Chapter Seventy-One: Faith

At night, Artis rode across the deserted land with his followers. Because the wilderness of this world was perilously dangerous, unlike his previous life, few people lingered outdoors after dark; this gave Artis and his party a measure of convenience. Still, even with the blessing of divine arts, it was impossible to fully conceal thousands of soldiers. Their footsteps were silent, and their presence blended into the environment, but the unique aura emanating from the gathered warriors could not be hidden, and it alerted the knights within the manor.

“Hm?” Sensing this aura, several knights patrolling the manor paused and looked outward. From their vantage point, vast shadows crept closer, soundless but brimming with chilling killing intent, compelling them to raise their heads in alarm.

“Enemy attack!” A powerful voice echoed through the manor, prompting an immediate response. The speed of their reaction was swift, a testament to the high discipline of knights in this chaotic world, where ghosts and monsters roamed.

“They’ve noticed something’s amiss,” Artis murmured, sensing the disturbance from afar. In his eyes, after the initial chaos, the once silent and scattered fate within the manor began to stir, striving to gather itself against the oncoming threat.

Yet, at this distance, any attempt at resistance was futile. Seeing the enemy’s realization, Artis dropped all pretense. Divine light enveloped his army where they stood, and they charged forward without hesitation.

Only then did the defenders realize, to their horror, how many enemies had gathered below. After Nadir’s departure and losses in the wilds, Artis still commanded over four thousand men. As they surged together, their murderous aura was overwhelming.

Without any suspense, the army stormed into the manor, which housed only a few hundred defenders. The disparity in strength made the outcome clear. The opposing knights rallied at a choke point, standing firm in hopes of blocking Artis and his advance.

Watching them choose to resist rather than flee under cover of night with their lord, Artis felt a measure of relief. In truth, the greatest challenge was not defeating the enemy, but preventing their escape. If the defenders had immediately chosen flight upon discovering Artis, he would have faced a dilemma. Should they escape, news of Artis’s arrival might reach the lords of the Brook Duchy, putting him in a precarious situation.

But with the knights resolved to stand and fight, the outcome could not be reversed. As the battle raged, knights fell beneath the onslaught, blood painting the ground.

In the midst of this, some tried to flee, but Artis’s forces, prepared for such attempts, quickly surrounded them. Soon, as the fighting ended, Bazel approached Artis, traces of blood upon him.

Behind Bazel, a noble was dragged forward, his mouth gagged.

“Your Highness, this is the local baron. He tried to escape but I intercepted him,” Bazel said, kneeling.

Artis nodded in response.

“Take him away. Let the priests interrogate him.” He spoke softly, watching the baron’s futile attempts to speak.

Under the baron’s resentful glare, Bazel hauled him away, leaving only bloodstains behind. Artis turned from the scene, gazing toward another part of the town where a fresh battle was underway.

Compared to Artis’s assault, Nadir’s engagement was far more relaxed. The manor housed most of the territory’s fighting strength, which Artis had swept away in one blow; the town itself was defended only by a handful of ordinary guards and a few scattered knights.

Such numbers were barely sufficient to counter the likes of Bill and the covert priests, let alone Nadir. With the priests’ assistance, Nadir seized the town effortlessly, quickly occupying key points under guidance from local believers.

This was a flaw in a world dominated by knights. Aside from professional knights, other fighters, such as militia, had to be conscripted in advance. In emergencies, there was no time to muster them, leaving the defenders vulnerable to sudden attacks.

“General Nadir, where is His Highness?” Once the town was secured, Bill asked Nadir, with several red-robed priests behind him, their faces eager.

“His Highness led an assault on the manor; by now, he must have succeeded,” Nadir replied, addressing the priests. “Once that is settled, the lord will come to inspect the town tomorrow.”

Bill and the others nodded. That night, with the help of priests and believers, Nadir’s men took full control of the town, purging the opportunistic riffraff and restoring a fleeting peace. Yet beneath this calm, a chilling atmosphere lingered.

The next day, Artis arrived at the town. Upon hearing of his imminent arrival, countless people gathered before the gates. At the forefront were Nadir, Bill, and several officers, but the majority were priests—some in white robes, others in red—all bearing the sacred insignia, their faces solemn.

Among them were the elderly and the young; some were bent with age, others barely into their teens, all wearing expressions of fervor and devotion, eyes fixed ahead.

When Artis’s figure appeared before them, a tremor passed through their hearts, as though something unseen stirred their souls, leaving them awed.

From their perspective, the young man before them, handsome and extraordinary, his eyes tinged with gold, radiated a divine power a thousand times greater than theirs. A pure, natural aura surged around him, as if a supreme will slumbered within.

The stronger the priest, the more they sensed.

In Bill’s perception, clad in his yellow robe, the godly might emanating from Artis was boundless—subduing all worlds, suppressing heaven and earth. The terrifying force filled Bill’s mind, leaving him shaken and unable to compose himself.

Under the priests’ fervent gaze, Artis walked forward in silence, and as he drew nearer, their senses grew stronger.

“Hm?” Suddenly, Artis looked curiously toward a corner, his supernatural senses detecting a familiar presence.

In that corner, an old man stood alone, isolated and forlorn. He was elderly, clad in a worn red priest’s robe, cradling a crude yet radiant sacred insignia; his hands trembled with emotion.

He stood there, his hair in the traditional style of northern tribes, solitary and silent, gazing at Artis with tears glistening in his eyes, filled with steadfast devotion.

“Tree God!” he murmured, staring at the strikingly handsome Artis. In his mind’s eye, he seemed to see a majestic, towering ancient tree.

With his thoughts, a pure light of faith flowed toward Artis, carried by some unseen connection.

In that instant, a scene appeared before Artis’s mind: decades ago, the moment he had first awakened. At that time, eager to restore his divine power, he revealed himself and summoned the tribe for worship, successfully consolidating his place as the god of nature, marking the first step after his awakening.

Among those gathered then, this old man must have been present.

Artis regarded the frail elder. Above his head, a pure, unwavering light of faith manifested, carrying a resolute will.

From that will, a conviction emerged—one that would not falter even in the abyss, that would face death without regret, shining softly along the thread of faith, continuously flowing into Artis’s soul.

Moved by this, Artis looked at the insignia in the old man’s hand. It was rough and simple, yet radiated a gentle light, remarkable in its own way.

This was no accident. When conditions were harsh, the first batch of insignias had been made crudely, far less refined than those crafted later.

This elder was among the first priests. In response to Artis’s divine command, he abandoned the tribe where he had lived for countless years and came to the southern city-states to spread the faith, persevering to this day.

In the southern city-states, many priests like him could be found.

Artis turned and gazed at the sky. Under a unique sense, points of burning light appeared across the northern lands, steadfast and unwavering, their brilliance continually merging behind him, forming the strongest foundation and support.

Feeling this, Artis sighed. His once-stable soul trembled, a faint emotion rising within him.