291. The Death of Gods, the End of the World.

Allen glanced at the Tri-Saints Statue of Melitele through the translucent panel and took a deep breath.

"Whether we can lift the curse of the evil god depends on this moment."

As his mind whirled with thoughts...

His vision abruptly went dark.

A strong sense of weightlessness hit him, as if he were in midair, pulled downward by gravity, endlessly falling and descending. Falling straight into the deepest part of a bottomless abyss.

"Where is this taking me?" Allen felt a bit uneasy.

The last time he entered a dream, it was instant—one blink, and he was there.

But now...

He felt as if he'd been falling for nearly two minutes, yet still hadn't reached his destination.

Just then—

"Bang!"

A sharp impact hit him instantly. But before he could feel any pain, the witcher was submerged in some kind of liquid.

Everything remained pitch-black, as if a massive stone was tied to his body, sinking him into the depths of the ocean. Yet, this sensation of submersion was oddly familiar.

Back in the abandoned mines of Viscount Hudson, when he first encountered the evil god with the giant eyeball, it felt just like this.

Back then...

He'd only managed to escape with the help of the amulet gifted by Vera, a talisman of the goddess Melitele.

"Could this be some kind of special space?"

"The so-called realm of the gods?"

Recalling the giant eyeball deity, the sinking witcher felt a hint of unease.

The darkness closing in on him brought a sharp sense of danger, as though countless predatory eyes were lurking from all sides.

But—

Before he could think further...

"Shh~"

The sound of wind blowing through wheat fields suddenly echoed in his ears. The rich fragrance of plants surrounded him.

At that moment, he suddenly realized...

At some point, the falling had stopped. He was standing on soft soil.

"Huh?"

In a daze, the witcher recalled how to open his eyes.

Golden.

What he saw was an endless sea of gold, and upon closer inspection, it turned out to be wheat stalks, mature and brimming with grain. Shimmering and gleaming, they resembled a vast, priceless golden silk drapery, laid out across an infinite plain.

A gentle breeze blew through.

The waves of wheat rolled like golden tides, carrying the scent of sunshine.

"Where am I?"

The witcher was stunned by the magnificent, bountiful sight before him. The harvest season for wheat usually falls between mid-July and September, yet May Day had only just passed.

"Breaking into someone's home and asking the owner where it is—really?"

From less than three steps to his right, a playful, youthful voice piped up.

Who was there?

When did they appear?

Startled, the witcher turned sharply, instinctively reaching his right hand behind him to grab Elsa, only to find he grasped nothing.

Upon closer inspection...

A young girl with a radiant, innocent smile and delicate features was standing beside him, looking up at him.

She wore a pure white silk dress and a crown woven from green leaves and branches. The skin of her bare arms and neck was as smooth and flawless as white jade. But what left Allen in disbelief were her golden eyes, brimming with divinity.

"Who are you?"

The question escaped the witcher's mouth.

But in the next second...

"Full of divinity…" Allen murmured.

"...A young girl will guide you safely to the place of harvest and plenty…"

The requiem that played at Ellander's funeral this morning surfaced in his mind.

"The place of harvest… the land of plenty…"

He looked over at the golden waves of wheat, bursting with fullness, then back at the girl before him.

"Seems like I don't need to answer the question of 'who I am,' huh?" The girl gave him a meaningful smile.

"Mel… Melitele…"

Recalling the girl's remark about "breaking into someone's home," Allen's throat went dry, and he swallowed.

It was hard to believe.

So…

"Divine Dreamwalking" means barging into a deity's "home" uninvited, and forcing a conversation right in front of them?

No wonder it cost 100 experience pearls…

And it's no surprise there was a high-risk warning for encountering a god...

It's not just a matter of godly beings—this would be intolerable for any ordinary person. Feeling a bit nervous, the witcher withdrew his right hand that had reached for Elsa.

At this moment, he noticed—

Though his body didn't appear to be in its usual dream-state sphere, his clothes, resembling linen, were still painted with the vibrant hues from his dream form, and neither his armor nor swords had accompanied him here.

Connecting with a deity still wasn't in his true form; it was a manifestation of some form of consciousness.

"Yes, I am Melitele." The girl folded her hands behind her back and tiptoed slightly, seemingly wanting her gaze to align with the witcher's.

But no matter how high she stood on her toes, the height difference was still difficult to bridge.

After a few tries, the girl seemed slightly deflated.

Allen, though baffled by the uncharacteristic behavior of a goddess, found that her playful, childish manner relaxed his nerves a bit.

He thought it over, then tactfully lowered himself into a slight squat, making himself a bit shorter. "My apologies, Lady Melitele; it wasn't my intention to… uh… visit like this."

"No harm done…" The girl seemed pleased with his gesture and lightly patted his right shoulder in an old-fashioned way.

Watching the goddess smile with a mix of divine majesty and youthful innocence, Allen was about to ask her to lift the evil god's curse.

"Hiss~"

A foul burnt smell rose from his right shoulder.

Following the sound, the witcher saw...

A trail of black smoke rising from the spot where the girl had patted him.

At the source of the smoke, a sinister red spot, embodying the ultimate evil and coldness, was pulsing, as though being burned away and purified. The intense, unbearable pain that throbbed from deep within his soul aligned with the trembling red glow, making Allen groan involuntarily and grit his teeth.

Thankfully—

The searing, unbearable agony gradually faded after a brief moment.

Afterward…

A profound sense of relief, as if an immense weight had been lifted from him, filled his heart.

Allen knew.

The curse of the evil god, which had plagued him for six whole months and kept him from approaching portals or using space-related skills like blinking…

From this day forth, it was gone.

He was… free.

The next second—

"Ding ding ding…"

A series of notifications, like the ringing of a school bell, sounded in his head. It must be the system message for the shards of Ard Gaeth's Gate. But Allen ignored it, looking gratefully at the smiling girl before him, and said sincerely:

"Thank you, Lady Melitele."

He had expected that, upon meeting the goddess, he'd have to complete some sort of trial or task. But he hadn't expected Melitele to be so straightforward; she'd lifted his curse as soon as they met.

"After all, I promised you this!" The young girl laughed, patting Allen on his right shoulder. "You saved the humans of Ellander for me, so I'll lift the curse of filth from you."

"And this way, I won't have to hear someone muttering during prayers about how I don't keep my promises and how my divine powers have weakened to the point of losing influence over reality…"

The Witcher's face flushed with embarrassment, and he quickly apologized.

He awkwardly curled his toes, almost digging a deep trench in the fertile soil beneath him.

Who could have guessed that the quiet mutterings before and after his prayers would actually be heard by the goddess?

Especially considering that this goddess hadn't appeared in hundreds of years, even finding it difficult to transmit messages clearly.

For now, he could only be grateful that Melitele, despite seeming a bit unconventional and lacking the solemn dignity typical of gods, appeared to have a mild temperament. Otherwise, if the Eternal Fire learned of the Witcher's mutterings, they'd surely see it as blasphemy and put him on the pyre.

But then again—

If the Melitele Faith was anything like the Eternal Fire from games and other stories, full of purging and evil deeds, he wouldn't dare stay in the holy shrine so close to the goddess herself, let alone use "Divine Communion."

The girl didn't appear angry. After a few teasing words, she waved her hand and looked up to the sky.

Allen followed her gaze.

The vast sea of golden wheat was mesmerizing, and he hadn't paid much attention to the sky in this divine realm.

Now, raising his head, he was instantly captivated.

The stars, moon, and sun all glowed brilliantly in the sky at once, with a hazy river of stars stretching across the heavens, a sight too magnificent for words.

"But what you said was indeed correct…" the girl suddenly said.

Then, in a fleeting moment, she transformed into a pregnant woman, her belly full and round.

"Hmm?" Allen tilted his head to look into those compassionate eyes, shimmering with the glow of liquid gold.

"I really am weakening to the point of almost losing my connection with the mortal realm…"

Allen was stunned by her words.

When a god who depends on the faith of their followers loses their connection to the mortal realm and to their worshippers, what does it mean?

The question struck his mind, sending a chill down his spine as if he had fallen into an icy pit.

The death of a god!

For a deity like Melitele, who was born of faith, losing connection with followers would mean no choice but to fall.

Such shocking news—was he even qualified to hear it?

Allen grew tense once again, his throat dry, not daring to make a sound. As his gaze shifted, trying to avoid looking directly at the pregnant figure, he noticed something peculiar.

The golden sea of wheat had already ripened, ready for harvest.

Yet, in this boundless expanse, there wasn't a single person or creature in sight.

As he made this realization, the once-vibrant life seemed thin and hollow.

If gods were real, where were the souls who, upon death, were guided to this land of harvest and abundance?

Where did they go?

"Heh~" The pregnant woman noticed Allen's anxious expression and gently patted her rounded belly, letting out a motherly smile.

"Don't be afraid."

She gently patted the Witcher's shoulder again. Feeling the weight of her hand on his right shoulder, Allen forced a stiff smile. Something about this situation felt off.

The task of lifting the curse of the evil god had been completed, and truthfully, he wanted nothing more now than a blessing for good fortune so he could return and open his treasure chest.

But—

After the goddess had just lifted a curse from him, leaving abruptly would seem ungrateful. So, the Witcher patiently listened, waiting for the right moment to say goodbye.

"I awakened from the faith of humanity; they shaped everything I am. Life and death are meaningless to me in themselves."

The pregnant woman looked up again at the sky:

"My purpose is to fulfill humanity's desires for fruitful harvests, reproduction, health, and wisdom, and the world has granted me the power to satisfy the desires of all living things."

"But now…"

The pregnant woman paused before continuing:

"Though I can still hear the prayers and desires of my followers, I feel further and further away from them, and my power is steadily waning."

"Why?" Allen asked out of curiosity.

The followers of Melitele in the Northern Continent were the most numerous, and though wars had caused fluctuations, the numbers had never truly decreased drastically.

After all, in wartime, men—primarily soldiers—were the ones who died.

Women only faced collateral impacts.

So, there was no reason for a goddess like her to lose divine power to the point of—what she described as—a "god's death."

But after the recent nights filled with dreams of nothing but "Allen… Allen…" and the fact, as Ianna had mentioned upon his arrival at the temple, that divine messages hadn't been heard for a long time, he had to acknowledge that Melitele's power was indeed weakening.

"When my strength first started to wane, I thought perhaps humanity's desires for abundant crops, fertility, health, wisdom, and prosperity had been fulfilled, that they no longer needed a god like me…" the pregnant woman continued.

"That's impossible!" Allen interjected.

Even in the material-rich world he remembered, humanity couldn't achieve even the first of those things fully.

"As you said, it's truly impossible, especially with humanity's current thirst for war."

The pregnant woman nodded.

"But back then, humanity had just fully taken control of the continent from the Aen Elle and lived in peace for a long while."

"So, I misjudged and, thinking I was no longer needed, chose to withdraw from human life."

"And…" she smiled softly, "when I withdrew, I found that their lives carried on as usual, even better than when I interfered."

"This only reinforced my judgment…"

"Humanity never needed a god."

"They're not toddlers babbling, nor do they need a 'mother' from above interfering in everything."

"They've already 'grown up,' so I let go entirely."

Recalling what Ianna had told him about the arrangements after the gods' withdrawal, Allen couldn't help but acknowledge that Melitele was indeed a great deity, far above the gods of his past world who would only meddle endlessly. But every story has its turning point.

So did Melitele's.

"However…" she said.

Just as she uttered the word, she transformed once again before the Witcher's eyes, becoming a hunched, elderly woman.

She was dressed in a black knitted shawl, with an old herbalist's pouch hanging at her waist, her hair completely silver.

The wrinkles carved by the sharpest blade of time covered her face. But those weathered features still held a pair of wise golden eyes.

She glanced at the Witcher, then pointed to the horizon where the sky met the sea of wheat, her hoarse, magnetic voice saying: "I was deceived."

"I was blinded by the unpredictability of fate and the inevitable death and end that awaits all living beings…"

"The gods shall die, and all things shall perish."

.................

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292. The Saviour, the Chosen One.

293. A Color Brighter than Gold.

294. Who Am I?

295. Time to Go Home.

296. Surprise.