CHAPTER 97: THE APOTHEOSIS AFTERMATH

Regardless of chaos and conflict, Kivas’ growth was unstoppable.

➤ 『WELL OF THE SOUL』

Name: Kivas Chariot

Race: Fateling

Total Level: 48

➤ 『Attributes』

💪 Strength (STR): 2030

🧠 Intelligence Quotient (IQ): 2215

🙏 Piety (PIE): 2810

🛡️ Vitality (VIT): 2117

💨 Speed (SPD): 1966

🎯 Dexterity (DEX): 1908

🍀 Luck (LUK): 1700

➤ 『Vitals』

❤️ Hemo Psyche (HP): 352 / 450

🔮 Mana Psyche (MP): 128 / 468

➤ 『Derived Stats』

🗡️ Attack Power: 2030

✨ Magic Power: 2215

🔆 Divine Power: 2810

🛡️ Defense: 2117

🍃 Magic Defense: 2810

👁️ Detect: 1988

🧩 Disarm Trap: 1878

🚧 Evade Trap: 1899

🏃 Action Speed: 1966

🎯 Accuracy: 1878

🌀 Evasion: 1899

⛓️ Resistance: 2617

➤ 『Classes』

◈ Priest Lv41 Disc0

◈ Warrior Lv5 Disc0

◈ Divided Zenith Lv2 Disc0

➤ 『Skills』

◈ Divine Soulmate Imbuer Lv1 – You possess the power to imbue a Genesis Core onto your fated soulmate.

◈ Fate Weaver Lv1 – You possess the power to weave fate.

◈ Remembrance of Renenutet Lv4 – You embody a fertile field, bringer of happiness, and a nourishment of milk.

◈ Frugal Vow Lv1 – You limit the amount of your spiritual equipment in exchange for enhancing the effects of what you equip.

◈ Soul Entanglement Lv5 – You possess the power to latch your soul.

◈ Detection Pulse of Madness Lv1 – You possess the power to scatter your all-encompassing essence.

◈ Detection Pulse of Serenity Lv2 – You possess the power to scatter your all-soothing essence.

◈ Madness Bolt Lv1 – You possess the power to launch a bolt filled with madness.

◈ Calm Voice Lv1 – Your presence soothes others emotionally.

◈ Touch of Mercy Lv1 – Your touch calms physical pain.

◈ Channel Soul Lv1 – You can act as a conduit for divine forces, strengthening healing and purifying effects.

◈ Silent Chant Lv1 – You can pray internally without vocalizing.

◈ Gentle Barrier Lv2 – You passively exude a soft aura that reduces minor harm to nearby allies.

◈ Inner Radiance Lv1 – You slowly recover MP while in quiet reflection or sincere prayer.

◈ Sacred Focus Lv1 – You are unaffected by loud or chaotic environments.

◈ Heavy Hand Lv1 – Your physical strikes hit with weighted momentum.

➤ 『END OF THE WELL』

On top of passive raking experience points for Priest class, she had apparently gained a secret class with the requirement being surviving two or more Apotheosis, depending on the severity.

The Divided Zenith class had been analyzed and calculated by Kivas herself to improve every aspect of her being, but primarily more on her divinity and miracles.

She noticed a greater ease of bringing forth miracles that her divine portfolio provided, and also the amount of it.

"I never really heard of what this class you hinted might be, but we can assume that it might be specialized for a being with an innate essence of divinity, like a Fateling," Samael’s words on the matter.

And since there weren’t any entities with a great sense of divinity around her except Kivas, she really had nobody to reference for.

All that aside, Kivas felt really excited about this new class.

She couldn’t wait for it to reach the first threshold where it would grant her a unique class skill.

And since it was a class that not even Samael could pinpoint exactly what it was without Kivas uttering the name, the skill might be something game-breaking or powerful.

After all, Kivas’ Mana Psyche reservoir shot up greatly the moment she acquired this class, the growth rate might be immense on the mana department.

"To think that I can live this far already."

"I lived for who knows how long," Samael said while giving an encouraging thumbs up. "You’ll get used to the feeling."

"I don’t think that you’re on the spot for this one, Sammy," Oizys playfully added.

Kivas had returned to her daily routines—or what qualified as routine in a place like Vaingall.

Meetings resumed. Delegations stabilized. Reports of economic flux, military logistics, and ongoing reconstruction demands circulated across her holy desk, and she handled them with practiced ease.

The world hadn’t stopped moving because of her Apotheosis, and Kivas had always known it wouldn’t.

But something followed her in the silence between tasks—in the stretch between each breath.

She didn’t feel anxious.

That was the problem.

No flutter of hesitation when preparing a response to a volatile political envoy. No unease when she was wondering about the future. No heartbeat skipping before addressing a chamber full of Claturian loyalists demanding clarity on their divine patron.

Her mind moved like a blade against still water—clean, efficient, and void of friction.

It came with a surprising amount of clarity. And when she acknowledged it, she did so with a clinical precision that confirmed what she already suspected.

Yevdi’s warning had been subtle. Oizys’ encounter with the Rejected Shelf confirmed it more starkly.

And now, living day-to-day in a world that had never stopped testing her, Kivas could feel the hollow where a once essential fragment of her used to live.

Her Anxiety was gone.

At first glance, it seemed like a blessing. She performed without doubt, delivered orders without second-guessing, adapted to chaos without internal noise clawing for her attention.

Her mind was sharper than ever. Her decisions lacked hesitation.

But every time she stared into her own reflection, she found the expression wrong.

Too even. Too still. The sharpness of her thoughts no longer came with weight.

No more breath hitching before a difficult conversation. No more restless pacing at trying to decipher someone’s silence or even hidden intent after a sentence had been spoken out. No more sense of anticipation for failure, or of caring that failure might come.

Anxiety had always been there, tucked into her ribs, whispering when she strayed too far, reminding her to check, to prepare, to try again.

Now that whisper had been smothered.

Kivas stood in front of her newly repaired and renovated temple, staring at the blood-red sigil etched into the center of her wall—a mark of remembrance for what had happened in this very location.

She raised her fingers to trace it, and found herself thinking not about what it meant or how it lingered, but rather how she should be reacting to it.

And that, more than anything, proved it.

She was reacting to her own lack of reaction.

Somewhere during the Apotheosis, a small piece of her had been removed. Not forcibly, not cruelly, as it supposed to per Yevdi’s notice about it initially, but as part of a divine shift too large for mortal threads to hold together.

That piece had once told her to slow down. To question. To doubt, and in doing so, to discover new answers she might have missed otherwise.

She grieved it in a quiet way. Not with tears, but with a calm, yet discomforting acknowledgement.

She didn’t know if it would return. She didn’t know if she could recreate it. But she understood, more than ever, that even weakness had value.

Even instability had its uses. A little trembling in the hand reminded her that she was alive.

Still, the world didn’t pause for her to reclaim it.

"I wonder just how much of a husk that my version of future on Yevdi’s timeline is," Kivas deeply pondered. "If me losing what was supposed to be a small portion of individuality, gave me this much of a raw discomfort, then what about losing the majority of your own individuality?"

Kivas felt weighted at the thought, wondering if this is coming from her already lost anxiety, or just pure dissonance to the idea.

But to think about that kind of future Kivas was able to bring a smile to someone like Yevdi.

"I need to try harder."

All of the good news aside, the Apotheosis incident had caused quite a scornful harm toward the New Vaingall Consortium.

Yoiglah’s condition had become the central crisis within the Consortium. The divine pact he carried as a living shrine had rendered him a conduit to something unstable.

When Kivas’ Apotheosis escalated, the deity he anchored responded with violent resonance.

Yoiglah survived—barely—but he remained locked in a critical stasis, sequestered deep beneath her self-healing process within the depth of Vaingall, kept alive by layers of complex spell concoctions and skills.

Lyenar even had to visit a person to help with the process, ensuring that there was no everlasting damage done to Yoiglah.

His condition meant more than personal danger, after all. With Yoiglah suspended, the sanctified credibility of the New Vaingall Consortium stood on fragile stilts, especially since his support had been very powerful whenever he contributed to a plan.

Not only that, the Claturian’s loyalty had already been shaken from witnessing the grotesque spectacle of Kivas’ divine transformation.

The Claturians, for their part, managed to hold the line.

Their faith wavered during the Apotheosis. Seeing their living goddess twist into a monstrous form rattled even the most devoted.

But public perception didn’t collapse. Thanks in no small part to a relentless propaganda effort spearheaded by Samael—who crafted entire narratives overnight—and Oizys, who worked with Uhr’tarukh to strategically deploy key statements of affirmation.

Together, they invoked a collective framing: what the Claturians had seen was not a betrayal, but a divine trial, a necessary escalation in the grand mythos of their deity’s evolution and betterment of this young faction.

Most bought it. Not everyone, but enough to preserve internal stability.

Enough to keep the worship halls full and the divine rites flowing.

The Karasu Association, however, had responded with less forgiveness.

They knew of Kivas. They had been briefed on her importance. They understood the risk and potential of harboring her power within Vaingall’s dominion.

But witnessing an uncontrolled Apotheosis shook their confidence in the Consortium’s safety protocols.

Their internal threat levels about Kiva’s assessment spiked.

Surveillance increased. Several Karasu shadow agents began embedding themselves deeper into diplomatic channels, requesting more access, more assurances, more concessions, and even contributing to the security itself.

There was no rupture in collaboration—yet. The data salvaged from Kivas’ divine flux proved invaluable. The Karasu’s upper echelon had gleaned more from this single event than in years of isolated study.

But their trust thinned. What had been a cautious alliance now required careful balancing.

Kivas understood the math.

The Claturians stayed loyal because of faith. The Karasu stayed engaged because of data.

Neither stayed because of her.

And that too, she processed without anxiety. No impulse to defend her decisions. No temptation to apologize. No instinctive need to resolve the tension with charm or rationale.

She logged the facts and adjusted the Consortium’s post-Apotheosis diplomacy protocols accordingly.

Samael handled the counterintelligence. Oizys managed public engagement.

And Kivas, she simply functioned.

She moved with grace. Spoke with authority and divinity. Acted with precision.

But when she lay alone in her personal land, staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t feel the pressure that once lived behind her ribs.

The engine of fear. The friction of dread. The motivator that once made her question, recheck, wonder if she was enough.

It was gone for good, something that Kivas had hoped to not be the case.

"To lost something about what makes yourself, you—it hurts so much."