God Of Velmoryn [ LitRPG, Progression, High Fantasy ]

"Priestess, can't you stay until spring?" Freya pleaded. Her eyes clung to Tekla's face like a child reaching out to a parent, desperate for reassurance. "What if there's another beast tide? What if the new believers falter and need guidance...?"

Tekla offered a warm smile as she reached out, gently clasping Freya's hands in her own, pressing them softly.

"No child should ever doubt Father, nor should their love waver," she said. "But if they do have questions… I've already given you the Ten Commandments. I've explained them. In my absence, you shall guide our brethren."

I didn't like that.

Appointing a new Priestess, something Freya had now become in everything but name, was my exclusive right. And while Tekla hadn't formally passed the title, granting Freya the authority to preach crossed a line. My religion, still in its infancy, was fragile. It could be easily warped, shaped by misinterpretation or blind sentiment. If Tekla, and now Freya, started defining faith on their own, the doctrine could veer off course before it was even solidified.

But I let it slide. Tekla had never let me down, not even once. So I chose to trust her judgement one more time. Perhaps it would be for the best, letting Velmoryns develop their culture and Tekla develop the religion was something I'd eventually be forced to do. It was impossible for me to shape everything about my believers or their faith.

Besides, Freya wasn't the Priestess. Not officially. And her mistakes, if she ever made them, could easily be corrected. But, more importantly, I'd make Tekla deliver a full doctrine soon, something clear and absolute. One that would not leave the room for interpretation.

I had already decided it was time. The Ten Commandments were nothing more than a placeholder, a skeletal frame. I needed real scripture. Something similar to the Bible, the Quran, the Upanishads…

A guide that answered, if not all, then most of the questions. Enough to anchor my followers when doubt crept in.

I already had a plan - I would create a new copy of myself to begin working on it. And if the clone creation failed again, then I'd simply shoulder the burden myself, add one more thread to the endless weaving of my mind. I was slowly getting used to multitasking… Either way, I could no longer delay it.

But first, I had one final issue to solve in the Yellow Tribe.

After Tekla declared that Cellia and her supporters could leave, but not with the children, I'd expected conflict. At the very least, heated protest. Dariel had already announced his intent to step down, and with the council dissolved, Tekla technically held the highest authority… but even that didn't justify a decision so sweeping. Letting a large portion of the tribe leave wasn't something one could dictate without backlash.

Yet there was none.

Not even from Cellia's side.

They accepted her judgment. Quietly. They took Tekla's words like a rule they had no choice but to bow to, limiting their protests with frowns and rare glares.

That's when it struck me - Velmoryns, for all their proud silence and stubborn glares, were easier to sway than I had assumed. Whether it was cultural or fear of divine power directly manifesting in the world around them, I couldn't say. But they didn't resist if they believed the order came from a deity. Not even when told they'd have to leave their children behind.

That should've sparked outrage. Grief. At least some visible anger. But there were no flushed faces. No clenched teeth. No angry, whispered curses. Just silence.

Maybe they feared divine punishment. Or maybe… they simply were unable to resist because of my Authority. Perhaps my influence, even through Tekla alone, had already taken deeper root than I realized.

Regardless, the outcome was ideal.

Most of Cellia's followers chose to remain in the Yellow Tribe. They weren't willing to abandon their children. In the end, only around fifty Velmoryns decided to leave with her - mostly those without children, who had nothing to lose.

While Freya and the rest of the Yellow Tribe prepared to bid farewell to Tekla and the others, Cellia and her group began slipping away in silence. There was noone to wish them good luck, just quiet, determined steps away from the tribe they no longer considered home.

Dariel caught up to them near the edge of the settlement and asked Cellia on the side.

"Are you certain you won't wait until spring? The forest's too dangerous this time of year…" Despite everything, he was still concerned for her. I didn't know why, maybe not even he did, but Dariel clearly had a soft spot for the mage.

"I don't want to stay in the tribe that killed my father and gave up our ancestral home just to chase after a new God." Cellia clicked her tongue and shook her head, her voice tight with resentment. Despite clearly hating me, she didn't dare speak my name without respect. And that, more than anything, seemed to weigh on her.

"Cellia, Joriel admitted what he did. He schemed to kill my father. He planned to drag our tribe into a senseless war with the Brown Tribe. I understand you loved him, and you will no matter what, but that shouldn't erase his crimes. If you don't face the truth, all that'll be left is hate… and that kind of hate devours everything."

He glanced around, making sure no one was watching, and took a cautious step closer, his voice dropping lower.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Please reconsider. I'm certain High Father would forgive you, if you just… if you pleaded. You don't need to throw your life away chasing a memory. You saw what the Priestess is capable of, how she protects every Velmoryn without exception. You know the kind of strength she holds. If she had wanted to silence you and your supporters, you know no one could've stopped her… But she didn't. Because He cares for us. All of us."

Cellia smiled, warmly. Though bitterness clung to it. She stepped in closer, her voice softer now.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Her hand rose and gently brushed against Dariel's cheek.

"I'm sorry I let my father use me against you. I'm sorry for what I said yesterday… I know how it felt to strike me. And I'm sorry for…"

The words caught in her throat. She swallowed them. Her expression hardened, her hand retreating like the warmth had become too much.

"You have a wife. A daughter. And I…" she paused, forcing the rest out, "Just like before, I'll choose my father. I'll choose blood over tribe, over reason… over you."

She took a step back, her face cold and determined again.

"For blood runs thicker than anything else," she whispered as if strengthening her resolve. "Farewell, Dariel, my only friend."

And with that, she turned without hesitation, without a glance back, without letting her stride break. Her steps were quick, like she was afraid her resolve might crack if she lingered a moment longer.

Dariel didn't follow. He stood there, watching her disappear between the buildings, her figure swallowed by the path leading to the gate.

He exhaled.

"Farewell."

…

I followed Cellia and her group as they made their way out of the settlement, watching them closely from above.

And I was angry at myself because of it..

Not because of spying, but hesitating. I was angry that I even considered letting them go.

Ever since the stars connected to the Crimson Guardian manifestation in my divine realm, I'd started to care about Velmoryns.

At first, it was faint, just a subtle awareness, like a splinter under the skin. I had a little over two hundred believers back then, barely enough to have any meaningful impact. But now, with over seventeen hundred… everything felt different.

The desire to protect them had grown stronger. I felt it most when Tekla stood before nearly two thousand Velmoryns and told them that I loved them all. That I cared for each and every one of them. She said it with conviction and they believed it with their whole hearts.

And somehow… that belief made it true.

Now I was certain that it wasn't just divine power my believers were giving me. It was identity. Their perception of me, their faith, their imagined version of who I was, was starting to shape the way I thought. The way I felt.

That terrified me.

Luckily, the effect wasn't strong enough to alter my personality. At least not yet. It was more like an itch I couldn't scratch - irritating, persistent, but manageable. I instinctively knew that I could quiet that irritating feeling by living up to what my believers thought I already was.

But the problem was that by being a benevolent and caring God, I wouldn't be able to not only create a lasting Velmoryn civilization but even survive in this world. I needed to be reasonable and letting Cellia and her followers go was definitely unreasonable. It would be a huge mistake.

I knew what her departure could lead to. If she made it to the Blue Tribe and if they took her in, the results would be catastrophic. She wasn't just walking away from me. She was handing over manpower and insight to the only group in the forest that might actually threaten my rise.

I had no illusions about the Blue Tribe. Converting them wouldn't be as simple as it was with the others. I'd already scouted them and what I saw was enough to be wary. Their gear was better. Their armor and weapons weren't just sturdy, they were inscribed with runes. Forged with methods beyond what I'd seen in the forest so far. More than that, they had potions and enchantments I didn't recognize. Even their mages used strange spells.

I'd even considered wiping them out. Honestly, I'd have done it already if not for the restriction placed on divine creatures using their power directly in the mortal world. The system had warned me once. Elizabeth had also told Avenor the same. I wasn't about to test those boundaries, not when things were finally turning in my favor.

What if I erased the Blue Tribe only to trigger divine retribution? Even if I avoided a direct penalty, it might draw the attention of other Gods. Or worse, it could weaken or outright lift the seal the old goddess had placed on my forest.

Too many unknowns.

And I was never exactly Tyche's favorite. Not in this life, and definitely not in the last.

So, for now, I chose patience. I'd let Cellia walk and observe her until I knew what her goal was. I had a gnawing suspicion this wasn't just about a disagreement or wounded pride. There was something more. A deeper plan. A clear destination.

The fifty or so Velmoryns that followed her marched slowly through the snow-covered woods. The terrain wasn't impossible, thanks to the evergreen canopy shielding the forest floor from the worst of the snowfall, but it was still deep enough to make each step a chore.

To deal with that, Cellia had conjured a bizarre-looking golem - woven from vines and animated with some type of nature magic similar to Vivien's. It moved at the front of their line, flattening the snow and clearing a crude path. It didn't seem to care about the cold or the terrain. It just pushed forward, carving a way for the rest of them.

"Cellia, are we still far?" one of the Velmoryns asked, his voice already strained with fatigue.

"Father told me to walk southwest. After we cross the river, I'm to use the artifact he left behind," she answered, rubbing her hands together and breathing into them for warmth.

I knew it!

That confirmed that she wasn't wandering, she had a target. Something Joriel had told her before his death. The man must have used some kind of spell to communicate with her. I had no idea what he had told her, but if I stayed on her trail, I'd definitely find out.

Yet, even with that clarity, something still didn't add up.

Why the rush?

If she didn't know the exact location, if she was following vague instructions from a dead man, then what was so urgent? And more importantly… how did she plan to protect herself and her followers if something powerful attacked them?

Cellia's magic alone wouldn't hold against a true threat. So what gave her the confidence to march straight into danger?

There was more to this than I understood.

And the longer I watched her, the more convinced I became that this wasn't some petty defiance. This wasn't just about anger, loss or even revenge.

I had a feeling that this entire thing was far more complicated than I realized.