"Wait, Mr. World, do you mean that the current True Gods seized the Ancient Sun God's Beyonder characteristics and then—"
Alger's voice was very soft, so soft that it was as though he feared disturbing the dead souls slumbering in the depths of history.
After that earlier, subversive groundwork, this conclusion had almost crawled out of the cracks in logic on its own.
Seized.
Only that word could explain why the churches of the seven orthodox gods had joined forces like a band of tomb robbers, carefully erasing every trace that ancient god had ever existed.
They were not preserving the purity of faith. They were destroying damning evidence of a monstrous crime.
Alger recalled another detail he had overlooked.
The source of the potion Sequences was those two Blasphemy Slates.
Blasphemy.
Didn't that word itself already explain everything?
"This is not something you should know right now."
Edwin's blurred figure spoke in an even tone, without the slightest emotional fluctuation. Yet his words were like an invisible wall, instantly cutting off all of Alger's speculation.
The unspoken meaning was: You know too much. And people who knew too much usually did not live long.
Alger's azure spirit body contracted violently, as if struck by an invisible current.
He instantly came to his senses, a chill rising from the depths of his spiritual core.
He truly should not ask any further.
Peering into the secrets of gods—especially secrets capable of shaking the very foundations of divine faith—was itself a suicidal act.
Klein leaned against the back of his chair. His face beneath the gray fog remained calm, but the fingers beneath the table curled unconsciously.
His scalp tingled.
He felt as though he had casually lifted a rug, only to discover that beneath it lay not years of dust, but