Chapter 232: The Power of Origin: The Chariot

A sturdy yet unremarkable-looking horse pulled a plain carriage bearing the sigil of the Church of Light. It ascended the mountain road winding around the peak known as the “Throne,” steadily approaching the gates of the royal palace perched at the summit.

The royal patrols stationed along the mountainside, recognizing the emblem upon the carriage, did not hinder its path. Without question or delay, they allowed it to proceed directly toward the heart of power in the kingdom—the palace.

Upon reaching the gate, the carriage came to a halt. Though unadorned and modest in appearance, it commanded solemn salutes from every guard stationed outside the grand palace. The reason was simple: the carriage belonged to none other than Archbishop Fang Stuart.

No one alighted. The carriage window opened, and a letter was handed out to a mage commander who had descended from the sky.

The instruction was brief—deliver this letter to His Majesty. With that, the window shut and the carriage turned, vanishing down the slope without further ado.

The mage examined the letter. The distinctive signature of Archbishop Fang was unmistakable. Realizing the significance of the message, he hastened into the palace and delivered the letter to the minister in charge of royal correspondence.

“A letter from the Church of Light? With Archbishop Fang’s signature? When did this arrive?” the minister inquired as he flipped through the parchment.

“Just moments ago,” the mage replied. “His carriage came straight to the palace gates, passed me the letter, and said it must be given directly to the king.”

“Understood. Return to your post—I’ll handle this from here.”

With a magical sweep, the minister confirmed that there was no hidden danger concealed within the letter. Dismissing the mage, he took the missive in hand and made his way to the king.

As he walked, gears of suspicion turned in his mind. “Why now?” he mused. “Eight days since the God of Terror was dispelled… What has the Church of Light discovered? It doesn’t add up. The Nightblades have long harbored doubts and may well have connected the dots, but the Church of Light…

“They of all groups are the least inclined to leap to conclusions,” he whispered to himself. “Even if the royal family benefits most in the end, the Church won’t blame us without evidence.”

His brow furrowed as he approached the audience chamber. “Until now, they’ve made no contact—they’ve probably been tending to the Selwynian refugees. After all, they’re the Church of Light. They would never let the remnants of a fallen nation die without aid. But now that their work is done… they send this.”

The entire war with Selwyn, from beginning to end, had been orchestrated by the royal family of Aleisterre—even the descent of the God of Terror had been part of their grand design.

Yet the situation with the god’s avatar had spun out of control. The God of Terror had proven far more powerful than anticipated.

“Given their doctrine, the Church wouldn’t interfere with state matters… so this letter must concern something else. But what…?”

At last, the official arrived.

Bowing his head so as not to meet the king’s gaze directly, he pushed open the great doors leading to court.

This was the very chamber where Wang Yu and his companions had once knelt before the king. The layout had changed slightly. The king sat alone upon his elevated throne. The palace officials were now gathered around a long table at the center of the hall, engaged in urgent deliberation.

The minister’s entry did not interrupt their proceedings. They were deep in discussion over matters of utmost import—how to develop and distribute the newly acquired lands of Selwyn, how to manage the capital’s shadow, and more.

These men and women were no ordinary courtiers; they were erudite minds, wise beyond measure, bound to the royal family by oaths of service.

When the king abstained from participating, they resolved issues by vote. But when he did, his will was absolute—they served to advise, not contest.

At the moment, they were in heated debate over one man: Edward, the hero who had saved the capital.

As the physical vessel of the God of Light, Edward had delivered the people from despair during the God of Terror’s reign. His name now resounded in the citizens’ grateful hearts.

“No need to overthink it,” one official declared. “The Four Grand Dukes have their own rules to prevent power struggles. We don’t need to deal with Edward harshly. Grant him honors, elevate his image—it’s more advantageous to us than not.”

But another voice rose in dissent. “That would be risky. Edward belongs to the Nightblades’ special ops team. His fame has already won them popular support. If we elevate him further, his prestige could translate into real power—and the Nightblades would become even harder to rein in.”

“Agreed,” came another. “The Nightblades already chafe at our control. Their faith in the Lady of the Night has rendered Heaven’s Gloom ineffective.

“What’s more, with the war over, the tensions that were suppressed by the state of emergency will resurface. Unlike the parasitic nobles, the Nightblades are indispensable—but we can’t strip them of their powers without provoking open conflict.

“Even if we raze the Church of Nightfall’s branch here in the capital, it will do nothing. Their power flows from a deity—the Lady of the Night. And we have no means of confronting a god who does not reveal herself.”

“This is why Edward’s influence must be curtailed. The people of the capital are not thinkers. A few rumors, a fabricated scandal, and their worship will turn cold,” another official quickly added, emphasizing the importance of diminishing Edward’s standing in the eyes of the people. He offered a well-reasoned justification of his own.

“Indeed, that makes perfect sense, and I concur. But isn’t that mad researcher Rudolf already in possession of this supposed Archbishop of the Church of Nightfall? If his claim holds true, this man—Wang Yu—is the creator of the Prayer Network. He’s attempting to root out the issue at its source. Has he succeeded?”

“Not yet. Wang Yu’s been stubbornly tight-lipped, but we should get results shortly—Rudolf’s brought out the ‘Spirit-Breaking Needle.'”

“I see. That accursed device is indeed every knight’s nightmare. If that’s in play, everything will be resolved soon enough. That, too, is part of why I believe Edward’s influence must be diminished.

“Wang Yu and Edward were close friends. Because of that connection, Edward still clings to the hope of finding him. He’s leveraging his own reputation to do so. Our capture of Wang Yu was cleanly executed, but that doesn’t guarantee there aren’t loose threads waiting to be unraveled.”

“A few well-placed rumors will be enough to gradually shift the public’s attention away from this man who might as well already be dead.”

The minister listened only in passing as he walked to the king, knelt, and presented the letter from the Church of Light.

The king accepted it in silence, broke the seal, and scanned the letter. His expression barely shifted. Only at the end did his brows twitch slightly.

It was a request from the Church of Light, conveyed in Archbishop Fang’s beautiful penmanship.

“The Church claims we mishandled the god’s remains,” the king said at last, voice low. “They believe it should be entrusted to them. If we continue using it recklessly, it could bring ruin to the kingdom once more. What say you?”

The king turned to the minister, who had been standing politely off to one side.

The minister blinked, caught off guard. He had not expected this to be the subject of the letter—but upon reflection, it made perfect sense.

Had any other organization made such a demand, he would have suspected them of coveting the relic’s power. But this was the Church of Light. If they said it was for the kingdom’s safety, then that was likely the truth.

“That we misused the god’s remains is undeniable. And the Church did intervene to save us. Under those circumstances, refusing would be… difficult.

“But this relic—this corpse of a god—is a weapon we cannot afford to relinquish. The best strategy is to stall. The Church will not act against us with force. If we agree in word but delay indefinitely in deed, we should be able to deal with this request.

“The only complication is that we’ll need skilled negotiators to deal with their paladins. They’re stubborn, strong, relentless—keeping them at bay will be no small task.”

The Church of Light’s request wouldn’t be too difficult to resolve, but it would tie up manpower and energy for quite some time.

The king nodded slowly. “Do it as you see fit. The factions that could threaten us here in the capital are all shadows of their former selves. Ironically, the Church may be harder to deal with than the Nightblades—they compromise far less easily, and they stand apart from the kingdom’s authority. See that it’s handled.”

Having made his decision, the king returned the letter to the minister and turned his gaze back to the court, where the gathered officials continued their deliberations.

The minister bowed, took his leave, and exited the hall. Now he had to negotiate with those hulking zealots of the Church of Light. Just thinking about it gave him a headache—it would be a trial of both strength and wit.

Meanwhile, in the underground dungeon beneath the palace, Rudolf stood before a cell and observed Wang Yu through the bars. A cold and satisfied smile curled at the corners of his lips. Everything was proceeding just as he had hoped.

Wang Yu’s once-powerful physique had withered into something that could scarcely be considered human.

Gone were his defined muscles and upright bearing. His skin had shriveled to a sickly yellow pallor, stretched thin over brittle bones, and his body was riddled with countless tiny wounds, none of them showing the faintest sign of healing. He looked utterly ruined, his condition so dire one might wonder how he was still alive.

“So this,” Rudolf muttered, “is the fate of a knight stripped of his fighting spirit. I don’t know the precise mechanism, but it’s clear enough: once that force—so long interwoven with their very being—vanishes, their so-called superhuman physique collapses, just like a tower robbed of its foundation.

“When a magician loses power, he returns to being an ordinary man. But when a knight is broken, the descent is catastrophic. To feel oneself rot from within, piece by piece… it’s a fate cruel enough to shatter any mind.”

He clicked his tongue. “And look at him now. That iron will’s been eroded away already.”

Rudolf idly rubbed his chin with his fingers, watching Wang Yu struggle weakly despite his condition. The torment was working—as expected.

To Rudolf, this kind of hysterical twitching was a sign that Wang Yu was about to break. He believed that Wang Yu was on the brink of trying to end his own life before his body gave out completely—an attempt to escape the pain and take his secrets to the grave.

To others, such defiance might seem brave. Noble, even. But not to Rudolf. Death? Death was nothing. It was the easiest way out. True suffering was living when death would be a mercy.

Wang Yu’s behavior made it clear that he was nearing his limit. His spirit, subjected to the slow decay of his flesh, teetered on the edge of annihilation.

“Ah, but I can’t let you die just yet,” Rudolf whispered with mock apology. “You’ve done well to keep your silence this long—better than most—but we’re not finished.”

He opened the cell and stepped inside, kneeling beside the bound and broken man. Leaning close to Wang Yu’s ear, he whispered once more, then drove a crude syringe into the knight’s chest and depressed the plunger, injecting a murky, impure solution into his body.

It was no true medicine—just enough nutrients mixed with a low-grade potion to keep the man alive.

“Damned bastard…” came Wang Yu’s hoarse, rasping curse, echoing weakly in the stone chamber.

“Keep holding on,” Rudolf said, smirking. “The longer you live, the more you’ll suffer. When your body weakens to the point it can’t match even a common man, then—then you’ll understand what it means to break.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Wang Yu to his gasping, ragged breaths.

The harsh panting lasted a long time, raw and defiant, like the growl of a cornered beast ready to die. But at last, even that fury faded into silence.

Yet in the stillness, something stirred within Wang Yu. A power coursed through him—his ripples.

That was the name the void had given it. Apt, if misleading. At first, Wang Yu had believed this to be a gift from the void, a latent ability unique to wizards. But he had since come to understand that this power was not the void’s—it was his own. It had always been his.

The void had only named it. But that name had shaped Wang Yu’s understanding, led him astray, and made him use it incorrectly all this time.

Now, with his fighting spirit torn away, Wang Yu was thrust back to the moment he had first received his ripples. Back then, he had no supernatural strength—only a body and this mysterious energy flowing through it.

This energy was hardly as simple as it appeared at first glance. Wang Yu had no talent for wizardry. The void hadn’t bestowed him a new ability—it had only identified something already hidden within him, an innate potential bound to his very flesh.

Perhaps even the void didn’t fully understood it. It had merely glimpsed a fragment of power, given it a name, and passed it on. And so, Wang Yu had spent years wielding only a partial version of what was truly his.

But now that his fighting spirit was completely depleted, he could finally see the truth behind this mysterious power.

When he first arrived in this world, he had sensed his body absorbing the supernatural essence of this realm as he grew stronger.

What had caused that? What force had integrated that power into him, enhancing his physique beyond human limits?

Later, when he gained fighting spirit, a vampire’s blessing, and dragon’s blood, his body had learned and adapted on its own. But what was the source of that ability?

And when he ignited his own flesh with Cursed Fire, nearly burning himself to death, those same ripples surged outward and twisted the very fabric of the material world.

Even his Blood Tempest and Material Shaping had always been… different from others. In Edward’s words, he was monstrous. No one else wielded these techniques quite the way Wang Yu did.

At last, Wang Yu had been forced to the conclusion that his body was fundamentally unlike those of this world.

It was like realizing that he could control your own breathing: what was once subconscious became a conscious act.

That power hidden beneath the guise of his ripples—now that he saw it for what it was, he could command it freely.

“No wonder I never awakened a potential. From the very beginning, something akin to one was already there, occupying its place. In a way… it had awakened long ago.”

That energy surged through him now. As it passed the cruel metal spike embedded in his chest, the spike began to melt and deform. The shaft shifted until it oozed out of his muscle like liquid steel, drawn by those same ripples he used to command his own blood.

The spike’s head remained embedded in his abdomen, unchanged. But inside, the body of the spike had dissolved into a flowing metallic sludge, coursing through his body with a will of its own.

“A humanoid void…” Wang Yu mused. “No wonder the void enhanced my ripples. My body’s like a source of radiation. The void distorts matter around it… and so do I. But mine is different—mine is precise and controllable.”

He studied the reborn power now coursing through him. The stronger his body, the stronger this force became.

And though he might not be all that strong just yet, it was sufficient to bind everything to him…

…to this chariot of his.

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