258. A New Path for All
Senior Brother Fairweather emerged from his deep contemplation, slowly rising to his feet as two wings extended from his body and a golden halo floated above his head, resembling the divine aura seen in paintings of medieval saints.
He lowered his gaze toward me, softly chanting a series of obscure syllables under his breath.
"..."
The violent emotions in my heart were washed away by a strange cooling sensation, reminiscent of Aisha Patani's soft touch. My somewhat ferocious expression gradually softened. Senior Brother Fairweather pulled the Hidden Abyss from my waist, placed the hilt in my palm, and maintained his initial dazed appearance: "You... were... too... hasty."
"Thank you, Senior Brother." I exhaled deeply as the red mist clouding my vision quickly dissipated.
"No... no problem," Senior Brother Fairweather replied with a stutter, shaking his head.
Observing his condition, I paused briefly and asked, "Golden Body Technique?"
These three words seemed to act as some kind of switch. Senior Brother Fairweather's expression instantly cleared, and his speech became more fluent: "I know a technique called Echo of Icy Resolve. If you feel something isn't right, just call out to me. However, this technique is merely a minor trick—using it too frequently will make you dependent on it."
I nodded, realizing for the first time how devastating the harm from mere thoughts could be. A battle hardened warrior can typically manage ordinary people's emotions with ease. But when these emotions multiply across thousands or millions of people... no one can withstand such an overwhelming emotional onslaught.
In returning and rest you shall be saved;
In quietness and confidence shall be your strength.
Suddenly, a Bible verse I had memorized in childhood surfaced in my mind.
Without time to dwell on this revelation, I returned to carefully infusing my lifespan into the Golden Body Technique. After every several hundred years of simulation, I would take a brief pause to stabilize myself.
[Year 3342: Your soul overflows with fragmenting thoughts. One more piece would shatter your mind completely. You must suppress them all, but where to put them... your eyes land on Lady Taurymne sitting beside you.]
Reading the prompt on the panel, I suddenly realized—of course, I still had a vampire soul at my disposal.
[Year 3621: You've stored a large portion of the various thoughts in Lady Taurymne's soul. As you watch her sitting beside you in pain, clutching her body, your mood suddenly calms considerably.]
But how much pain could Lady Taurymne endure? As a vampire, she represented the very existence most despised by these thoughts. Now forcibly burdened with these emotions, she suffered as if being roasted alive—a true living hell.
My body, slumped against the bookshelf, suddenly collapsed. Breath tore from my lungs in ragged gasps, as if the very air had turned to ash.
Senior Brother Fairweather rushed over, concern etched into his features. But when he looked into my eyes, he froze. They were startlingly lucid—clearer than they had ever been. A quiet gleam shimmered within them, the first flicker of revelation.
Something broke open inside me. A realization, sharp and holy, pierced through the fog.
Humans are born with emotions—but not all emotions come from God. Though God created us in His image and feels love, joy, and righteous anger, He does not tremble with fear. He does not rot with envy. He does not drown in despair.
These emotions—these parasites—were born of sin, birthed in the shadow of Eden's fall. And now they surged through me like a flood, threatening to tear apart the fragile dam of my sanity.
The Mount Sinai Golden BodyMethod had tried to suppress them. It was a fortress of law, forged to cage the chaotic emotions within. Its name bore the weight of divine judgment. Discipline. Restraint. It demanded a will of iron, a soul tempered like steel. Only one like the Great Paladin could hope to master it.
But even he had faltered. When his injuries weakened his mind, sin struck back with venomous force. The backlash shattered him—left him wandering the halls of his own mind, lost in dementia.
"Seeker of the Redeemer," "Vessel of the Redeemer"—ultimately, human ability has its limits. The Path of Redemption must go through the Redeemer himself. Only through his grace can one achieve true power.
"Seeker of the Redeemer." "Vessel of the Redeemer." These titles rang hollow without true faith. Human strength could only carry one so far. The Path of Redemption must go through the Redeemer himself. Only through his grace can one achieve true power.
Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.
I hadn't prayed in years. Not since the orphanage. But the Nans' teachings still lingered in my bones, like embers waiting to be stirred.
So I prayed, and prayed, and prayed.
I prayed for every flickering light of human thought—for every trembling soul shackled by fear, envy, despair, and greed. I prayed with a desperation that cracked open my heart. I prayed until my voice trembled and my spirit burned.
And as I prayed, something shifted.
Light bloomed within me, soft at first, then radiant. My heart, once heavy with sin, began to glow with a warmth I had not known since childhood.
Lady Taurymne's face softened. The anguish that had gripped her seemed to loosen, as if invisible burdens were falling away.
Dear Lord, by Your grace, make me Your vessel. Let me be the hand that lifts the fallen in this apocalyptic world. Not by my power, Lord—but by Yours alone. Amen.
The attic ceiling split with light.
It poured down like a waterfall of fire—brighter than the golden glow of the manuals on the shelf, more intense than any earthly flame. It was the light of heaven, unfiltered and absolute.
Fairweather saw it too. His eyes widened, and for the first time in years, his voice trembled.
"Junior Brother… you've already passed through it?"
Shock. A foreign emotion to him. It surged through his chest like a lightning strike. He touched his face, bewildered by the unfamiliar contours of awe.
He had seen this expression countless times—on others, directed at him. But never in the mirror.
Shock… real shock?
His first obstacle had always been invisible. His brilliance had quietly severed him from humanity. He no longer saw himself as one of us.
But the cure was simple.
Aisha Patani, who once believed her talent was invincible, had nearly shattered her crystal wall beneath the weight of my absorbed lifespan. Let Fairweather experience the same humbling lesson would surely cure his ailment.
...
The small attic appeared ordinary, but it was actually the most heavily guarded place in New Terra. Naturally, no one disturbed us.
Time unraveled.
In the blink of an eye, ten days passed. Or perhaps it was more.
I sat in the corner, utterly exhausted.
I sat curled in the far corner, my body hollowed by exhaustion.
Eighteen thousand years of praying, vast in its spiritual weight. I had traversed epochs of reflection, wandered through the caverns of human emotion, and meditated upon the sins and sorrows of countless souls. Each breath was a century. Each heartbeat, a generation.
And in that crucible of time, something was forged.
A new Golden Body Method.
[Vessel of Redeemer - Golden Body of the Reborn: apprentice.]
Not one built on suppression or law—not a fortress of discipline—but a vessel of grace. It was not mine alone. It was a method for all.
All who could reach the Upper Realm of the Seeker of the Redeemer, and has sufficient lifespan to digest the vast amount and range of human emotions anyway.
It was not a technique. It was a path.
Not my path—but His.
For He is the way, the truth, and the life.
This method did not demand perfection. It demanded surrender. It did not elevate the strong—it redeemed the broken. It was not a ladder to climb, but a cross to bear.
And in that surrender, I found power—not the kind that conquers, but the kind that heals.
… …
Senior Brother Fairweather crouched beside me. He had seen it with his own eyes—how I had crossed the abyss that had held him captive for two thousand nine hundred years. A chasm he had studied, meditated on, and circled endlessly, but never breached.
A strange tightness gripped his chest, a sensation he couldn't quite name.
"Envy?" I turned slightly, catching the flicker in his eyes.
"Not just that." He hesitated, then shook his head. "I felt envy about seven days ago. This feeling runs much deeper."
I studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Relief."
The word hung in the air like incense—unexpected, sacred.
Our solemn dissection of emotion made for a bizarre tableau: two prodigies in a dusty attic, parsing the anatomy of the soul instead of Martial techniques.
"Yes," Fairweather said, voice low but steady. "Relief. New Terra will finally have another Golden Body. That's what the Abbey has schemed for, labored for, sacrificed for."
I looked at him, the light still lingering faintly around us. "Not just one. You'll have yours too."
His breath caught.
"Do you have pen and paper?" I asked gently. "I'll write down what I've learned."
A storm passed across his face—surprise, doubt, hope, excitement, and something profound. Gratitude, raw and unguarded.
He scrambled to his box, hands slightly trembling. "Just write on the back of my notes," he muttered, pulling out a stack. "They're useless anyway. Is this enough paper?"
I nodded.
And then, with the weight of a nation pressing through my fingertips, I began to write.