Extreme Cold Era: Shelter Don't Keep Waste-Chapter 935 - 158

Under the shadow cast by the Empire's Floating City, the belief systems of the Desert Tribes are undergoing an unprecedented reconstruction.

This sky-suspended steel metropolis overlooks the vast desert like a dwelling of gods, where the shadow reaches, ancient customs and emerging beliefs are subtly intertwining.

In the camp of the Oasis Tribe, cooking smoke wafts gently.

Amir sits in front of the tent, carefully caressing the silver-grey packaged compressed biscuits issued by the Empire.

This alchemical creation emits a faint wheat aroma and is their family's rations for three days.

Since the Empire promoted the belief in the New God, these foodstuffs embossed with gear emblems have become their lifeline.

"Mother, I've brought back today's share." Amir divided the biscuits into three parts and handed the largest piece to the curled-up old woman in the blanket.

The old woman's trembling fingers took the food, her clouded eyes flashing with a hint of complex emotion.

"The New God's blessing is more filling than our ancestors' camel milk." Amir said softly, a phrase that has spread within the tribe.

Indeed, these alchemical foods have relieved their hunger, and the children's cheeks in the tribe are once again rosy.

He can no longer remember the last time he drank camel milk; the rich taste in his memory gradually replaced by the sweet aroma of biscuits.

Outside the tent, the newly erected idol glimmers with metallic luster in the sunset.

It is a sculpture that combines the outline of a traditional idol with the modern aesthetic of machinery, both unfamiliar and strangely familiar.

Amir clenched his ancestral scimitar and slowly knelt before the idol under his mother's gaze.

This weapon, once used to protect the tribe, will now bear witness to his allegiance to the new faith.

However, in the tide of change, there are always those who hold their ground.

In the dim light of the oil lamp in the cellar, Salih's bone knife carved fine patterns on an animal bone.

This is the true name of Sekhmet, their faith passed down through generations.

Suddenly, the sound of orderly military boots echoed overhead. He quickly hid the bone in a secret compartment of the cellar, his swift actions tinged with heartache.

Such caution is not without reason.

Three days ago, the fate of the White Antelope Tribe spread throughout the desert—after toppling the New God's statue, the entire tribe's heating was cut off, and food supplies ceased.

When the Empire's soldiers reopened the Energy Tower, several of the oldest elders and some frail children had already closed their eyes forever.

The Empire's missionaries traversed between tribes riding thunderous steam locomotives.

Governor Redcliff conducted personal inspections, his crisp uniform sharply contrasting with the desert robes.

At this moment, he stood in the assembly square of the Golden Falcon Tribe, with the Energy Tower glowing blue behind him.

"The faith of the New God must be enacted, if you fail to do so, the Energy Tower's heating will be cut off, and the food provided by the Empire will be withdrawn." Redcliff spoke to the kneeling old tribal king of the Golden Falcon Tribe before him, his tone still cold and merciless.

And behind the old tribal king, his young son had already gripped the decorative dagger at his waist, seemingly poised to act bloodily within five steps.

Yet the youthful impulsiveness was restrained, as the old tribal king humbly assured Redcliff that the Golden Falcon Tribe would fully submit to the faith of the New God.

"I hope you will keep your word, the Empire's mercy is limited, and so is my patience." After warning the old tribal king, Redcliff left this tribe, taking the steam transport to the next one.

Meanwhile, the old tribal king of the Golden Falcon Tribe watched the departing steam transport with a forlorn expression.

"Father, why don't we resist?" The young man questioned his father, not understanding why his once heroic father would bow and scrape like this.

As the roar of the steam car faded away, the old tribal king looked at the floating black dot in the sky and said to his son, "Look at the sky, my child. No matter how sharp our scimitars, they cannot reach such heights.

But remember, the people of the desert, like the poplar tree, outwardly submit to the sandstorm, yet our roots grow ever deeper."

As night fell, the warmth radiated by the Energy Tower dispelled the desert's chill.

At the boundary of light and shadow, old prayers and new hymns echoed with magical harmony beneath the stars.

This reconstruction of faith is inscribing a new wisdom of survival for the desert.

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Suspended high in the sky, within the Floating City, a newly established New God temple emits a faintly sacred glow.

This hall, constructed of metal, stands in the third module of the Floating City, with twelve columns inscribed with runes forming a circle, shrouding the central altar in a misty halo.

At the heart of the temple, the artificial Divinity core personally crafted by the genius Alchemist Perfikot pulses with a mysterious frequency, continuously inhaling and exhaling the power of faith.

This god statue, appearing as an ordinary stone figure, is experiencing an astonishing metamorphosis within; its interior is filled with a boiling golden energy torrent.

These manifest faith powers whirl and swirl in the core like a galaxy vortex, sometimes coagulating into fragmented runes, at other times bursting into fine showers of light.

At the deepest point of the energy vortex, faint threads of gold, purer than molten gold, are slowly coagulating, as the nascent divinity form drains the wish power of millions of followers.

Perfikot stood at the arc-shaped observation platform, her silver-white hair lightly teased by the turbulence stirred by the energy storm.

Her heterochromatic eyes were intently fixated on the 3D projection floating before her, dozens of constantly oscillating energy readings interweaving in the void into a net, among which the most crucial "spiritual threshold" indicator was rapidly approaching the red critical line visibly to the naked eye.