On a night of howling winds, Obsidian lay quietly in a self-made cliff cave on the edge of the Storm Peaks.
He half-closed his golden dragon eyes, but his consciousness drifted to a deeper level of awareness.
When the last trace of divine power flowed into tranquility, he opened his eyes, and an interface, clearer than ever before, appeared in his mind.
It was a special function of the Godhead, capable of generating an intuitive and easy-to-understand 'Deity' interface.
Divine Name: Obsidion Nexus Lin (Obsidian Nexus Lin)
Faction: Lawful Neutral
Domain: Dragon / Shadow
Divine Portfolio: To be selected (① [Lord of Endings] ② [Abyssal Whisperer] ③ [Flame Keeper] …)
Godhead Level: 0 (Demigod)
Challenge Rating: 30
Divine Emblem: Obsidian Dragon Eye
Believers: 21 (Ice Troll 20, Proto-Dragon 1)
Faith Intensity: Weak
Divine Realm: Not established
Blessing Authority: Level One Open
Path of Enhancement: ① Divine Power Advancement ② Ancient Dragon Path ③???
"Still zero level…" A hint of realization surged in Obsidian's heart.
According to the 'training' from the system, he knew that only after igniting the divine fire would his Godhead level change from 0 to 1.
But once the divine fire was ignited, there was no turning back…
If there was no faith to fuel the divine fire, then the divine fire would burn his soul.
That is to say, if the church in the mortal realm were to perish, he would also be severely wounded.
In the DnD planes, countless deities had fallen due to loss of faith.
Faith was undoubtedly a double-edged sword.
However, as a Dragon God, his path to transcendence was clearly not limited to divine power from faith alone.
During the five thousand years he was trapped in the cave, he had, with the help of the "system," completed the ritual of advancing to an Ancient Dragon, having eliminated or merged with all his parallel-world selves.
In other words, he was still like a hatchling, able to continuously grow stronger as long as he survived.
It was just that the speed of his growth… one could say it wasn't non-existent, but rather measured in millennia.
As for those question marks…
Just as he was about to delve deeper into the path ahead, weighing the dangers and opportunities of igniting the divine fire, a subtle yet undeniable discomfort emanated from his claw tips.
Obsidian's expression sharpened; he reined in his divine sense and perceived his surroundings.
— The sense of rejection from the flow of laws in the air was more intense than in previous days.
Whether it was the subtle shadow infiltration or controlling the flow of his own divine power, everything became more strenuous than before.
It was as if the very foundation of the world was slowly'shutting him out.'
This was not targeted by a hostile deity or magic array, but a higher-level, broader rejection.
Azeroth was rejecting him…
In fact, after first feeling this sense of rejection, Obsidian had some thoughts.
Even though it was a later expansion pack addition, the fact that Azeroth was the "Supreme World Soul" should have been a foregone conclusion.
However, this contradicted some of the previous history.
The Titans modified Azeroth and then simply left, just as they treated other worlds, with little difference.
Subjectively, Obsidian was more inclined to view this as Blizzard's usual practice — 'retconning,' which was nothing new to him.
However, the current situation was different; Azeroth was clearly rejecting those who had ascended to godhood.
Perhaps because Obsidian was a native Azerothian dragon, the sense of rejection was very slight.
As for the Titans, they might have experienced greater rejection, and considering they stayed in Azeroth for many years before leaving…
One could only say the difference was quite significant, right?
Obsidian speculated without basis.
"No matter what, let's first accumulate enough divine power for the first avatar."
Obsidian twisted his massive dragon body, shifting into a more comfortable position, then focused his attention on the divine emblem.
—Dividing line—
To the southwest of ZulDrak, amidst the tundra and snow, in a low-lying area obscured by snow pines and frost, lay Tok-Aak, meaning "Breath of Cold Earth," the dwelling place of the Skala tribe.
At dusk, the hunting horn echoed across the frozen plains.
Skala walked at the front of the procession, his figure resolute, his armor damaged but clearly well-cleaned, solely to highlight the Obsidian divine emblem hanging on his chest.
Behind him were twenty intact tribesmen.
On the sled lay dismembered and portioned Mammoth meat, along with several blood-stained tusks, signifying the great success of the hunt.
The outpost at the edge of the tribe was the first to spot their return, and the messenger shouted loudly: "It's Skala! They've brought back Mammoth!"
For a moment, a stir arose from within the cold tents.
Elder warriors emerged from the camp, axes on their shoulders; children peeked out from behind snow walls; mothers whispered prayers; and even the grandmother, who had moved away from the ritual totem, slowly rose by the fire.
But then, everyone's attention shifted from the Mammoth.
For behind the snow mist, something vast and oppressive loomed indistinctly.
An old hunter frowned, muttering lowly, "Something… followed them in."
Skala, however, said nothing, simply stepping forward, through the wooden palisade, and into the heart of the tribe.
When he arrived before the stone altar in the center of the tribe, the old woman with silver-gray hair and a beast-bone war robe was already waiting there — Xilika, the Totem Watcher.
"You brought back meat," she said coldly, her voice like wind and frost.
"And faith," Skala raised the divine emblem.
It was an Obsidian ornament shaped like a dragon's eye, with a deep vertical pupil, glowing with an eerie dark light in the twilight.
It seemed to gaze at Xilika, and at everyone present.
"Not our loa," she whispered, her eyes alert. "Not even any loa we know."
"It is the loa who answered us," Skala slowly replied, his tone no longer hesitant. "When all loa were silent, He heard our pleas."
The torches by the stone altar crackled in the wind and snow; a few young hunters exchanged glances, and some began to whisper.
And at the edge of the tribe, several tamed wolves growled and retreated, their gaze fixed on a dim direction.
There, a heavy claw mark appeared on the snow, its edges slowly covered by the cold wind.
The firelight twisted above the stone altar, and the crackling of the bonfire refocused everyone's attention.
Skala still stood in the center, his right hand holding the divine emblem high, his posture as firm as a stone carving.
Xilika silently gazed at him, her aged yet clear eyes holding the authority and worry accumulated over long years as a 'Watcher.'
"Do you know what you are doing?" she asked softly, like a sigh carried on the wind and snow.
"That is precisely why I brought it back," Skala's tone was as firm as cold stone.
"You are inviting a foreign loa." She paused. "Those loa share our offerings, but He is not one of them. Do you think they will accept you this way? No. loa are jealous deities; they only wish to favor mortals who worship only them. If you divide your devotion to another god, you will no longer be a child 'belonging' to any loa."
At these words, many of the older trolls present lowered their heads.
They understood this doctrine: every priest and warrior who truly made a pact with a loa had to be a "sole believer."
That was not just an honor, but a necessity — otherwise, divine favor would recede like a tide, or even incur the wrath of the loa.
"The loa have abandoned us!" Skala's voice suddenly rose. "You and I both know it. Our totems no longer glow, our calls go unanswered, the ancestral dance cannot even summon a dream. If we continue to bow to silent gods, we will only freeze to death in the wind and snow!"
Under the firelight, Skala's eyes held snow and blood, and the lingering glow of divinity.
Xilika slowly closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she only said, "You are no longer a child. You must bear the consequences of your choice."
"I will," Skala replied calmly.
The two looked at each other for a moment, then both slowly lowered their heads.
Not in surrender, but in the reaching of a consensus.
"The shrine must not be placed near the totems," Xilika's tone was calm, but carried an undeniable ruling authority. "You believe in your god, I guard my ritual. The tribe members may choose their faith freely."
"I will only give the divine emblem to those willing to wear it," Skala nodded. "I will not force anyone, nor will I challenge the totems."
The wind and snow danced outside the firelight, and a low dragon's roar came from behind the distant hills, subtle and fleeting, like some colossal being silently observing from the shadows.
No one responded to that sound, yet some trolls instinctively turned to look back.
"We have changed," Xilika slowly turned, facing the long-extinguished loa brazier deep within the stone altar. "But I am still waiting, even if they respond just one more time."
Skala said nothing, simply put away the divine emblem and handed it to Gulen behind him.
"In His name, build the shrine."