Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 568: Chapter 23: Inner Alchemy Golden Core (Initial Glimpse)

Then, a slender, fair, bare foot with toenails painted jet-black stepped out from that fissure, elegantly and unhurriedly.

The tips of its toes touched down upon the boiling, churning golden lava, yet it was as if stepping on smooth ground, not stirring the slightest ripple.

Next came long, straight, and strikingly fair legs, light-blue low-rise hot pants, a brown navel-baring sleeveless top, and a youthful face as exquisite as a doll’s, with a sweet, innocent smile.

Flaxen hair drifted gently behind her, ignoring the raging currents of Energy and storms of annihilation within the furnace.

And so, Cheris Douglas descended into the depths of this furnace, which was on the brink of collapse.

Her large, emerald-green eyes curved into crescents as she studied the scene with keen interest: four Crimson Longswords, riddled with cracks, yet still pinning down a sphere of incandescent white light; and Murphy, pale and re-formed from the glare of the blades:

"As expected, sending you here was the right decision."

Murphy panted lightly. The damage to his body registered in his consciousness, making his voice somewhat deep. "What do you mean?"

Cheris did not answer immediately.

She gracefully took two steps on the boiling lava. Wherever her bare feet passed, the raging golden lava grew placid:

"Because those damned Divine Spirits, even after they die, they’re still trying to resurrect."

Murphy’s brows twitched. "Resurrect?"

Cheris tilted her head, tapping a slender finger against her chin. "You mean you don’t know?"

Murphy was silent for a moment. "I don’t."

Cheris blinked her large, sparkling eyes, and a sweet smile rippled across her face:

"Oh my, as my toy, being so ignorant just won’t do. That would be quite embarrassing for me, you know."

"Let me teach you, my dear little toy."

"Divine Spirits, you see, are born from the collective consciousness, fear, desire, and faith of all living beings. It is because of these mortals that their identities become fixed, allowing them to attain an eternal form of existence."

"But there’s no such thing as a free lunch in this world, is there?"

"Once they rely on mortals to ’fix’ their identities, they are fated to rely on mortals to continue existing. It’s a contract, a chain branded upon the deepest part of their divinity, one they can never break."

"If that great ship called ’the Self’ wants to avoid getting lost in the treacherous Source Sea, it needs mooring lines and anchor chains."

"So what are these mooring lines and anchor chains?"

"Mortals."

"It’s their faith, fear, prayers, and sacrifices. As long as enough sapient beings know your name, believe you exist, and pray to you, their tiny but constant recognition becomes the thick, sturdy mooring lines and anchor chains that sustain your great ship."

Murphy listened in silence, his jet-black eyes reflecting the silhouette of the young woman pacing calmly upon the golden lava:

"So, Divine Spirits need believers. It’s not that gods love mortals, but that gods need mortals."

"Clever!" Cheris clapped her hands, the sound crisp and clear. "That’s exactly right. Mortals are the dock for a Divine Spirit’s ship; they are its mooring lines and anchor chains. The more followers and the purer their faith, the stronger and longer the lines and chains become, and the less likely the Divine Spirit is to get lost in the abyss of the Source Sea."

"But this great ship never returns to port. The longer a Divine Spirit sails the Source Sea, and the deeper it ventures, the longer and stronger its mooring lines and anchor chains must become."

"And so, conflict began."

"A small tribal god might only need the bonfire gatherings and pre-battle prayers of a few hundred followers to maintain its little boat. A city-state’s patron deity needs the daily sacrifices and holiday festivals of thousands of citizens. But when a Divine Spirit’s dominion expands to a Kingdom or an Empire, when its followers number in the millions or tens of millions, its ship becomes so massive that it requires an entire civilization, burning its faith day and night, just to sustain it."

"But the number of mortals is finite. Their vitality, lifespans, and rate of reproduction all have limits. A Divine Spirit’s voyage in the Source Sea seems endless. So what happens when its appetite keeps growing, but the number of followers and the quality of their faith can no longer keep up?"

Murphy did not answer. He knew the answer.

Cheris didn’t need his answer. She simply continued:

"Either the Divine Spirits go to war with one another, plundering each other’s followers and sources of faith like pirates looting another ship’s cargo. Or, they begin to squeeze their existing followers, demanding more frequent prayers, more costly sacrifices, and more fanatical devotion, until they’ve wrung the mortals dry, draining every last drop of faith."

"It’s an inescapable, vicious cycle. The more ancient the Divine Spirit, the deeper it loses itself in the Source Sea. The power they require to sustain themselves has long surpassed what any single civilization or world could ever hope to provide."

"Until one day, when the mortals’ fragile anchor chains can no longer hold back that great ship."

"SNAP! The chains break, and the god falls."

After a moment of silence, Murphy spoke, his voice calm:

"So, I’m the bait. A lure cast into deep waters, meant to draw out those lost ships and force them to reveal their positions."

Upon hearing this, Cheris extended a slender index finger, its nail painted a glossy black, and wagged it gently in front of Murphy:

"You’re not bait."

"You’re my little toy."

"Even an ordinary child cherishes their toys. They remember to wipe off the dust, they place their toys by their pillow before going to sleep, and they feel sad for a long, long time if one gets accidentally chipped or broken."

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