn’t care about its faith—Vista’s Beast God knew full well that Naya’s deity had fallen a millennium ago, and no amount of worship could bring him back.

But Tianhai was different.

The Tianhai royal family had long schemed to annex Nato. If not for Vista’s interference, Nato would have been absorbed into Tianhai’s territory already.

Since they could not conquer openly, Tianhai turned to subtle methods: they sought to harvest Nato’s faith, to rule the kingdom bloodlessly.

Amos despised these tactics, thinking them hypocritical—just like Tianhai’s people, who always flaunted themselves as refined aristocrats, while sneering at Vista’s “brainless barbarians.”

Normally, Amos would never have come to Baling at this time.

It was winter, and Vista’s people disliked going out in the cold. They preferred to light roaring fires at home, warming their houses until they were cozy, then shifting into beast form and sleeping for days.

When hunger stirred, they would lazily rise, set a great iron pot over the hearth, and cook fragrant meat broth—perhaps tossing in a handful of unpalatable vegetables.

The thought alone made Amos’ stomach growl.

He rubbed his belly and looked up at the sky in mild annoyance.

It was a fine sunny day. Naya’s climate was much milder than Vista’s, so the northern wind wasn’t unbearable. Yet under the winter sun’s warmth, he felt all the more drowsy.

If not for that cursed dream… Amos narrowed his eyes at the temple looming not far ahead.

Once, this temple had been grand. But after Naya’s god had fallen, its doors were shut. War and turmoil followed, the faithful stopped coming, and it had long since decayed.

Now, only the occasional vagrant tried to slip inside for shelter. To everyone else, the place was a forbidden ground.

Two nights ago, while trying to settle into hibernation at home, Amos had dreamed.

In the dream, months later when spring arrived, he came to visit Baling—famous for its blossoms and foods unseen in Vista.

But in that dream, this very abandoned temple was used to summon a monster through a wicked ritual.

The black-robed sorcerer even called it a god.

Amos thought him mad. In truth, he believed most Naya people were mad—still clinging to the delusion of a long-dead god even after a thousand years.

The monster devoured many innocents. Amos saw it clutching a little girl of five or six, ready to stuff her into its maw while her mother wept and begged at its feet.

And they dared call it a god. Fools.

Amos charged in and saved the child.

Here, he couldn’t help praising himself with pride: in that dream, he was brave beyond compare.

Though gravely wounded, he slew the monster. He expected to be hailed as a hero, but instead many glared at him with anger.

Fortunately, not all were blind; some carried him to a healer.

Only then did he learn that the monster had been summoned by Naya’s High Priest after eighty-one days of sacrifice—meant to be their god.

God, my ass.

The Naya had lost their minds.

Amos cursed in the dream, only for the healer to press “carelessly” on his wound, jolting him awake in pain.

When he opened his eyes, he was back on a warm fur rug, the fire in the hearth blazing.

Just a strange dream.

But Amos couldn’t sleep again.

The dream’s details were too vivid. He kept wondering: was it truly just fantasy, or a divine omen?

He rose from the blankets and went to the War Temple’s high priest.

He didn’t describe the dream outright—only that he was trapped in something so real he could not shake it.

Following the priest’s guidance, he had come here.

Now, Amos walked the narrow streets of the lower city. People stopped to stare: the son of a Vista duke, a proud scion of the Silver Lion bloodline, tall and imposing in human form. His short silver hair was neatly combed back, his features sharp and noble, and his golden eyes gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

Without question, he was a man of striking beauty.

By the time he reached the temple gates, his arms were already filled with red blossoms thrust upon him by passing young women. They called the flowers plum blossoms—blooms that thrived even in the heart of winter.

Amos stopped in his tracks.

He stared in confusion at the scene before him.

Knights dressed in the royal guard uniforms of the Naya Kingdom had completely surrounded the abandoned temple. They moved with agility, climbing the high walls and tearing down the decaying wooden boards that had long sealed the windows.

The temple doors, sealed in dust for centuries, had been flung open. Inside, the place was already swept clean, spotless.

When Amos tried to go closer, the guards blocked his way.

One of them, noticing the flowers in his arms, chuckled and pointed to the left. “If you’re here to offer flowers to the god, the line starts over there.”

Amos: ???

He turned his head and indeed saw a long queue to the left. In line stood nobles in splendid clothing alongside commoners whose cloaks were patched and worn. Every one of them wore bright, excited smiles, clutching either a single blossom or an entire bouquet.

Amos’s mind felt a little muddled.

He thought: This isn’t quite how it was in the dream.

He remembered that in the dream, even three months later, the temple had remained dark and foreboding.

Curious, he decided to see for himself, and so he joined the queue.

In front of him stood a Naya noble who looked at him with suspicion and some wariness. “A beastkin from Vista? Why aren’t you hibernating at home, and what business have you offering tribute to our god?”

“Offering tribute to the god?” Amos frowned. “Is today some special festival? I was just visiting Baling, saw everyone carrying flowers here, and thought it was some event. I figured I’d join in.”

Relations between the Vista Empire and the Naya Kingdom were fairly good; they were one another’s largest trade partners.

The Naya noble, puffing with pride, told him, “Our god has awakened. Yesterday, the god sent down an oracle, commanding us to offer flowers to Him.”

The noble held a large bouquet in his arms, filled with blooms Amos didn’t recognize. It was obvious many weren’t even in season—likely cultivated through great effort by the gardeners of noble estates. Such flowers were rare and costly in winter, yet here they were, carried by faithful hands to honor their god.

But…

The god of Naya?

Awakened?

Even sending down an oracle?

Impossible.

In the dream, that creature had known only blood and slaughter. There had been no awareness in it at all.

Amos thought grimly: These foolish Nayans must have been tricked again.

He decided to wait and see inside the temple.

After all, Nayans might not be very bright, but their food was undeniably delicious, and their flowers were famously popular in Vista.

Yes—Naya’s fur groomers and chefs had ranked among Vista’s top three most sought-after professions for years.

The line inched forward until finally it was Amos’s turn.

By then, he had already pieced together what had happened.

It was an order from the royal palace.

Apparently, the high priest—said to be the most loyal servant of the god—had heard the divine voice yesterday.

The god declared that He was awakening, and that He desired offerings of flowers and sunlight.

Flowers and sunlight?

Amos hesitated. He had assumed it was some fraud. But if it were a fraud, surely they would be demanding gold and treasures.

What use were flowers and sunlight?

And if both the high priest and the palace had issued this command…

For all his foolishness, the high priest’s devotion to the god had never been in doubt.

Amos entered the temple.

He had been here in the dream, but it hadn’t left much impression—only darkness and a suffocating gloom.

Now, however, the great doors stood wide, every skylight unbarred. Winter sunlight streamed through, forming golden beams across the space.

The temple had been scrubbed spotless. The faded reliefs and murals radiated a solemn weight of age.

There was no statue within. It was said that when the god had fallen, every idol of Him across Naya had shattered simultaneously into dust.

Instead, at the intersection of light stood a high platform. Upon it rested only a single amethyst crystal orb.

Flowers crowded around the base of the platform, lending the old temple a vivid splash of color.

Kneeling before the platform was a man, praying softly.

It was Or.

He had shed the black cloak he once wore, now clad in a deep green high priest’s robe. His long black hair spilled loose, with only a green jewel at his brow. It gleamed as brilliantly as his emerald eyes.

From the moment he heard the god’s words, all the shadows and pallor that once clung to him had vanished.

Now he waited in rapture and hope, ready to receive the god’s will at any moment.

Amos glanced at the crystal orb, doubtful.

He didn’t believe for a second that it held some resurrected deity. Turning, he studied Or instead.

He remembered this one. In the dream, the Nayans had wept, saying the monster had devoured their loyal high priest.

“Hey!” Amos called out. “You really heard the god speak to you? I’m telling you, there are a lot of frauds in this world. You Nayans can be clever about other things, but when it comes to your so-called god—”

A fireball hurtled toward him. Amos dodged just in time.

Or had risen, glaring icily at him. “Blasphemy against the god.”

You die.

❣╰(⸝⸝⸝꒳⸝⸝⸝)╯❣