Chapter 77: The Debate
This was a group of about twenty people.
Each of them was clad in a cloak, riding a horse, and moving forward in silence.
A strange scent permeated the air—something like the smell of blood, yet mingled with the rich aroma of pungent spices.
Both scents were sharp and acrid, detectable from a great distance.
Whether human, bird, or beast, every living creature instinctively gave wide berth to this seemingly unfriendly troop of riders.
As noon approached, the sun hung high in the sky, and heatwaves rose one after another; in such weather, even if the humans could endure it, their horses certainly could not.
Within the troop, one rider urged his sturdy pony forward—its hooves clattering rhythmically—until he drew alongside the leader.
"Chief, it's far too hot. If we keep riding like this, none of us will be able to take it. There's a city ahead, situated right along the oasis—shall we go in?"
The man addressed as "Chief" was wrapped just as tightly in his cloak as his subordinates were—sealed so completely that not a single strand of hair was visible. Upon hearing his subordinate's inquiry, he responded with nothing more than a low, deep murmur.
"Alright then!" Receiving this answer, the man beside him wheeled his horse around and shouted toward the rear of the column: "Everyone, we're heading into the city to rest and regroup!"
Upon hearing this news, a visible surge of renewed energy swept through the troop.
Now that they had a clear objective—and with their destination lying right before their eyes—they actually slowed their horses' pace.
"Finally, a chance to rest! I feel like I've been melting away on this journey; the desert really isn't a place fit for human habitation!"
"If it weren't for the extraordinary circumstances, who in their right mind would ever come out here?"
"Still... amidst the harsh conditions of this desert, surely we'll be able to get some proper rest now?"
Chatting and laughing amongst themselves, the group rode past the crescent-shaped lake and swept majestically into the city of Hebron.
Inside the city of Hebron—specifically within the Andris Academy situated at its very heart—Edna found herself facing a new source of vexation.
With Enoch no longer requiring her supervision, she ought—by all rights—to have returned to her true station; yet, she continued to linger in the mortal realm, maintaining her guise as a human. It was precisely this lingering that had become the source of her current trouble.
Sometime recently—though exactly when remained unclear—the Anakim of Gath had begun to worship a foreign god. Judging by the idol crafted by the locals, this "alien god" possesses the body of a human and the head of a beast—a figure of immense ferocity.
They regard it as their own exclusive guardian deity, and during the summer and autumn seasons, they hold grand sacrificial ceremonies in its honor.
Not only do specialized shamans—adorned with painted tattoos—perform frenzied ritual dances before roaring bonfires, but the locals also pour fresh animal blood over the idol of their "god," subsequently smearing it onto their own bodies.
Some go so far as to drink the blood directly, hoping thereby to purge themselves of a year's worth of ill fortune.
"What utter chaos! Pure nonsense! It is absolutely outrageous!" Upon suddenly learning of the situation here, the Angel was so incensed that her long silver hair seemed to crackle with fiery rage.
What manner of alien god dared to usurp the authority of the Lord of the World?!
Her fury intensified when she discovered that this so-called "good class" was specifically designated to house the children of families who worshipped this alien god—and that the human girl whom Badley so ardently pursued was enrolled in just such a class.
They were driving the truly pious humans into a so-called "bad" class, stifling their enthusiasm, while hoarding the best resources to cultivate children who worshipped the alien god.
To make matters worse, Badley was there as well! When the Power Angel had forged her identity papers, she hadn't breathed a single word of this to her!
"Edna."
The human professor lecturing at the front of the room noticed that Edna's mind had drifted far away; unable to ignore her distraction, he called out her name.
The newcomer, Enoch, and Edna were two of the few students in Gadis these days who still clung to the belief in the Creator God—and they were remarkably gifted.
They were bright, astute, and spiritually sensitive; given the opportunity, they could well become the priests of the future. Whenever this thought crossed his mind, the professor felt an overwhelming urge to simply empty the entire contents of his own brain directly into theirs.
If he could successfully nurture a priest, that student might earn the chance to travel to the City of the Progenitor for advanced studies—a dream currently shared by every believer in the Creator God, for surely the Progenitor knew the way to enter Heaven.
The professor knew that his own chance had long since passed; thus, he placed immense importance on these two budding priests in his class—and precisely because he cared so deeply, he was all the more rigorous and strict with them.
"I just finished explaining the nature of a 'sacrifice.' Can you repeat it for me?" He fixed his gaze upon Edna and asked in a stern voice. Ever since the inception of ritual sacrifice, humanity has accorded it the utmost importance. Regardless of the specific objective—or which deity is being propitiated—the people's ultimate goal remains singular:
To avert calamity and ward off evil; to pray for favorable winds and rains in the coming year; and to ensure the safety and prosperity of their entire clan.
Thus, from the moment Cain and Abel first erected stone altars to the construction of magnificent temples today, the sheer planning and preparation involved require at least a week of lead time. Over the passage of ages, the procedures and symbolic significance embedded within these rituals have grown increasingly intricate—so much so that the professor himself could easily spend days expounding upon them.
Given this inherent complexity, the professor did not believe Edna would be able to provide a satisfactory answer.
Failure to answer would serve as a stark reminder of her own deficiencies, thereby compelling her to pay closer attention during future lectures—a strategy the professor felt confident in pursuing, bolstered by the exemplary diligence of his star pupil, Enoch.
"Ah... sacrifice," Edna murmured, rising absentmindedly from her seat—her mind still preoccupied with matters concerning the *Other Gods*. "Of course. Sacrifice. Do allow me a moment to collect my thoughts."
Sacrifice: a ritual passed down by humanity's progenitors to their sons—a practice originally learned from the celestial festivities of Heaven—and one initially conceived for the sole purpose of pleasing the Divine.
Angels populate the Seven Heavens, yet for the vast majority of them, the opportunity to stand in the immediate presence of God arises but once every millennium; naturally, such rare occasions demand the most grandiose and elaborate preparations. Humans, however, are a different matter entirely.
Her mentor—the Seraph Metatron—had once explained it to her thus: after committing their transgression and being cast out of the Garden of Eden, humanity's only remaining avenue for communicating with God lay in this very act of ritual sacrifice.
And because they had so much to convey to the Divine, their sacrificial rites evolved into a myriad of diverse forms.
In years of bounty—when the harvest was plentiful—they would offer up their thanks to God. Once God had graciously accepted the offering of those first human brothers, countless subsequent sacrifices followed in its wake.
Such was the custom in times of plenty; and in times of famine—when the harvest failed—it became even more imperative. Even with empty bellies, the people would offer up their sorrowful pleas, asking whether they had once again erred in God's eyes, begging for His forgiveness, and praying that the coming year might bring better fortune.
In truth, God rarely intervenes directly in the affairs of mankind; having established the immutable laws of nature, He generally allows the world to regulate itself according to its own inherent mechanisms. Yet, when the voices of the people grew numerous—when the collective chorus of their pleas became too loud to ignore—God would, on occasion, choose to take action.
For although God may appear to dwell in lofty, inaccessible heights—as remote and unapproachable as the frost upon a mountain peak—when all is said and done, He is, in fact, far more approachable and amenable to reason than her mentor, Metatron.
Perhaps, to God, all earthly matters—regardless of their nature—are but trifles. Should He deign to listen, He need only snap His fingers to resolve the most intractable of problems; as for those matters more easily remedied, He simply entrusts their resolution to the hands of His angels. Consequently, in recent years, there has been a significant increase in the number of angels assigned to oversee meteorological matters.
Ah—actually, that task falls mostly to the angels of the Lunar Sphere. Thus, even though the First Heaven is the closest realm to the mortal world, the number of angels who actually form bonds with humans remains surprisingly low.
This is simply because the situation is so utterly exasperating.
Originally, their sole duty was to guide the movements of the celestial bodies; now, however, they are also expected to manage the mortal world's weather—specifically ensuring conditions remain tolerable enough for fragile humans to survive.
...
Dismissing her internal sympathies for the angels of the Lunar Sphere, Edna refocused her attention on the subject of sacrificial rites themselves.
When their prayers are answered, humans become jubilant; emboldened by this success, they grow increasingly presumptuous, conjuring up every manner of excuse and trivial grievance to bring before the heavens.
They pray for wealth, for deliverance from misfortune, for recovery from illness, or for romantic unions. Even more preposterously, some even ask for the gender of the unborn child in their womb—as if the Divine Being, in His infinite majesty, would have the slightest inclination to concern Himself with such matters!
The endless stream of trivial reasons for these rituals leaves the angels utterly dumbfounded; naturally, the Divine Being pays no heed to such inconsequential requests.
"Edna?" the professor called out again. However, Edna remained staring blankly into space, failing to acknowledge him. Just as the professor's expression began to darken with displeasure, Enoch gave her a gentle nudge.
"Ah—oh!" Edna snapped back to reality. "Sacrificial rites generally fall into three main categories: first, the Burnt Offering; second, the Grain Offering; and third, the Peace Offering..."
These represent the categories of human sacrifices that—according to the statistics compiled in Heaven—are most frequently accepted by the Divine Being. The Divine preference is singular and focused; anything beyond these specific types is simply disregarded—no matter how bizarre or exotic the offering itself might be.
Presumably, because the Divine Being pays no mind to the petty trifles of the mortal realm, humans have strayed down a misguided path—turning instead to worship various "wild" deities of dubious origin. Feeling a desire to set them straight, Edna spoke up:
"I believe you ought to add a fourth category: the Atonement Offering..."
Edna expounded eloquently on the subject, yet her remarks—which transcended the conventional norms of human society—left everyone in the room wide-eyed with astonishment. With the sole exception of Enoch, everyone else felt she was spouting utter nonsense; the professor, in particular, was so incensed that his beard practically stood on end. "You! How dare you presume to critique the traditions established by our ancestors!"
"Ancestors?" Edna frowned slightly. The Human race might have come into existence a little earlier than she did, but they certainly didn't possess the standing to lord it over her.
"Edna," Enoch called out to her.
The angel's argument certainly held merit, but it might prove a tad provocative to the professor; Enoch had no desire to see the two of them come to blows over it.
Edna turned her head to look at him, immediately recognizing the disapproval in his eyes.
Her heart felt heavy with frustration; she conceded defeat sullenly, yet she wanted nothing more to do with Enoch—not for another moment. She hadn't even reacted this strongly toward the human professor who had issued the challenge in the first place.
But simply because Enoch had intervened to stop her, she felt as though she had raised a thankless ingrate. Consequently, the moment the class ended—and without waiting to hear Enoch's explanation—she stormed out of the room.
Watching her retreating figure, bristling with indignation, Enoch furrowed his brows almost imperceptibly.
With nowhere to vent her Archangelic fury, she could only seek out that—in her eyes—thoroughly deserving companion of hers.
The opulent classroom of the 'Foreign Deities Class' was completely deserted, save for the Power Angel, who was currently fast asleep. When he groggily listened to Edna's litany of complaints against him, he remained entirely unperturbed.
"If one truly holds God in one's heart, why be so fixated on mere formalities?"
Edna paused. Badri's counter-argument actually made sense. He was an angel of Heaven; barring a full-blown Fall from Grace, no matter how unreliable he might seem, there was simply no chance he would ever turn his back on the True God to worship some spurious, foreign deities that had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere.
And so, she redirected the spearhead of her wrath toward the humans who subscribed to those foreign faiths.
"They aren't angels; they've never beheld the face of God. Why bother getting so worked up over them?" Badri took a remarkably laid-back view of the matter, going so far as to offer words of comfort to the overwrought Edna.
"That may be true, but I simply cannot—under any circumstances—bring myself to swallow this insult!" Her silver hair bristled with such fury that it stood on end; finding the sight amusing, Badri couldn't resist reaching out to smooth it down for her.
Edna really was an amusing character. On the surface, she appeared to be a cold, demure angel; in reality, however, she was a fiery little spitfire—a veritable hot pepper. "So, what do you intend to do?"
"The True God is the One and Only; I am going to declare war on these humans!"
"Oh? How impressive. Well, good luck with that." A sudden, sharp chill prompted Bradley to stop stroking Edna's hair. He released his hold, and his eyes—which had been narrowed to mere slits—suddenly snapped open, becoming razor-sharp.
'Someone is outside,' he communicated telepathically to Edna. They fell silent, holding their breath as they began to flank the doorway.
The scent of a human presence grew increasingly distinct. Bradley nodded to Edna; then, his slightly rounded frame moved like a gust of wind, instantly tackling the person standing just outside the door.
"You scoundrel! You were eavesdropping on our conversation!"
"I wasn't!" A muffled voice emerged from beneath the angel. It sounded vaguely familiar; Edna paused in confusion, then saw Enoch—struggling to crane his head out from beneath Bradley—looking back at her.
"Stop denying it! It had to be you!" Bradley was visibly annoyed. Both he and Edna had been careless; during their recent conversation, they had failed to mind their surroundings and had spoken many words that could easily expose their true identities.
'How should we go about erasing this human's memory?' he thought, pressing Enoch down while secretly communicating with Edna.
"Alright, both of you, get up first." Edna took one in each hand, prying their entangled bodies apart, then turned to Enoch.
"Did you really not hear anything we said?"
"I didn't," Enoch replied, brushing the dust off his long white robes with a frown.
'He says he didn't,' Edna conveyed to Bradley with a completely expressionless face, effectively shutting down his idea of tampering with Enoch's mind.
'And we're just supposed to take his word for it?!' Bradley thought, utterly incredulous.
'Of course. Enoch wouldn't lie.' Edna trusted Enoch implicitly; even though he had annoyed her just moments ago, she believed in separating the issue at hand from personal grievances.
Enoch remained blissfully unaware that the two angels had just held a silent debate regarding his fate. After tidying his somewhat disheveled attire, he turned his gaze back to Edna to explain the purpose of his visit.
"Please don't be angry with me." The words came out a bit clumsily, but when paired with his sincere and innocent expression, they proved incredibly touching—at least enough to soften Edna's heart. "I'm not angry," she murmured softly. Enoch watched her for a moment; having observed the angel for over a decade, he knew better than anyone how to distinguish between her genuine anger and a mere feigned calm. Only after confirming that no trace of fury remained in her heart did he finally turn his gaze toward the strange angel who had just pinned him to the ground and thoroughly humiliated him.
Perhaps he ought to spend some free time practicing his swordsmanship.
"And who is this?" he asked Edna.
"What business is it of yours?" Bradley retorted snappily, still harboring deep suspicion toward humans.
Edna, however, still remembered the convoluted identity Bradley had once concocted for himself. She replied, "I am the uncle of the cousin of the daughter of the brother of his aunt."
Enoch listened intently to this lengthy introduction. After waiting a good while to ensure Edna had nothing further to add, he looked at her and asked:
"So, that makes you his uncle?"
"Uh... his uncle's *daughter*, actually! Hahaha," Bradley added, wiping the sweat from his brow. Internally, however, he was mentally spitting at Edna: *What a terrifying human! To think someone would actually bother to make sense of such a ridiculous relationship!* Who in their right mind would pay any heed to such a chaotic family tree?
Angels professed to disdain falsehoods, yet the words that fell from their lips were often nothing but lies—for in their eyes, humans held no significance whatsoever.
Enoch felt a pang of sorrow at this realization. He lowered his head and spoke in a soft voice:
"To humans, kinship is a deeply important bond—a matter that demands the utmost respect and seriousness."
"Of course! We know that, naturally! Hahaha... we're the very best at..." Bradley, eager to simply get rid of him, offered a perfunctory response. But Edna reached out and tugged at Bradley, who was preparing to continue his nonsensical rambling.
*"Stop talking."*
She could tell that Enoch was growing annoyed—likely because he had realized they were spouting utter nonsense. And rightly so; after all, Enoch was the most intelligent human she knew.
If the roles were reversed—if someone were spouting such absurdities about the Powers—she, too, would be furious.
The more she thought about it, the more ashamed she felt for her own deceit. She couldn't help but whisper:
"I'm sorry."
Enoch was taken aback. He had sensed the angels' condescension toward humans, but he had never expected to receive an apology in return.
After all, angels were inherently far more powerful than humans; it was only to be expected—and entirely understandable—that they would look down upon mankind. "Edna... truly is a gentle angel."
As he gazed upon her saintly, delicate features, his heart gave an involuntary flutter.
In these times, nothing captured the public's attention quite like a debate. Those wishing to voice an opinion would simply step onto a raised platform and issue a challenge, awaiting a challenger to step up and refute them. The victor would earn a reputation for wisdom, and their corresponding viewpoint would gain public validation.
Andris was the premier academy of Hormah. Directly opposite its main gate stood a high platform where various debates were frequently staged. The topics of contention between the academies were invariably tied to current events—sometimes even drawing the attention of the City Lord himself—making it a renowned proving ground for the city's most talented individuals.
By declaring war on humanity, Edna was simply doing as the locals did: adopting the method of public debate.
Upon hearing the news, a young Anakite boy found it utterly laughable.
"Has she lost her mind? What does our faith have to do with her?"
He cast a glance at the most beautiful girl in his class—Astaroth, the daughter of Hormah's City Lord.
"I think you should tell your father that, from now on, he ought to refuse entry to anyone coming from those backward regions."
Astaroth did not immediately respond. Instead, the girl's pale eyes rested upon Bradley—who was snoring loudly right in front of her—before she finally spoke.
"You go and debate her."
"But..." The boy furrowed his brows, feeling the whole affair was completely unnecessary.
"Go on. Just listen to what she has to say," Astaroth said, smiling as she cut him off. "I will inform my father when the time is right."
"Really? The City Lord himself will come?" The boy's interest was instantly piqued, and his eyes lit up with excitement.
Astaroth merely smiled and remained silent. Her father was a fervent devotee of the Beast God; if he were to learn of this, he certainly wouldn't tolerate it—he would simply have the troublemaker thrown out.
With the City Lord's daughter's tacit approval, a heated debate commenced in the plaza before Andris.
Who is the *true* God?
Hearing this proposition, a group of cloaked travelers—who had just finished resupplying and were merely pausing for a tea break before continuing their journey—could not help but look up. "The people here are increasingly adopting the ways of those in the East," a man remarked as he poured a bowl of tea and placed it before the leader, who was clad in a navy-blue cloak.
"Please, help yourself."
The owner of the tea stall cowered in a corner—seething with silent indignation—for thanks to this group of strangers, his stall had seen absolutely no business.