As the ancient truth surfaced, the fanatical followers of King Deshret were shaken by their own guilty conscience.
For so long, they had hated the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata unjustly, and now waves of shame and regret filled their hearts. That remorse drove them to seek redemption, to grasp at anything that might soothe the sting of their guilt.
And the God-Creation Project of the Akademiya and the Fatui seemed like just such an opportunity.
Did the little Lord Kusanali, Nahida, ever do anything wrong?
Locked away within the Sanctuary of Surasthana, she had been given no chance to act at all. Wasn't imprisoning her tantamount to treason?
And now, the Akademiya was secretly trying to create a new god. That was nothing less than blasphemy.
It wasn't just Rahman and his mercenaries of the Eremites—many other devout followers of King Deshret found themselves coming to the same conclusion.
"Hmph! I used to think the Akademiya was merely full of self-serving jackals. I didn't expect to find traitorous wolves lurking within as well!" Dehya's anger burned like fire.
She had recently reconnected with the Tighnari family, who wanted her to protect Dunyarzad. But after learning the truth about the endless cycle of the Sabzeruz Festival and the trauma it inflicted, Dehya could no longer stay calm.
Dunyarzad's body was already frail—how could her spirit endure repeated torment? Dehya had planned to reach Sumeru City in time to rescue her, but it was already too late. Unlike other nations, Sumeru had no cars or airplanes. Even sprinting from Caravan Ribat to Sumeru City would take two or three days.
Mercenaries who lacked brains didn't survive long. Dehya, with her keen mind and reputation, understood too well. If even she could foresee the Akademiya's plans through her phone, then surely the Akademiya itself already knew more.
"Their plan must have been accelerated," she muttered darkly.
"Hey, Dehya, don't tell me you're scared?" A mercenary in the tavern joked, sword slung across his shoulder.
"Scared? Me?" Dehya scoffed. "You all know full well how powerful the Akademiya and the Fatui are. Do you really think blind courage alone will stop them? Without a proper strategy, we'd just be throwing our lives away!"
"She's right. Haven't you heard the merchants from Sumeru City? They said the city was placed under martial law just days ago. People can enter, but no one is allowed out. Isn't the meaning obvious?"
"Damn… does that mean the Sabzeruz Festival started early?"
"No. Not the festival. It's the Akademiya's project—using dreams to boost their so-called computational power. They've just moved up the timeline!"
"That's bad. By the time we reach Sumeru City, we'll probably already be trapped in the loop ourselves. How are we supposed to fight back then?"
"If the Akasha Terminal can't be disabled, we can't touch the Akademiya at all. They're untouchable!"
The mercenaries argued heatedly, while Dehya's frown deepened.
Even united, mercenaries were no match for the Akademiya and the Fatui. The sages might not be warriors, but the Akasha's influence could not be ignored. Any information broadcast through the system became truth in the minds of its wearers.
Hadn't the people just hailed the Traveler as their savior simply because the system told them to?
If the Akademiya declared Dehya and her allies traitors, the entire city would rise against them. And then there were still the Fatui Harbingers to contend with.
From sheer strength alone, they had no chance.
Dehya scrolled through her phone restlessly. "Is our only hope… the cards?" she whispered.
"Cards? Are they really real?" someone doubted.
"Are you kidding? We've already seen the future with our own eyes. And you're still questioning this?"
"Maybe they're real, but how can low-tier cards stop the Akademiya and the Fatui? Only high-tier ones might stand a chance. And who among us has the luck or mora to draw them?"
Dehya shook her head. "Unlikely. But even low-tier cards could bolster our strength. At least I've never heard of the Akademiya using cards themselves."
"But the card shops are only in Fontaine and Liyue. Getting there and back would take half a month!"
"Too late. Far too late."
"Damn it. If only one of those card shops would open in the desert, we could draw some cards ourselves and at least face them with confidence."
Everyone sighed, but there was no solution.
Within the Sanctuary of Surasthana, Nahida felt the shift.
As a god, she could sense faith. Right now, belief in her was rising.
Faith could be converted into power. Not much, but still, it was strength.
Yet instead of joy, Nahida felt only terror.
From the moment she was born five hundred years ago, she had endured the sages' doubts.
Like a child under constant criticism, she had slowly come to doubt herself as well. That was why, despite having the ability to leave the Sanctuary, she never did.
"Am I truly capable of being a wise god?"
"Can my power really protect the people of Sumeru?"
These questions haunted her.
She still remembered that day—the sight of a single man nearly destroying the world. That shadow burned itself into her soul.
In comparison to such power, she felt like nothing more than a grain of sand in the desert. Too weak to even resist.
Now, as faith surged into her, she recoiled. What should have been warmth felt instead like searing blades.
She curled into herself, unable to accept it, terrified of failing those who trusted her.
"She isn't resisting our will," a sage monitoring her through a device reported.
"Good." Azar's expression remained cold. If she resisted, today might well become the day a god fell.
Another scholar hurried in with news. "Grand Sage, unrest is spreading in the desert."
"I know." Azar dismissed it, eyes locked on the Akasha. "Accelerate the project."
"Yes, sir!"
The sages steeled themselves. There was no turning back. Their dream was within reach, and they would see it through, even if it killed them.
"Your resolve impresses me," Dottore remarked with a mocking smile.
Azar returned the smile coolly. "With your reputation and your strength, I'm sure you'll retreat safely when the time comes."
Dottore's eyes narrowed. For a moment, he considered killing the old man where he stood. But Azar wasn't worth staining his hands.
"Then let's continue. Time is short." Dottore clasped his hands behind his back. Already, he was planning his escape. This was the most selfish of his segments. He had no intention of dying here. He would savor the moment of success—then vanish.
Life, after all, was too precious to waste.
In Inazuma, at Tenshukaku, Ei strolled happily with a skewer of dango milk. She planned to bring some to her sister as an afternoon treat.
The thought of Makoto's return filled her with bliss, though also with fragile dread, as if it were a dream that could shatter at any moment. But it was real. As long as she protected her sister, Makoto would remain.
Entering the throne room, Ei spotted Makoto seated, brows furrowed as she stared at her phone.
"Makoto?" Ei called softly.
Her sister lifted her head. "Ei, come here."
Ei approached obediently. Makoto opened her laptop and pulled up a video.
"I have been betrayed three times… first, by my creator, my mother—"
"Scaramouche?" Ei blinked. "Why are you showing me this?"
Makoto's gaze was strange. "This was your creation?"
"Yes." Ei nodded, confused. "But what is he doing?"
"In league with the Akademiya and the Fatui… he intends to become a god," Makoto said heavily. "Tell me, Ei, what exactly did you teach him?"
"I never taught him anything!" Ei shook her head, flustered. "He was only an experiment. When I found he couldn't house a Gnosis, and then realized he had somehow developed consciousness, I didn't destroy him. I simply left him sealed away in a domain."
Her brow creased as she remembered. "There was an accident. He escaped… killed some people in Inazuma…"
Makoto's eyes sharpened. "Who?"
"Some swordsmiths," Ei admitted quickly, then rushed to explain. "At the time, I was focused on remaking my body. I also felt guilty toward him, so I didn't restrain him properly. It was my mistake."
Makoto sighed. "Yes. This burden falls on you."
"I understand." Ei lowered her head. "But… what do we do now?"
"That is difficult," Makoto said grimly. "If he truly becomes a god in Sumeru, it won't just be a personal matter. It will become a diplomatic crisis. The question is—do we protect him?"
"Protect him?" Ei froze.
Her thoughts tangled. At last, she said firmly, "I failed to destroy him. I failed to restrain him. That is my responsibility. But he has joined the Fatui. His allegiance is no longer to Inazuma. We don't need to protect him."
"Are you certain?" Makoto pressed.
"I am."
The choice was clear. Whatever guilt she bore, it wasn't enough to risk her nation.
"Very well." Makoto sighed, a trace of reproach in her voice. "You do create no small amount of trouble, Ei."
Ei lowered her head in shame.
In Fontaine, Furina had grown from a child into a young woman.
She had thought knowing the future would shield her from emotional turmoil. Yet now, she could not stay calm.
"Half of Teyvat knows about Sumeru already…" she muttered, scratching her head.
"Let's just march to Sumeru and kill every last one of those bastards!" Navia declared hotly.
Focalors, however, frowned in thought. "Perhaps we won't need to act. There are plenty across Teyvat who hate Dottore and Scaramouche. They may strike before we do."
Greater Lord Rukkhadevata pondered silently. She wasn't as agitated as others assumed. But one question gnawed at her:
Why did the Akademiya cling so desperately to the idea of creating a god through human wisdom? That was not wisdom at all.
And the irony—Azar and the sages believed in her with utmost devotion, yet still sought to recreate her. Faithful to her, yet trying to replace her.
She shook her head with a soft sigh. "They're too obsessed with omniscience. The cleverest minds often prove the most foolish."
"Don't try to comfort me," she said gently. "Though I can't stay calm, I'm not as angry as you imagine. I know what I must do next."
"Then let's sit back and watch the show," Focalors said with a smile.
Rukkhadevata nodded.
Beneath the desert, within the Glasswork Factory, a colossal green machine loomed a thousand meters tall.
From a spiraling corridor, Scaramouche looked up at a screen on the wall.
Through Fatui channels, they had acquired equipment from the card shops. Now, on the display, the Traveler's livestream played.
A cruel smile spread across his face.
"So this is destiny… how laughable. The pathetic struggle of those powerless to resist—it's amusing beyond measure."
He chuckled darkly. "You think you alone can defy fate? Who among us cannot?"
Turning, he gazed at the towering mech with growing excitement. "How much longer?"
"About fifteen hours," an attendant replied.
"Too long," Scaramouche growled. His patience was already running thin.
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T/N:
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