The Guardian gods Chapter 947

Watching this sudden, coordinated shift across the world, Nwadiebube recognized the unmistakable pattern behind their actions. The secret was out, the other powers had finally gotten their hands on the method to ascend.

The core mechanics of Murmur’s path to godhood were glaringly obvious once one knows it. It was an ascension not achieved through isolated studying or contemplation. The true bedrock of this new divinity relied entirely on the foundation built around oneself and the public.

The common folk were the ultimate key. It was their steadfast belief, their collective devotion, and their genuine faith that acted as the vital catalyst, lifting an ordinary mortal up and pushing them across the threshold into godhood.

It was only a matter of time before the secret breached the high kingdoms and reached the ears of the godlings. Yet, the moment these high rulers unraveled the mechanics of this new path to godhood, there was no celebration to be found within their halls, only dark scowls and a deep, instinctual need to destroy this information.

If the secret proved true, the terrifying reality was that godhood could be manufactured. It was no longer a mystical pinnacle reserved for the uniquely gifted; it was a guaranteed destination, accessible to anyone with enough time, patience, and a massive enough population of mortals under their banner.

To the established powers, this felt like a grotesque insult. It was a mockery of everything they had sacrificed. They had spent centuries clawing their way to power, enduring agonizing centuries of cultivation.

They had bled and broken their minds to truly learn, master, and embody a law of the universe.

Now, individuals whom they deemed completely undeserving, mortals entirely lacking the talent required to grasp a fundamental law of reality were suddenly poised to sit on the exact same throne as them.

"False gods," the insult began to bitterly circulate among the high hierarchy, whispered with venom in palace halls.

Yet, beneath their righteous indignation and elitist scorn lay a far more primal emotion, "Fear". They didn’t just hate the idea of unearned divinity, they feared how easily this secret could shatter the bedrock of their kingdoms, completely destabilize their absolute monopolies on power, and sweep away their stand overnight.

In the grand hierarchy of power, the Paragons stood apart, beings allowed to operate far beyond ordinary mortal constraints. Directly beneath them, however, stood the fifth-tier powerhouses, the absolute pinnacle of mortal might.

These elite fighters were the indispensable backbone of any major kingdom, deployed to handle catastrophic mortal wars and systemic crises that the Paragons were strictly barred from touching. Because direct intervention by Paragons shows the matters were no longer something that can be handled the mortal way.

The Northern continent, where hostility were slowly being reignited after the pruning, one must look at how conflicts were actually waged.

The fifth-tier powerhouses were the absolute pinnacle of mortal might, serving as the frontline commanders, the strategic masterminds, and the heavy hitters who led the kingdoms through their darkest mortal wars. They were the ones actively engaged in the theater of conflict, managing the day to day survival and dominance of their nations.

The Paragons, on the other hand, were entirely above the fray, they were the ultimate, catastrophic last resort of intervention. When a war reached an absolute stalemate or a critical tipping point where no mortal force could break the deadlock, the Paragons would finally step in as the final arbiters to settle the outcome. Whichever side’s Paragon ultimately asserted dominance became the absolute victor.

This was a system that functioned because the fifth-tier powerhouses had hit a hard glass ceiling. Many of them had accepted that they would never cross the threshold into higher power, remaining comfortably entrenched as the elite commanders serving beneath their respective Paragons.

With Murmur’s secret now spreading, that status quo was being threatened.

The high kingdoms and godlings suddenly faced a scenario where they risked losing their invaluable fifth-tier commanders. A situation where the fifth-tiers are no longer content to remain lifelong subordinates serving under a Paragon’s shadow.

If those fifth-tier powerhouses became fully aware that a viable path to ascension was finally within their grasp, absolute discontent would sweep through their ranks. Not a single one of them would ever be satisfied with remaining a mere mortal subordinate, no matter how high their status.

Worse still, these fifth-tiers were the vital resources required to fulfill the high kingdom’s recent contracts with Tide regarding the mage towers. In the event of an invasion, they were the indispensable military engines needed to conquer and hold the lands below, buying time and securing territory while the paragons locked horns with rival entities from other worlds.

Losing them to sudden, mass pursuits of godhood was entirely out of the question. To the high kingdoms and godlings, this dangerous secret simply could not be allowed to live.

Yet, in a strange twist of fate, this realization completely shifted their tactical approach. Just like that, Nwadiebube and his sister instantly vanished from the crosshairs, no longer the primary targets of the high-tier panic. In fact, the elite powers now viewed Nwadiebube’s previous secretive maneuvering and deliberate low profile as a blessing in disguise. By keeping the movement quiet, he had inadvertently helped suppress a much wider catastrophe, before it could ignite the whole world.

It was long before it dawned on many that this wasn’t a spontaneous occurrence, the high kingdoms understood that a deliberate hand was pushing the secret into the open. To ensure their own survival and protect themselves from the fall out from the contracts, Nana began to stir once more.

The high kingdoms mobilized their vast intelligence networks to track the rumors back to their origin. But the investigation yielded a terrifying discovery, unknown spy agency had quietly taken root across their territories, spreading beneath the surface like a silent blight.

Worse yet, the physical sources of these spy agency were entirely untraceable. Every time investigators cornered a lead, they found only ordinary citizens acting as proxies, mortals lured in by the intoxicating promise of power or bought off with sudden wealth to act as mouthpieces for the forbidden knowledge.

It was a creeping rot that defied all attempts at eradication. While security forces cracked down mercilessly on suspected proxies, arresting and silencing anyone caught whispering the secret, the suppression only fueled the spread. For every single proxy cut down, two more stepped up to take their place, ensuring the dangerous truth continued to bleed out into the world.

While the high kingdoms bled and scrambled to excise the creeping rot from their mortal populations, the territories ruled by the godlings remained completely untouched by these hidden hands.

Any hidden spy or suspicious anomaly attempting to breach their borders was flagged and obliterated almost instantly. Over centuries of hidden conflicts and insidious infiltration attempts, the high kingdoms of Nana had learned a harsh, immutable lesson, "A godling could never be faked"

The unique essence woven into their divine bloodline made them inherently distinct. Even if a master spy with the most creative spell managed to adopt a flawless disguise, they completely lacked the subtle, ambient scent of divinity that naturally radiated from the godlings.

Interestingly, even among the godlings themselves, this awareness was largely subconscious. Because they were so accustomed to living with each other, they didn’t actively sniff each other out. But the absolute second an imposter, devoid of that sacred aura dared to step into their domains, the foreign dissonance grated on their senses immediately, prompting swift and merciless eradication.

Because of this innate biological defense, the godlings entirely bypassed the grueling, nightmarish manhunt plaguing the rest of Nana. They didn’t have to worry about proxies whispering secrets in their streets or hidden spy agencies taking root in their soil.

Instead, their primary focus was kept entirely outward. Realizing they were safe from internal rot, the godlings threw their weight into a singular objective, building an impenetrable blockade to ensure the dangerous secret of ascension never leaked across the boundaries to corrupt the populations under their direct rule, especially among those godlings who engaged in daily commerce and trade with the humans.

Far across the world, completely unknown to the scrambling high kingdoms and the plotting godlings, a tragedy of a very different kind was unfolding in the western continent.

In the desolate silence of his sanctuary, Tyrion had completely lost his mind and his will.

He huddled in a corner, looking utterly tattered and broken, his hollow eyes fixed unblinkingly upon the massive, looming silhouette of the very tower he had built with his own hands. During the chaotic distribution of the towers, Edward hadn’t awarded him one. Instead, Edward had given it to his wife’s brother, a pragmatic, entirely logical choice. They were close allies bound by blood, and any rational leader looking to consolidate power and secure their status would have made the exact same call.

But to Tyrion, that oversight was a fatal blow.