Torren raised his head and saw a sky heavy with gloom. Countless crows cawed and circled overhead, as if heralding death.
After Hoffman's demise, a terrible plague had swept through the entire town in an instant. Some said it was a curse laid down by the mage before his death.
Whether Torren believed that or not, the fact remained that every household had lost someone to the plague.
Even his best friend and closest companion, Mickey, who had just returned from the county city, had not been spared. Torren himself was no exception — he had contracted the wretched pestilence and had even slipped to the brink of death.
"Thank the gods for bringing Pastor Rockefeller back. Without him, I would have perished…"
Torren found himself praying with fervent devotion.
If the town's pastor hadn't happened to return when he did, Torren would surely have reported to the realm of the dead by now.
This must be the gods' will! — Torren was utterly convinced of it. Why else would Pastor Rockefeller, who had already departed, have returned at precisely the right moment and cast divine magic on him for free?
Still, to leave one's homeland so suddenly, to abandon the place where one grew up — it was truly a pity.
"Listen, by the authority of the Church of the
A lord's knight rode past, shouting the command at the top of his lungs.
Torren looked around. Scattered about his cart, other residents trudged with heavy loads of belongings, converging like ants into a great stream of humanity.
This was the lord's decree — and the main task Pastor Rockefeller had returned to carry out.
Every faithful follower was to be relocated to the county city. When Torren first heard the order, he had thought the lord must have gone mad. Were there really enough houses and bread over there to accommodate them all?
The answer was yes. Pastor Rockefeller had guaranteed it.
—With the gods' migration plan underway, city dwellers naturally took priority, while the remaining villagers and townsfolk were ordered to gather in the cities for a coordinated relocation.
"Sob… sir, just look at the wheat in these fields… it's growing so beautifully… can't old York harvest the grain before we go?"
A man dressed as a farmer was dragged out of the fields by a knight and clung to the knight's leg, begging.
"I said no, and that's final. Do you want to defy the lord's command?"
The armored knight kicked the man away and spoke with undisguised impatience.
In truth, the knight himself found the lord's decision hard to swallow. After all, his own estate and fief were here too.
Had it not been for the dual mandates from the kingdom and the Church, along with assurances of compensation for his losses, he would never have agreed.
"Even so, I demand a fief at least twice the size of what I have now!"
The knight seethed, his voice growing louder. Any hint of dissatisfaction from the townsfolk was met with curses and lashes.
"Form a line, one at a time. Submit to the pastor's inspection…"
At the town gate, carts and carriages packed with the elderly, the young, and vast quantities of supplies formed a long, snaking queue.
Pastor Rockefeller of the God of Suffering stood at the checkpoint with a group of young priests and apprentice clerics, carefully examining the complexion of every free citizen for signs of fever, coughing blood, and other common symptoms of the plague.
Those diagnosed would be taken to a quarantine zone on the side, while those who passed received a small vial of what was said to be a potion that could increase one's luck — drink it, and the hand of disease would never reach you.
—Fear the plague and death! This was what drove the townsfolk away from their homeland.
After these measures, if any free citizen still wanted to seek death, neither the lord nor the pastor would bother with them any longer.
"Sir… the count has been compiled. Black Forest Town has a total of four thousand three hundred and eighty-two residents. Over a thousand have died from the plague. Our transport capacity is at two thousand nine hundred!"
Beside the pastor-robed Rockefeller, an apprentice holding a quill pen and a sheet of parchment, with a pair of round spectacles perched on his nose that gave him a rather comical appearance, reported in a solemn tone.
"Nearly three thousand faithful? Good — continue the work!"
Pastor Rockefeller nodded and offered a word of approval.
"Every believer who places their complete faith in our Lord must be relocated!"
Rockefeller gazed at the long queue stretching before him and silently steeled his resolve.
After the council of gods in the Pantheon, relocating believers into the divine realm had become the paramount task of every Church.
Distinguishing the faithful and assisting the搬迁 had become a problem of staggering magnitude.
Even the gods themselves lamented — such a large-scale migration could not possibly be completed in anything less than several centuries.
And the wizards certainly would not grant them that luxury. The ever-worsening plague continued its relentless assault, wantonly snatching away mortal lives.
In the end, the gods convened several more sessions at the Pantheon and finally settled on a plan: dividing parishes, each Church responsible for its own.
A town like Black Forest, where only the God of Suffering was worshipped, was the easiest place to produce results. No wonder Pastor Rockefeller, who had fled before, had rushed back in a feverish hurry.
"Sob… Pastor Rockefeller, why… I served the gods so devoutly, yet both my sons and my daughter are dead… sob…"
At that moment, an old man in linen clothes broke through the crowd, threw himself to his knees before Rockefeller, and wept bitterly.
"Insolence!"
The Church wizards and apprentices on either side flew into a rage. Such behavior, strictly speaking, could be considered blasphemy.
"Indeed… the great God of Suffering asks us to bear pain and endure hardship…"
Rockefeller waved his hand, dismissing the guards who had closed in, and personally helped the old man to his feet with a gentle manner.
"But a measure of grief is also permitted… The gods are merciful and forgiving, and they will pardon this small transgression…"
As the ranking ordained pastor, Rockefeller held the highest authority here. Naturally, whatever he said went.
"Oh… gods, I am sinful…"
The white-haired old man wept even harder, and even Torren, watching from nearby, felt a pang of sorrow in his heart.
That stooped figure involuntarily brought back certain memories he would rather forget. He shook his head vigorously, forcing himself to keep pushing the cart forward. But Rockefeller's voice still drifted unbidden into his ears.
"This tribulation is not a suffering the gods have inflicted upon the world — it is the beginning of an apocalypse!"
"Apocalypse?!" Torren startled and stopped in his tracks without realizing it.
"Plague, war, famine, death… these are the very things long foretold in the sacred texts of the gods…"
A golden glow shimmered across Rockefeller's face, lending him an aura of sanctity.
"The apocalypse is upon us. The evil of another world shall invade, and only the most devout believers shall receive salvation — granted eternal life within the realm of the gods…"
Rockefeller recited the contents of the 'Apocalypse Doctrine' that the Church had labored day and night to produce. The terrifying scenes described therein left Torren and the others frozen in shock.
So the plague they had endured was not the end of everything after all, but rather the beginning of some cataclysm.
Guided by this propaganda, and threatened by plague and death alike, both free citizens and tenant farmers obediently complied, setting out along the great road toward the county city.
And Rockefeller's proclamations continued: "Those evils shall invade the world, plundering everything we possess — our lives, our flesh, even our souls… They are the end of all things, the heralds of universal unification. Their true name is… WIZARDS!!"
After an age-long taboo, the forbidden word "wizard" had finally begun to resurface in the world of the gods, heralding the return of Twilight of the Gods!
…
Black Fortress County City.
This was the place where Mickey had once served his apprenticeship, only a day and a half's carriage ride from Black Forest Town — Torren had made the journey himself before.
But now, when he saw the towering bluestone walls, he let out a long, relieved breath. He had never imagined that this journey would be so endlessly long.
Torren looked around with lingering fear. The residents around him were grimy and disheveled, some bearing injuries. They looked for all the world like refugees from a famine.
Such a disorderly procession covered barely any ground in a day. Even Torren had been forced to abandon many useful possessions along the way.
Worse still, the chaos of the great migration had attracted bands of mounted bandits to the roadsides. Despite the lord's guard and the priests' protection, there were far too few of them to keep watch over everything.
On one occasion, horsemen had charged directly up to Torren's position. That feeling of death at arm's length was something Torren never wanted to experience again.
"Now that we've arrived here, we can enter our god's divine realm and gain eternal life, can't we?"
He had to admit — Rockefeller's earlier boasts about the divine realm were the only thing that had sustained Torren's resolve until now.
But he quickly realized he had been deluding himself.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Massive contingents of secular troops were garrisoned around the county city. Rows of sharpened spears formed a formation that cast a deep sense of intimidation over the refugees.
"Listen up — due to the overwhelming number of arrivals, you will need to queue. Nobles first, then free citizens of standing. Everyone else remains outside the city for the time being…"
Numerous mounted knights galloped back and forth, bellowing orders.
Outside the county city, a vast expanse of tents had already sprung up, resembling an enormous refugee camp. Priests moved among them, distributing potions and performing divine rites.
Temporary temples rose up one after another, emitting a faint golden glow that shielded the area around the city.
Without this protection, given the camp's nutritional standards and population density, the plague would surely have claimed every life here and shattered the gods' plans entirely.
"Fine… nobles first!"
Torren watched as the lord's carriage rolled slowly into the city while he was forced to remain outside. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the flame in his heart only burned fiercer.