Chapter 222: The Bastion of Souls; A Divine Vessel

As Fang once said, among all the things that set this world apart from Earth, the soul was perhaps the most extraordinary. In this world, what the soul controlled—will and willpower—could take on physical form.

The God of Terror drew strength directly from terror within one’s soul, thereby verifying that the soul could be a potent source of energy.

Though the mechanism behind such a development wasn’t understood, that didn’t matter. Why something was true came second to the fact that it was, indeed, true.

Within the capital, which had been transformed into a sea of silence under the God of Terror’s dominion, faint golden threads barely perceptible to the eye began to unfurl from a small statue of the God of Light within a modest chapel. These threads branched and spread quietly across the city.

Unnoticed, a spiderweb of golden filaments wove itself through the capital beneath the god’s overwhelming power. It was delicate, fragile, and so faint that, compared to the vast and oppressive might of the God of Terror, it seemed entirely negligible. No one paid it any mind.

Each thread stretched toward those who had collapsed, whose souls had been submerged in the sea of silence. These golden strands slipped into their bodies, brushing against their souls. Just a touch—nothing more, nothing deep enough to attract divine notice.

Yet one thread was different. Bearing concentrated divine radiance, it wound its way purposefully through the city, toward the Nightblades’ headquarters, in search of a certain someone.

Then, it found him: a figure half-kneeling, his longsword planted in the earth, one hand reaching for the shield on his back.

His soul had also been dragged into the sea of silence, but not without resistance. Unlike the others who had fallen instantly, he had fought, however briefly. That struggle alone made him stand out.

“…Good. He didn’t disappoint me.”

Far from the capital, Father Fang nodded in approval. The vision granted to him through the divine light satisfied his expectations. The Grand Duke’s son before him, like both his fathers, possessed a resilient will—one worthy of bearing the burden to come.

The filament of divine light entered Edward’s head and touched his soul.

This time, it didn’t stop at mere touch. To avoid alerting the God of Terror, it moved gently as it probed deeper into Edward’s submerged soul.

High above, the God of Terror beat its black wings in silence, expanding its domain. Its hollow, bottomless gaze fixated on some unlucky soul already overwhelmed by writhing shadows—but suddenly, the god turned. It had sensed something.

Panic rippled outward. Manifest terror cloaked the god’s form; divine fear forged a dreadful armor. Its wings beat once before the god vanished entirely, heading straight for that disturbance.

As the divine filament made contact, Edward’s consciousness was roused. Heavy breathing echoed in the abyss. It was the only sound in the deep. Edward moved his limbs in a swimmer’s crawl, straining upward toward a distant, unreachable light.

Was he really moving? He couldn’t tell. In this silent sea without end, he had no idea how far the light above was—it could be right by his side, or infinitely far away. Reaching toward it seemed futile.

Yet one thing was clear. After breaking out of the God of Terror’s prison of fear, Edward knew that he was in a domain shaped by that god’s power. That knowledge alone told him what he had to do—to keep his will intact and snuff out any fear.

He didn’t know how long he’d been swimming. In the outside world, it might’ve been minutes; here, it felt like days. But Edward didn’t bother to count time. He clung to belief, to resolve. Better to punch the darkness with fury than wail in despair.

He had no idea how long he would last. But until the moment he broke, he would continue this “pointless” swim upward.

“I can’t die yet. My duty isn’t finished. The burden I chose to carry, I can’t just discard it halfway…”

Muttering these thoughts to himself like a mantra, he gulped in illusory seawater with ragged breaths and felt a sense of false suffocation. He ignored the gnawing loneliness and creeping despair. Upward he swam, upward and further upward, despite having no proof that his struggle was meaningful.

Then, suddenly, something changed.

There was a presence in the deep, familiar and subtle, right before his eyes. A single golden thread extended downward from the surface, shimmering faintly in the gloom. Edward paused, stunned. Then, without thought, he grasped the only new thing this barren abyss had offered him.

The thread recoiled, lifting Edward with it. Upward, ever upward—until it broke the illusory sea and drew him into another space. A simple chapel.

Startled awake as from a dream, Edward sat bolt upright in a wooden chair, his breath catching in his throat. Across from him, someone stirred.

“Edward, it’s me.”

Fang raised a hand in greeting, a gentle smile on his face.

“Archbishop Fang, you’ve returned to the capital?” Edward asked in surprise.

Relief and hope colored his voice. Surely Fang, Archbishop of the God of Light, could confront the God of Terror. After all, the God of Light was one of the most powerful gods in existence.

“I’m afraid not,” the archbishop replied, shaking his head. “I couldn’t make it back in time. This is merely a conversation, conducted through the light of the divine. Think of it like the Lady of the Night’s Prayer Network. Since your soul has been severed from your body, it’s easier for us to speak directly.”

Edward’s heart sank. He had thought that the capital would be saved, but what could they do themselves against the God of Terror? They were pitifully weak. There seemed to be no way to break this siege.

“Even if I had returned,” Fang said solemnly, “it’s doubtful I could do much. To invoke a miracle—or to descend like the God of Terror did—requires a price. The descent of a true god is not as simple as the opening of a door.

“The God of Terror descended because of the Selwynian ritual that sacrificed the souls of the entire Selwyn capital to callit forth. Even if I were to return, I could hardly hope to summon the God of Light.”

His tone had turned grim, each word a blow of cold truth.

It chilled Edward more than divine fear ever could—not because of any supernatural terror, but because it sapped him of his hope so thoroughly.

“But,” Fang continued, “if there was truly no path forward, I wouldn’t have reached out to you, would I? The God of Light is a unique deity—He rarely asserts His will directly. And it is precisely because of that, that He draws strength more easily from faith… and from the soul.”

“I intend to ask you to become a temporary vessel of the God of Light. Use His divine strength to drive out the God of Terror.”

Fang said his piece.

“Me?”

Edward blinked, momentarily stunned. This was far beyond what he’d expected. The vessel of a god? Him? The significance of the request was staggering.

“Yes,” Fang confirmed. “Just as the God of Terror draws strength from the souls ensnared in its domain, so too can the God of Light draw power from them—if there is one to act on His behalf.

“But since He will not descend Himself, He needs a proxy. And among all those I know, you are the most suitable. Will you agree?”

He held Edward’s gaze, eyes unwavering.

“Why…?” Edward began to ask, but the words died in his throat. A figure from his memories emerged in his mind—someone he could not, would not, forget. The weight he carried, the burden he’d chosen, surged back to the forefront.

Yes. Why not him? This was the point of his path, wasn’t it? He would shoulder the burden of others. His eyes steeled with resolve. He nodded. “I can do it.”

“Very good,” Father Fang said, smiling. “You are the one most suited to this task, as your potential suggests. You shoulder responsibility well, vessel of the God of Light.”

He placed his holy tome gently into Edward’s hands.

“What must I do?”

Edward accepted the tome and looked up.

“I will transfer all the divine power I can wield into you. Using this power, you must awaken your potential. The God of Light will link the souls trapped in this sea to you. You must bear the weight of the God of Terror’s influence in place of those souls.

“Say whatever comes to your heart. If it stirs courage, that’s enough. Courage reborn from terror grants the gods far more power than fear ever could. That power will be your strength. Then—strike. That’s all.”

Fang clapped once, as if the matter were simple. To Edward, it almost felt too simple.

“That’s it?”

Edward didn’t question whether he could endure the God of Terror’s power for so many souls simultaneously. He knew the true nature of his potential. What he had revealed to Wang Yu and Charles was only its simplest application.

His potential was to bear the weight of others—to make himself a living bastion for the sake of those around him. A legacy, perhaps, of his past.

“It truly is that simple,” Father Fang said. “In essence, it’s not unlike how demons extract strength through torment, or how ancient gnomes fed souls to their furnaces. We know little of the soul… just as we know little of the divine.

“Still, finding a suitable vessel for the God of Light is no small feat. Your potential makes you a more suitable candidate than I would be. Of course, Wang Yu’s mental resilience might have made him a strong candidate too—but the God of Light couldn’t find him.

Father Fang stood, placing a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “So the choice falls to you—and to no one else.”

“Then I’m ready.”

Edward nodded firmly, the decision made.

Fang’s discourse on gods and souls struck Edward as peculiar. It wasn’t at all what one would expect of a priest so devoted to faith and sacrifice.

He was more like Sieg and the researchers at the Academy, always dissecting the nature of magic and battle energy. Unorthodox, certainly… but then again, this was the Church of Light. A little eccentricity was to be expected.

“This is your mindscape,” Father Fang said. “Time here is nearly frozen. Outside, the God of Terror has likely already sensed the divine light in your soul. Now—move swiftly.”

He gathered every ounce of divine power he possessed and channeled it into his hands. Then, he pressed his hands against the holy tome that Edward now held.

The pocket space that the God of Light had established within Edward’s soul collapsed, and Edward opened his eyes. He returned to his body just as the shadow of the God of Terror loomed overhead.

Hovering in the sky, clad in blackened armor, vast wings stirring the air, the God of Terror gazed coldly down at Edward. Without hesitation, it raised its blade, an obsidian weapon forged of divine fury, and brought it swinging down.

A golden barrier shimmered into place, intercepting the blow. It was the last of the divine power Father Fang had delivered through the little chapel.

The God of Terror’s strike did not rely on sheer force, but rather on erosion. That was its true weapon. Yet even this, for now, failed to pierce Edward’s defenses.

Edward’s fighting spirit surged. His potential flared to life. This power unique to knights, which superseded even to magic and sorcery, spread through the divine net woven by the God of Light. It connected the souls of all in the capital who suffered beneath the God of Terror’s grip.

The divine energy transformed, shielding Edward from the continuous onslaught of terror while replenishing his expended fighting spirit and amplifying his latent potential.

But that divine energy was used up fast. After all, Edward was only a mortal knight—empowered by the divine, yes, but still just a man opposing a manifest god.

Seconds passed. Then, his potential fully activated. It reached every corner of the soul-linking web.

Edward drew in a long breath and summoned the full force of his potential, Bastion.

An unseen wall formed across the web, faintly glowing with golden light.

In that instant, the God of Terror’s corruption, which had pressed down on every soul, was drawn into Edward alone. He bore it all.

The pressure was unimaginable. Even with divine energy blunting the worst of it, the God of Terror’s force pounded the barrier, sending wave after wave of terror into Edward’s soul.

“Scram…” Edward growled through clenched teeth, his will standing alone against the flood.

The God of Light’s divine power surged, healing his spirit as it frayed under the strain, fighting back the darkness he had taken upon himself.

Amidst the storm of terror, Edward’s soul trembled. It was on the brink. The divine light faltered—but then he spoke.

“Everyone, I am Edward Wolyn, future Grand Duke of the Northern Marches. Archbishop Fang couldn’t return to the capital in time, so he has directed me to act in his stead. At this moment, I am the physical vessel of the God of Light.

“Terror is the source of the God of Terror’s power. I don’t need your prayers. What I need is for you to pick up whatever lies within reach. Face your enemy—and fight!

“Fight for your life and your future. There’s only one way to banish fear—face it. Smash it to pieces until nothing remains.”

These words, woven into a net of divine light by Edward and transmitted through the divine power he wielded, resounded in the minds of those whose burdens he bore. They were those who had awakened after Edward’s intercession shielded them from the influence of the God of Terror.

The first to respond were the Nightblades, the city guard, and the royal guards. They understood more than most the nature of the two gods—Light and Terror—and they knew the weight behind the title Grand Duke of the North.

They had gone down fighting before their souls were submerged within the sea of silence. Now, upon regaining their strength, they snatched up their weapons and charged toward the Nightblades’ headquarters. Above that building loomed the figure of the God of Terror, raining divine power upon the city below.

Great fireballs descended from the heavens. Blinding beams of raw magic followed in their wake, piercing through the sky. One such beam struck the armored form of the God of Terror before the fireball even landed, unleashing a shockwave of raw force.

The spell circles of Stevenson Academy were up and running once more. Though the magicians reacted a beat slower than the Nightblades, their attacks landed first—swift, precise, and fierce.

Next came the civilians, the adventurers without allegiance, and scattered guild professionals.

Though most did not fully comprehend Edward’s words, the mention of God of Light and Grand Duke of the North was enough to rekindle the flame of hope in their hearts.

“There’s still hope!”

“Hah… hah… I’m never going back to that cursed place! Never again! I’m going to hack apart whoever tried to send me into that sea!”

“O God of Light, show us your might! Redeem your faithful!”

The people’s reactions varied wildly. Some wept with joy at their deliverance. Others, released from suffocating terror, erupted in fury. Still others fell to their knees in newfound, fervent prayer.

But in every heart, fear began to recede. In its place, courage took root.

And from that courage was born a force within their souls, a force transmitted through the filaments of divine light linked to Edward, infusing power into the one who served as the God of Light’s physical vessel.

“What… what the hell is that?”

Wang Yu stared, wide-eyed and stunned. Off in the direction of the Nightblades’ headquarters, something unimaginable was taking shape. He swiftly retracted the blood he’d spent and sealed it back into the Bloodbite Ring.

Earlier, shadowy humanoids had swarmed him and tried to pin him down. Though none of them were particularly strong, their sheer number nearly overwhelmed him as he struggled to stay aware of his surroundings.

He had nearly resorted to his final trump card, his elixir of Recaptured Glory, when suddenly, the shadows dispersed. Then, he saw that thing in the distance.

“Light…? No. That’s no ordinary light. Is that… the descent of the God of Light? Has Archbishop Fang returned?”

Reining in his spiraling thoughts, Wang Yu grounded his guess in something more plausible.

The filaments of divine light had grown so thick and radiant that they were now visible to the naked eye. After absorbing so much courage from countless souls, they glowed like strands of spun gold, converging from every corner of the capital toward the Nightblades’ headquarters.

Just as the God of Terror drew power from fear, so too did the God of Light now draw strength from courage. He passed that power into His chosen vessel on earth.

Divine energy surged into Edward’s body, forging an ever-stronger barrier around his soul. The terror he bore on behalf of the city could no longer harm him in the slightest.

The divine light swelled within him until it overflowed. But that excess did not disperse—it began to take shape. It took on the form of a body, a radiant, god-wrought body.

Before the eyes of the citizens of the capital, a golden figure rose and stood tall, facing the airborne God of Terror. Its featureless face turned upward, and though it had no eyes, its gaze pierced straight through the divine.

“What is that… has the God of Light descended?”

“Unbelievable… this is a miracle—no, that is the God of Light himself!”

“Don’t just stand there! Keep attacking the God of Terror—don’t give it a chance to recover!”

“Pour in more mana! Overload your circuits if you must—assist the vessel of the God of Light!”

Every citizen beheld the towering, luminous figure and, now convinced of the God of Light’s descent, surged into action with new fervor.

The spell circles of Stevenson Academy flared to life once again. This time, the excess mana overloaded it entirely. Two of the main circles shattered on the spot—but not before unleashing a devastating spell.

Seventh-Tier Magnified Spell: Void Rend.

The space around the God of Terror tore open as if cleaved by an invisible blade. Without warning, a gash split open in its divine armor, which shattered from raw destructive force.

Seizing the opportunity, the golden vessel, now denser and brighter than ever, launched its assault.

It moved with speed belying its size, snatching the distracted God of Terror by the legs and yanking it from the sky before bringing its fist crashing down.

The God of Terror tried to retaliate, but was unable to bring its full arsenal to bear while caught in the golden vessel’s grapple.

Blow after blow rained down. Fists forged of divine light smashed directly into the god’s form. There were no beams, no explosions—just pure power, divinity turned into a weapon and wielded with brute force.

The two gods clashed in the skies above the capital, divine powers colliding in an almost savage brawl. It looked like a street fight—but it was divinity versus divinity, power against power.

And gradually, Edward’s shining form began to dominate.

The light condensing from all corners of the capital bolstered his strength. He grew faster, stronger, more resolute.

In contrast, the God of Terror’s strength began to wane. With each brutal exchange, divine power seeped from its borrowed shell. Though it could tap into the shell’s reserves, it was bleeding out with every strike.

And finally, a flaw in the God of Terror’s existence revealed itself in full: the God of Terror was incomplete. It was a patchwork of several “fragmented deities” woven together into one, yet there was a crucial deity missing—the Lady of the Night.

Had the God of Terror been whole, the divine light Edward had amassed wouldn’t have sufficed to destroy it. But that single absence, that missing piece, became the god’s fatal flaw.

Among the forces that composed the God of Terror, the absent night was laid bare under the radiance of the God of Light. The stars shone, glittering across the sky where darkness had once reigned.

The radiant vessel struck a titanic blow against the shell that housed the God of Terror, shattering it—and with it, hurling the twisted divine form from its shell.

The god’s true shape, once exposed, began to blur at once. It sought to escape, to flee from the colossus woven of light and divine might.

But the threads of holy power that had converged on Edward now turned toward a new target, twining around the God of Terror’s form like silken cords of light.

The god, who had once wielded its might with complexity and subtlety, now found itself caught by the simplest expression of divine power: a fist driven by will. Suspended midair, it was cocooned by luminous strands, wrapped into a glowing chrysalis, and utterly bound.

“Through my flesh, I bear His might.

“Through my sword, I enact His will.

“I am the earthly vessel of the God of Light.”

Edward’s eyes burned with sacred radiance as he recited the ancient words of the God of Light’s scripture. His resolve solidified. Clutching a longsword now laced with divine power, he strode toward the captive god.

With every step he took, the radiant giant behind him began to shrink. Bit by bit, the divine power that had formed that figure flowed into the sword in Edward’s grasp. Its presence grew more terrible with each heartbeat.

By the time he stood beneath the glowing cocoon, the towering figure had vanished. All that remained was the sword—no longer steel, but pure light—its blade forged from every ounce of holy power gathered within the capital.

“Sever.”

The word slipped softly from his lips. Both hands raised, Edward swept the sword upward in a single, rising arc.

There was no blinding flash, no deafening roar. Only a pale gold streak of light, cutting silently across the sky of the capital…

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