Chapter 54: Nine Gods ( 2 )
The silent majesty of the tiered wooden altar seemed to carve out a pocket of absolute reverence within the greasy, foul smelling tavern.
Evan stood perfectly still, the damp straw squelching beneath the soles of his boots as his gaze remained anchored to the nine wooden figurines.
Each carving stood exactly one hand tall, meticulously whittled from a dense, midnight-black weirwood that seemed to actively drink the weak, flickering light cast by the sputtering tallow chandelier above.
These were the Nine Orthodox Gods.
Long before the current era of warring sects, fractured clans, and all those things, these primordial entities were the recognized pillars of cosmic law.
To the cultivation world, they were the ultimate sources of specialized paths, their domains governing the very fabric of reality.
Evan’s eyes moved methodically from left to right, cataloging each miniature deity by its distinct, symbolic pose.
’They do look beautiful and feel powerful.’
The first idol on the far left was a figure carved with flowing, organic lines that mimicked the twisting roots of an ancient tree, the God of Nature, also known as Father Of Land.
The figurine’s wooden hands were outstretched, palms cupped upward as if holding an invisible, fragile seed.
Looking at it, a sharp flash of memory pierced through Evan’s calculation.
He remembered his brutal initiation in the First Court, standing beneath the open winter sky, looking up at the grand celestial canopy where he had silently vowed his intent to rise, invoking the name of this very deity.
The God of Nature represented growth, balance, and the unyielding, ruthless cycle of life and death, a concept that resonated deeply with a man trying to cultivate a silver core in a world designed to crush him.
It was said that he is the creator of Elemental Path Blood worms, Fire, Ice, Forest, Water and all others that are part of nature.
Next to the natural deity sat the Lord of Shadows.
This figurine was intentionally left rough and unpolished, its features heavily obscured by carved, overlapping layers of a deep cowl and a tattered cloak.
The wooden entity held a single finger pressed firmly against its featureless face in a universal gesture of absolute silence, as if reminding the viewer that the deepest secrets of the universe were kept only in the dark.
It was said that he is the creator all of the Shadow Path Blood Worms.
Beside the shadow king was the Lady of Wisdom.
Her idol was carved in a sitting posture, perched upon a stack of miniature, ancient stone tablets.
Her wooden eyes were wide and hollow, intentionally left blank to symbolize an all-seeing intellect that looked inward rather than outward, her hands delicately unrolling a tiny, seamless scroll across her lap.
It was said she is the creator of all the Wisdom Path Blood Worms.
The fourth carving was the Goddess Of Soul And Spirit.
Her form was ethereal and deliberately out of proportion, her long, flowing limbs stretching upward like smoke rising from a ritual fire.
Her palms were pressed flat against her chest, right over her heart, a physical representation of the soul, the unseen spirit, and the internal energies that governed the metaphysical realms.
It was said that she is the creator of Soul and Spiritual Path Blood Worms.
In stark, terrifying contrast, the fifth figure was the Nightmare God.
This idol was a twisting mass of grotesque, surreal shapes, its wooden face was a chaotic cluster of multiple opened eyes, and its multi-jointed arms were wrapped tightly around its own torso, capturing the suffocating, paralyzing horror of a dream from which one could never wake.
It was said that he is the creator of Nightmare Path Blood Worms.
The sixth idol was the God of Machinery.
This figurine was incredibly rigid and geometric, its body composed of interlocking gears, pistons, and perfectly straight lines that defied natural anatomy.
The wooden deity sat cross-legged, its mechanical hands held out before it, meticulously assembling a tiny, intricate sphere composed of microscopic cogs, the embodiment of logic, structure, and synthetic creation.
It was said that he is the creator of Mechanical and Weaponry Path Blood Worms.
Next to the mechanical deity stood the God of Body. Unlike the traditional depictions of human perfection Evan had seen in Earth’s classical art, this entity was a raw, primal force of biological evolution.
The carving possessed massive, leathery wings arching out from its shoulder blades, their tips curved inward like a predatory bat.
In its right hand, the figure gripped a heavy, jagged bone, holding it high like a primitive club or a foundational tool of life, while its muscular torso was carved with exaggerated, heavy sinews.
It represented the absolute apex of physical form, mutation, and the raw strength of the flesh.
The jagged bone in its grip was so sharply defined that the whittler had even notched faux fractures along the marrow, symbolizing a weapon forged from pure biological sacrifice.
It was said that he is the creator of all Body Path Blood Worms; Blood Path, Bone Path, Wing Path, Strength Path and all that included the body
The eighth idol was the King of the Undead.
The carving was skeletal and gaunt, its wooden robes hanging loosely off a frame of exposed ribs.
It sat upon a throne made of miniature skulls, its left hand resting casually upon a tall, ironwood staff surmounted by a pale shroud, its gaze downturned toward the offerings of fresh animal blood resting on the silk below.
It was said that he is the creator of all Necromancy Path Blood Worms.
Finally, on the far right, stood The Singer.
This figurine was carved in a dynamic, fluid motion, its head tilted far back toward the ceiling, its mouth opened wide in a silent, perpetual aria.
Its wooden hands were spread elegantly to its sides, trying to show the very essence of sound, vibration, and the cosmic harmony that held the physical laws of the universe together.
It was said that he is the creator of all Musical Path Blood Worms.
Evan exhaled slowly, the cold air pluming faintly before his disguised face.
He subtly shifted his posture, leaning slightly closer to Ghost and Peaker while keeping his eyes fixed on the altar.
’Which one of them do you pray to?’ Evan asked, his voice dropped into a low, rasping whisper that easily dissolved into the ambient tavern noise.
Ghost didn’t look up immediately, his broad, hunched shoulders shifting beneath his coarse wool tunic.
He adjusted the heavy merchant pouch that contained blood stones at his waist, his walnut colored eyes tracking the flickering candlelight across the tiered wood.
’The God of Machinery,’ Ghost replied quietly, his usual booming voice compressed into a raspy, old-man murmur.
’There’s no trickery in a gear, Evan. No noble politics, no hidden shits, and no betrayal. If a machine fails, it’s because a part broke or the logic was flawed. It’s clean. In a world where your own bloodline can turn you into a monster, the certainty of iron and structure is the only thing that makes sense to me.’
Peaker let out a soft, barely audible chuckle, his dark eyes flickering with a weary amusement as he leaned his back against a nearby support timber, still looking slightly pale from the wine.
’Figures you’d like something made of metal, big guy,’ Peaker whispered, shifting his gaze toward the center of the semi-circle.
’For me... I split my bets. I pray to the Spiritual Goddess when I need my mind to stay anchored when the darkness gets too loud. Her path is about keeping the soul intact, which is hard to do in the Outer Rings.’ He paused, his gaze drifting slightly to the left, toward the featureless, hooded figurine.
’But when I’m out there on a run, when I’m slipping past sensory arrays and hiding from people who want to skin me alive... I pray to the Lord of Shadows. The shadow doesn’t care if you’re good or bad. It just covers you. It gives you a place to disappear when the rest of the world is burning.’
Peaker turned his head slightly toward Evan, his eyebrow raising beneath his artificial wrinkles.
’What about you, rookie? You’ve been staring at them like you’re trying to figure out how to disassemble them.’
Evan didn’t answer immediately.
He looked back at the first idol, the God of Nature, remembering the cold winter night in the First Court, the weight of his hidden revolver against his hip, and the unyielding crimson Qi swirling within his silver core.
’I don’t pray for survival,’ Evan said flatly, his dark eyes empty of any religious devotion.
’But if I have to respect an equation, it’s the cycle. Nature doesn’t offer mercy, and it doesn’t care about your lineage. It just demands that the strong consume the weak to grow. That’s a law I can understand.’
’Spoken like a true cold blooded bastard,’ Peaker muttered with a faint smirk.
’Save the theology,’ Ghost cut in, his eyes darting toward the front entrance where the heavy leather flap had just rustled.
’The atmosphere in this room is souring. People are watching us. Let’s get to the partitioned stall before the midnight patrol decides our merchant papers look interesting.’
Evan nodded once, his leather-gloved hand dropping back to his side, his fingers brushing against his belt right above his hidden weapon.
He took one last look at the Nine Orthodox Gods, their silent, one hand tall forms standing in perfect alignment amidst the squalor of the vampire slums, before turning his back on the altar.
They slipped away from the central chandelier, disappearing into the dark, narrow canvas corridors of the back corner, the heavy weight of the looming assassination tightening around them like a shroud.
