【 THEY’VE FINALLY RAN OUT OF PATIENCE 】

This was bad.

After learning of the elves’ schemes, Bazaan and his Chief Shaman realized that their situation had taken a serious turn for the worse.

“So that’s it… That’s their true objective. They’re trying to establish a teleportation array nearby!”

Bazaan’s expression darkened as he spoke, his eyes filled with unease.

Looking from a wider perspective, it was easy to figure out what the elves were aiming for. In hindsight, their attacks on the surrounding tribes and the exaggerated rumors they spread throughout the city were all part of a larger plan to weaken the faith in their Divine Father within their own territory.

Their real final goal was to weaken their god’s faith so that the restriction he imposed would diminish its effectiveness and they could finally build a functioning teleportation array!

It was no longer a secret that these strange elves had been blessed by the Goddess of Death, granting them the extraordinary ability to return to life after dying.

Most likely, they planned to employ the same strategy they had used during the underground war, in which they had been able to throw themselves into battle without fear, knowing they could die and yet rise up again and again.

According to the reports, the key to their victory had been the use of teleportation arrays, which enabled the newly resurrected to reappear on the battlefield in the blink of an eye. As a result, the elves overwhelmed their enemies, systematically wearing them down with each endless wave of resurrected combatants.

Of course, aging, sickness, and death were the natural laws of life.

In Bazaan’s view, this absurd resurrection power of theirs must have some kind of limit or steep cost.

Nothing in life came without a price, after all.

He didn’t know exactly what the elves were sacrificing in exchange for such resurrection ability, but surely they were paying with something—whether it be their souls, their memories, or a part of their sanity.

Nonetheless, in war, some things mattered more than others, and the price they paid for such resurrection was insignificant compared to how terrifying the ability itself was.

That was what made these elves so dangerous.

If they truly succeeded in creating a functioning teleportation array, they would essentially tip the balance of the war in their favor, and their side’s original numerical advantage would become left completely redundant.

Bazaan clenched his fists, recalling the oracle revealed to him by the Chief Shaman.

Their God’s message had been clear:

Their main army was to hold the elves back, defend Sandstorm City where the “Divine Kingdom of the World Tree” had appeared, and ultimately force that ‘entity’ hiding among the elves to reveal herself.

As for who that hidden entity was the oracle was referring to, their God hadn’t elaborated, but Bazaan and his Chief Shaman both understood the underlying meaning without needing to speak about it.

After all, who else could draw the full attention of their Divine Father?

It had to be an existence of similar stature lurking in the shadows.

This whole plan of lying in wait, appearing passive while consolidating their forces was a calculated scheme, meant to expose and confront the hidden presence believed to be the so-called Goddess of Life.

But no matter how intricate their strategy was, it would all amount to nothing if they lacked the strength to execute it. The weight of everything—the city, the war, the fate of their people—rested upon their ability to hold the line.

Only by fortifying Sandstorm City and enduring the tide of elven assaults, could they hope to survive long enough for the trap to spring.

Alas, should they fail…

Everything would collapse into nothing.

“We can’t go on like this…If the elves really do manage to complete their teleportation array, they could overwhelm Sandstorm City even if they had to pile corpses to do it!”

Bazaan’s tone was grim.

Without a doubt, once their array was established, the elves would immediately launch a full-scale assault.

And at that point, there would be no way the orcs could apply the kind of pressure their Divine Father required them to, at least, not against an enemy who could resurrect and teleport at will.

Worse yet, as time went on, the rumors spreading within Sandstorm City were becoming harder and harder to suppress.

Some of them were even difficult for Bazaan himself to refute.

If this situation continued on, the city itself might fall into chaos even before the elves made their move!

Bazaan was proud of the 300,000-strong army under his command.

But if unrest spread through the ranks, that powerful force could quickly turn into a dangerous liability.

And under the combined pressure of enemy attacks and internal instability, if the city’s reserves of divine power were exhausted, then perhaps the elves could truly breach the defenses of Sandstorm City.

At that thought, Bazaan turned to his Chief Shaman and said firmly:

“Chief Shaman, it’s not that I don’t want to follow His Highness’ will, but we simply can’t afford to wait any longer.”

This time, the Chief Shaman did not object as the old orc fell silent. His gaze lingered on the elven encampment outside the city in the distance before he sighed and replied in a low voice:

“I will go to the temple now and pray to our Divine Father. I will report everything you said.”

This war had already escalated to a conflict of mythical proportions.

Therefore, many decisions were no longer for them, as mere mortals to make.

With that, the Chief Shaman bowed respectfully to Bazaan and hurried away from the Spire Tower, heading toward the temple in the heart of the city.

As he watched his Chief Shaman’s retreating figure, Bazaan finally exhaled, then turned his gaze once more to the distant elven camp, which was now slowly beginning to resemble a fortified fortress.

His fists clenched again.

“These strange elves… how did they even emerge from the Elven Forest?”

༺⟐༻

The Chief Shaman hurriedly left the Spire Tower, escorted by a group of soldiers, making his way straight toward the temple.

As he walked through the city’s winding streets, the change in the atmosphere was palpable.

The once bustling paths now felt eerily quiet, with far fewer civilians in sight than usual. The air seemed heavy with tension. Patrols, on the other hand, had grown considerably, with soldiers stationed at nearly every corner, their eyes scanning the surroundings with heightened vigilance.

Each time the patrolling soldiers and civilians spotted the Chief Shaman, they would stop in their tracks and bow their heads in a gesture of respect…

Yet, there was something different now.

The usual reverence they had shown just days ago had been replaced by an unsettling undercurrent in their demeanor.

Their greetings, though still polite, now carried a subtle, almost imperceptible change…

—Resentment.

Or perhaps, something dangerously close to it.

Seeing the deteriorating situation outside, the Chief Shaman’s expression grew even gloomier.

“Those damned elves!” he cursed under his breath.

Quickening his pace, the Chief Shaman soon arrived at the temple.

Like many other structures in Sandstorm City, the temple was a relic from the Dwarven era. It was said to have once been a shrine dedicated to the Forge God, Dorfte. But when the dwarves abandoned Sandstorm City, they left their faith behind as well, much to the benefit of the orcs.

Entering the temple, the Chief Shaman made his way directly to the holy statue of their Patron Deity.

He knelt down and prayed devoutly:

“Praise Winter, Praise the Hunt, Praise our Great Divine Father!”

His aged voice echoed through the rugged stone hall. As he bowed low, the statue before him began to glow with a soft silver radiance that gradually enveloped him.

Focused, the Chief Shaman slowly recounted everything that had happened recently in Sandstorm City, concluding with a request to finally mobilize their main army.

Then, whilst his head bowed, the old orc waited patiently for their God’s response.

The silver glow continued to shimmer throughout the temple.

But unlike previous occasions, this time there was no immediate reply from their Divine Father.

It wasn’t until more than ten minutes had passed while he knelt solemnly that a deep and ancient voice finally echoed in his mind.

“Granted.”

The Chief Shaman let out a long breath of relief.

He quickly rose to his feet, bowed once more to the holy statue, and traced a bow-shaped symbol across his chest:

“Praise Winter, Praise the Hunt, Praise our Great Divine Father!”

༺⟐༻

In the Void along the Cosmos.

Uller, the God of Winter and Hunt, severed his link to the realm of Seigües and turned toward the figure sitting at the head of the round table.

His expression was grim.

“Lord Hodür, I’ve delivered the oracle.”

Hodür, the Lord of Darkness and Shadow, appeared as a kindly old man and nodded slowly.

Then, turning to the two other mythical beings seated nearby in the extra-dimensional space, he asked:

“Lady Alyssa, Lord Luria, are you certain you sensed ‘Her’ presence?”

The fallen angel Luria smiled slyly and gave a slight nod:

“There’s no mistake. She’s definitely there.”

Alyssa, the Queen of Pain, also offered a sultry smile:

“I felt it too. Her aura has clearly emerged among the elves, and it’s quite obvious since its essence is very pure. It’s identical to what we sensed during the war underground… no, it’s even purer now, though she tries to conceal it.”

Hodür nodded slightly:

“I trust your instincts, Lady Alyssa.”

Despite her relatively weak divine power, Alyssa held authority over the divinity of [Prying]; hence, Hodür valued her judgment.

“So… she really has come. I didn’t expect her mind to remain so clear—patient enough to wait this long and cautious enough to stay hidden.”

He sighed.

Then looked again to Uller:

“Lord Uller, whether we can force Her to act entirely depends onto you now.”

Uller’s gaze flickered briefly.

“You understand, Lord Hodür… the power gathered in Sandstorm City means everything to me.”

“Don’t worry. She’s alone. She won’t escape. Your efforts will be duly rewarded.”

༺⟐༻

In the southern outskirts of Sandstorm City, on a small orc settlement.

Clanging blades and furious shouts rang out, mingling with the screams and roars that filled the air. The sandy ground split open as human-sized burrowing spiders erupted from below, followed closely by waves of elves who surged forward, weapons raised and howling wildly.

The entire settlement had by now fallen into disarray.

The battle was nearly over, and the orcs’ resistance had weakened considerably.

The prisoners had already been gathered and surrounded, their eyes full of fear.

Meanwhile, the elves, with their eyes gleaming, had begun their routine looting in earnest. They hauled off every bit of treasure they could find, not even sparing broken scraps of metal.

At the center of the settlement, a majestic black dragon greedily hoarded the gemstones the orcs had collected. All the while, roaring at the approaching elves:

“Back off! Back off, you greedy little pests! These gems all belong to me! Lord Meryer, you hear me!? Go loot somewhere else!”

It looked less like a battle and more like a bandit raid.

Not far away, Little Salty Cat stood watching, one hand covering her face as she shook her head and muttered:

“Seriously… it feels like I’m leading an entire gang of bandits every time we attack a tribe. We look more like the villains here. It’s honestly embarrassing.”

“Hey don’t sweat it, pillaging is really lucrative!” laughed Calabash heartily from the side.

Just as Calabash was laughing, a large crypt spider waddled past them, swaying its oversized rear from side to side.

Clutched in its fangs was a chunk of obsidian it had scavenged from a nearby tent, which it munched on with audible crunches.

The moment Calabash saw the spider, his expression changed and he hurriedly ducked out of sight.

Only when the crypt spider had moved far enough away did he breathe a sigh of relief and cautiously reemerge like a thief sneaking around.

Little Salty Cat: “…”

She gave him a incredulous look and asked,

“Why are you hiding, anyway? Every time you see a Crypt Spider, you act like a mouse that’s seen a cat.”

At that, Calabash gave a bitter laugh.

“Boss Cat, it’s not just me. Even the captain steers clear whenever he sees them. Otherwise, we’ll end up getting swarmed and beaten up by a whole gang of them.”

Little Salty Cat: “…”

“Swarmed and beaten up?”

She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Ahem… it’s a long story. Remember when we first triggered the Spider Queen quest? Well, our team kind of went a little too far back then, and Rose has held a grudge against us ever since. Even now, she still hasn’t forgiven us.”

Calabash scratched the back of his head and gave a helpless chuckle.

Little Salty Cat: “…”

“What exactly did you do?” she asked curiously.

“Well… the captain rigged up some homemade explosives and we used them to blow up her lair. Singed part of her carapace too. She hadn’t ascended yet back then, so we managed to pull it off. Ahem, turns out when she later took human form, we found out… we’d accidentally blown up her butt.”

Calabash looked extremely awkward.

“Pfft… hahahahaha!”

Little Salty Cat burst into laughter and shook her head.

“No wonder! I was wondering why none of you ever use crypt spiders as mounts. So, it turned out you’re blacklisted by Rose!”

“A shame, really. Even if their power’s a bit lacking in daylight and they’re weak to holy magic, they’re pretty fast and can carry a decent load as mounts…”

Hearing that, Calabash sighed and shook his head.

“Yeah… don’t remind me. Our favorability with Rose is still sitting at negative one hundred. That spider girl sure do holds some serious grudges.”

No sooner had he said that, Calabash’s expression changed again as he swiftly snatched up his weapon and bolted.

Little Salty Cat blinked in confusion.

Then she saw a group of medium-sized crypt spiders passing by, led by a large one and realized why Calabash had run so fast.

“…Poor guy.”

She shook her head sympathetically.

Looking around the devastated orc settlement, she then turned her gaze to a black dragon hugging a pile of gemstones and grinning like a fool.

“Meryer! Stop giggling already—have some dignity! You’re a noble dragon, for crying out loud! By the way… have you seen Big Sister?”

Meryer tucked away the gemstones and shook his head.

“No, haven’t seen her… but she’s probably dealing with the holy statue right now, isn’t she? I think she went to where the orc chieftain’s tent was.”

Little Salty Cat nodded at his words and gave a quick “OK” gesture.

“Got it!”

She grabbed her shimmering staff and dashed off westward, her boots tapping against the ground.

༺⟐༻

As the final words of her prayer echoed with measured cadence, Evé slowly opened her eyes.

Before her, the holy statue of Uller was gradually dimming its luster.

With that, another node in Uller’s network of faith had been severed.

Just then, a crisp, cheerful voice called out from afar:

“Lady Zero! Lady Zero!”

Evé lifted her head.

There, bouncing toward her in luxurious mage robes and with wind-blown hair, was Little Salty Cat, her staff clinking at her side as she ran.

The girl grinned and asked with bright eyes,

“Lady Zero, is your task now complete? We’ve also finished up the battle on our end!”

Evé gave a soft nod.

“Good work.”

She was about to say more when a sudden, cold sensation tugged at her awareness.

She turned and looked to the north, brows slightly furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” Little Salty Cat asked, tilting her head.

Evé narrowed her eyes for a moment, scanning the far-off horizon, then slowly looked away.

“…Nothing,” she replied in a calm tone but her expression was layered with deeper meaning.

“They’ve finally ran out of patience, that’s all.”

— 530 —

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