The Guardian gods Chapter 853

As the heavy doors began to close, his parting words followed her into the corridor. "Once we have wiped the Silver Kingdom from this continent's map, Lunara will be mine. She will join me willingly because she'll have no other choice if she wishes her ambitions to be realized. Our relationship with the Godlings is not a lost cause yet, Mother. It is simply not time."

The door clicked shut, leaving Yuki alone in the quiet hall, the weight of his pronouncements resonating within her mind.

Wulv's letter had been a much-needed comfort for her agitated state of being. It provided the one thing she desperately lacked: confirmation. It assured her that they would not be confronting the full, terrifying power of the Godlings' unified army in the impending conflict. Even if Godlings were to engage, they would not be fighting under their own divine banner.

Instead, they would contend under the banners of the Silver Kingdom, as individual warriors and factions loyal to the Princess, should her union with Magnus materialize. This was precisely as Leiko had indicated.

Yet, that very realization brought its own host of anxieties. While the tactical landscape had become clearer, Yuki could not dismiss the unnerving certainty emanating from her son. Leiko possessed many qualities—arrogance, cruelty, and a penchant for pleasure—but he was seldom mistaken.

As she traversed the tranquil corridors of the palace, she found herself repeatedly returning to the same disquieting query: "From where, precisely, did that degree of confidence originate? To speak so boastfully of 'people not yet ready to witness their defeat.'"

Yuki suddenly stopped her movement, her breath catching as her eyes widened in astonishment.

She was not the only one. Throughout the vast realm of Nana, every Paragon, those select few who commanded the zenith of power, felt an identical, violent disturbance in the very structure of existence. A confrontation of supreme forces had erupted somewhere in the world, a clash of wills so potent it vibrated through the spiritual bedrock of the continents.

Acting on pure instinct, Yuki, much like the other Paragons, allowed her awareness to be drawn in. They discarded their mental defenses, yielding to the echoing resonance of the colliding powers. Their Pneuma were pulled into a collective observation of the unfolding reality leagues away, becoming silent witnesses to a battle that transcended mortal understanding.

The vision settled upon the Eastern Continent. In stark contrast to the Northern Continent, where the dawn's light was just beginning to grace the horizon, the East remained enveloped in the profound, inky blackness of midnight, a darkness currently being sundered by the incandescent display of the Paragon conflict.

Within the Omadi Kingdom, months had elapsed since Nwadiebube's abrupt, startling decree for complete mobilization. In a nation forged from iron and steeped in discipline, the populace had complied without hesitation, transitioning to a state of high alert virtually overnight.

For the average, trained inhabitant of this militaristic land, the sustained tension eventually began to feel akin to a routine exercise, a demanding drill intended to keep their blades sharp and their spirits vigilant. No official communication was ever provided regarding a potential adversary; there was only the silence from the high command and the ceaseless grinding of the war machinery.

As weeks bled into months, the initial fervor surrounding the mobilization gradually subsided. Life, in its persistent way, sought a steady cadence. Farmers returned to their cultivations and merchants to their stalls, though the persistent sight of active military patrols served as a constant, intermittent reminder of the King's mandate. The army maintained its state of peak readiness, moving with a somber determination as if an unseen foe were concealed just beyond the atmospheric edge.

However, as the frontiers remained tranquil and no intelligence of an incursion reached the capital, the prevailing sense of urgency slowly ebbed away. The specter of war, which had once loomed so large, began to recede into the peripheral awareness of daily existence. Even the soldiers, fatigued by the perpetual anticipation of a blow that never materialized, started to revert to their standard operational procedures, the keen edge of their attentiveness blunted by the inexorable march of time.

Deep within the sanctum of the palace, three Paragons maintained their vigil, their contemplative states reflecting the quiet doubt of the common populace. Unlike the masses, they were privy to the specific danger they were ostensibly confronting, yet the prolonged months of inaction had begun to fray even their legendary reservoirs of patience.

Subtle glances and unspoken inquiries were increasingly exchanged in the direction of Nwadiebube. Behind closed portals, the notion started to fester that perhaps the King was pursuing phantoms, his judgment obscured by an escalating, profound paranoia.

The Paragons entertained the conceivable outcome that Osita had simply recognized the hopelessness of his undertaking and retreated. But Nwadiebube remained resolute, his conviction unshakeable that Osita was indeed targeting the Queen, and until that menace was eradicated, their watch would not cease.

However, what truly pushed these masters of power toward the edge of their restraint was Nwadiebube’s recent shift in focus. Instead of fortifying the walls or refining battle strategies, the King had begun to spend his energy spreading whispers of a new religion. He was actively sowing the seeds of a strange faith throughout the kingdom, a move so unexpected and seemingly irrelevant to the coming war that it left the Paragons questioning if their leader’s mind had finally fractured under the pressure.

The King played a weird game which they don’t yet understand, framing this new faith not as a recent invention, but as an old truth finally being brought to light.

It began as hushed gossip among the palace staff, whispers in the kitchens and murmurs in the laundry rooms. As expected, these secrets soon leaked beyond the palace gates. Like a moving tide, the talk of this rediscovered religion began to wash through the capital city, filling the vacuum left by the boredom of a war that hadn’t yet arrived.

The Paragons, restless and unable to decipher the King’s political maneuvers, found their attention drifting toward this new faith. It spoke of a deity of an absolute standard, a singular perfect entity that had never before been mentioned in the annals of Nana’s history.

The doctrine was peculiarly compelling. In a world scarred by constant struggle and the whims of the powerful, many were desperate for a sign. They hungered for a way to measure their own value and a reason to believe that their suffering was part of a grander, worthier design. It seemed like he was offering a desperate populace an anchor in an increasingly uncertain world.

The doctrine was seductive, a deity who did not demand blind subservience, but rather acknowledged the weight of one’s struggle. This god favored those who overcame hardship and defined a person’s value through the lens of their actions. It offered a psychological reprieve; it told the people to stop questioning their path and instead surrender the final judgment of their worth to a higher, absolute standard.

The Paragons watched the growing fervor with a newfound respect for Nwadiebube’s cunning. "Strategy", they concluded was why he did this. They could already see the potential: millions of soldiers and civilians rallying under a singular, unbreakable belief to hold fast against any invader. As a tool for morale, it was masterful—a way to turn a tired nation into a legion of zealots who feared no death.

Yet, a lingering doubt gnawed at them. While propaganda was a logical explanation, the sheer effort and meticulous detail Nwadiebube poured into this faith made them wonder if there was a deeper, more compelling reason. Where had the King found the records of this deity? Why had its name been absent from the world’s lore until now? To dismiss it as mere politics felt increasingly dangerous as the King’s devotion appeared more genuine by the day.

Confusion turned to alarm when Nwadiebube suddenly ordered vast tracts of land to be cleared for the construction of a grand temple, a monument to a god that had not existed in the public consciousness a year ago.

But the Paragons never got the chance to investigate the foundations of that temple as Osita had made his move.

The evening was peaceful. The capital remained a humming hive of activity; shopkeepers rattled their heavy iron shutters closed, and the streets were filled with the rhythmic tread of citizens heading home or drifting toward the taverns to drown the day’s labor in ale and tales.

Moving through this sea of humanity was a cloaked figure, invisible to every eye. The stranger walked toward the palace with a slow, measured pace. Occasionally, the figure would simply stop, standing perfectly still in the middle of the bustling crowd.

These pauses were perfectly timed. They coincided exactly with the moments when the Paragons guarding the Queen took their turns to sweep the kingdom with their spiritual senses, scanning for even the slightest ripple of abnormality. Yet, even as their powerful internal radars brushed over the very space the stranger occupied, the figure remained unknown. They saw the cobblestones, the crowds, and the drifting smoke of hearths, but they registered nothing where the figure stood.