However, according to legend, the Gods of Faith are not so easily killed. Their true forms can rge with the Divine Country.
In this primal era, the system of Divine Techniques had not yet fully ford.
Many divine techniques were still in a developntal state.
The abilities that most divine spirits could grant to priests stemd from their domains; beyond that, even the divine spirits couldn’t help. There wasn’t anything like a magical web to utilize, and casting spells required ritual support and the divine spirit’s consent to borrow power.
It’s like the eastern rituals of summoning deities; if the divine spirit ignores you, no amount of pleading will help.
Even for eastern spells, if you want to summon a deity, you must offer incense regularly so that they respond promptly at critical monts.
The standard of piety for priests is just so.
After tending the wound, the witch Gleya turned to leave, and before departing, she pointedly remarked, "Avoid strenuous activities, don’t ride horses, superficial wounds can wait, but the injury to your chest might rupture at any mont."
After speaking, she glanced aningfully at the beautiful lady pirate beside her.
That ans you.
Duncan’s chest was pierced by a necromantic gun, and even with regeneration, it’s not easy to completely heal.
— "Curse of Death: You have slain a subordinate deity of the ancient Egyptian Death Pantheon and seized their power of death. They won’t easily give up on revenge, and you may be attacked by creatures from the Netherworld at any ti. Other enemies from the Death Sect might also try to assassinate you."
There’s a negative mark on his human form.
Duncan didn’t mind much, after all, enemies who co to him only serve to strengthen him.
After the witch Gleya left, the alluring lady pirate knelt beside Duncan. She seed to hesitate in speech, but Duncan simply patted her rear, causing her to obediently tie her hair and lower her head.
He can’t move, but there are other solutions.
He simply stayed still.
It’s no big deal; can a person be troubled by such a small issue?
The night deepened.
A mysterious silhouette suddenly appeared, almost completely invisible, blending with the shadows of the barracks, resembling both a living person and a ghost.
With the whisper of spells, strands of sand transford into shadows, dispersing in all directions.
Before long.
The eerie figure stealthily approached Duncan’s tent.
— Ghostly Assassin Nibuhepotel-Khufu (Five-star Silver Gray)!
In the Dinsion Space.
Duncan was imdiately jolted awake into a combat-ready state. He’s least afraid of assassins because once he’s locked by murderous intent, he instantly enters a higher-dinsional perspective.
"They really dared to co!"
Duncan patted the lady pirate beside him. She quickly opened her eyes, flipped up, grabbed the rapier by the bed, and cautiously asked, "What’s happening?"
Pirates constantly wander and are highly vigilant.
Over the years, only when sleeping beside Duncan did she dare to sleep soundly.
Duncan pointed to the necromantic gun beside him, signaling her to pass it to him.
Buzz.
Upon taking the necromantic gun, the gun body subtly trembled. Duncan stood up, stretched his muscles, then grabbed the battle gun and assud a javelin-throwing posture.
In an instant!
Bang.
A crimson lightning bolt tore through the sky, piercing the tent, spanning over a hundred ters, penetrating a nearby wooden fence, and nailing a stealthy figure to the wall.
The necromantic gun pierced the skull.
Even a Legendary Powerhouse died instantly without a chance to react, leaving only wide, shocked eyes.
Duncan sat down, patted the captivating lady pirate’s rear, gesturing her to retrieve the necromantic gun.
Without a Celtic recovery rune, once thrown, he had to retrieve it himself.
Annie Porter’s face was filled with shock and deep admiration. She pulled the necromantic gun from the wall, glanced at the instantly dead unlucky guy, and carried the blood-stained long gun back to the tent.
By this ti, the commotion had drawn the patrolling barbarians.
No matter how many co, Duncan kills them all.
Duncan was genuinely worried they wouldn’t dare co; in this era, camp raids weren’t easy, because warriors’ physical qualities are stronger.
Even if he can’t kill instantly, the barbarians could chop a Legendary Powerhouse into minced at.
Several days quickly passed.
Just as Duncan led his army besieging the Golden City, in the distant Storm Isles, so changes were quietly taking place.
No one knew when.
The statue of Oreitia, the Amazon queen, had been toppled, replaced by the statue of a heroic goddess holding a spear and shield. She appeared sowhat like the Goddess of Wisdom, Athena, only her visage was more nacing, even possessing a bit of the cold darkness of primordial divine spirits, akin to the Celtic pantheon Duncan had seen long ago.
Darkened Athena, the face of Goddess Suliss.
With Duncan’s repeated victories, the attention of the Furious Gods was entirely drawn to the Golden Coast, while faith in Goddess Suliss silently infiltrated into the Amazon tribes.
This wasn’t exactly a ho theft; it was more like the Furious Gods wanting to fight wild, but while they were fighting big monsters, the wild area was stolen by soone.
The statue of Queen Oreitia stood like a guardian at the side of Goddess Suliss’s statue, the new statue smaller in size, hierarchically distinct, as though it was a demigod accompanying in the temple. Goddess Suliss wasn’t idle during this ti; after all, Athena was also a warrior goddess, her martial prowess among Zeus’s children was top-tier.
She hunted a native god of the Storm Isles, directly replacing Him as the faith source for nearby tribes.
Now, besides the Amazonian warriors, there were also many cats and priestesses serving them, appearing to be weak divine spirits from the Golden Coast who relocated their sect here.
The golden desert by winter.
In a sea of endless yellow sand, an elite nomadic unit erged on the borders of a small nation in the distant east. They were well-equipped, their riding skill exceptional, and as the leader drew out an elf war bow, a ruthless slaughter ensued.
Thousands of nomadic warriors galloped like the wind, wielding elf war bow imitations, the new generation of prairie warbows with imnse destructive power. Arrows rained down, overwhelming enemies while remaining unscathed themselves.
Counter-shooting, can’t outshoot elves? Can’t outshoot you?
Infantry facing mounted archers couldn’t catch them, couldn’t escape, and couldn’t outshoot them, it was a dead end, only to be worn down alive.
Few soldiers could maintain morale under such circumstances, and the equipnt of this era couldn’t withstand the arrow rain.
As the enemies in front gradually collapsed, the fierce leader drew a curved blade. Their equipnt far surpassed that of this era, as if they had acquired Central State elf technology, and with hundreds of cavalry galloping, they slaughtered the disordered thousands ahead as if it were child’s play.
When nomads raid areas, they love to capture craftsn.
They also gained from traveling to Central State.
"In the na of Heaven!"
"Surrenderers, will be spared death!"
The entire battle raged like a storm, yet abruptly ended, leaving only broken limbs and fragnts scattered everywhere. These prairie warriors, fierce and brave, obliterated a small nation like sweeping away decay.
Behind them, a shaman priest was listening to the singing wind, and the whispers of all spirits.
So anings among them he seed unable to comprehend.
"Your Majesty...?"
"Who are all spirits calling Your Majesty? Is it the great Khan...?"
"Heaven above."
"Please grant guidance."
All spirits offered no response, and Heaven seed silent, contemplating sothing, only the prairie wind blew towards the distant coastline.
Last ti, they lost.
This ti they pondered whether to face that Majesty again.
.........
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