Chapter 60

The manipulation of the Cloud Whale as the deity of birth was a splendid success.

In an age where the existence of gods is vaguely known, with each region having its own whimsical traditions that aren’t even properly documented.

Given such a situation, it’s truly convenient that by spreading just a little bit of misinformation and propaganda, you can tweak these traditions to your liking, shaping the gods into the forms and functions you desire. Isn’t that handy?

Well, this kind of trick is only possible because we’re in an era where knowledge about the gods isn’t yet clear-cut. As time passes, this sort of thing won’t be feasible anymore—this is a now-or-never opportunity.

In every region and city, the same god is perceived differently, with varying names and attributes. For instance, what’s a gentle wind god in one place becomes a ferocious storm god somewhere else. The lack of clear information left plenty of room for me to meddle.

By subtly spreading rumors and using magic to make people believe my words, I could mold the gods into whatever form I desired. Such deception is rarely seen!

Of course, this won’t last forever. Once records about the gods become more widespread and unified across regions, there’ll be fewer chances for interference.

Speaking of which, I just noticed Sylphid has also made it onto the list of gods. Seems like the fear of storms worked wonders.

Honestly, after seafaring began, I figured sailors might start worshiping Sylphid due to the destructive storms bringing about a sense of reverence.

Anyway, I’ll congratulate Sylphid on this later when I have time.

The Cloud Whale roams the world according to my intentions, accompanied by various white birds, aiding in the creation of new life.

Hmm… I thought specifying storks would suffice, but it seems any white bird works—swans, storks, white doves, you name it. They’re all circling around the Cloud Whale now.

Even though I set the general direction, it appears the specifics can still vary. That’s something to keep in mind moving forward.

Plus, the Cloud Whale has developed some intelligence and can now understand conversations, making it much easier to manage—not to mention less prone to tantrums like a child.

Still, compared to First Beast, being able to communicate is already a step up. At least it listens when spoken to.

While contemplating the Cloud Whale, I was cultivating flowers in the second layer of the Underworld when my GodTalk device buzzed with a message.

Could it be the Lizardman again? We’ve been maintaining regular communication through the Archmage, ensuring blessings are given during their festivals and warrior competitions. With ongoing dialogue until the Archmage retires or passes away, there shouldn’t be any reason for them to contact me.

Opening the message window, I realized it wasn’t from the Lizardman but another entity altogether.

It was the Dragons, those who bestow life while traveling the world, sending me a message.

And the sender wasn’t even the Creator Dragon God—it was listed as the Goddess of Life instead.

Hmm… “Goddess of Life”? Though I did establish the Cloud Whale as a deity of birth under the title “God of Life,” why has it morphed into “Goddess”? Could it be due to the dragons knowing I’m female and spreading this alternate title?

Moving past the title, the sender turned out to be the Dragon Lord.

Why would they summon me when they usually handle most things independently? Is this really such an important matter?

Regardless, I opened the GodTalk screen.

“Great Mother of Life, your humble servant calls upon thee.”

Wait… why am I suddenly being called “Mother of Life” instead of Creator Dragon God? Now I have two titles floating around.

Adjusting my throat slightly, I activated the recording function and responded.

“What is the matter?”

“I thank thee for answering my summons. The matter at hand is too weighty for me to decide alone, concerning the future of those who bestow life.”

What now?

“This is something you should normally be able to handle yourself, correct?”

“This decision is far too significant, involving the future of those who bestow life.”

Hmph. If the Dragon Lord considers this serious enough to consult me, it must be quite the issue.

“Explain. What is this matter?”

“It pertains to expanding the ranks of those who bestow life.”

“Expansion?”

Are they talking about new dragons being born? Or perhaps a hatchling reaching adulthood and joining the ranks of life-givers?

No, it hasn’t been long enough for that…

Then the Dragon Lord dropped a bombshell.

“Some humans admire us and wish to become life-givers themselves. How should we respond?”

“Huh?”

Humans? Becoming life-givers?

This… isn’t that something only possible because dragons have such abilities? Creating surplus vitality through magical power and sharing it feels exclusive to them.

Can humans really replicate that?

Typically, it’s impossible, right???

“Could you explain how this situation arose?”

“So the story goes, while healing the sick in towns, a young human child witnessed a sick mother recover fully and expressed a desire to perform similar acts.”

“But isn’t that just childhood admiration?”

“We thought so too, explaining that becoming a life-giver requires dedicating one’s entire life to the Goddess of Life. Despite this, the child remained resolute. This led the dragon conversing with the child to consult me, and I, unsure of what to do, brought the matter to you. Moreover, others besides the child have requested to become like us.”

Hmm… tricky.

Humans and dragons are fundamentally different beings. Humans lack the necessary magical power and excessive vitality found in dragons.

Besides, could a human even possess such overflowing vitality without their body rejecting it? Negative consequences seem inevitable—like developing cancer from rampant cellular regeneration!

Though it pains me to say, perhaps crushing their dreams is the most realistic option. Yet, why does that feel wrong somehow? Is it because I don’t want to crush the child’s aspirations?

“This is quite the dilemma.”

I fell deep into thought.

Clearly intended for dragons, yet humans aspire to join their ranks.

Perhaps scaling it up is the answer? Transforming it into a group open to both humans and dragons?

No, even then, humans wouldn’t be able to restore vitality like dragons. But if the child wishes to heal others, maybe there’s another way…

A sudden idea struck me.

Instead of mimicking dragons’ use of magic to activate vitality, perhaps an alternative system exists—one utilizing belief rather than raw power.

For example, could faith in a deity serve as a resource for healing?

Admittedly far-fetched in our current context, but if successful, it could greatly benefit believers.

Priests harnessing faith to heal others would emerge.

Thus:

“Instruct them to pray to me for ten minutes every morning and night.”

“Prayer? What purpose does this serve?”

“A simple test. I aim to gauge the potential of human faith through experimentation.”

If all goes well, miracle-performing priests powered by faith will arise.

—

My experiment concluded thusly:

“Grant me the light to heal these souls.”

The once-young child had grown into a young man, now a priest capable of healing others through unwavering faith.

Though many sought to become life-givers, only this young man possessed sufficient faith to achieve such feats.

Embracing divine will, he became a priest, acting as the deity’s proxy to heal others.

Using faith instead of magic or vitality, these priests created effects akin to magic—something previously unheard of but now undeniably real.

Thanks to them, the ranks of life-givers slowly expanded.

But no longer were they simply life-givers—they were now part of the Temple of Life.

Though most believers remain dragons, the inclusion of human followers added diversity—a positive development indeed.

Anyway, thanks to miraculous healing, the Temple of Life thrives daily, becoming the go-to destination for the ailing.

As a result, the voices of believers calling out to me have multiplied, growing louder and more frequent. But that’s a minor issue.

Ignoring the constant calls, I completed the final touches on the last layer of the Underworld.