Path To Godhood Begins With Marrying Wife And Gaining SSS Rank Skill - Chapter 387: Investiture Of Gods
Chapter 387: Investiture Of Gods
She flipped it closed and picked another.
“Elemental Fusion Stability for Mid Tier Mages.”
Another.
“Comparative Study of Battle Auras Between Knight Realms.”
Her lips twitched.
Her mind started spinning just from reading the titles. Diagrams, formulas, and strange symbols filled the pages. Lines connected to circles. Notes ran along the sides.
She let out a long breath and rubbed her temple.
“Baaah…It’s too much…Why did Dad purchase these useless things,” she muttered under her breath, making a face.
She flipped a few pages anyway, and her eyes crossed slightly at the dense text.
If Ethan had heard her, he might have already spanked her for calling research books useless.
She placed the book back and looked through the pile again, hoping to find something more interesting.
Her fingers paused on a darker book. The cover was plain black, but the title was written in thin silver letters.
Investiture Of God.
She frowned slightly.
“That sounds… dramatic,” she whispered.
She pulled it out and opened it.
The moment her eyes landed on the first passage, something in her expression changed. The lazy boredom faded, and her gaze sharpened.
She read silently.
When Heaven questions your legitimacy and Hell asks you to drown in depravity?
Which path will you choose?
Her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the page.
Will you give up or fight against Heaven by using all the necessary means, only to be labeled as a defier of law?
Which one is the right way?
Miranda did not blink.
The sounds of workers moving around faded in her ears. The warehouse felt distant.
Her eyes seemed to glow faintly as she kept staring at the words.
It did not talk about mana nor did it talk about swords or spells.
It talked about choice.
About standing between two forces that both claimed to be absolute.
Her chest felt tight for a moment, and she did not know why.
She swallowed and turned the page slowly.
Her mind, which had complained a moment ago, now felt pulled in.
“…What kind of book is this?” she murmured softly, almost to herself.
For the first time since morning, Miranda forgot about crates, lists, and numbers.
She stood there, surrounded by trade goods and busy workers, yet completely still, her world narrowed down to black ink on white pages.
And she did not notice how long she had been standing there.
Miranda did not move from her spot.
The warehouse noise became distant, like it belonged to another world. Her fingers held the book tighter, the black cover pressing into her palm.
She lowered her eyes and continued reading.
The next page was not filled with diagrams. It was filled with words that felt heavy.
Some are born with low potential, only for their fate to be sealed from the moment they take their first breath.
Some are born with high potential, praised as chosen before they even understand the world.
Miranda’s hand slowly tightened around the edge of the book.
Her knuckles turned pale.
Her mind drifted back without her permission. The day she had once asked about testing potential. The quiet looks. The way the topic was gently pushed aside. The way her father had refused without anger, but with firmness.
Everyone in Blanks except them had tested their potential.
Except the children.
Why?
Her jaw tightened.
The book continued as she flipped the pages.
Heaven calls this order.
It is called this balance.
It is called destiny.
But is destiny justice, or is it just a cage built before you learn to walk?
Miranda’s breathing grew slower.
She turned another page.
The text grew darker.
If Heaven brands you unworthy, are you meant to kneel and thank it? If your path is sealed, is obedience a virtue or a slow death?
The words were sharp and heavy, and they did not try to comfort anyone. They felt less like teaching and more like an accusation thrown directly at the reader.
A rough sketch appeared on the next page. It showed a man kneeling beneath a vast and endless sky. Above him, countless eyes stared down without emotion. Below him, dark hands stretched upward from the shadows and clutched at his legs as if trying to drag him back into the abyss.
Heaven demands purity.
Hell tempts with power.
Both ask for your surrender.
Which one truly wants you free?
Miranda’s throat went dry as she stared at the words. She swallowed slowly, but the tight feeling in her chest did not fade. Her heartbeat grew louder in her ears, almost drowning out the quiet sounds of the warehouse around her.
She had never read anything like this before. Training manuals explained how to grow stronger, and religious texts spoke about righteousness and faith. This book did neither. Instead, it questioned everything she had been taught to accept without doubt.
Another passage caught her attention.
The child with low talent is told to accept.
The child with high talent is told to serve.
Both are bound. One by weakness. One by expectation.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the page. A strange warmth rose inside her chest, uncomfortable yet impossible to ignore. She did not understand why the words felt so personal, but they struck somewhere deep within her.
She turned another page slowly.
What if Heaven’s law is only the law of the strong?
What if rebellion is not evil, but survival?
The warehouse suddenly felt colder, and the fading sunlight coming through the dusty window looked dimmer than before. Miranda leaned against the table for support while she continued reading, her lips moving faintly as she followed each line.
“Defy, and you will be called a sinner. Obey, and you will never be yourself.”
A chill ran down her spine, and goosebumps rose along her arms.
Somewhere behind her, wood creaked softly. The sound blended into the silence, but she did not notice. Her entire focus remained trapped inside the book.
The next page carried a darker tone.
To challenge Heaven is to walk a path of blood.
Not just others’ blood. Your own.
Only those ready to lose everything should dare to ask why.
Miranda swallowed again. Part of her felt disturbed, yet another part refused to look away.
The air behind her shifted slightly. A faint sound followed, like cloth brushing against old wood. Still, she did not turn.
She flipped another page.
The ink strokes looked uneven now, almost chaotic, as if the writer’s hand had shaken while writing.
Heaven does not hate evil.
Heaven hates disobedience.
Miranda’s eyes widened in shock.
A sudden presence loomed close behind her.
Before she could react, a hand slammed down over her head.
“Ahhhhhhh!”
Miranda screamed as fear shot through her body, and the book nearly slipped from her trembling grasp.
