Chapter 159: Outflow of Divinity
Talking about how to kill people, Wolf would be very good at that. But he wasn’t interested in this kind of political balancing and mediation.
He asked, “Once Marl and the others return, when does the Bishop plan to attack Marquis Demitri’s Territory?”
“Since the Lord has already declared war on the Patlin Family, then we should follow in the Lord’s footsteps.”
Corleon shook his head and said, “Now is not the time.”
“Marquis Demitri’s Territory is a much vaster land compared to York Territory, and it’s also far more dangerous.”
“Right now, the York Territory itself is struggling with managing both its northern and southern fronts. The three western Baronies are still in a state of chaos.”
“Even if we incorporated the Marquis Territory, we wouldn’t be able to build true governance.”
Wolf did not continue. He stood up and said, “I’m going to have a cup of tea with Baron Sacker.”
“Cicero and the others are making a kind of black tea now. It’s quite good—you could ask them for some,” Corleon said.
After Wolf left, Corleon opened his eyes. The brilliant golden light was like candle flames, lighting up the closed church hall. The floor, the pews, the Lord’s Throne—everything seemed to be covered in a golden hue.
Only after closing his eyes again did this assimilative phenomenon slowly subside.
The erosion of Faith was even more severe than Corleon had imagined.
Though due to the Light Orb, his flesh remained that of a normal human, once his eyes were fully formed by Faith, as long as he opened them, the power of Faith would ceaselessly assimilate everything around him.
Thus, he could only keep his eyes closed to cut off the influence.
Even so, once Knight Borien entered the Great Church, he would feel a heavy pressure. Piero could barely walk.
Because of that, some time ago, he had Cicero construct a clock tower. Once completed, he would stay atop the clock tower.
The Great Church was the Sanctuary of the Lord—how could those who came to make pilgrimages be turned away at the door?
“But Nyx, oh Nyx, did you truly see the essence at the end of your life?” Corleon sighed.
What Nyx had written: The Outflow of Divinity.
‘He had fabricated the Lord with his own hands. And when he first uttered that word, it was only to distinguish it from the god—whose existence he wasn’t even sure of at the time—so that he wouldn’t mysteriously drop dead just because of a name.’
So, in essence, describing his current state as the outflow of divinity felt rather fitting to him.
Of course, he had long known the possible consequences of having Faith take over his eyes, so after just a sigh, he activated Revelation and turned his gaze to the Nation of Werewolves.
……
The castle of Marquis Demitri had already been renamed Wolf Fort.
Grim and bloody, the walls and floors of Wolf Fort were covered in claw marks. Flesh fragments were scattered everywhere, exuding a nauseating, bloody stench.
What werewolves loved most was eating human hearts—because they had the best texture.
Of course, Ymir, once a Werewolf Priest, naturally knew the real reason. It was because the heart held the densest concentration of magic power. Consuming that magic made werewolves stronger.
It was the same for transforming humans into werewolves.
The Wolf-Toxin Bloodline invaded the human heart, polluting the magic within. Then, through the connection of magic, it twisted the human soul completely. Finally, the soul rewrote the body’s reality, turning a human into a werewolf.
But because of that, the transformed werewolves couldn’t quickly adapt to their new brains. They only acted on the instincts of the soul—hunting continuously—until they could no longer catch prey and starved to death.
Of course, only Upper-Ranked Werewolves possessed this kind of Wolf-Toxin Bloodline. And the use of it consumed their own bloodline. Overuse could even degrade them into Lower-Ranked Werewolves.
Because of that, under normal circumstances, the limit of transformed werewolves in Ymir’s tribe would be just under a thousand.
But after creating the Wolf God, the Upper-Ranked Werewolves who received the Blessing no longer needed their bloodline to transform humans into werewolves. Their saliva now contained the Wolf Toxin. Though it eroded more slowly than bloodline pollution, it had almost no cost to the Upper-Ranked Werewolves.
So after acquiring Marquis Demitri’s Territory, they quickly transformed tens of thousands of werewolves.
However, food was ultimately limited. Werewolves didn’t eat plants. They didn’t raise livestock. They only hunted.
Those tens of thousands of transformed werewolves—even with most sent westward to the Principality of Corlay and some killed by the Patriarch of the Church Nation—still numbered nearly ten thousand.
Even the entirety of the Marquis Territory couldn’t support these ravenous werewolves.
So Ymir, without hesitation, used the troops marching through the territory to consume these werewolves.
He had originally wanted to clash directly with Belair. That would’ve been faster, cleaner, and could’ve worn down some of Belair’s forces.
But Belair chose to cede land to avoid battle and wouldn’t cooperate, so Ymir had no choice but to regretfully abandon the plan.
Ymir sat in the stone throne in the hall of Wolf Fort, just like a human.
The Wolf God’s Crown atop his head looked like a gaping mouth full of sharp teeth, ‘biting’ into his skull.
His eyes were closed, seeking the Earth Vein.
After the founding of the Nation of Werewolves, the Earth Vein once belonging to the Marquis Territory had begun to reorganize with the formation of the new kingdom. Now was the time when the Earth Vein unique to the Nation of Werewolves was gradually forming.
Though once a Priest, and not as adept as the Wolf God in communicating with the Earth Vein, he could still, at some cost, use its power to shroud the Nation of Werewolves like the Wolf God had.
Now was the time when he was using the Nation of Werewolves as a Cradle, to breed werewolves.
He didn’t want to go to war with humans just yet.
Of course, after using Clairvoyance, he found that the Church Nation to the east might not win, and though Belair could win, a warning of danger had also been revealed to him.
So he needed to build up strength.
Though the Wolf God had been erased, the Wolf God’s Crown allowed Ymir to steal a trace of the true Wolf God’s power, granting Upper-Ranked Werewolves the ability to use the Wolf Toxin to transform humans.
Thus, he ordered the werewolves to raise humans. Before the human women reached full term, the Wolf Toxin would be delivered into the hearts of their unborn children. Once born, the infants would turn into werewolves within five days—and their mothers would become their first meal.
In just half a year, they would grow into mature Lower-Ranked Werewolves.
These were Lower-Ranked Werewolves with independent thought.
At present, over three thousand pregnant human women had been infected with the Wolf Toxin. In other words, half a year later, his tribe would grow into a super tribe with at least five thousand werewolves.
Only then would his Nation of Werewolves truly be worthy of the name.
Of course, the power granted to the Upper-Ranked Werewolves was a Blessing, but it was also a form of erosion.
Ymir sought to erode their minds, altering the perception in their memories that Ymir was the Wolf King—to make them remember him as the Wolf God.
He had suppressed two hundred years of ambition. He wouldn’t settle for merely being a Wolf King.
Suddenly, a blatant sense of being peered at arose.
He opened his eyes—his brown beast pupils shrank abruptly. His will expanded, but as always, he couldn’t locate the source.
Moreover, he sensed that the other party had done it on purpose—to let him know.
Irritated and furious, he looked at the cross in front of him. A human was nailed to it—a gift from his subordinates when he first donned the crown.
A human who claimed to be a Temple Warrior.