Wizards were always patient.
Since the Shadow of Twisting couldn't deal with
In the end, once the Shadow of Twisting recovered its peak strength and Leylin was still stuck in place, the time for revenge would arrive!
……
For ordinary people in the Material World, the affairs of such higher beings were nothing more than tall tales. No matter what the gods and Wizards did, it probably wasn't as important as earning a few more copper coins tomorrow — because that determined the size of tomorrow night's black bread! And the portion of beer!
Dorn was one of these people. As a carpenter, he had inherited his ancestors' craft — nothing to speak of, rather clumsy, in fact — but with carpenter ancestors, he had no other path than to continue as a carpenter himself.
What's more, at certain times each year, he was required to serve his lord with his own provisions, and he also had to repair all of the lord's wooden furniture for free, including the mangers in the livestock shed…
Clearly, for him, matters of supreme gods and devils were just like tales from Knight novels — amusements from the lips of bards, having nothing to do with him personally.
However, all of this was bound to change.
On the day he saw the purple moon transform into an Evil Eye and then explode, even Dorn felt that the peaceful days seemed gone forever.
The loss of the moonlight was only one aspect — after all, most common folk went to bed early and couldn't afford oil lamps or firewood for nighttime illumination. At night there were still the light of countless stars, which was hardly different aside from being a bit dimmer than before. Of course, the noble ladies who enjoyed parties and moon-gazing were exceptions.
More important still was the omen that the moon's destruction brought — whether it was the moon transforming into a purple vertical eye, or the subsequent scene of that terrifying giant net shattering together with the moon, it all looked far too much like the work of devils and demons.
"That is the end of everything — an exceedingly powerful evil entity is about to destroy the mortal world…"
A slightly mad bard in town had also changed his usual waltz-like tune that morning, replacing it with a sombre prophecy. This weighed heavily on Dorn's heart.
"
Dorn looked at the copper coins in his pocket — several coins with an ancient bronze sheen, their surfaces polished smooth. They had clearly been rubbed for a long time, and their edges were worn beyond recognition.
"Damn Lady Tiris… she must have had that fat pig of a matron clip the edges off all the coins…"
Looking at his meagre wages for a hard day's work, Dorn couldn't help but grumble silently.
Of course, he didn't have the slightest courage to confront her directly about it.
Even. Having seen the strange omen from a few days ago, the uneasy Dorn was still considering whether to visit the temple to make a donation and ask the gods for their protection.
In the world of gods, the churches and the kingdoms were everything! The former held faith, and the latter wielded secular power. Even the poorest commoners, no matter how destitute, would deliver their last remaining good things into the hands of these two. Of course, the first was voluntary, the latter was coerced. Although fundamentally there was no difference—both stripped away the very last thing one had.
"Hey! Dorn! Finished working at Lady Tiris's place yet?"
A cheerful whistle sounded, accompanied by a greeting. Dorn knew the owner of that voice better than anyone; it was his friend of many years.
He turned his head and then saw a young man wearing extremely ill-fitting, baggy trousers. The young man had large freckles across his face, but his eyes were very sharp.
"Hey! Mickey! Weren't you helping out at the Temple of the Goddess of the
Dorn said with some surprise.
After all, the small town he lived in was only a minor township, and it only had a Temple of the God of Suffering built due to the lord's preference. Lords always favored this god immensely, wishing devoutly that all their subordinates were his faithful followers.
The Temple of the Goddess of the Weave where Mickey worked was only in a distant city, a day and a half's carriage ride from town. For Dorn, that was practically the end of the world—having only ever been to the city once in his life, he had been deeply shocked by its prosperity, feeling it was like heaven itself.
He was very envious of Mickey's job.
Even if the other was just a lowest-rank servant. At least he was inside a temple, and might even awaken spellcasting ability, becoming a respected mage!
At this mention, Mickey's expression darkened, and he spread his hands: "Sigh... don't mention it... our temple has closed down, so I came back!"
"Temple... closed down..." Dorn's mouth hung open, obviously unable to grasp the meaning of these two words combined.
A temple with a true god presiding, and those powerful priests who could cast strange divine spells—even the temple with the lowest fees attracted wealth at a terrifying rate. Such a church could actually close down?
"You don't know... let me tell you... it's true. Many of the priests in our temple suddenly died during the 'Day of Black Moon,' and the ones left are miserable-faced all day..."
Having been to the city once, Mickey had become quite talkative. He leaned close to Dorn, shielding his mouth with his hand, and whispered in a very low voice: "I heard... that the Goddess of the Weave... has fallen!!!"
"The Goddess of the Weave... has fallen?!"
Dorn didn't feel much about it; after all, gods were far too distant from him. Moreover,
"Yeah... now, all those mages are going to be in big trouble..."
A smile crept onto Mitch's face, as if he hadn't exactly been spared from bullying by his superiors and the priests and mages either.
"Back in the city, quite a few mages have already been beaten to death by the 'mob'…"
"What does that have to do with mages? And how could mages, who wield miraculous spells, possibly be killed by common folk?"
Dorn was openly skeptical of the "secrets" Mitch was letting slip.
In his mind, mages who commanded magic were lofty figures whom even local lords had to treat with utmost deference and courtesy.
Take Mage Hoffman, who lived near the small town — even the most imperious Madam Tiris didn't dare offend him when they crossed paths.
"Heh heh… Apparently, after losing the protection of the Goddess of the Weave, those mages lost the ability to cast spells. So tell me — those fine lords, and the common people who were oppressed by the mages before, are they going to let them off the hook?"
Mitch flashed a grin, revealing a few sharp fangs. "The way I see it, there's no hope of becoming a mage in the city anymore, and it's too easy to get caught up in the crossfire, so I slipped back here. Enough about that — to celebrate our reunion, let's go grab a couple of drinks at old Buck's tavern!"
"But…"
Dorn fished out his embarrassingly thin coin purse and rubbed it. "I still want to make a trip to the church!"
"Oh! The church! Right, and the churches of the other deities have been running around in circles too — seems like they're all preparing to evacuate or something. Even the noble lords can't summon a single priest capable of divine magic anymore… I bet the temple in this town is the same way."
Mitch patted Dorn on the shoulder, wearing an expression that said "no point wasting your time."
"I have to go!"
When it came to his faith, Dorn remained quite firm.
"Fine, fine! I'll come with you."
Mitch shrugged helplessly.
The temple in town was modest in scale — just a few rooms front and back, with a small fountain standing at the entrance. Unfortunately, no water flowed from it anymore.
"Hello! I'm looking for Priest Rockefeller!"
The inside of the temple was conspicuously empty. A great deal seemed to be missing, and the handful of servants who remained radiated an air of listless indifference. Even the common folk who came to pray had thinned out.
Dorn sensed that something had changed, but he still stopped a servant and spoke.
He still had a very good impression of the kind and benevolent Priest Rockefeller. Although the man could only cast some low-level divine spells, they were quite effective for treating the injuries of ordinary townsfolk, and he had already saved quite a few lives.
For that alone, Dorn felt he ought to make another donation — just in case he ever needed to ask a favor of the priest in the future and found it hard to come calling empty-handed.
"Ah, Priest Rockefeller..."
There were very few servants left in the temple. The only one who remained was an old gatekeeper, who rubbed his clouded eyes and seemed to take a long while before he reacted.
"He's gone already... took everything with him, and left poor old Bake Dona just a few piles of potatoes..."
"Hmm? There's no replacement priest?"
Dorn was quite surprised. Even a small town like this had no shortage of believers, and no church would willingly abandon a faith base that had already been established. Even if a priest was transferred, another would certainly be sent to take over. This situation was highly irregular.
A very bad premonition suddenly welled up in Dorn's heart, as though his peaceful life was about to come to an irreversible end.
"What's the matter? Need to pray or confess? Perhaps I can help you!"
Old Bake Dona's eyes had already locked onto the coin purse at Dorn's waist.
"No! That won't be necessary!"
Dorn knew perfectly well what the old man meant. He immediately clutched his coin purse and bolted with Mikey.
It wasn't until they were outside the town, with Mikey gasping for breath from running, that the boy turned around and mocked Dorn mercilessly: "Ha ha... I told you so, didn't I?"