Chapter 4: Collapse of Faith

I had always awaited this chance to destroy the Saint. Reverend Samuel, the second disciple of the Supreme Reverend—the Golden Soul—was always a puppet. The pilgrimage west was merely the Supreme Reverend’s ploy to spread faith in the East and reap merit, like a chess game played with souls and destinies. The Golden Soul was the crucial link, every move a sacrifice.

The Supreme Reverend guarded against the unruly Samuel and made secret pacts with many powers of the Three Realms. Yet, he never expected that, at the final moment, it would be me—the little Curtain-Lifting General—who overturned the game.

The Supreme Reverend’s face was ashen, lips pressed thin, fingers trembling as he clutched his staff, eyes darting to the exits. The cathedral’s stained glass flickered, as if the very light inside was fading with his power.

This battle shook the Supreme Reverend to the core. The President had secretly attained Divine Immortal status but kept it hidden. Clearly, my act of consuming the Golden Soul was supported by the President, who even concealed the heavenly secrets for this very moment.

The air was thick with secrets and old betrayals, each breath heavy with the weight of unseen hands moving pieces.

Though the Supreme Reverend understood, it was too late for regret. He could only disperse his avatar and focus on confronting the President. His form shimmered, dissolving into mist, leaving only the echo of his defeat behind.

Above the eastern clouds, dark banners blotted out the sky. The President’s purple light shone ten thousand feet high, oppressing Mount Providence. A hundred thousand heavenly soldiers battled the Western saints to a standstill. The clouds rolled like a thunderhead, the color of bruises, as the armies clashed below.

A while later, Grant Baxter came over cursing, gnawing on the white bull’s head as he walked. He tore at the meat with his teeth, grease streaking his chin, cursing under his breath about the taste and the church’s hypocrisy.

"Simon, these people claim to save the suffering, but can’t even save themselves. Old Grant never believed in them!" His voice was rough, but there was pain in it—a lifetime of disappointment boiled down to a single bite.

I said, "Supreme Reverend doesn’t dare act, the President is pressing from above, and the other saints don’t dare move rashly."

Grant Baxter nodded, spat out the tasteless bull head, and went off to find a new target. The bull’s head rolled next to the green lion.

The monkey, unsatisfied after killing the green lion, went to settle the score of the headband curse with Lady Grace in the purple bamboo forest of Mount Putnam. The black bear, clueless, was killed by the monkey along with the goldfish. The monkey never forgets a grudge.

He moved like a shadow through the bamboo, swift and silent, his anger a living thing, burning through the night.

Miles was clever, returning early to Leonard King’s side; James, Miles, and Nathan were finally reunited. Leonard King wept with joy among the clouds. "If you three had acted sooner, my sons would have come back sooner!" His tears glimmered in the mist, falling like rain on the cloud below.

I curled my lip. With the pilgrimage incomplete, even consuming the Golden Soul was pointless. The emptiness in my chest echoed with regret, the taste of victory soured.