Chapter 151: The So-Called Religion

Around one o'clock in the afternoon, outside the church situated in the border jungle of the Elven territory, a crowd was gradually beginning to gather. However, while the Elven forest was vast, its population was sparse. Furthermore, the Church of Light was not their primary faith, so the turnout amounted to a sparse gathering of merely fifty or sixty people.

Even this was the result of the parish priest's diligent efforts. Due to the fundamental difference in beliefs, it was inherently difficult to spread a religion through mere persuasion alone. The Church of Light did possess one major advantage, which was that their Light-attribute restorative magic was indeed quite impressive. Yet, the Elven natural magic could also achieve a certain degree of healing, and opinions varied widely on whether one was superior or inferior to the other, which was why the Church of Light was by no means an indispensable presence here.

Two priests, five nuns, and seven devout believers brought over from the human domains constituted the entire staff of this small chapel. They lacked any significant combat capability; while the priests knew a few spells, these were primarily focused on healing, and in a practical confrontation, two ordinary soldiers could easily subdue them.

In fact, when dispatching personnel to proselytize in major powers, sending individuals of formidable strength was a major taboo. A person of immense power was equivalent to an entire army, and casually stationing "troops" within someone else's borders was something a peer nation could hardly agree to. Conversely, smaller nations operated differently; after all, hosting the "troops" of a major power equated to receiving protection and security.

Once dispatched, regular believers typically remained stationed in these regions for long periods, venturing out only occasionally. However, if they accomplished little over an extended timeframe, failed to make headway in proselytizing, and recruited too few new believers, they would naturally be replaced by headquarters. From the lay believers down to the priests, this particular outpost had already undergone three changes of personnel, entirely because the local delinquent children were simply too formidable.

Delinquent children possessed a distinct advantage, which was that children spoke without taboos. Being children, whatever they said would not be taken overly seriously, nor could the priests hold them to a higher standard of accountability, especially since this was Elven territory rather than their own domain. At the same time, these mischievous kids had begun to develop an extensive set of theories of their own. They had already come to view the Church of Light as an enemy, and as time passed, their reasoning and dialectics grew more meticulous, making them increasingly difficult to hoodwink.

In the eyes of these rebellious children, the task they were undertaking was a grand endeavor, nearly on par with "saving the world." They were persistent, unafraid of hardship, and grew more experienced as time went on, possessing exceptionally high intelligence. Moreover, failure carried no unacceptable punishment. Despite being seen as mere troublesome kids, they were practically operating at the level of "heretics."

Meanwhile, the adult Elven population paid little heed to the children, simply observing these self-proclaimed servants of God who proved incapable of managing even a group of unruly kids, while remaining deeply skeptical of their rhetorical sophistry. The few individuals who did convert mostly did so after receiving their medical treatments while listening to their doctrines, feeling it sounded pleasant enough, and thus chose to believe. Yet this kind of belief fell far short of true, pious devotion.

Today was another big day, and the church had procured several buckets of fish to host a special event. In truth, the Church of Light held no such ceremonies as releasing captive animals; this was actually a ritual belonging to the Elven nature cult. Nevertheless, since the underlying principles were fundamentally about benevolence and compassion, the Church of Light was willing to make certain adaptations to establish its presence.

"Ah, I am so glad that so many people have come today," one of the bearded priests said, holding the Holy Scripture in one hand and clasping a crucifix with the other, smiling warmly at the gathering. "This is an important day. Today, we shall rescue a batch of pitiful fish from the hands of the detestable butcher. Originally, they had families and children; originally, they lived happy lives. But the wicked butcher seized them and intends to eat them. This is utterly abominable."

"When one could clearly eat fruits and bread, why consume fish? Why devour living creatures?" the priest asked with a sorrowful and indignant expression. "Their method of slaughtering fish is also exceptionally cruel. While the fish are still alive, while they are still thrashing, a knife is driven straight into their bellies, blood flows everywhere, their entrails are yanked out, and afterward, they are tossed directly into a frying pan of boiling oil, at which point the fish are still alive. It is simply unimaginable."

A wave of murmuring swept through the crowd below. A significant portion of the Elven population still adhered to vegetarianism, and since the audience consisted entirely of believers, it was naturally easy to sweep them up in the narrative.

Kevin had already reached the back row, merely glancing to the left and right to survey the terrain. He had long since grown tired of hearing this type of rhetoric and theoretical posturing from the Church of Light, yet refuting it was genuinely no easy task. If one were to point out to him that plants also possessed life and asked how they could be eaten, he could easily counter by saying, "You may eat fruits, but the fruit tree does not die; if you eat a fish, the fish dies. How cruel." When it came to sophistry, possessing the truth was sometimes far from sufficient.

Almost every priest was a master of rhetoric, boasting a level of skill inferior to no ordinary bard. Moreover, the crucial point was that this was an audience of believers—it was the priest's home turf. Whatever nonsense the priest uttered was treated as absolute truth by those below, whereas even if Kevin were to speak the absolute truth, others would dismiss it as rubbish.

"Actually, I have carefully studied the Elven nature doctrine. What you worship is the Goddess of Nature, who bestowed upon you your primordial life. Whereas we worship the Creator, who fashioned all things, and we believe that..." Thereupon, the priest embarked on a lengthy session of sheer nonsense.

Listening from the rear, Kevin understood clearly that this was merely the inevitable fusion process that an external religion must undergo upon entering a new region. The milder approach naturally involved searching for common ground between the two doctrines, followed by rhetorical maneuvers culminating in the declaration that both churches actually preached the exact same concept—that the Creator could manifest in myriad forms and was omnipotent and invincible, meaning their Goddess of Nature was simply His daughter—before finding some obscure figure in the Holy Scripture to draw parallels with, followed by a torrent of empty verbiage.

Ambiguous and specious notions were inherently difficult to debate dialectically. An atheist could naturally retort, "Summon your god out here then." The opponent could easily counter, "Summon the king over here then. Just because you cannot see him, does that mean he does not exist? If you cannot summon the king, does that mean the king does not exist?" Following that, they would pose the rhetorical question, "Without a god, where did human beings come from? Parents give birth to children, but who were the primordial parents? Naturally, it was God."...

In his childhood, Kevin had attempted to debate this more than once, but the results were consistently poor. Even so, Kevin had still never been persuaded by the Church of Light. In his view, to believe in their preposterous lies would be the greatest possible insult to his own father.

Yet, while he could engage in some debate as a child, growing into adulthood meant he could no longer open his mouth. The absolute authority of the church meant that an adult's speech had to conform strictly to church doctrine; otherwise, one ran the strong risk of being branded a heretic. Kevin was only able to speak a few words of truth to Start before dying in the cave.

After chattering away for an hour, the priest led everyone in singing hymns, followed by silent prayer once the singing concluded. Kevin had no choice but to bow his head and put on a facade; even if one lacked faith, maintaining a low profile in such settings was wiser. To respect their customs was prudent, whereas standing tall with a mocking grin would simply invite a beating.

"To ensure our fish return safely to their homes, let us take a walk along the riverbank and prevent anyone from intentionally causing trouble." The prayer concluded, and the priest finally transitioned into the standard procedure. The believers smiled and nodded, fully aware of who might cause trouble—this was simply part of the daily routine.

The believers dispersed, strolling along the riverbank. Several nuns and human adherents appeared particularly cautious, inspecting the riverbank with intense scrutiny, evidently anticipating that the rebellious children might attempt sabotage. Having engaged in this "struggle" for so long, the priests had accumulated ample experience.

Moments later, the congregation returned reporting, "There are no issues."

"Good," the priest nodded, then personally bent down to scoop up the fish from the bucket. "Then let us grant them rebirth!"

With that, he loosened his grip, and the fish plunged into the river with a splash. The congregation burst into applause, their faces beaming with radiant smiles, as if even this single scene brought them profound solace.

"Let us offer another prayer for this fish." The priest made the sign of the cross once more and casually cast a Light-attribute spell. In reality, it merely illuminated the surface of the water, creating the impression that their prayers had truly been delivered.

"Very well, let us move on to the next one." The priest extracted another fish, followed by the identical routine: release, applause, prayer, and a brief illumination of the water's surface.

Kevin could not help but be momentarily startled, thinking to himself that they surely weren't going to release the fish one by one, were they? Yet upon second thought, he understood; sometimes, to foster cohesion, the church had to orchestrate prolonged activities. By dragging out simple tasks into elaborate procedures, believers congregated for extended periods, and even if they felt they were engaging in foolishness, discovering that so many others were doing the exact same thing beside them would cement their blind faith in the significance of the endeavor.

Only, this arrangement made the delinquent children's plan to bomb the fish difficult to execute. If the fish were released one by one, the mischievous kids could only strike once—was a single fish worth the trouble? The yield would be far too negligible. Perhaps the priest had anticipated potential sabotage and thus insisted on individual releases to minimize "casualties."

"Ah, we have released another one," the priest declared cheerfully. "Although the process is tedious, what we are doing has meaning."

Frowning in the back row, Kevin pondered whether he should deploy his own proficiency in rhetorical debate to spar with them, but after thorough consideration, he realized he stood no chance of winning. There was no fish market nearby either; otherwise, Kevin would have run off to purchase three more buckets of fish and presented them to the priest so he could release them one by one.

Seeing that the priest had reached the halfway point of the release, Kevin finally conceived of an idea. He raised his hand and asked, "Father, I cannot see from the back row. Might I move to the front to experience this closely?"

The priest had spotted Kevin long ago; among the crowd of Elven locals, a human stood out quite distinctally. He nodded agreeably and said, "Of course, my child, come forward."

Kevin immediately squeezed forward gleefully, stepping past the crowd right onto the wooden platform. The priest hurriedly blocked him, saying, "You cannot come up here. This is where I stand."

"Oh? Is that so?" Kevin turned to ask the gathered congregation. The believers naturally nodded in unison.

"Step back down, child," the priest said benevolently.

"Huh? Is there a dead fish in the bucket?" Kevin suddenly exclaimed in a startled voice.

The crowd gasped in shock, and the priest hurriedly turned back to inspect the bucket, only to find the fish swimming quite vigorously. Frowning slightly, he said, "My child, do not tell falsehoods."

"Look, this fish right here—it isn't moving at all and is resting at the very bottom. Is it dead?" Kevin asked with utter innocence.

"My child," the priest smiled, "it is not dead. If a fish dies, its belly turns upward and it floats to the surface."

"So that's how it is," Kevin muttered, taking advantage of the moment to step another two paces forward. Then, his body suddenly convulsed, and he toppled stiffly to the ground, casually shoving the remaining buckets of fish into the river as he fell. The buckets and fish hit the water with a tremendous, echoing splash.

"What is happening?" everyone muttered in astonishment, and the priest hurriedly squatted down to inspect him. Meanwhile, Kevin remained sprawled motionless on the ground.

Whispers broke out among the believers, many of whom recalled the priest's earlier words: *You cannot come up here. This is where I stand.* Indeed, one could not casually occupy restricted spots; the priest's words carried immense weight. The priest himself was thoroughly perplexed, instinctively casting a diagnostic Light-attribute spell over the fallen youth, yet sensing that there was nothing physically wrong with him.

"Someone come and carry him into the church first," the priest instructed, standing up to take charge. Having someone faint was a major event, and besides, since the fish had all been released anyway, there were no more left to set free.

Two believers stepped forward, hoisted Kevin up, and marched toward the church. The priest addressed the remaining congregation with a regretful tone, "Although today's ceremony was not completed in full, the outcome remains the same. We have saved a multitude of lives, we..."

Bang! A sudden explosion erupted in the distance, followed by a shower of water droplets. Fish flew into the air before scattering in all directions, some landing on the riverbank and flapping about.

"Oh..." the congregation murmured in low unison, though a few individuals promptly let out chuckles. It was evident their faith was not deeply rooted, and they were quite happy to watch the spectacle.

Several mischievous young Elves darted out swiftly from the riverbank, scooped up several fish, and sprinted away. Livid with anger, the priest gnashed his teeth and shouted, "Quick! Catch them! Bring them back!"

The nuns and believers immediately rolled up their sleeves and gave chase to the delinquent children. Although the youngsters had formulated a relatively thorough retreat plan, the truth was that no matter how flawless their escape strategy might be, they could never truly outrun their pursuers. After all, they were the only ones causing a disturbance, and even if they hadn't revealed themselves, the blame would have ultimately fallen on them anyway.

While the young Elves possessed long lifespans, their combat capabilities were strictly those of children; moreover, the Elven forest was only so large, and everyone knew whose child belonged to whom, leaving no room for escape.

True to expectation, by the approach of dusk, all the mischievous children involved in the sabotage had been captured. However, none of them were holding any fish, nor was it clear where they had hidden them—and rationally speaking, roasting and eating them in such a short span of time was out of the question.

Kevin was still resting on a bed inside the church. The priest had been unable to diagnose any ailments, concluding that it was merely a routine fainting spell and that a brief sleep would set him right, and thus left him unattended. Nor did Kevin dare to wake up too soon, deeply worried his ruse would be exposed.

Pricking up his ears to listen intently to the sounds in the main hall, he found that with only a single door separating them, the voices remained quite clear. He heard the priest chiding them, "It is you again! You again! Do you realize that repeatedly defying the will of the gods means you are destined for hell?"

"If I do not go to hell, who will?" Lyson retorted with an air of arrogant pride.

The priest: "..."

"Hmph, we do not believe in your nonsense," another young elf chimed in to refute him. "It's all fake, just a way to hoodwink people." "That's right! Why should our Goddess be the daughter of your God? For all we know, she might be your mother! I refuse to accept this!" "I refuse too!" "We will fight for our faith..."

The children began shouting all at once. Listening from the side room, Kevin could not help feeling a twinge of emotion; nowadays, only these children still had the courage to voice such words.

"Children," the priest sighed, "you are still young, so I will not fault you. But you must consider this: why is it that the Church of Light can spread across the entire continent, while your Goddess of Nature is only worshipped by you Elves?"

"That's just because you lot are good at swindling," a child sneered in response.

"Incorrect, children. The truth cannot be obscured by swindling. The reason so many people worship is genuinely because we hold the truth," the priest replied.

"What is truth?" a child challenged. "Isn't truth whatever lies within the range of an archer's bow?"

"Child," the priest continued, "you must place your trust in the gods rather than listening to random proverbs you picked up somewhere. God is omnipotent; He will never deceive you."

"Why would He never deceive me?" a child asked. "What if He feels like telling a lie just because He's in a good mood?"

"The will of God is omnipresent. He represents the past, the present, and the future, and He encompasses all things. Every word you are speaking right now, every movement you make, the very reason you are standing here—it is all the arrangement of God. If one day God were to lie to us, that would be the end of the world," the priest declared.

Listening from the adjacent room, Kevin let out a silent sigh. In truth, judging from his travels and experiences, the cognitive frameworks of theism and atheism were utterly distinct and fundamentally irreconcilable. The Elven race worshipped the Goddess of Nature, yet their Goddess of Nature was essentially hands-off; in practice, what they truly venerated were the laws of nature. In contrast, the Church of Light espoused a supreme deity doctrine, asserting that God was everything and attributing all current reality to divine arrangement. An inherent contradiction lay therein, though the average believer lacked sufficient intelligence and was easily swayed by both sides, often winding up believing in both religions simultaneously.

The situation within the Kingdom of Rubole, however, was vastly different. The mainstream philosophy within Rubole even propounded the notion of defying the heavens—that human beings could slay a god, attain godhood, and even ascend to become the supreme deity. Such a concept was unimaginable within any foreign church. In the worldview of Rubole, so-called "gods" were merely high-level living entities; while one might possess the strength to defeat a hundred or a thousand Sword Saints, they still possessed limits and could ultimately be slain.

Even the mythological accounts of the War between Gods and Demons varied slightly across different races. Most regional races essentially watched the divine-demonic war from the sidelines, whereas the version handed down in Rubole claimed that the human king personally led a campaign to slay the demons, with the gods merely serving a supporting role. Furthermore, subsequent accounts of the War between Humans and Dragons differed significantly; other nations typically prayed to the gods, received divine artifacts, and then wielded those artifacts to achieve victory over the dragons. The differences in mythology among various regional races were merely matters of minor detail.

Only the Kingdom of Rubole maintained that the divine artifacts were forged by the human race itself, bearing no relation to the gods whatsoever. Perhaps this was what fostered such profound cultural divergences. *(To be continued.)*