Somewhere within the territory of the Theocracy, in a secluded open-air cave known to almost no one, a bloody sacrificial ritual was quietly unfolding.
The first thing that caught the eye was the dark purple Miasma permeating the air.
Like a heavy curtain, the Miasma completely blanketed the cave. It was so dense that it seemed on the verge of condensing into liquid and dripping down.
Large masses of some unknown purplish-black substance drifted slowly through the Miasma like clouds, creating an eerie, oppressive atmosphere.
Even the light of the stars and moon was mercilessly swallowed whenever it tried to penetrate the thick Miasma.
Hazy and unfathomably deep, it was as though the world itself had grown a thick layer of purple fat.
Under normal circumstances, there should have been no signs of life in such an environment.
Unless... someone had created it deliberately.
Azmodan Dora.
He was a tall, slender human man.
His eyes were sunken, his body gaunt and skeletal, and his complexion so unhealthy that it was difficult to believe he was still alive. "Sallow" was perhaps the most fitting word to describe him.
He wore a black-and-red robe the color of dried blood, with a necklace of small animal skulls hanging around his neck.
One emaciated hand, tipped with filthy yellow fingernails, gripped a black staff.
Rather than a human, he looked more like an Undead creature.
The man held a blood-red dagger in both hands as he approached an altar constructed from black stone.
Various sacrificial offerings had been arranged around it.
Under the flickering, eerie green flames of the braziers, they cast twisted shadows, as though silently recounting the bloodshed and madness of the past.
It was the dead of night.
At the very center, a naked woman hung from a cross, struggling desperately. Below her floated a "dismembered limb."
It had pale skin, long, sharp nails, and mysterious dark purple markings.
It was roughly the size of an ordinary person's arm. Or rather, it looked exactly like a piece that had been severed from a human body.
The limb was still twitching faintly, as though it remained alive.
A fissure invisible to the naked eye opened in the center of its palm.
Wisps of pale purple Miasma slowly seeped from the crack, moving almost as though they possessed a life of their own.
Many others dressed in the same black-and-red robes had gathered there. They knelt in orderly rows, greedily inhaling the Miasma.
Their already pale faces were now covered in eerie dark purple markings, yet not a single one of them seemed to care.
When they saw Azmodan arrive, the crowd immediately parted to make way for him, gazing at him with expressions of devout reverence.
Azmodan's face was utterly still. His expression was so cold that it inspired fear, and his emotionless features no longer seemed to belong within the realm of ordinary humanity.
Perhaps "transcendent" would have been a more fitting description.
They said he had not always been like this. He had supposedly once been cheerful, and had even been one of the Theocracy's Scripture Candidates. His actual age was also far younger than his appearance suggested.
Azmodan possessed a Talent known as [The Devout Believer].
In the New World, Talents were relatively common among the Humanoid Race, with roughly one person in every two hundred possessing one.
However, the nature of a Talent was highly random, and their strength varied enormously.
Some were comparable to trump cards and, if used properly, could instantly turn the tide of battle.
Others were not completely useless, but offered so little practical value that their effects were almost negligible.
For example, the Talent [Float] allowed its bearer to stay afloat more easily and reduced the likelihood of drowning, though it did not make drowning impossible.
Then there was [Water Temperature Detection], a Talent that allowed its bearer to determine the exact temperature of water.
Magic could reproduce the effects of such Talents, often with even better results.
Azmodan had been fortunate.
His Talent, [The Devout Believer], was an extremely practical one, allowing him to achieve twice the results with half the effort when studying Divine System magic.
Even among the Theocracy's records of Talents, it was regarded as exceptionally outstanding.
It was comparable to the Talent once possessed by Captain Nigun of the Sunlight Scripture, who had already fallen heroically in battle, [Enhanced Summoned Monster].
Azmodan had lived up to everyone's expectations, displaying extraordinary talent and potential from a young age.
Both of his parents had placed great hopes in him.
Barring any unforeseen circumstances, he would most likely have gone on to become the captain of one of the Theocracy's Six Scriptures, basking in the divine glory of the Gods.
But fate was always unpredictable.
Everything changed while he was studying the Divine System.
At the root of the Divine System was faith.
One had to believe in a deity within their heart, then draw upon that deity's power to wield magic.
As a member of the Theocracy, Azmodan's faith naturally lay with the Six Great Gods. It was also the most widespread faith among the people of the New World.
That was how things should have been.
But one mistaken thought sent his entire life spiraling downward.
The God of Death and the Sorcerer King were both Undead, yet both protected the living.
The Six Great Gods protected humanity, while the Three Supreme Beings protected Demihumans.
Azmodan had once had the opportunity to read the doctrines of the Sorcerer Kingdom.
It was incredible, wasn't it?
Two nations that should have hated one another and called for each other's destruction had somehow settled into an extraordinarily strange state of balance.
It almost seemed as though the two sides had carefully negotiated everything in advance and reached some tacit understanding.
The Theocracy did not prevent the Sorcerer Kingdom from constructing temples within its territory.
Likewise, the Sorcerer Kingdom tacitly permitted the Theocracy to build temples within its own lands.
Rumor had it that this was because the God of Death and the Sorcerer King were actually biological brothers.
At first, Azmodan had always dismissed the rumor with disdain, considering it complete nonsense.
But after personally witnessing the peculiar relationship between the two nations, he began to waver. Perhaps, he thought, the rumor was not entirely baseless after all.
Driven by curiosity, Azmodan began studying the Sorcerer Kingdom's teachings, and before long he found himself completely absorbed in them.
For someone who had spent his entire life in the Theocracy, the Sorcerer Kingdom's doctrines were undeniably blasphemous.
Especially this passage:
[No one stands in the heavens from the very beginning, neither you, nor I, nor even the gods.]
[There is no hierarchy of life. Every life should be respected and cherished, for each is unique and irreplaceable.]
These were words spoken by the Sorcerer Greed King during the Sorcerer Kingdom's first-anniversary celebration.
The subjects of the Sorcerer Kingdom had meticulously recorded those words, compiled them into books, and spread them widely throughout the world.
Perhaps it had been unintentional, but Azmodan always felt that the words were clearly mocking the Six Great Gods.
That infuriated him.
By all rights, he should have destroyed the book in his hands immediately.
But he hesitated.
The Sorcerer Kingdom's doctrines certainly had their problems, but it was impossible to deny that some of their ideas made a certain amount of sense.
For example:
"Do not urge others toward virtue until you have suffered their hardships. Even if you endured my suffering, you might not possess my virtue."
The quote came from the third short paragraph on page 108 of the Sorcerer Kingdom's earliest published book, What Is Happiness?
Azmodan understood the sentiment all too well.
It was one thing for Demihumans from beyond the Theocracy to denounce it as brutal and bloodthirsty.
After all, that was indeed how the Theocracy treated races other than humans.
What he could not tolerate was that even some humans, people who should have stood alongside the Theocracy, shared those same opinions!
Why couldn't those ignorant fools simply consult the historical records?
Had their brains rusted so badly that they had completely lost the ability to think?
All they had to do was force those long-stagnant minds to work for a moment and think carefully, and the reasons and circumstances would become obvious!
If the Theocracy had not constantly shouldered the burden, if the Theocracy had not taken the initiative to fight, then how could humanity possibly have wrested control of most of this continent from the Demihumans?
It seemed every race had people like that.
To borrow an expression from the Sorcerer Kingdom's teachings, [They've been eating too well.]
Perhaps some people had simply grown too comfortable. Their easy lives had made them foolish and complacent, unable to feel gratitude or appreciate the hard-won peace they now enjoyed.
Perhaps that was also why the Theocracy had never completely exterminated every Demihuman on the continent.
Even as Azmodan felt wrath, a trace of respect began to grow within him for the Sorcerer King, an Undead like the God of Death.
He could clearly identify the essence of things.
The Sorcerer King must also be a wise ruler. It was simply a pity that he sheltered those filthy Demihumans.
It was worth mentioning that Azmodan had once gone to pray beneath a statue of the Sorcerer King.
Unfortunately, the act caused an entirely unexpected commotion.
People assumed he had mistaken the statue for one of the God of Death and thought he had gone beneath the Sorcerer King's statue to pray to the God of Death.
The small misunderstanding spread through the crowd like wildfire and ultimately sparked quite a serious riot.
(P.S.: Mentioned in Chapter 355.)
As Azmodan delved deeper into the study and interpretation of the Sorcerer Kingdom's doctrines, the turmoil within his heart grew more intense.
And it was precisely this behavior, like opening Pandora's box, that brought consequences he could scarcely endure.
Azmodan had always possessed his own unique and deeply considered ideas regarding the deities of the Divine System.
However, under the influence of the Sorcerer Kingdom's doctrines, those ideas gradually strayed from the proper path and became severely distorted.
The price he paid was that, during the war against Elf Country, he alone survived by sheer luck.
His parents, relatives, and friends all died in the fighting.
It would be impossible to claim there had been no foul play involved.
Ultimately, the Theocracy was a nation founded upon religion.
More than that, it was a religious state that vigorously promoted Human Supremacy.
In such an environment, Azmodan naturally became a target for everyone around him.
One could say that the Sorcerer King had destroyed everything Azmodan possessed, even though Azmodan himself had been the cause of it all.
In the future he envisioned, he would probably die helpless and alone, consumed by depression.
But just as he drifted through life in a daze, the true "God" appeared!
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