Reincarnated As A First Rate Villain: I Don't Know How To Play My Role-Chapter 35

At the heart of the Valderian Empire—past the high inner walls forged from sun-forged marble and veined with glowing celestial ore—stood the Sanctified Grand Cathedral of Elyssira, the highest church in all of Aerithrall.

Its spires reached like divine spears into the heavens, their tips encrusted with radiant crystal that hummed with divine mana. The main cathedral was a monument to reverence, echoing with the solemn silence of faith and the low chants of age-old hymns. Yet today, that silence was fractured.

It was not the storm of wind or flame that shook the hallowed halls, but a storm of voices, wings, and parchment.

Hundreds of magical beasts circled the domed ceilings and spiraled towers—each one tamed and trained to carry messages across the continents. Their glowing eyes flickered with anxious restlessness, and their saddlebags overflowed with sealed letters, scrolls of inquiry, or urgent imperial dispatches. They came from everywhere: from kings and queens, from nobles of all ranks, from adventurer guilds, and from the great cities of the three continents:

Aerithrall. Varnakar. Nytherra.

Each continent had stirred.

Each continent demanded answers.

Inside the sanctum of the Grand Cathedral, in a quiet chamber that seemed to pulse with divine presence, five kneeling figures bowed before the Sacred Statue of Elyssira. The statue, carved from divine luminarite and infused with heavenly essence, depicted the goddess in all her ethereal glory—eyes closed, palms extended, a luminous crown hovering just above her flowing hair.

Yet even the awe-inspiring craftsmanship of the sculpture paled before the memory of the true goddess.

For those who had seen her knew—the warmth of her gaze, the light of her smile, the purity in her tone—no stone, no artist, could ever fully capture.

The five figures kneeling now were the Highest Emissaries, the heads of the Six Light Branches of Elyssira’s Church. Each bore a title, a color, a domain of divine authority. The third, Aurorwen Everleigh, was absent—sent on to oversee an awakening of a very important figure.

The remaining five had prayed in silence for over an hour.

Each bore long ceremonial robes tailored from white mythril silk and embroidered with threads of radiant gold. Their faces remained hidden beneath heavy hoods, and only the glow of their eyes could be seen—each a different hue, each representing their divine affinity.

When the time came, all five stood in unison.

No words were spoken—only understanding passed between them.

They turned and bowed to the statue, murmuring blessings in the tongue of the Celestians. Then, as one, they exited the chamber and stepped into the Council Cloister, where the storm had gathered.

Cloaked attendants and lesser clergy stood in a massive semi-circle around the exit of the sanctum. Each held parchments, glowing orbs, transmission crystals, and scrolls of divine decree—the air around them crackled with layered enchantments and the frantic chaos of unanswered messages.

"Emissary! The Kingdom of Lysaria demands clarification!"

"The Varnakar Sultana has sent three anex-riders! They are circling the cathedral tower and will not leave until they receive an audience!"

"The Reinegard Academy has requested a direct divine confirmation. The Twelve High Council are threatening to activate a continental-level stabilization protocol to it’s students if no response is received within the hour!"

"The human kingdoms of the Continent Nytherra have refused to begin the awakening of their young until the Church makes a statement!"

Voices piled atop one another, a tsunami of panic, politics, faith, and fear.

Yet amid the deluge of sound, a single hand was raised.

One of the cloaked emissaries—a tall figure with golden topaz eyes glowing beneath the folds of their hood—lifted their right hand. Silence fell instantly, as if a divine calm had passed over them all.

Their voice rang clear, light and echoing with the unmistakable weight of divinity:

"We have received the message of the Goddess."

Gasps followed. Breath was held. Quills paused in mid-air.

"You are to deliver this word to all corners of the three continents—to every noble house, to every throne, to every guildmaster and academy chancellor who has questioned this shift."

The figure glanced to the others, and with mutual nods, continued:

"Do not fear."

"The blessings of the Goddess Elyssira remain."

"Your strength, your mana, your aura, and your holy might are untouched. What has ceased is merely the ability to observe."

The murmurs rose again, yet this time not in panic—but wonder.

"The system interface, as you knew it, is dormant. For now, no man, elf, meranth, drakari, beastkin, or even skyborne or every race may gaze upon their exact potential, their skill ranks, or their development. This limitation does not strip you of strength—only of your dependence on it."

A pause.

"Awakenings may still proceed. Children reaching their tenth year may still be guided through their spiritual gateways. Their power are still able emerge."

"The divine path remains open."

From the side, one of the younger robed figures stepped forward.

"Then this is a trial of faith?" they asked.

"Everything is a trial of faith," replied the golden-eyed emissary, lowering their hand.

The five emissaries turned away, disappearing back into the internal corridors of the church. Their silhouettes, though small against the grandeur of the holy citadel, carried the presence of titans.

In their absence, the messengers stirred. Quills scribbled. Enchanted paper folded and vanished into transport glyphs. Winged beasts flapped with renewed purpose as clergy and scribes directed them toward skies and continents far beyond.

From the Reinegard Academy to the snowy thrones of Nytherra, from the warlike bronze halls of Varnakar to the scholar-towers of Helianth, a message now spread like sacred wildfire:

"The system has vanished, but the Goddess has not." "Your strength is still your own." "Have faith. And continue."

________________

Within the sacred stone belly of one of the many Awakening Churches of the Goddess Elyssira, hidden deep beneath the gleaming marble spires of the Valderian Empire’s innermost sanctum, silence reigned like an emperor. This underground chamber, reserved only for nobles of the highest pedigree, was carved from pure rummer stone and etched with ancient prayers glowing faintly in Elyssiran runes. The air itself thrummed with divine power, and the low sound of breathing was almost drowned by the presence of something greater.

Aurorwen Everleigh stood with poise and reverence.

Cloaked in a flowing robe of pure white, its edges embroidered in gold thread that shimmered like sun-touched snow, she was a picture of sacred devotion. Her golden eyes and heart shaped face were the only part of her concealed body visible beneath the elegant layers of sanctified cloth and velvet. Even her hands, gloved in white, gave nothing away of the body beneath. Yet, despite her modest appearance, her presence radiated gentle authority—like a candle burning steadily in an empty cathedral.

Her gaze was fixed on the bud in the center of the chamber.

It floated inches above the ground—a divine construct that resembled a blooming lotus made from crystallized divine powers. This bud, glowing faintly with blue-white light. Inside it, Lucien Caelum Valebrandt was undergoing something the world have yet to seen or heard, for his awakening is more bizarre than the heroes.

Aurorwen remained still. Watching. Waiting.

The gentle hum of the bud had become a part of the room’s very rhythm, like a lullaby played in the background of creation. Her golden eyes scanned every flicker of energy, every pulse of light, for any sign of deviation. Her thoughts, however, drifted beyond the room, concerned not for the moment but for the chaos that stirred outside.

The system error had appeared earlier without warning—an ethereal message of "[ERROR: SYSTEM INTERFACE SHUTDOWN]" written in shimmering red glyphs, hanging briefly in the air like divine graffiti. She had blinked it away, sighing quietly beneath her hood.

Unlike many others, Aurorwen did not panic. She believed in the divine. And in her unwavering faith in the Goddess Elyssira, she had no doubt this was part of a greater plan. Still, her heart stirred with unease, not for herself, but for her fellow Branches of Light. They were probably being overwhelmed by panicked emissaries and agitated kingdoms from all across Aerithrall, Varnakar, and Nytherra.

Poor Caldrien, she mused, picturing her peers, one of the 6 Branch. His patience will be tested like never before. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Her musings were suddenly disrupted.

The glowing bud trembled.

Her golden eyes widened slightly. The bud’s glow intensified in pulsing waves, beating like a heart on the verge of birth. Light began pouring from its many-folded petals. Mana crackled, heat shimmered, and the symbols etched into the walls responded, flaring in resonance.

Aurorwen instinctively took a step back.

Then the bud began to bloom.

A brilliant radiance burst forth as the petals opened, releasing a flood of divine light that instantly filled the stone chamber like an ocean of brilliance. The intensity was blinding.

"Ah...!" she gasped softly, her hands flying up to shield her eyes.

The warmth wasn’t harsh, but absolute. It was as though the very concept of illumination had descended to meet them. Her gloved fingers pressed against her face, her long white lashes fluttering as she whimpered a soft, breathless whisper:

"Not again..."

The light flooded the space, pouring through every crack and curve of the stone walls. Runes shimmered with renewed vigor. The air pulsed.