Chapter 1210 - 1209: The End of Obsession

Chapter 1210: Chapter 1209: The End of Obsession

That is the brilliance that has been absent for three thousand years, along with the voice that has been absent for three thousand years.

And along with the history that has been absent for three thousand years.

Azmole walked forward step by step, just like many years ago, when he had just earned the qualification to step into the church as a mage apprentice, following his mentor, he ascended the majestic and solemn steps and stone ramp with a devout heart. Behind him, several priests closely followed his footsteps, and according to the different roles of the past, stood on both sides.

This is the most revered audience ceremony, and every step must not be careless—though the youngest among them is already three thousand and seven hundred years old, yet these elderly elves still step steadily as mountains, without a single mistake.

Amoen lay quietly in the center of the courtyard, watching gently those elves approaching him — each of their faces was already very different from what existed in his memory. Three thousand years of time, even elves with long lifespans have reached the end of their lives. These elves, who back then were at least middle-aged, have continued to live to this day solely due to the "blessings" received from baptism and a powerful will to survive. Those deeply wrinkled faces were etched in Amoen’s eyes, merging little by little with shadows from his memories... ultimately forming a single sigh.

"Azmole, you are very old," He said softly.

"Master..." Azmole continued to walk forward, trembling as the voice of the god reached his ears, he finally spoke, "We have been searching for you for three thousand years..."

"You shouldn’t have searched for me," Amoen sighed softly, "I left for a reason—and you could have lived better."

"We know, but we are willing to follow you!" A powerful priest suddenly exclaimed, "No matter the reason, we are all willing..."

Amoen quietly watched these priests who once faithfully followed him, and still loyally follow him three thousand years later. After a long time, he finally sighed deeply: "It was because too many were willing to follow me back then..."

...

Gawain and Queen Belsetia stood quietly in the distance, beside the "path" leading to the center of the courtyard, watching those priests walk towards the Holy Giant Stag shrouded in light, like pilgrims in a religious story. Queen Belsetia finally spoke softly, "Three thousand years... The Morning Star Family pondered countless times on how to solve this ancient dilemma, yet no one thought the matter would conclude in this manner."

"Conclude in this manner... your troubles won’t lessen," Gawain glanced at the Silver Empress, "These people can’t return—and no matter what explanation you give publicly, these people ’left this world’ after being taken away by you... You’ve spent many years trying to gently resolve the mystics’ problem, now this issue can’t end gently."

"I remember we discussed this earlier," yet Queen Belsetia merely smiled slightly, she looked at those priests standing at Amoen’s feet, the smile on her face gentle and sweet while the sparkle in her eyes was cold as frost, "Many misunderstood one thing—I was treating gently only those elders who made great contributions to the Empire and never truly betrayed the Silver Empire, as for the mystics you mentioned... what do they count as?"

"Looks like you’ve already made your plans," Gawain withdrew his gaze from Belsetia, silently looked forward, "Seems I’ve worried too much."

"The Silver Empire is vast, ancient history brings about ancient and complex social structures, governing that land for several centuries, there are always those unwilling to follow me... Now I’ve merely found an opportunity to let some follow their gods, after all, this has always been their dream."

At this point, the Silver Empress fell silent, as if pondering something, until half a minute later she suddenly asked softly, "In another location, there must be many technicians monitoring the changes here... after Azmole the Wise and the priests stepped into the defied Court, between them and Amoen..."

"Established a connection," Gawain said solemnly, "A very obvious, very solid connection—looks like even after three thousand years of ’exhaustion’ and ’disruption’, the devout faith within these people has never diminished, instead it has grown more firm and profound with the passage of time."

"Is that so... Yes, indeed, if not for such unwavering resolve, even with the elves’ lifespan and the vitality granted by the gods, they could not have persevered to today," Queen Belsetia’s eyelids drooped slightly, "Azmole the Wise is nearly five thousand years old."

She paused for a moment, then as if talking to herself, said quietly: "Seems like, they really can’t return."

...

Upon the shattered, floating giant stone land, Azmole and the priests sat on the ground, just like thirty centuries ago when the Druid sages sat in the forest discussing classic texts and doctrines. The power of the god permeated their souls, dry for three thousand years, and the feeling of being fulfilled and peaceful filled everyone’s minds, they discussed stories of those ancient times, spoke of those lush forests, mountains and valleys, the seasons and beasts, rivers flowing across the plains, and eagles soaring through the sky—Amoen mostly just watched them gently. In those eyes like crystals, was brilliance pure beyond the worldly.

All this lasted a long time, until the sages seemed to forget the passage of time. During this, a powerful priest suddenly remembered something, he sighed, "Ah, if only Her Majesty Ista were still here..."

"Costina betrayed the holy faith," another powerful priest couldn’t help but say, "She... she shouldn’t have..."

"Costina may have betrayed her faith, but she never betrayed us," Azmole said in a low voice, his voice immediately quieting the priests, "Countless can criticize her decisions during the reformation of the church, yet we who have lived to today... none of us is qualified to speak."

The aged elf lowered his eyelids, no one could see the expression in his eyes at these words, and at this time, Amoen’s voice suddenly sounded, slow and gentle: "Costina Ista Morning Star... My last priestess, I still remember her appearance. She... has passed away years ago, hasn’t she?"

"Yes, Master," Azmole immediately responded, "Her Majesty Ista passed away over two thousand years ago... after you left, she reorganized the Druid religion, used royal power to take over the entire Elven Society, the backlash from abandoning divine grace and the tremendous pressure she bore caused her early death, and thus she became the last Silver Empress with a church name—after that, the rulers of the Silver Empire no longer had church names."

Amoen fell silent, silent for perhaps a long time, the priests finally heard that gentle yet authoritative voice again: "She bore great pressure, didn’t she... Ah, such a foolish girl, she actually did very well... really did very well... it was too selfish of me to leave back then."

Azmole opened his eyes wide, instinctively propped up his body to stand: "Master, you mustn’t..."

His words remained unfinished, his body did not rise—this elderly elf gazed down in astonishment, at the openings and exposed parts of the priest’s robe, he saw his muscles and skin at some point had begun to wither, a color like weathered stone rapidly spreading over him.

This scene, as if the form frozen in time suddenly remembered it was meant to die long ago.

The old priest suddenly understood what was happening. He sighed, then faintly smiled, lifting his head to look around, meeting the equally smiling faces surrounding him.

"Lord, it seems the time is near," Azmole said with a smile.

"I can let you stay," Amon gazed quietly at these elves, who should have come to their end one or two thousand years ago, "Abandon this body, abandon everything from the past, no longer have any connection with the mortal world, and remain here forever—until the end of time."

Azmole fell silent. After a long pause, he asked softly, "If we stay here, will God return?"

"...God will not return; God is already dead."

Azmole chuckled softly and slowly shook his head before struggling to stand up, inch by inch, letting his aging body leave the ground. After seemingly using all his strength, he finally succeeded this time. Turning his head, he saw Queen Belsetia and Gawain already nearby—they stood there as if waiting for a certain time to come.

The old priest gently beckoned, and the young empress approached. The ancient priests around also stood up one by one, supporting each other, and together they watched the ruler of the Silver Empire.

"Your Majesty Belsetia—I address you as Your Majesty," Azmole said slowly, his voice as rough and hoarse as withered leaves rubbing together, "I know, for many years now, you and your father, and your grandmother, you all have been waiting for us few to die... now, it seems that day has finally come."

Belsetia opened her mouth: "I..."

"Leave it to us; our time is limited." Azmole raised his hand to interrupt Belsetia, then slowly lifted his hand, pressing a finger to his forehead. As a faint green light flowed and the gentle sound of skin rubbing was heard, a dark green gem gradually emerged and fell from this old priest’s forehead!

The Silver Empress watched this scene in astonishment: "This is..."

"Hidden on the body, it could be discovered by you, and with your intelligence, you’ll surely recognize it and guess why I prepared this token," Azmole’s mouth opened, his teeth loosening, and his voice became even more slurred than before. "But now, I can give it to you... This is the missing jewel from your grandmother’s scepter, the last link missing from your royal authority.

"Take it, find my mage apprentice; he is waiting for you at the mountain’s base. Let him see this gem, then tell him in Ancient Elvish — ’The stars rise, the leaves have returned to their roots.’

"In this way, those elves who truly follow us and the ancient traditions will disperse of their own accord. From now on, they will recognize you as the legitimate and sole ruler, and those who do not disperse, Your Majesty, let them accompany us."

Azmole extended his hand, and after two seconds, Belsetia reached out to take it. She hesitated for a moment, unable to resist asking, "What if I don’t return with this gem and that message?"

Azmole looked at her, and after a few seconds, he chuckled softly and shook his head: "Nothing will happen—who truly can defy the powerful Silver Empress?"

After saying this, the ancient priest who had lived for thousands of years turned his head, seemingly leaving the entire mortal world behind him as well. He walked toward the massive and holy Giant Stag not far away, with the ancient priests supporting each other yet following steadfastly.

"You still have the chance to change your minds now," Amon’s gaze fell on these priests, his tone gradually becoming solemn, "Beyond this point, even I cannot reverse anything."

Azmole raised his head, gazing at those crystal-clear eyes. In divine, clear, and warm eyes, he asked softly, "Lord, after death, is there that eternal kingdom?"

"...No," Amon said in a low voice, "Nothing is eternal, even gods will fall, and death is a serene void—you find before you, only me."

"Thank you—" Azmole smiled, his completely withered body bathing in the light of the God of Nature. He took a step forward, slowly spreading his arms, "You are with us, and we are with you."

In a gentle dispersal of white light, the ancient priests and that archaic crown ascended into light together, dissolving into the glow released around Amon.

Everything returns to nothingness.

Gawain watched this scene in surprise; it clearly did not align with his initial expectations. He stepped to Queen Belsetia’s side, raising his head with the ruler of the Empire to watch as the remaining shimmer gradually faded and disappeared. After half a minute, the floating radiance in the air finally returned to tranquility—the barrier set by the Goddess of Magic, Milmina, was lifted accordingly.

The shocking scars on Amoen, the Giant Stag, reappeared before Gawain’s eyes. The wreckage of the ships, pierced through His body and nailed to the earth in a crisscross pattern, also began to emerge from the void bit by bit. In just a moment, everything was restored to its original state, as if nothing had happened before.

The defied Court fell silent, neither mortals nor gods spoke. After an unknown length of time, Amon finally said softly: "Gone, all gone."

Belsetia slightly lowered her eyelids: "They reached their end long ago, just persistent."

"So be it..."

With a gentle sigh, Amon’s flowing radiance suddenly paused for an instant. In this moment, that ancient and holy aura seemed to undergo some transformation. Gawain perceived something, instinctively raising his head to see the massive deer, as tall as a hill, subtly sway in the darkness—the body that had not moved in three thousand years gently rose and fell with its breath. He heard a deep sound come from within Amon, as if flesh was being refilled into a hollow shell, like water flooding back into a dried river.

This holy Giant Stag took a deep breath, then lowered its head, using its forelimbs to support its body. That mountainous form began to move little by little, slowly standing up...