South Continent.
Theus opened his eyes but did not move, simply sitting there in a daze.
This time, the memories were neither blurred nor shrouded in mist. Everything was incomparably clear, and he could see every person's face.
In an instant, he understood many things: why he was clearly supposed to sit upon the throne, yet the perspective of his memories was always from below; why the throne was always empty whenever he looked at it.
Why he could remember knowledge and technology, yet could not remember his memories from before he transmigrated.
He had seemingly always been trying to avoid remembering that matter, avoiding the truth of everything—he was not the original body that had created it all, not the true transmigrator. He was merely an avatar.
Why was the Throne Room empty? Because all his companions had chosen sacrifice.
So this was the truth. The strength of gods had never lain in their own combat power, but in the fact that mortals could not harm them, nor could they truly perish.
Only the self-sacrifice of their avatars could put them into slumber.
So this was the truth of a thousand years ago. No wonder the five righteous gods had died at the same time, the evil gods had turned into monsters, and the outer gods had lost their power.
At first, Theus had thought the "gods" of this world pitifully weak, utterly unworthy of the name. It turned out they had long been suppressed by the sacrifices of his companions.
The sacrifices of countless companions in those memories had bought a thousand years of peace and given them such weak enemies.
Theus suddenly shuddered. Countless memories surged into his mind like a tide, sweeping over him.
"What's happening... ngh, all the gods are reviving... ah..."
Theus's head felt