Chapter Three: Destiny

Several months later, after the ritual had concluded, Chen Ming voluntarily retreated into his body to slumber, prompted by changes in his divinity. Yet, though his consciousness slept, the divinity deep within his soul continued to operate ceaselessly.

Only after breaking through the first seal could this divinity truly display the extraordinary power that marked it as one of the core essences of a god, rather than being passively employed as it had been before. Among the newly awakened abilities, the granting of divine arts was notable.

Previously, if Chen Ming wished to bestow divine arts upon others, the cost was considerable, and the act had to be done deliberately. After the divinity was unsealed, however, it could now autonomously grant divine arts to followers according to the fervor of their faith—though Chen Ming himself still needed to fine-tune the measure.

At this moment, Chen Ming could only smile wryly, somewhat helpless. Upon careful inspection, he realized the divine arts he possessed were pitifully few: a minor healing to mend small wounds; a minor intimidation, offering slight deterrence and hardly effective on the resolute; healing of diseases, able to cure most illnesses; and purification, capable of cleansing evil within a certain range. At first glance, these seemed numerous, but they were merely innate aspects of divine power.

Divine power itself was the highest form of energy, inherently possessing certain properties. By focusing such power, one could form some divine arts. After sleeping for several months—during which he experienced the growth from a seed to a sapling, and then through millennia to his present form—the interplay between his divinity, divine name, and the world's source energy brought him new insights into divine arts.

With this realization, Chen Ming understood: divine arts were among the highest forms of power, fundamentally different from spells that merely relied on energy. Divine arts were born of the world’s laws, manifestations of a god’s comprehension of the world’s very nature, and shared with others.

Thus, though he had possessed divinity before, lacking personal accumulation meant he could only use simple divine arts formed from the basic application of divine power. After this slumber, however, having digested his memories, he gained his own understanding of the world—perhaps shallow, but enough to allow him to develop many divine arts.

He chuckled to himself; perhaps it was because his true form was a tree, most of the divine arts he developed were of the natural order. Yet all proved immensely useful.

Enhancing soil fertility, communicating with plants, accelerating plant growth—these arts, perhaps not remarkable in battle, were invaluable to agriculture. If a tribe wished to rapidly increase its population, hunting alone would never suffice; farming was the path to lasting prosperity. With these divine arts, cultivation and production would be vastly improved, and the land would yield more.

As for the defensive arts such as wooden armor and wooden shield, their effectiveness in real combat was readily apparent—especially for people who had never even seen real armor.

At this thought, Adis could not help but smile again. Perhaps because trees were immobile for much of their existence, he had made little progress in developing offensive divine arts. But he was unconcerned; what he lacked now, he would gain in time. As a god, patience was his virtue.

Meanwhile, outside, the effects of these divine arts had only just begun to ripple through the world.

Though divine arts were powerful, only a select few had access to them for now. This was because acquiring divine arts required not only fervent faith, but also a natural affinity between the practitioner and the art, a specific sense of resonance, and the follower’s own strong desire.

This sense of resonance was closely tied to the depth of one’s faith; the more devout the follower, the stronger the sense. For example, in the tribe, at least half the people could clearly sense the presence of divine arts, but mixed emotions and wavering will left few able to actually receive them.

Nonetheless, the storm heralded by the appearance of divine arts had already begun.

“Lord Grama, come quickly—someone is injured here!”

On a platform, a small wooden cabin had been built. The cabin was neatly constructed, each timber freshly cut and dried, and the air inside was filled with a natural fragrance. Outside, in the open plain, rows upon rows of flowers and all manner of plants were cultivated. Some of these plants, by all rights, should not have been blooming at the same time or in this season, yet here they all blossomed together, seemingly defying their natural cycles within this confined space.

On the platform, an old man gazed at the flowers, gently caressing a red blossom. The faint emotions emanating from it moved him, and a kindly expression softened his features. Only when he heard the distant cry did he turn around, seeing several strong men carrying a burly warrior toward him.

The warrior, resolute and broad-shouldered, his body forged of muscle like iron rather than the usual wiry frame of the locals, exuded an aura of unyielding strength and battle-hardened determination. Such a man should have been standing proud, drawing the attention of all, yet now he lay quietly on a stretcher, a gaping wound in his chest bleeding profusely. He gritted his teeth, enduring with sheer willpower.

Seeing this, Grama was taken aback. “Kuruba, how did you get so badly hurt?”

He strode forward, raising a hand suffused with light and gently passing it over the wound. The white light stopped the bleeding, and threads of black vapor began to seep from the injury.

“What is this?” Grama’s pupils constricted, sweat beading on his brow from the effort. “Did a demon beast attack you? Didn’t I warn you not to enter those dangerous areas?”

“It wasn’t us,” Kuruba replied through gritted teeth, his face twisted in pain. A closer look revealed black miasma swirling around his wound, yet a vibrant green vitality, summoned from within, struggled to resist it—without which he would never have survived this long.

Seeing this, Grama sighed. “Fortunately, though you have not mastered any divine art, you have at least sensed our God’s power. Otherwise, the demonic energy would have devoured you by now.”

Kuruba managed a bitter smile. In his heart, he believed his devotion to the god was second to none, yet he had never been able to sense a divine art of his own.

“We were hunting at the forest’s edge when a demonic wolf suddenly charged us from the south. Kuruba led a squad to block it so the rest of us could retreat. Only when we reached the domain of our God’s protection did it finally withdraw.”

Another warrior nearby spoke with a mixture of pain and anger.

“A single wolf?” Grama asked in surprise.

“It was no ordinary demonic wolf. If it were, Kuruba alone could have handled it. No, this was the Wolf King.”

“The Wolf King?” Grama was again alarmed. “Then the southern tribes—”

“They’re likely finished,” replied another warrior, his face grave.

“Most likely. The Wolf King never hunts alone. This one must have migrated from the deep forest, from a very distant place.”

“If it came from the south, then several southern tribes must have already been attacked.” Grama’s tone grew heavy. Demon beasts were the very embodiment of despair and terror in this world—creatures spawned when common beasts absorbed demonic energy, becoming powerful and savage. Only the largest tribes could hope to resist them.

“Carry Kuruba to the Sacred Tree. These wounds are far beyond my ability to heal; we must call upon our God’s power.”

With a sigh, he directed the others to bring Kuruba beneath the ancient tree. Closing his eyes, the old man prayed in silence.

Since the last ritual, when Chen Ming had descended and possessed him, Grama’s body had been washed in divine power, attuning his mind and spirit to the god. As the tribe’s high priest, he was already more attuned than others to the divine.

Soon, a verdant glow emerged from the ancient tree, vibrant with life, drawn forth by Grama’s invocation and settling over Kuruba.

All present prayed devoutly.

As the green light touched the wound, something seemed to fuse within it, sending waves of black energy streaming out. The wound began to heal.

On the ground, Kuruba lay with eyes closed, feeling warmth envelop him, and he prayed silently: “Our God, grant your protection.”

Beside him, Grama felt his strength ebbing away, a wave of exhaustion overtaking him. At last, as his mind gave out, the green light faded and he collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, sweat pouring from his brow.

“Huff… huff…” he panted, a wry smile on his lips. “I’m spent. After this, I’ll need several days of rest.”

“It is enough,” replied a deep, resolute voice.

Kuruba, who had been lying on the ground, now stood tall. His frame was immense, his presence formidable; while his features were not handsome, the scars that marked his body and the stern cast of his face gave him an air of indomitable strength.

“What a warrior!” Chen Ming observed for a moment, then could not help but sigh.

He cast his divine gaze upon the man’s head.

A coil of luck, thick as a serpent, hovered above Kuruba, tinged with red at its core, bathing the whole in a pale blood hue. Looking closer, one could detect a faint glimmer of gold deep within—a dazzling sight.

Chen Ming was intrigued. The red-tinted luck was easy to interpret: within the entire tribe, this man was clearly of great renown, and coupled with his martial prowess, the result was as expected.

But the golden glimmer was truly remarkable. It signified a natal destiny, a gift from this world itself, denoting a rare potential. In this fractured and feeble land, even the faintest trace of golden destiny marked one as a peerless talent among all.