Chapter 36: The Saint and the God of Eternal Slumber

Page (1/3)  The Judgment Court, the Library Archive.

The familiar black and gold once again dominated the room, its ornate gilt decorations both magnificent and cold.

After receiving permission, Fernandes led Roland between enormous bookshelves several feet high.

They were piled up like hills and could only be moved by someone with considerable strength.

Even the walls of this repository, where books and historical records were kept, had been designed as bookshelves, stretching from the floor all the way to the ceiling.

It was like a box packed with books.

The ceiling was far above the ground. If one stamped hard while walking, the sound of one’s footsteps could echo for a long time.

As they walked, Fernandes explained some basic knowledge to Roland.

It sounded more like mythology.

“…Hundreds of years ago, Lady Delis used her own flesh and blood to drive the ritual that covered the entire world, causing the gods to fall into slumber. From that moment onward, humanity was finally able to walk freely upon the earth.”

“It was also from that time that we truly became the masters of the world.”

These were the most basic facts, the true history that every apprentice entering the mystical world was expected to know.

This was the origin of the so-called Sleeper Gods.

They had not originally been asleep, not until a hero stepped forward.

“Delis…”

Roland silently repeated the name several times.

To stand against the gods and defeat them—

That certainly qualified one as a saint or a hero.

“In truth,” Fernandes said, the latticework shadows cast by the bookshelves blurring his features, “only a god knows how to deal with gods.”

“Delis received the help of the Benefactor.”

Fernandes’s words astonished Roland.

“The Father of All Things?”

“That’s right. The Father of All Things sent down an oracle, and the Church was thereby able to grant Delis the Sleeper Ritual contained within it. She used it and activated it, thus freeing humanity from the control of the gods.”

At last, Roland understood why the Holy Cross Church held such an exalted position in this land.

“Except for those lunatics who are always trying to awaken the gods, the Father of All Things has shown kindness to every human being—especially ritualists.”

Roland agreed.

If what Fernandes said was true, then, to a certain extent, the more one understood the hidden history, the more one ought to feel grateful to the Holy Cross Church, to Saint Delis, and to the Father of All Things.

In a sense, she and He had liberated humanity.

But…

Roland did not understand.

The Father of All Things, the Benefactor, the First Ray of Light—whatever name one gave Him, should He not have been one of the gods?

Why would He help humanity and hand over a ritual capable of harming Him?

Roland was not the only one to have asked such questions.

“Because of His selflessness.”

Fernandes passed through the bookshelves, the light spreading across his honest, simple face.

“He could not bear to watch humanity suffer. He did not want the gods to enslave us and toy with us like puppets.”

He pulled several books from the shelves and carried them toward the sofa. “In any case, only after the gods fell asleep could humanity truly become free.”

“Although we worship only the Benefactor and believe all the others to be false gods…”

“Most people still hold the other nine in the highest regard.”

Fernandes sat down, spread the books open, and began turning through them one by one.

There was no tea here to accompany the books, so he could only smack his lips and continue explaining to Roland dryly.

“Here it is.”

His finger moved across the words on a certain page and line as he read:

“I wish them eternal sleep, but bear them no hatred.”

“I rule the world, yet I crown Him.”

“Let humanity possess strength and authority; let the sleepers receive glory and reverence.”

“The Ten Crowned Gods—”

“The Saints of Eternal Slumber.”

The Ten Crowned Gods.

In other words, on the reverse side of the world, in the World of Slumber—

There were ten sleeping gods in all?

“That’s right. For example, the organization I mentioned earlier, as well as the animated corpse you encountered—it came from the Ring of Eternal Silence.”

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Page (2/3)  Fernandes continued.

“Those people worship the Eighth Crowned God.”

“The Eighth Crown: Lord of the White Crown of the Wasteland.”

“The Sleeper God who symbolizes death, winter, silence, and the end.”

As he spoke, he continued turning through the books, stacking them higher and higher.

The pages rustled.

Yet he found nothing.

That was hardly good news.

Fernandes’s two short, thick eyebrows drew closer and closer together.

“That empty forest you described earlier—oh, aside from feeling moisture and touching some trees and bushes, you didn’t notice anything else?”

Roland shook his head regretfully.

What about the fairy?

—There were no fairies. Stop talking nonsense.

“You can give me a proper account now. Go into detail.” Fernandes lifted his gaze from the books, placed both hands on his knees, and faced Roland with an utterly serious expression.

If everything truly was as his deputy had said, then matters were going to become extremely troublesome.

“Perhaps.”

“Fernandes.” Roland pointed at his own eyes, then at his chest. “I became more perceptive after coming out of there. Aside from that, some words have been circling in my mind…”

Fernandes was not surprised. “We acquire knowledge from the World of Slumber. You can consider that nothing more than good fortune.”

Then he asked, “How perceptive are you?”

Roland tilted his head and pondered for a moment. He felt it would be clearer if he demonstrated it to Fernandes.

So he narrowed his eyes, held his breath, and tried to manipulate that tentacle into extending from his heart.

Gently forward…

It touched Fernandes’s knee.

The other man was utterly shocked.

He stared fixedly at Roland for a long while, then suddenly sprang up and paced rapidly beside the sofa. Every so often he stopped to look at Roland, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

“This…”

“Are you an apprentice now?!”

“You… Is this possible?”

“You may be the first in history—or perhaps the only one!”

“What astonishing talent…”

“Roland! You have no idea what an incredible feat you’ve accomplished!”

He said one thing after another, rapidly and endlessly, his footsteps quick and noisy.

He sounded like a two-hundred-pound fly buzzing incessantly.

“On the first day! The very first attempt! The very first person! You’ve actually become an apprentice! Roland, this—this is simply…”

“Incredible!”

Fernandes could hardly believe it.

Because he had felt it!

The boy had not been speaking nonsense—

He had truly mastered the Secret.

One had to understand that between entering the World of Slumber, perceiving the Great Path, and truly mastering the Secret, the gulf between each of those three stages was immense.

“Is it that ‘water’?” Roland asked.

“Water? Oh, you can feel it flowing away, can’t you?” Fernandes stopped and leaned forward, confirming it for him. “The Secret—or Mystique. That is what we call it.”

“It is like asking why fire can burn.”

“This power that fills the body comes from the World of Slumber. Only those who discover it, perceive it, learn to draw it in, and use it can be called apprentices.”

“Ritualists manipulate it and replenish it in the World of Slumber at night—Roland, you… you really can…”

He still could not believe it.

Roland nodded with great restraint. “To a limited extent.”

“There will be more in the future. As you continue to advance, the amount of the Secret you can contain will increase as well…” Fernandes once again scrutinized Roland’s refined features, sighing with emotion. “I have never seen anyone with talent like yours…”

“Take a look at me. Tell me how I look today.”

At his request, Roland manipulated the tentacle, examining Fernandes from head to toe.

The icy tentacle glided over the priest’s coat and trouser cuffs.

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Page (3/3)  “You’re dressed very formally today.”

Fernandes was overjoyed. He opened his mouth and laughed aloud. “Excellent! Wonderful…! Lady Enid was right after all! Roland, you possess extraordinary talent… You are a ritualist by nature!”

Roland had thought Fernandes would be disappointed that he had failed to set foot upon the “proper path.”

“That wasn’t disappointment, Roland.”

Fernandes still had not managed to wipe the delight from his face. He folded his arms and could not help clicking his tongue. “…That was concern.”

Fernandes had not found any corresponding record in the books for the dream Roland had described.

The Sleeper Gods numbered only ten, and none of their sanctuaries matched the one Roland had mentioned.

Therefore, this was very likely an entirely new path that had never been recorded…

And one whose end held no god.

What did that mean?

It meant that this path had no Grand Ritual.

Let us return to a certain question:

Why were those who had mastered the Secret called ritualists?

Because the different Sleeper Gods, and the paths governed by their different principles, each possessed their own distinct and exclusive Grand Rituals.

These powerful special rituals, which could be used only by those who followed the corresponding path, enriched both body and soul.

They made their practitioners powerful, mysterious, and imbued them with different qualities.

They were the embodiment of the principles, the gifts left behind by the gods, and the most important component of every Great Path.

And a path without a god…

Could never possess a Grand Ritual.

Never.

Fernandes was not unfamiliar with similar situations. In fact, this was common knowledge throughout the mystical world, a fact that could be affirmed with absolute certainty.

Roland Collins was simply too unlucky.

One had to understand that, to a ritualist, the Grand Ritual was almost equivalent to a wheel on a carriage.

A carriage could still move without one, but it would obviously be a far cry from a normal carriage.

“Do you know how many Grand Rituals exist on the Path of Holy Flame under the Judgment Principles?”

Fearing that Roland would not take him seriously, Fernandes told him in an especially solemn tone:

“Twelve.”

“The ritualists of the Path of Holy Flame can acquire twelve Grand Rituals.”

“Four of them affect the body alone.”

The priest, his expression grave, gave Roland an example.

“The Sword of Faith.”

“That was the name of a Grand Ritual I once completed.”

“It permanently enhanced my strength and speed, and even improved my recovery. Minor injuries no longer troubled me—that is what distinguishes ritualists of the Path of Holy Flame from other ritualists.”

“Only we can use this ritual.”

“It is the foundation of our strength.”

Fernandes continued, “Other paths also possess Grand Rituals unique to themselves, rituals that make their followers ‘special.’”

If a path had no Grand Ritual, then anyone who set foot upon it was destined to be incomplete.

Long ago, there had been quite a few such people.

Apprentices, or those who had succeeded by sheer luck.

Those people believed themselves clever. They thought they had secretly discovered a “different” path. There were so many principles in the world that had never been mentioned—why could they not uncover an entirely new Great Path upon which no one had ever set foot?

Yes, there were many such paths.

And they succeeded.

The explorers were immensely pleased with themselves, convinced that their choices were correct and wise.

They believed themselves special.

But only when they encountered battle did they understand.

Those who had never been “bathed” in a Grand Ritual, when they collided with true ritualists, were like eggs smashing against stone.

“Do not take this path, Roland.”

Fernandes placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Go speak with Lady Enid. Go now.”