After the war ended.
The Tribe did not grieve for long.
No matter what.
People always had to start new lives.
After that Holy Rain.
The mountains, once left barren by the Tribe's extensive gathering, sprouted fresh herbs once more.
Even the trees, nourished by the Holy Water, grew much faster than before, gradually becoming sturdier and taller.
Over the years of constant honing.
A group of apprentices trained by Huxter had gained the ability to practice medicine independently, gradually becoming the people the Tribe trusted to save lives and treat the wounded.
These Healers began applying specially made medicinal paste to their wounded tribesmen and using Flint Knives to cut away the dead tissue.
The Artisans carried logs on their shoulders and rebuilt the homes the monsters had destroyed.
Everything.
Seemed to be quietly returning to normal.
However.
The Rot Spirit Flower seemed to have changed somewhat.
After the monsters died in the forest.
Their enormous bodies were covered in pale blue mycelium, then gradually decayed and shriveled.
Swarm after swarm of Rot Spirit Insects began traveling back and forth between the two places.
It looked as though they were carrying the monsters' flesh to the Rot Spirit Flower.
The pale blue glow of the Rot Spirit Flower in the forest faded completely.
Its stone petals slowly closed, causing it to shrink somewhat.
Meanwhile, six crystal-clear blue stones appeared in the grass of the Blue Forest, not far from the Rot Spirit Flower.
Though the astonished people did not know what these strange changes meant.
They watched carefully.
When the Rot Spirit Insects continued to go about their business as usual, the people realized that the Messenger of the Gods was unharmed, and gradually put their minds at ease.
Even so, during this time, they kept a close eye on everything happening in the Blue Forest.
Boer had been very busy lately.
After the war.
The repairs and rebuilding of homes, the people's casualties, the Rot Spirit Flower's unusual changes, along with all the matters concerning the farmland, all needed his attention at the same time.
Under the strain.
Boer grew thinner and thinner.
Sometimes, Boer wanted to talk things over with his father and ask his advice.
Just as he had when he was young, learning everything little by little under his father's guidance.
But in the end.
He did not enter the cave.
It was not because of his pride or self-respect.
Rather, Richie's condition had become almost unimaginably severe.
For some reason.
After hearing that the Tribe had defeated the Sea Monster.
The aged chieftain had seemed relieved, his face showing satisfaction and Inspire.
However.
After that day.
Richie's condition took a sudden turn for the worse.
Sometimes, he even needed the guards to help him out of bed.
The people of the Tribe could not help but sigh over it.
No one had ever expected that this great God-Chosen, who had led the Tribe back to the Age of Divine Grace.
Would become, in his old age, a frail old man who could barely walk.
It was just as this God-Chosen had said in the temple.
Nothing was eternal and indestructible.
The only thing that was eternal.
Was the one and only supreme God.
Although the children were all careful not to trouble the old man.
On a long night.
The old man summoned his son to the cave.
"You're here."
Boer stared blankly at his father, who had sat up.
In the firelight.
He was astonished to see his gravely ill father straighten up in bed.
Somehow, the old man's face had suddenly regained its luster.
What shocked him most were those eyes.
Though the cloudy gray-blue eyes, dull for years, revealed boundless weariness and weakness.
They had once again begun to gleam with wisdom.
Like gravel on a riverbed washed clean by a rainstorm.
But Boer knew.
Perhaps this was simply the last glow of the setting sun.
"Father."
Boer struggled to open his mouth, wanting to say something, but his body trembled.
On countless days and nights, he had imagined this scene.
He had thought he was well prepared.
But when the moment finally came.
He could only feel as helpless as a child.
"Boer."
"You've lost quite a bit of weight."
In the silent firelight.
Richie only smiled as he looked at his son.
"These past few years haven't been easy for you, either. Thank you for all your hard work."
The old, hunched God-Chosen gently reached out from his bed and tenderly clasped the young chieftain's hand with his withered, branchlike fingers.
Under that warm and steady strength.
The trembling of Boer's hand gradually stopped.
Boer forgot how his conversation with his father had begun.
Silently, he listened to his father's words, just as he had when he was young, and etched them firmly into his heart.
"You're a kind chieftain, and that's good."
"But sometimes, kindness alone isn't enough."
"From here on, you'll have to find your own way."
"If you run into any trouble, ask your older brother for advice."
When Richie had said all he needed to say, he seemed at last to be at peace.
"You still have a lot to do."
"Go on."
"You don't have to stay here. The people of the Tribe still need you, don't they?"
After his son left.
Just as he had once watched Boer run toward the sea.
Richie watched the departing figure grow smaller in the distance, a faint smile appearing on his aged face.
Several days later, one morning.
As the guards hurried out in a panic.
Richie, lying on the stone bed, had reached the final end of his life's journey as a God-Chosen.
In the haze.
The aged God-Chosen felt no regrets.
He had devoted his entire life to the Tribe.
And to God.
His conscience was clear.
He only remembered the promise he had failed to keep with his wife, and felt a trace of regret and loss.
Just as his consciousness was about to sink away.
As darkness was about to swallow the entire world.
A ray of light.
Appeared there.
That radiance bloomed atop the mountain.
Some Artisans who were repairing wooden huts sensed something at that moment.
They all looked up as if by common consent.
Their gazes involuntarily turned toward the mountaintop.
In an instant.
The stone hammers in their hands fell abruptly, and they trembled as they knelt and prostrated themselves before the divine light.
Amid that boundless, formless radiance.
The old man, whose life-force was about to fade, was engulfed by its glow.
For some reason.
Though his life was nearly spent.
As the warm radiance enveloped him.
He gradually sensed the presence of that majestic figure that had appeared for an instant in the darkness decades ago.
Though he could not see.
Nor hear a sound.
Richie nevertheless knew.
God was there.
Watching over him.
After a long while.
Words only he could hear.
Gently reached the ears of the God-Chosen on the verge of death.
"You did well."
That was—
God's praise.
Richie smiled.
His smile was utterly peaceful... and serene.
Those words of praise were enough for a lifetime.
The old man was like a child lying in a cradle.
He quietly closed his eyes.
And fell asleep.
Before you continue