GodWithWings
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Ch 30 - To Be Worthy of His Grace
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 18:04:57 +0000 UTCMy gaze lingered on the sword, embedded in the ground, before shifting forward.
There were two thrones beyond it, both proud symbols of rule.
My gaze was instantly pulled toward the left one, sitting above a floor of drifting clouds, the same kind of mist as Window within my divine realm.
It showed tens of thousands of Velmoryns kneeling in unison, clad in deep crimson armor. Some held rune-carved staves, others gripped bows that shimmered faintly with latent energy. They were warriors - bloodied, scarred, and resolute. A hardened army shaped by pain and war. Unshakable. Unstoppable. A force no mortal nation could ever stand against.
The throne above them was magnificent, crafted entirely from gold. Its surface was engraved with swirling patterns so fine they looked almost alive. The armrests were cushioned in crimson velvet, lined with threads of gold, and the headrest bore a radiant gem the size of a clenched fist - its shine like the Arkenstone’s, pulsing with power.
Floating just above the headrest was a crown. Forged of dark crimson metal, it gleamed with intricate ornamentation and precious stones, each one humming with magic. The aura it released felt unmistakably familiar - crimson, divine… like mine. But more potent. Concentrated. A higher version of the power I had only begun to wield.
I instantly felt the pull. My chest tightened as something inside me stirred, some deeper instinct answering the call. That throne, that crown… they were meant for me. I could feel it in every cell. If I reached for it, if I even touched it, everything would change. The strength waiting there would shape me into a truly overwhelming deity with a strong, domineering army.
I took a step, the desire pushing me from behind.
But after just two steps, I stopped myself, forced my breathing steady, and turned toward the other throne. I hadn’t looked closely at it. Maybe, just maybe, it offered something more. Something better.
And the moment I did, the hope shattered. One glance was all it took to know… it didn’t.
The Window before the second throne showed a very different image. The Velmoryns were still kneeling, still prostrated, but that’s where the similarity ended.
There was no armor. No weapons. No oppressive aura that made the air feel heavy. These Velmoryns wore robes, their bodies lean and their skin clean, as if they had just stepped out of a bathhouse on their way to recite poetry. Their expressions were serene. Calm. A stillness that might’ve been admirable… if not for the numbers.
They weren’t in the thousands. Not even close. Just a modest gathering. A tiny fraction of the force displayed on the left side.
I clenched my jaw, already disliking where this was headed. I shifted my gaze upward, toward the throne above them.
And my disappointment deepened.
It wasn’t a throne for a god carved in gold or etched with runes, it was little more than a seat of twisted vines and woven roots. Humble. Forgettable. Not even crimson, just dull green threaded with brown. Earthy, modest… and utterly uninspiring.
It reeked of content. Of settling with what one currently had. It reminded me too much of the kind of life I’d already lived once - an invisible life. An average one.
The revulsion hit me fast. I turned back toward the golden throne almost in defiance, like the very sight of the other had insulted me. I took a single step toward it, ready to cast my lot.
But I stopped.
This isn’t about what I want. It’s a trial.
And that changed everything.
I closed my eyes for a moment, forced my mind to clear. The golden throne - its allure, its power, the gleaming gemstone, and the legion of crimson-marked warriors - it was bait. That entire image had been crafted to tempt. To test.
This wasn’t a reward I had to choose, but a decision that would shape the end of the trial. And I was an idiot for forgetting the first rule of survival in the dungeon: don’t mistake the test for the prize.
I know for a fact the goddess didn’t oppose war. She led elves into it. But she also sacrificed herself for them.
I scanned both thrones again, double-checking the images, the symbols, anything I might’ve missed. The left one stood for ambition, conquest, and domination through strength. A god who shaped their people into weapons, who lived through their victories. It promised power, plenty of it.
The right was its opposite. Peaceful. Detached. A god content to let their people live in harmony, without pushing them toward battle or power.
But if that was the point, if the right throne represented peace, then why the sword?
The sword planted in the ground in front of the thrones was clearly a centerpiece in the trial. No matter what culture or era, a sword meant conflict. A weapon of last resort or first intent, but always a weapon meant to take a life.
If I have to wield it either way, then what kind of peace are my followers supposed to have?
I circled toward it, looking for any hint - an inscription, a sigil, something that would help. But the blade remained uncooperative.
Still, I had a growing sense of what the goddess would have chosen.
“She would’ve picked the one on the right,” I muttered to myself as I turned toward the simpler throne.
It wasn’t the answer I wanted. But I could not forget that this was her dungeon, not mine. And the gaudy throne surrounded by soldiers, no matter how appealing, stood for everything she seemed to loathe.
So I walked toward the seat of roots and vines, taking slow steps.
I hope I’m not giving up a chunk of rich divine power for a chair I wouldn’t even want as a gift.
The thought made me scoff. I wasn’t even angry anymore. It just felt… ironic.
As I sat, weight crashed down on me like gravity itself had thickened. My body tensed under the pressure, and the image below began to shift as the scene unfolded.
Velmoryns looked up with eyes full of reverence as the crimson light descended gently upon them.
And then came the figure.
He descended slowly - dark armor veined with crimson runes, black wings stretched wide behind him. At first, I didn’t recognize him.
Then I did.
It was me.
The sword in his hand pulsed with divine authority. He looked like a god. Powerful, graceful… and exhausted. His armor was scratched, soaked with blood, proving that he had just returned from the battlefield.
The Velmoryns worshipped him, yes, but he stood alone. Utterly. No army at his side. No companions behind him. Just reverence below and silence around.
I stared at the image.
Was this her final lesson? That power used through others would only repeat her mistakes, and that to protect them, I’d have to carry the burden myself?
I had many questions and no answers. And I did not get to analyze it better as the sharp pain bit into my wrist, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I flinched and looked down, wincing, only to freeze.
A snake was coiled around my arm, pale and covered with silvery runes. It sank its fangs into my skin, leaving behind a jagged mark I couldn’t decipher.
Before I could examine it, my body rose from the seat, the gray fog covering everything around me.
Just like the last time, the fog did not linger long. It quickly disappeared, leaving behind nothing but empty white room. There was no trace of the throne, no sword, no Velmoryns - just the strange mark still etched into my wrist.
…
It had been several days since Avenor and the others entered the dungeon. I kept checking the surroundings through the Window, scanning for traces of that third divine energy I still sensed faintly from within. But there was nothing.
Meanwhile, the Velmoryn tribe was slowly shedding the image of a miserable, half-starved gathering clinging to relevance. It was turning into something functional. Something that wouldn’t draw pity at first glance.
Tekla had a lot to do with that.
Firstly, I had already confirmed that she was a zealot. Possibly even worse than Roy, which said a lot about her personality. But unlike Roy, she was more than that. The moment she confirmed that I truly meant to raise the tribe from the dirt, she took it upon herself to lead. Not just as my priestess, but as a force of structure, influence, and order.
It helped that her father was now a Gold Rank after receiving a blessing from me, and that Roy supported her without question. With that kind of backing, no one dared to oppose her judgment.
I willed the Window to zoom in, narrowing on her. I had another commandment to pass on.
She was overseeing the construction of a wall - an actual wall, not just symbolic fencing, unlike what they had before. It was still made from timber, of course, but this time it would be sturdy. Tall enough that no one could just step over it and wander into the heart of the tribe unnoticed.
“Priestess, is it true we’re going to hunt them?” a young Velmoryn asked, tugging at her robe with wide, expectant eyes.
Tekla paused, glancing down with a small smile.
The adults working nearby leaned in subtly, pretending to stay focused on their tasks. Unlike the child, they were more reserved, less willing to speak what they were thinking, especially when it came to questioning Tekla’s words. In their minds, her decisions were mine. Challenging her was as good as doubting their god.
“Yes, it’s true,” Tekla replied, crouching slightly to pinch the child’s cheek. “Our Lord shall guide us. All we must do is open our hearts to His love and follow where He leads.”
The response wasn’t for the child. It was for the others - the builders pretending not to listen, the onlookers pretending not to watch. The girl’s confused expression made that clear. She was too young to grasp the deeper meaning behind Tekla’s words, too innocent to understand the machinery of control turning beneath her priestess’s smile.
“Priestess, can you ask our lord to bless me too?” the child said, tugging on her robe again with renewed hope.
Tekla opened her mouth, but before she could speak, an older female Velmoryn stepped forward in haste and gently covered the girl’s mouth, pulling her back.
“Mel, you must never ask for the God’s blessing directly,” the woman scolded in a hushed tone, shooting Tekla a sideways glance. “And always use honorifics when speaking of Him!”
Why so dramatic? It’s a kid…
Still, it was an interesting moment. I wanted to see how Tekla would handle it. Would she double down like a true zealot? Or would she realize that while I had no patience for blasphemy or open mockery, punishing a child for innocence was hardly something I’d endorse?
Tekla’s gaze lingered on the girl and her mother, clearly weighing her options. Then, after a moment of silence, she stepped forward and gently pried the woman’s hand away from the child’s face. Her expression softened, and she gave the girl the warmest smile I’d ever seen from anyone.
“Mel,” she said gently.
The girl looked up at her, eyes glossy with unshed tears, guilt written all over her small face.
“Do you know why we’ve gone hungry during winter?” Tekla asked softly. “Why so many of your friends have been taken by other tribes?”
Mel sniffled, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She shook her head, too overwhelmed to answer.
“Because the Goddess, the one we served, even when the other tribes abandoned Her, disappeared,” Tekla said, lowering her voice as her expression turned sad. Then, she reached up, brushing a tear from the girl’s cheek with her index finger.
“But now,” she continued, smiling again, “we have Him.”
She made sure to emphasize the honorific. Every time she spoke of me, she did it with reverence, not correcting the child directly, but showing her how it was done.
“He’ll protect us from anything that tries to hurt us,” she said, eyes briefly meeting the crowd gathering nearby, “but we must never forget to be grateful. We must show our thanks and follow His will.”
Then she leaned closer, whispering to Mel as if they were sharing a secret.
“And don’t tell anyone,” she said with a wink, “but I’ll ask Him to bless you. Just promise me you’ll show Him you’re worthy of His grace. Can you do that, Mel?”
The girl’s face lit up. Not just with happiness, but with pride. The priestess everyone revered had just made her a promise. She nodded quickly, about to speak, when a shout broke the moment.
“Priestess…!”
A scout came running into the clearing, barely able to catch his breath. “The spiders…!”
He kept pointing behind him, toward the forest line.
I didn’t even have to shift the Window. A slight zoom was enough.
They were already there.
At least twenty spider mutants, maybe more, swarming toward the barely started wall. Grotesque limbs scuttled forward with unnatural speed, and their jaws hung open, dripping with saliva. Their eyes gleamed as they caught sight of the tribe. They had found easy prey.
They’re not ready for this.
My mind raced for possible solutions, I knew that without my help, the tribe had no chance.
“Prepare for the fight!” Mirion roared, his voice cutting through the rising screams.
He surged forward, axe in hand, eyes locked on the charging swarm, and that's when he noticed - one Velmoryn moving forward instead of retreating.
It was Mel.
“The God will protect us!” she yelled, facing the swarm of monsters charging toward her.
