Then came the construction process of different temples.
Not grand inauguration ceremonies, but the daily lives of countless craftsmen toiling under the sun.
Sweat dripped onto the building materials, and the shouts and clanging of tools merged into a noisy yet powerful song.
The temples of the gods were constructed by the hands of countless mortals, brick by brick, with sweat, skill, and cooperation.
Finally, the Council Hall.
Gulen sat in the Chairman's seat, with the King's seat empty beside him.
Thick scrolls were spread out before him, and on either side sat representatives of various tribes, generals, and church priests.
They debated fiercely over boundary demarcation and resource allocation.
Gulen, with a furrowed brow, tapped his fingers lightly on the table, striving to find a balance point and reconcile the demands of all parties.
There was no divine light, only complex, trivial mortal politics and necessary compromises.
Maintaining the kingdom's operation and balancing various interests relied on mortal wisdom, patience, and responsibility.
Divine grace would not solve these for mortals.
The scenes in the dream were not a continuous story, but rather a series of jumping fragments.
Each scene was so real, conveying emotions and information.
Skala floated in this Glimmering Dream, and the questions that had once suffocated him:
Were mortal efforts meaningful? Were they worthy of divine grace?
He did not receive a direct verbal answer.
But scene after scene gradually dispelled his confusion.
In none of the scenes did a god directly replace the role of mortals.
On the contrary, the light of divine power always appeared on or after mortal actions, sacrifices, cooperation, and persistence.
It was like stamping an endorsement on existing efforts, or injecting the last bit of strength into collapsing perseverance.
A realization spread through Skala's heart.
His previous confusion had trapped him in an either/or fallacy:
Either mortals were omnipotent and didn't need gods, or gods were omnipotent and mortals were worthless.
But this Glimmering Dream showed a third path.
The value of mortals did not lie in comparing strength with gods.
Instead, it lay in how they used their wisdom, courage, and will to survive, build, protect, and create within the framework anchored by the gods.
Their sweat, thoughts, and actions were the cornerstones that formed the true flesh and blood of this world.
The grace of the gods, like sunlight and rain, nourished all things, but the growth of plants and the conception of fruits ultimately depended on the plants themselves.
Divine grace was not leftovers given to beggars, but seeds and sunlight bestowed upon cultivators.
As king, Skala's mission was not to "be worthy" of the sunlight.
Rather, it was to lead his people to diligently cultivate the land of ZulDrak under this sunlight.
To make it bear abundant fruit, so that every mortal could find their unique meaning in divine grace.
The Glimmering Dream began to slowly fade, and Skala returned to the quiet dungeon prayer room.
The flame in the cast-iron brazier was still burning quietly, making faint crackling sounds.
He was still kneeling there on one knee.
But Skala's bowed head slowly lifted.
—Divider—
Ital'ruk, Government Hall.
Representatives of ZulDrak's various tribes, generals, and church priests, dressed in ceremonial attire, stood in rows on either side.
The air was filled with the scent of pine resin and incense.
The complex and solemn coronation ceremony was nearing its end.
Under everyone's gaze, Skala walked step by step towards the Obsidian throne at the end of the hall.
He wore a king's ceremonial robe that blended traditional Troll bone ornaments with the style of the Dragon God Church, each step firm and powerful.
Before everyone, Skala followed the traditions of the Ice Trolls and the new church rituals, successively completing the remembrance of ancestors, the oath to the gods, and the pledge to his subjects.
In every part of the ceremony, he deeply felt the weighty responsibility, yet this responsibility was no longer an unbearable burden, but a weight he had actively chosen to shoulder.
Finally, the ceremony entered its last and most crucial part.
Deep in the hall, the side door connecting to the temple slowly opened.
A figure slowly emerged, attracting everyone's attention.
It was Gulen.
But he was no longer wearing the ceremonial robe of the Chairman of the Council, but the Pope's vestments, representing the highest authority of the Emberglow Dragon Church.
A deep black served as the base, embroidered with intricate runes in gold thread and mithril wire, as well as the divine emblems of the Dragon God and the Bear God.
Gulen's face was solemn, and in his hands, he held a crown.
The base of the crown was Obsidian, inlaid with golden-red gemstones, and at the center of the crown was a miniaturized Dragon Eye emblem.
Gulen walked steadily to the throne, stopping before Skala, who was kneeling on one knee.
The entire hall was silent, all eyes focused on the crown.
"Skala, son of Tok-Aak," Pope Gulen's voice was resonant and solemn, echoing in every corner of the hall.
"Your courage has blazed a trail, unified the tribes, and ended strife;
Your diligence has brought order, healed wounds, and rebuilt homes.
"All of this is witnessed by the land and people of ZulDrak!"
He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping across the assembly, finally resting on Skala's bowed head.
"Today, under the glorious witness of the Flame Keeper Obsidian, and with the shared anticipation of all of you."
Gulen's voice took on a sacred declarative tone, "I, Gulen, in the name of the first Pope of the Emberglow Dragon Church, representing the will of our Lord—"
He raised the crown high with both hands, the golden-red gemstones shining with divine radiance in the firelight,
"Bestow upon you this crown, which symbolizes the supreme authority of the Drakkari Kingdom and carries the recognition of divine grace!"
"May you always remember the weight of this responsibility!"
As his words fell, Pope Gulen solemnly placed the crown in his hands upon Skala's head.
Skala slowly raised his head, and with the crown on, his gaze swept over the standing crowd.
He stood up and spoke:
"In the name of the Flame Keeper Obsidian! By the protection of Rhunok, the King of the White Mountain!"
"I, Skala, King of ZulDrak, do hereby solemnly swear!"
"Mortal hands shall receive the light bestowed by the gods! I shall dedicate all my strength to protect this land and its people until the end of my life!"
As the oath was uttered, the brief silence in the hall was broken by thunderous cheers and praises.
"Long live the King!"
"Praise the Flame Keeper!"
"May the King of the White Mountain protect ZulDrak!"
Skala stood before the throne, his thoughts drifting far away.
The light of divine grace enveloped his kingdom, but it was ultimately they, the mortals, who bore the responsibility of governance.
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