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Divine Realm POV
After stabilizing the surge of faith from the distant mortal world, I allowed my divine consciousness to drift once more.
This time, I did not look outward toward the countless lower realms.
I looked home.
My will folded through layers of space, descending across dimensions until it touched a familiar anchor—one I had deliberately left behind long ago.
The statue.
The divine consciousness I had embedded within the great statue inside the Temple of Humanity, located in the City of Beginning, responded instantly. Like a mirror reflecting my true self, it opened its senses to me without resistance.
In that instant, sight returned.
I saw towering white stone pillars bathed in eternal lamplight.
I saw incense smoke curl upward like prayers given form.
I saw kneeling figures—old, young, warriors, scholars—bowing their heads in silence.
"… They still pray?"
For a moment, I was genuinely surprised.
Several centuries had passed since I ascended. Empires had risen and fallen. Names had changed. Bloodlines had vanished into dust. I had expected faith to fade into legend—something remembered only in dusty tomes or half-forgotten songs.
Yet here they were.
Every morning.
Every night.
The ritual remained.
Hands clasped.
Eyes closed.
Voices whispering my name—not as a ruler, not as a tyrant, but as something far older and gentler.
The God of Humanity.
I extended a thread of divine energy deeper, merging fully with the statue's consciousness. At the same time, I reached toward another presence nearby—quiet, heavy, vast.
The Book of Wisdom.
Once a pseudo-divine artifact, it had long since surpassed its original limits. With a thought, I released a controlled surge of immortal energy, threading it carefully through its core arrays.
The Book trembled.
Its pages—no longer physical—rearranged themselves into layered planes of light and symbols beyond mortal comprehension.
A soft chime echoed through the temple.
The transformation was complete.
The Book of Wisdom had officially stepped into the rank of a True Divine Artifact.
It no longer merely stored knowledge.
It understood it.
Satisfied, I turned my attention outward—beyond the temple, beyond the city.
The City of Beginning had grown… and yet, in many ways, remained unchanged.
Its streets were wider now. Stone had replaced wood. Towers rose where huts once stood. Markets bustled with trade goods from distant regions.
And yet, at its heart, devotion endured.
Curious, I traced the thread backward—not through belief, but through cause.
Why had faith survived here… and almost nowhere else?
The Book of Wisdom responded immediately, opening its historical catalog.
Images flowed into my mind.
Seven hundred years ago.
A girl.
Young. Frail. Blind since birth.
She had lived near the temple—not a priestess, not a noble, not anyone of importance. Just another nameless child in a vast city.
She prayed.
Not for power.
Not for wealth.
Not for revenge.
She prayed simply because she believed.
Days passed.
Weeks.
Months.
And then—slowly—her darkness receded.
At first, light returned only as shadows. Then colors. Then faces.
Her sight healed.
Not instantly. Not dramatically.
But undeniably.
The Book recorded the aftershocks.
Doctors examined her—no explanation.
Cultivators inspected her—no poison, no curse.
Scholars debated endlessly.
The conclusion never reached certainty.
And so the story spread.
Some called it a miracle.
Some called it coincidence.
Some called it a lie.
But the people of the City of Beginning remembered.
They remembered because they saw it.
Outside the city?
The story became a fairy tale.
A fabrication created by temple priests.
A myth used to control the ignorant.
Faith fractured along geography.
I exhaled slowly.
"So… belief survived where proof existed."
It was neither good nor bad.
Just… human.
My gaze shifted farther, sweeping across the wider Douluo world.
And there, my expression grew heavier.
Humanity had advanced.
Too much.
Not in knowledge—but in combat.
The most celebrated institutions were no longer academies of learning or research. They were royal academies, focused almost entirely on soul power, martial techniques, rankings, and dominance.
Strength determined worth.
Power determined truth.
Greed was no longer hidden behind survival—it was justified by ambition.
Where once humanity fought beasts to live, now humans fought humans to rule.
I saw sect conflicts.
Political manipulation.
Soul masters raised as weapons rather than scholars.
I did not intervene.
I had long accepted this truth:
Peace creates growth.
Growth creates desire.
Desire creates conflict.
Still… I could not help but feel a quiet disappointment.
"This cycle again…"
Yet I did not despair.
Because I also saw something else.
The ceiling had risen.
Humans could now reach the peak of Soul Douluo—a level once thought unreachable without divine intervention. Their foundations were stronger. Their bodies more refined. Their understanding deeper.
This world was ready.
Once a new god rose from Douluo…
The planet itself would complete its transformation.
Humanity would be able to reach the absolute peak of mortality—standing at the threshold of godhood without being crushed by the world's limits.
I folded my consciousness back slightly, letting the images fade.
"…Perhaps," I murmured, "in a few centuries… a new hero will rise."
Not one born of systems.
Not one guided by gods.
But one born of humanity's own contradictions—someone who would remind them what righteousness truly meant.
If such a person appeared…
I would watch.
And if necessary—
I would guide.
The statue's consciousness dimmed gently as I withdrew.
The Book of Wisdom remained vigilant, its divine glow steady and patient.
As my awareness returned fully to the Divine Realm, I opened my eyes.
The heavens above me shimmered.
Humanity was still imperfect.
Still flawed.
Still dangerous.
But it was alive.
And as long as humanity lived, so too would my path.
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