George III's Ambition

The gas lamp in the study burned quietly, casting Edwin's figure onto the bookshelf behind him and drawing out a long shadow.

King George III.

The mastermind being him did not come as much of a surprise.

After all, this king's many recent actions had been far too abnormal.

The memories of Panatiya, the "Despair Witch," merely confirmed his suspicions.

Their cooperation had begun long ago.

Through the Witch Church's covert channels scattered throughout the darkest corners, George III had obtained large numbers of people from various sources.

These people had been sent to different places, seemingly thrown into some massive excavation project.

At the same time, the Witch Church had been stirring up trouble on the surface.

The increasingly intense labor movements had likewise been influenced by the Witch Church.

Edwin leaned back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously tapping against the desk.

In this world, gods were neither The Almighty nor eternal and indestructible.

They needed the faith of mortals as "anchors" to stabilize the remnants of their sanity and humanity.

This also explained why every church silently adhered to the same ironclad rule: sealing away knowledge related to potions.

They kept all information regarding Sequence potions tightly concealed, because once mortals learned that the so-called lofty gods were merely lucky people who had consumed potions and climbed step by step to the top—

The foundations of faith would collapse in an instant.

Restricting the key raw materials for making potions, sparing no cost to contain and seal all manner of extraordinary items—everything was done to preserve this fragile balance.

And mortal kings were an indispensable part of that balance.

A wise monarch could bring stability to a nation, and stability meant a flourishing population.

More people meant more "anchors," and to the gods, that was the most