God Of Velmoryn [ LitRPG, Progression, High Fantasy ]

Two red notifications hovered in front of me.

360 days. Exactly one year before the Goddess's spell stopped working and the others began hunting my believers. There was a chance their interest in Velmoryn had faded with time, yet hoping on that was the same as inviting a knife. It was always safer to assume the worst.

Yet that wasn't the only unpleasant surprise. The first notification claimed I would be removed from the mortal realm the moment my Rank reached Awakened Divinity. I did not know if that Rank followed mine, but the promise of removal from anywhere was already alarming. And also, it raised another question - where I'd be moved to, and how that would affect me.

Until now I had treated my realm as a special place outside the mortal plane. But both notifications corrected me. I was not beyond it. I was in the forest, or above it… clearly close enough for the system to claim I was residing there.

I felt lost. Lost in the same way I had been on the first day of godhood - a pressure brought by too many uncertainties. Uncertainty never killed, but it made making decisions difficult, and that was the last thing I needed.

I must analyze these notifications properly.

The good part was obvious. I had learned about the change before it came. I could do nothing about the fading barrier, but I could stop my Rank from rising if that was the better play. All it required was keeping my Divinity Points from reaching 10,000.

But was that actually smart?

If I had to face other deities in a year, or at least mortals above Platinum Rank, I needed strength. And strength in this world came by increasing Ranks.

Worrying about a Rank I haven't even approached is pointless. I'm nowhere near ten thousand Divinity Points yet. I'll think about it when that number starts becoming real. For now, my focus should stay where it matters - uniting the tribes, building a single nation strong enough to survive what's coming. The moment that barrier fades, war will likely become unavoidable. I need my believers ready before that day arrives.

As I considered my next steps, my gaze kept drifting back to the blurred word in the notification. Every other time the system had hidden something, it had offered a cost to uncover it. But not this time.

So whoever or whatever that is, the system doesn't want me to know. An entity powerful enough to decide my punishment, to decide my fate itself, and I'm not even allowed to see their name…

For a moment I hesitated, balancing curiosity against risk. What if Guidance demanded too much divinity in return for that single answer? What if merely asking about the blurred word drew punishment from whoever had hidden it in the first place?

No, I'm overthinking this.

Whenever the cost had been too steep, the system had warned me in advance - whether it was Divinity Points or restrictions buried in the rules.

I steadied my thoughts, let the hesitation fade, and activated the Guidance.

It took me a while to realize that the system was most likely referring to the Goddess's memories I had locked behind my divine power.

Wait… does this mean that when I'm banished from the mortal realm, as the first notification claimed, I'll end up in this Pantheon?

I dismissed the thought almost immediately. The system had said that I could enter the Pantheon after advancing my Rank, not that I'd be forced there. And from the description, it didn't sound like a divine dwelling so much as a neutral ground.

Still, the Pantheon opened an entirely new possibility - trade between gods, alliances, negotiations, even judgment. A marketplace of deities, a courtroom of immortals.

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Wonderful, a godly social club…

Ever since gaining this so-called godhood, it had felt like the entire world was quietly plotting against me, and most of all, the other gods. So the idea of visiting a place where every being could erase me with a thought didn't sound particularly appealing.

Even so, I couldn't ignore the potential. Information alone might be worth the risk. Access to blueprints for weapons, structures, or enchantments… anything that could strengthen my followers would be invaluable. More importantly, I might learn how the stronger gods actually used their power. During the nest extermination, I'd realized just how primitive my divine methods still were. Everything I'd done had been straightforward, almost mechanical. That meant only one thing: I lacked creativity, and my understanding of divinity was still painfully abysmal.

Even as a god, knowledge seemed to be the most valuable thing.

No - especially for gods.

For mortals, it was a tool for survival. For beings like me, it was the only thing that gave meaning to limitless power. Divine energy could shape worlds, bend matter, and twist life itself, but without understanding, it was no better than a blunt weapon in a fool's hand. My only real constraints were imagination and intellect.

I need to grow sharper, not just stronger.

With the nest nearly cleared and the barrier's timer already set on a year, there wasn't much time to take things slowly. Every day wasted was another day closer to war.

First things first, let's focus on the goals right in front of me.

I decided not to dwell on godly stuff for now. There were too many uncertainties in that area, and the Velmoryn were still in the cavern extracting essences and tending to the wounded.

I should check on Avenor and the others.

I willed the Window to shift back toward the cavern, but paused midway to glance at the basilisk. The creature was already eating the mage's corpse. Under normal circumstances, I might not have allowed it, but there was no reason to interfere now. I had already taken the Divinity Points from the kill, and if the body still held any lingering essence, I'd rather the basilisk absorb it. It was one of the strongest beings under my name, and more importantly, entirely under my control.

The nest glowed in hues of shifting green and crimson as the Velmoryn performed the Crimson Rite, drawing life essences from the spider mutants' corpses. Most of the bodies were too mangled to yield anything useful, but the larger ones were still intact enough for the extraction. Those were the only ones worth the effort anyway, only they held Soul Essences.

Sebille and Vaelari tended to the wounded near the cavern wall, their hands glowing green. The lesser healers had been left outside before the battle began; their Ranks were too low to make a difference mid-battle, but now, with the monsters defeated, their skills were finally needed. Lucas and a few others had gone to fetch them, slipping through the tunnels with quick steps.

The remaining Vaels sat near the fallen Mother's mangled corpse. Exhaustion had stripped away whatever pride or formality they still clung to; most struggled even to lift their heads. The air was heavy with the smell of scorched chitin and iron, mixed with the moans and curses of the injured Velmoryn.

"Vael Mirion," Lyle's voice broke through the ambient noise. "While I do respect you and Vael Dariel as warriors, I can't promise you that my tribe will join the Crimson. I hold no authority to make such decisions."

Mirion turned his head toward her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But if you did have that authority, what would your answer be?"

Lyle hesitated, her expression thoughtful. The silence stretched long enough for Dariel and Othrien to both shift their attention toward her.

"As a warrior, I value strength and honor," she said, her tone growing firmer with each word. "As a Velmoryn, I would rejoice at a God willing to protect my kin. As a woman, nothing outweighs the safety of my family. But as a Vael, I must place my tribe above everything, above everyone."

No one interrupted. Even Othrien seemed moved, his sharp eyes softening as he looked away, lost in thought. Only Shelya remained unmoved. Her burned face twitched, caught somewhere between pain and disdain, though the injury robbed her of the ability to fully sneer.

The silence broke when Huanir arrived, his growl pulling everyone's attention. Vaelari sat slumped on his back, pale and exhausted. The beast lowered itself to the ground so he could dismount without falling.

"Why are you here?" Mirion asked, watching as he slid down, his movements sluggish.

"Sebille said she could handle the rest on her own," Vaelari replied, forcing a smile. "I may have overdone it with my wide area spells. Still… I didn't think all of us would make it out alive. Praise be to High Father."

Though only two bore my mark, all four Vaels repeated his gesture, tracing the tree symbol over their chests with their index and middle fingers. Shelya didn't.

She made a sound that might've been a growl if not for the pain turning it into a moan.

"Stop making that face," Mirion said sharply at first, those his cold expression turned into a smirk when he saw the Silver Vael's twisted expression.

"If you accept my help, Vael Shelya, I can heal you," Vaelari offered gently, stepping closer.

"I don't require anything from those who betrayed Mother!" Shelya hissed, her voice cracking. She pressed her toothless jaw together and forced herself upright through sheer will. "And I don't need help from your healers either!" Her glare shot toward Othrien, who didn't even look up.

"Hah. You seemed eager enough for Sebille's help earlier," Mirion said, laughing as he started to clap Dariel on the back, but stopped midway when he saw the man's desperate stare. "But she turned you away because you refused to let Vaelari near you."

His laughter echoed faintly, swallowed quickly by the cavern's chaos. No one joined in. Everyone had their own thoughts now, and Dariel was too far gone in exhaustion to even pretend to care.

"Vael Mirion," Othrien finally spoke, ignoring Shelya's simmering anger beside him. "Did the God of Velmoryn truly bless all of you?"

Mirion's laughter faded, the humor leaving his face.

"Yes. He did, and more."

"And the fruit your warriors used to heal their wounds?" Othrien continued. "Did it really come from the tree He created for the Crimson Tribe?"

"It did," Mirion replied, frowning slightly. "But why ask all this now?"

"I made a promise," Othrien said calmly. "If the God of Velmoryn proved strong enough to defeat the Mother, then the Green Tribe, and I, would become His believers."

"You can't!" Shelya cried, her voice cracking with anger and disbelief. "How can you… how can all of you forsake our Mother?"

"Shelya, that's enough," Othrien said sharply, though his voice never rose. "You may surpass me in a duel, but don't forget where you stand. Keep insulting their Lord, and that woman over there will burn you to ash."

Shelya froze, following the line of his gesture. Her gaze locked on Ninali, who was watching her with raw hostility.

Ninali sat with her back against the same tree that had held the Mother captive. Avenor's head rested on her lap as she ran her fingers through his now bare scalp, the motion slow and almost tender.

"I fear no one," Shelya hissed, eyes fixed on Ninali.

For a heartbeat, Ninali's gaze burned with mana-fueled hatred. Then Avenor stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, dull light returning to his eyes.

"Where… where am I?" he whispered.