Harem System In A fantasy World - Chapter 115: The Empire Of the Divine Goddess Of Light I

Chapter 115: The Empire Of the Divine Goddess Of Light I

Meanwhile, far away from dungeons, a very different scene was unfolding.

In the holy cathedral city of the Empire of the Divine Goddess of Light, a massive white cathedral stood at the very center of the city. Calling it a building felt almost like an insult to its grand architecture. It towered over everything around it, so large and overwhelming that it was closer to a mountain than a structure built by human hands.

Vast stairs, one in each cardinal direction, stretched from the city floor all the way up to the cathedral’s entrance, rising for nearly a full kilometer. Upon these stairs, countless figures could be seen kneeling, bowing, and pressing their foreheads to the stone in worship. Their bodies formed long, unmoving lines, all facing upward toward the same sacred sight.

At the very top of the cathedral stood a statue of otherworldly beauty.

It was forged entirely from smelted gold, depicting a woman clad in flowing robes, holding a staff that radiated overwhelming power. Though her face was partially obscured by a strange distortion, even the little that could be seen was enough to inspire awe. No sculptor could have captured such perfection by mortal means alone.

This was the statue of the Goddess of Light—Luminara.

Pilgrims from across the empire always gathered here. Some had traveled for months, crossing dangerous lands, driven by faith alone. Among them were people missing limbs, people suffering from ancient curses, or bearing wounds that had never healed.

From time to time, divine miracles occurred. A withered arm would be restored. A curse would vanish. A cripple would stand and walk again, tears streaming down their face.

If one looked more closely, one would notice that those able to kneel higher on the stairs wore priestly robes. These were not ordinary believers, but powerful individuals, each of them radiating considerable power. Near the halfway point, only a handful stood upright, radiating immense mana—Arch Mages, each one strong enough to rule a small nation of their own. These were low-ranking members of the clergy!

Yet as astonishing as the scene outside was, the true spectacle lay within the cathedral itself.

Inside the sacred halls, twelve figures knelt in perfect formation before a smaller statue identical to the one outside. Five women and seven men, all wearing white-gold armor and robes, each carrying different weapons at their sides. Their presence alone weighed heavily upon the air.

These were the Divine Paladins.

Every single one of them was a Sage-ranked mage.

Before the statue further up, stood a voluptuous woman holding a sacred tome. She wore a simple yet beautiful silver silk robe and a veil draped over her head. Even with her face partially hidden, there was no doubt—she was a woman of unparalleled beauty.

The flowing white robes clung to her sinful body despite being loose, silky, and translucent in the candlelight, accentuating the sinful swell of her enormous breasts— heaving orbs that surged forward like overripe melons swollen beyond reason, each one larger than her head and sagging just enough under their immense heft to sway pendulously.

The deep cleavage plunged like an abyss between them, a chasm so profound it swallowed the light, the upper swells spilling over the neckline in creamy waves that begged to be grabbed and kneaded.

They bounced with hypnotic force when she moved, the robes doing nothing to contain their wild, fleshy rebellion. However, if her breasts were enormous, then her behind could only be called monstrous.

The Holy Mother’s ass defied all natural laws, a monstrous expanse of flesh that ballooned outward from her narrow waist like twin planets locked in eternal orbit, each cheek a colossal globe of soft, jiggling fat and muscle that strained the seams of her flowing robes to their absolute limit.

It protruded impossibly far, shelf-like and unyielding, so vast that it cast shadows across the cathedral floor even in the bright light, the fabric stretched taut over the deep cleft between them, outlining every ripple and dimple as if the robes were painted on.

When she shifted during her prayers, those behemoth cheeks quivered and clapped softly against each other, the sheer weight sending tremors up her spine, making her knees buckle slightly under the burden of such exaggerated, sinful volume— truly, it was an ass that could crush a man’s hips in its plush grip or smother him in endless, suffocating warmth, impossible in its scale yet radiating an irresistible pull.

This divine lady with a sinful body had tears streaming silently down her chin.

Her lips quivered, moving as if she were praying, yet no sound escaped them. Her long golden-blonde hair flowed down her back, reaching nearly to her calves beneath the semi-transparent veil that covered her.

What made the sight truly shocking was not her beauty—but her power.

She was Saint-Mage!

The pinnacle of strength in this world!

This was a woman respected by foreign monarchs, feared by enemies of the church, and revered across nations. And yet here she stood, crying before the statue of her goddess like a broken devotee.

This woman was the Holy Mother of the Empire, chosen directly by the Divine Goddess of Light to lead her people.

Behind her stood another woman, dressed in identical robes and wearing a similar veil. Her figure was just as graceful, just as striking, and her beauty no less overwhelming.

Her body mirrored her superior’s divine excess in form, her ass a near-monstrous swell that ballooned from her hips with barely restrained fury, each cheek a massive, rounded mound of plush flesh that pushed outward just a touch less aggressively than the Holy Mother’s, yet still so prodigiously wide it made her robes billow like sails in a storm.

The fabric clung desperately to the deep valley, splitting those hefty globes, tracing the subtle jiggle as she shifted her weight.

Her breasts echoed the same sinful grandeur, twin behemoths that thrust forward from her chest like overfilled balloons on the verge of bursting, each one a hefty sphere straining the identical sheer robes.

They swelled with a fullness that rivaled the Holy Mother’s but dipped just shy of that utter monstrosity, sagging with delicious heft to create a cleavage that dove deep and inviting.

Unlike the Holy Mother, however, her expression was calm and composed. She held burning incense sticks, her gaze filled with respect rather than tears.

This was the Holy Daughter of the Light Empire.

Her name was Solara.

She was the one-hundred-and-fiftieth Holy Daughter in the empire’s long history, while the Holy Mother in front of her was only the twenty-ninth to ever exist.

Holy Daughters were chosen as potential successors, though there were often multiple candidates at once. Only one would ever rise to become the next Holy Mother—if the goddess even chose to appoint one at all.

Sometimes, years would pass after a holy mother’s death or retirement, and the goddess would not appoint a new one, leaving the empire to be temporarily ruled by the Divine paladins at the time.

It was only this one time that a single holy daughter had been chosen, and with good reason. Every other candidate that was competing with Solara just paled in comparison to this beauty’s potential.

Solara’s strength alone was enough to shock the world.

She was an Advanced-ranked mage!