Chapter 261: The True Twilight, A Confession of Blood and Tears
My name is Sonya, an untouchable, a young girl born with sin.
Yet, I worked hard, completed every task my master assigned, and did what I could for my parents and grandmother. I also prayed devoutly to the War Goddess we believe in, unable to comprehend the sin I carried.
Shouldn’t “sin” be a word designated for murderers, robbers, deceivers, and those who occupy others’ property?
Sonya didn’t understand, so she asked her mother, who immediately burst into tears, saying it was all her fault for giving birth to me.
My mother cried so heartbreakingly that I dared not ask again.
Life was hard, but we stayed united as a family. We even had candy that my father, through his frugality, bought for me!
Though crude, it was truly sweet. It made Sonya feel the happiness described in doctrines and scriptures.
But later, the master heard that seeds were bought. It turned out those seeds were problematic, drastically reducing that year’s harvest, and everyone had to go hungry.
Of course, the master wouldn’t go hungry. As long as those vicious household guards came to snatch the food from us untouchables, they could still live very happily.
It was a terrifying winter.
My father went into the mountains to hunt and never returned. My grandmother fell ill and lay in bed. My mother, striving to sustain the family’s livelihood, fell into a dry well.
After burying my mother, my brother and I went to a neighboring village to beg for food. When we returned, our grandmother had been suffocated by the stove fire in her room.
My brother said it was an accident, but I knew my grandmother was the most meticulous person in the world. She could never have made such a foolish mistake.
She, an old woman, didn’t want to burden my brother and me, so she wanted to leave her last bit of food for us, thus deliberately making a mistake.
For the first time, I realized it was so difficult just to survive.
Even with my grandmother sacrificing herself, we didn’t have enough food to get through that winter.
My brother snuck out at night, went into the farm of the neighboring estate, and returned bloody.
He had tried to steal food and was caught, breaking several bones.
Just for a few potatoes no bigger than an infant’s fist, he suffered the most vicious beating. He pushed the bloody food towards me and passed out, never to wake again.
Sonya was left all alone.
I ate the potatoes mixed with my brother’s blood. They weren’t tasty, but I still swallowed them.
My brother had given his life to bring them back, hoping I would live.
I must live, even if I don’t know what awaits me, or what the end of an untouchable’s life looks like.
Grow up, get married, have children, starve like me, live with the expectations of my family, and then repeat the cycle?
The priest said this was a beautiful world protected by the War Goddess, that we lived under her grace and should be grateful.
But what was there to be grateful for?
Grateful for the suffering she gave me, for the hunger, for taking away my loved ones, for allowing the high-class to strip me of my dignity, for staining the potatoes with blood?
But I must live.
I must live for my father, mother, grandmother, and brother, and see what this world holds.
If I ever have the chance to meet the high and mighty War Goddess, I want to ask her to her face:
Having done all this, do you truly deserve to be high and mighty? Do you truly accept our offerings?
I don’t want a beautiful afterlife; I just want my parents back.
Please, Almighty God, in the hymns we are forced to sing, you said you were almighty, didn’t you? Then you can surely grant Sonya’s small wish, right?
…
…
My name is Tiger. My mother hoped I would be as strong as a tiger, so she gave me this name.
Because she was frail since childhood, thinner than children her age, and always sick. But since she was a girl, she could always get married, which is why she was raised.
But such an upbringing was ultimately difficult, not glorious, but very bleak.
So she hoped I would have a strong physique, so I wouldn’t be bullied, could do more labor, and become a reliable source of labor for the family.
This way, even if I were the child of a concubine, I wouldn’t be ignored and would receive more care, right?
A beautiful name, my mother’s wish, none of it brought me good fortune. I seemed to have inherited her problems; I was thin and small.
I was bullied outside, and at home, they didn’t like such a sickly child. My mother and I lived like invisible people.
I knew my mother was sick, lying in bed, unable to even do the simplest tasks like cooking or washing clothes.
My grandmother took my mother to the temple, and then announced that the priest said my mother was dying.
Grandfather nodded, father nodded, aunt nodded, brother nodded…
Everyone knew my mother was dying.
Their expressions were calm. When the old yellow cow in our house got sick last year, they at least showed some sorrow.
So, on the third day, it was time to bury my mother.
I walked at the end of the procession, crying, thinking how capable the priest was. He said my mother was dying, and she truly died.
In front of the blazing bonfire, I suddenly saw the straw mat covering my mother move.
I rushed over in surprise, holding her hand. Though cold, it still had warmth.
“Mommy isn’t dead!” I shouted loudly. Grandmother picked me up.
Father said, “Your mother is dead. If you don’t believe me, ask her?”
The straw mat was pulled back, and my mother’s face was pale. She whispered, “Yes, I am already dead…”
I was stunned. At that time, I couldn’t distinguish whether my mother was dead or not.
If she was dead, why was she still warm? If she was alive, why did she say she was dead?
Father covered the straw mat, and from the ignited flames, no wails were heard.
At that moment, I thought my mother must have really died.
Growing up, I thought my mother, to prevent me from worrying or getting too excited, which would make my father and grandmother dislike me even more, endured the pain of being burned alive and accepted the end they gave her.
After joining the Sky Dawn Army, I learned that my grandmother had gone to the temple, and because the priest demanded ten times the consultation fee, she returned home and announced my mother was dying.
If her own daughter was sick, would she act like this, burning her alive while she was still breathing?
My mother was sick, and there was another equally thin and small child. They were powerless against the family’s arrangement.
They were renowned devout believers in this parish, acknowledged as good people, civilized and polite, yet they could burn a living person.
I attended night school every day, yet I still couldn’t understand what faith had given us.
In God’s name, under God’s tolerance, under God’s grace, could believers burn a sick woman to death?
I couldn’t think any further. I could only grip my gun, wear my armor, and return to the land I lived in, to ask those who still firmly believed in the gods:
That woman never showed mercy to those truly in need, so why should she be a god?
…
…
The little boy, relentlessly bullied by the priest in the choir, led the Sky Dawn Army and finally jumped to his death from the church roof, singing a song.
The woman whose husband wanted a new wife, then was framed for adultery, and then beaten to death with stones and buried alive by all the men in the village.
The scholar who studied for ten years, always ranking first, but whose position was always taken by families closer to God.
The serf who worked ordinary jobs, saved money ordinarily, and died from overtime work.
The most valiant efforts, the fiercest battles fought for survival, earning vast wealth for their masters, only to be arranged to lose a staged match in their old age, extorted for their last ounce of value…
One life after another, one despair after another.
This is not a carefully curated collection, but what the church and nobility let happen every day under the rule of the gods.
The gods knew this, of course, but they didn’t see anything wrong with it. All they needed was to continuously provide them with faith in the most efficient way.
The lambs only needed to complete their tasks; their happiness was irrelevant to the deity, as was fairness.
She was a god, a high and mighty god, already unimaginably powerful for these mortals, destined to remain so on the eternal path, unaffected by their joys and sorrows.
So Tibella never truly heard the prayers of these mortals.
She only needed to provide them with strength when a show was required, to fulfill their small wishes, to cultivate a thriving diocese, and then harvest the Faith Power produced annually.
Therefore, she only heard the voices of the church and nobility, admired their ambitious desires, felt their unscrupulous methods, and watched one act after another unfold.
“So, why are you questioning me? Your weakness is the original sin, your existence is the original sin, you are part of the very fabric of this society, you are merely tools to provide me with faith, what right do you have to question me?”
Tibella couldn’t bear the chaotic voices in her mind and loudly rebuked the believers questioning her.
Why should your past suffering be my responsibility?
She felt wronged. It wasn’t me exploiting you, nor did I give birth to those nobles.
They have always existed, even before I arrived. I merely used their power to maintain my rule more conveniently.
Her attitude was clear: I am a constantly strengthening deity, a deity pursuing eternal immortality.
You have a mere hundred years of life. What does it matter to me whether you are happy or in pain, poor or rich, healthy or sick?
Stop talking, stop talking. I know you’ve had a terrible time, but what does that have to do with me?
As her questioning clearly expressed her stance, the chaotic, mixed statements immediately ceased.
Tibella smiled. These believers felt guilty, didn’t they?
Faced with the majesty of a god, they were still afraid, still awestruck by her power.
In her spiritual ocean, the voices of the believers gradually resurfaced:
“Lies, utter lies. Everything preached in the doctrine is a lie.”
“We never asked the powerful to live our lives for us. But if you gain benefits, you should bear corresponding responsibilities, not turn your back on those behind you.”
“The so-called god is merely a selfish person inside, with no unique thoughts worth recording.”
“Knows nothing of compassion, only the most exquisite egoism, enjoying its own ugly and greedy eternity.”
“How laughable, the most powerful position in our Universe is held by these pretenders, leading an even more selfish future, and this has been going on for thousands of years.”
“Fortunately, we possess the power to correct this mistake.”
“The trial of the war criminal War Goddess Tibella has concluded. The internal court of the Empire’s Second Fleet will now begin deliberations.”
“She is unworthy.”
“She is unworthy.”
“She is unworthy.”
One after another, the cry of “She is unworthy” echoed, from the control center of the Divine Sin, to the ordinary soldiers, the former believers of the War Goddess.
The more people were at the bottom, the less hope they had for life, entrusting everything to faith, offering the most devout prayers.
Because their doctrines told them that as long as they prayed and let the gods hear their voices, they could have a beautiful future.
The truth was, many people died without ever seeing the future promised by the gods.
They didn’t want to rely on immortal emperors, but the immortals had deceived them with beautiful lies. This deception infuriated these former believers.
Tibella was unworthy of her current power, unworthy of controlling the vast Faith Power. All the rights she currently possessed should be stripped away.
This was a judgment on a hypocritical deity. Although it was an Incarnation being judged now, the outcome of today would also affect Tibella’s true body and permeate the ensuing war.
As the cry of “She is unworthy” resounded, the Faith Power that constituted Tibella’s Incarnation was finally separated from her.
“Don’t, don’t do this. I am an omnipotent god. I don’t want to become weak…”
The power that once belonged to her, that feeling of controlling others’ lives, slipped through Tibella’s fingers, bringing a fear that made her completely unable to control the situation.
Death was merely dormancy; what was terrifying was that she was now gradually becoming the ordinary person she despised the most.
Three Incarnations of Tibella’s consciousness were cast into the Plane controlled by the Seven Gods, onto the most ordinary church serfs.
There were men, women, and the elderly.
They didn’t choose those born with disabilities to deliberately disgust Tibella, but had ordinary healthy bodies, limbs intact, yet without outstanding talent.
Such a “normal” life would not have major disasters, but it would also offer no chance of a turnaround. They would only contribute their lives under the dual oppression of the church and nobility, exhaust their energy, and finally turn into a handful of dust that no one cared about.
“Don’t do this. I am a god. I should be high and mighty. No one can order me to do anything, and I certainly won’t marry some pathetic old man!”
In a certain village, a pretty young girl proudly jumped onto the roof, declaring her uniqueness.
“Is this girl crazy?”
“So what if she’s crazy? As long as she can bear children!”
The young girl had no martial arts, no magic. Soon, she was caught by her family and forced into a wedding dress, married to an over forty-year-old widower.
It was simply because her brother also needed to get married, and the old widower offered more money, so the maiden in her prime had her life decided.
Within the body, the soul that should have been a god was enraged and humiliated, but she could change nothing. She could only endure this ordinary fate, repeating countless times across the Universe…
“So-called gods, so-called nobles, truly disgusting…”
She had been oblivious to the believers’ accusations, but now with these hardships falling upon her, she finally felt intense indignation towards those she had once relied on.
But the verdict was set. She would inevitably cycle through such fates until the Seven Gods were completely destroyed and the Universe ushered in complete enlightenment.
An eternal war was gradually drawing to a curtain. Tibella’s three Incarnations had basically completed their missions, and the real battle was intensifying in Conqueror’s Valley.
