Chapter 352: Closer to the gods than to men
Faelith stepped down from her carriage, the heels of her boots clicking softly against the polished pavement.
After seeing the Tree of Life, she had thought nothing else in Goldenveil could shock her.
But as her gaze swept across the cityscape stretching out before her, she took back those words.
It was... a bit absurd.
The streets were paved with carefully maintained basalt bricks, fitted together with such artisanal precision that not a single crack or misplaced piece could be found.
Every animal passing by wore a diaper-like contraption—black and obviously much less flashy in design than an actual diaper—where their waste was collected.
To her surprise, the moment her carriage came to a halt, a few men approached her guards, offering them one of those very items.
Apparently, it was illegal for any large animal to walk the streets of Goldenveil without one, since Ethan would not tolerate any buildup of filth on his streets.
She rolled her eyes.
The sidewalks were even better maintained. Wide, paved with stone slightly lighter in color than the street, they were flanked by small gardens and stately trees that offered comfortable benches beneath their shade.
From those trees, golden flowers drifted down, gliding slowly through the air before settling upon the streets and sidewalks, making the scene even more dazzling than it already was.
The fact that there was so little litter, and that all the flowers appeared fresh, spoke of careful, daily cleaning efforts.
Faelith let her gaze wander, taking in the houses and the soldiers, sensing their power—the power of their armor, the absolute control that even those at the second stage had over their own auras.
The houses she saw ordinary commoners entering and leaving were, each and every one, more beautiful and luxurious than her own mansion.
The soldiers, on the other hand, were on a level none of her own could ever compare to, both in training and in sheer raw power.
She could only sigh.
’Lord Fallenwinter is digging himself into a bottomless pit...’
It was one thing to hear from the scouts just how incredible Goldenveil was; it was something entirely different to see it with her own eyes.
As she took it all in, she was certain of only one thing: the war that Fallenwinter desired—the war of freedom and defiance—was a lost cause.
If they went to war against Goldenveil, whether with five, ten, or fifteen times as many men, it would be an absolute disaster.
The only practical way to deal with Goldenveil was to bow their heads, or to use the many orc settlements surrounding it to attack the city in endless waves.
Perhaps thirty or forty thousand orcs hurling themselves against the walls would be enough to at least break down one of the gates, crushing them under the sheer weight of their own corpses.
Slowly, Faelith turned her head, sensing a powerful aura approaching.
Two men strode toward her, one at the fourth stage and the other at the third.
"I am Countess Faelith... And you are?" she asked politely, her eyes scanning their armor.
It was mithril—and not just any kind.
The metal was of extremely high quality and clearly very pure.
She herself possessed only a single item made of mithril—an old sword.
Yet these two men wore full suits of mithril armor, their swords also forged from the metal.
"I am Doran, My Lady, Supreme Commander of the Goldenveil Armed Forces," the third-stage officer said, bowing with reverence.
"I am Theron, My Lady, Legatus and commander of the First Legion of Goldenveil," the fourth-stage officer said, offering a bow of his own.
"Is Lord Ethan ready to receive me?" she asked.
It was difficult for her to accept that Theron, a fourth-stage officer, was Doran’s subordinate.
But in the end, she maintained a respectful smile and refrained from asking too many questions.
"Yes, My Lady." Doran nodded, motioning for Theron to take care of Faelith’s carriage and guards. "Please follow me. I’ll take you to Lord Ethan’s palace immediately."
Faelith didn’t question the arrangement.
She simply ordered her soldiers to behave and handed them a small pouch of gold so they could eat at a nearby restaurant and rest a while.
Normally, she wouldn’t have liked the idea of being without her guard by her side, but in the end, there wasn’t much point in it—not in Goldenveil.
Her guards would be useless here. And, well, she was a fourth-stage mage—and a very powerful one at that.
If she ever found herself in a situation where she couldn’t defend herself, her soldiers wouldn’t be of any help at all.
Falling into step beside Doran, Faelith made her way through the bustling streets.
"How long have you been serving Lord Ethan?" she asked the stern-faced man at her side.
"A little over a year, Lady Faelith. The Lord gave me a new chance at life, and he gave me everything I have today," Doran declared, his voice filled with reverence.
"Is this how all the citizens of Goldenveil feel? I can see that the morale of the people here is quite high."
"Yes." Doran nodded without hesitation.
"Many here were rescued from orc and goblin lairs. Many others have been in Goldenveil since his arrival, when we had only a little over seventy people—a miserable place doomed to destruction."
"It was Lord Ethan’s miracles that made all of this possible. We worship the three goddesses: Life, Beauty, and Death. But many already see Ethan as a fourth figure to be worshiped."
Doran wasn’t exaggerating.
Faith in the three goddesses had not yet been firmly established in Goldenveil, and there was no church other than the cathedral, which was only now beginning to hold its first ceremonies.
Since the faith had not yet been clearly defined, and the worship of any god other than the three had been declared illegal, the population had gotten creative.
Many saw Ethan as a prophet sent by the goddesses, while others saw him simply as a being equal to them.
There were even those who, in all their absurdity, declared that the goddesses were Ethan’s destined wives, and that for their Lord, not even the deities were the limit.
Well, it was only natural.
Ethan conjured great monuments out of thin air, summoned soldiers from mere cards, and called forth rare artifacts from the void. He could even accelerate the growth of his crops.
No mortal should be capable of such feats. But Ethan was.
So how could his people see him as a mere mortal?
Ethan himself had barely noticed it, but in the eyes of the people of Goldenveil, he was already someone far closer to the gods than to men.