Only God

Eden, who had been locked away in prison, was unaware that outside, an old man was making efforts on his behalf everywhere.

The only thing he knew was that his once promising future had become uncertain after that slap.

What awaited him would definitely not be any sort of happy ending.

Eden sat at the very back of the cell, the pooled water on the floor reflecting his features.

His complexion was pale, even whiter than the average person's, making him stand out as a typical Priest from a distance, with good looks, slightly curved eyebrows, cheeks that were neither fat nor excessively thin, sharp facial bones, and an androgynous appearance that had caught the eyes of countless women in Danschel.

Eden raised his head and looked around the prison, the scene before him had not changed from the day before.

This was the largest prison in the Empire, detaining criminals from all over the world, from all races, with humans being the most common, followed by the Three-eyed Ape People, Dwarves, Beastmen, and even half-goat Pan and Elves.

Having offended the Emperor, Eden was isolated in his imprisonment, occupying a cell by himself, while other inmates curiously gazed in his direction, murmuring and discussing as they peered over.

"Hey, did that guy really slap the Emperor?"

"The prison guard secretly told me, so how could it be wrong?"

"What exactly happened... How could this man dare..."

"Too arrogant, way too arrogant, I bet even the Gods wouldn't dare slap the Emperor."

The inmates chattered like sparrows, causing Eden to frown, their voices were too noisy.

But what could he do about it? He couldn't shut them up.

Thinking thus, Eden sighed and quietly recited Scripture to calm his heart.

Inside the prison, the inmates were still noisy when suddenly one of them mustered the courage to shout at Eden,

"Hey you, Priest, why did you strike His Majesty?"

As his words fell, the prisoners turned their heads, and the place fell quiet as they curiously watched Eden, waiting for his reply.

"He had misused the name of God."

Eden responded matter-of-factly,

"That miracle was clearly a fabrication."

Upon hearing this, the prisoners all revealed incredulous expressions, then looked at each other before bursting into laughter after a moment.

"For that reason?"

"That's just too funny, God, what a joke he's making."

"How could there be such a Priest in this world, how did this man become a Priest!"

The laughter within the prison grew louder, the mockery became more intense, even alarming the Prison Director, who promptly sent someone to strictly oversee the situation.

Faced with the roar of laughter, Eden remained silent, closing his eyes and calmly leaning against the wall of the cell.

He had known all along that speaking out would cause ridicule.

But what of it?

Mockery, ridicule, spitting – what did it matter?

The forebears of the Xilan era had taken this path, resolved to lay down their lives; a little laughter was nothing.

The laughter, like waves on the ocean, ebbed and flowed, yet Eden's heart was unusually calm.

The prison guard arrived, knocking on the cell door and warning the noisy inmates. Soon, they quieted down, fixating their gazes on the silent Eden.

"Hey, stupid Priest, don't you have any regrets?"

A Beastman spoke insolently.

Eden did not turn his head but simply said,

"A little, but not much."

After that, he resolved to pay no further attention to the group of criminals.

To say he had no regrets at all would be impossible.

He had impulsively taken the stage, fueled by passion, and in hindsight, he realized it was too rash, not something he should have done so impulsively.

But, since it had already happened, what good were regrets? It was better to heed the commands of God.

This is what Eden pondered.

Across from his cell, a middle-aged man with a composed appearance approached the cell bars; he had a pair of small horns on his head and hooves for feet, but with sparse hair, looking like a mix between a Faun and a human.

"Hey, good Priest, you committed a righteous act."

Compared to the other prisoners, his voice was gentle,

"My name is Timian, and I would like to ask you, why were you so brave as to slap the Emperor? He is the sacred Emperor of the Empire!

Didn't you consider that he's the Emperor? What right did you have to do such a thing?"

Compared to the mockery in their questions, the gentle tone evidently made replying more appealing.

Originally not intending to pay further notice to the inmates, Eden slowly lifted his head. He did not answer directly but instead surveyed the gathered prisoners, inspecting each distinct face and quickly counting that there were nearly a hundred inmates in his line of sight.

And these hundred inmates were but a fraction of the entire prison.

How many prisoners were there in the whole facility? Perhaps close to several thousand.

One city jail housing thousands, the vast Danschel consisting of hundreds of cities upon the earth, the entire Empire perhaps encompassing hundreds of thousands of criminals – just the criminals amounting to nearly the population of a small country.

How grand the Empire was, with mere prisons enough to reflect its authority.

Numerous oceans and lands belonged to it, the pearls, corals, ambergris of the sea, the people, minerals, treasures of the land all within its grasp; even beyond its territories, countless Kingdoms and city-states submitted to its power. Once, an Emperor said: "The world's myriad races have myriad treasures, yet Danschel only needs authority."