Of course, this was not the power of meditation.
Had Medeia, Cassandra, and Cersei wielded the overwhelming physical strength of Gilgamesh—muscle and power incarnate—this malformed, three-eyed raven would have been instantly crushed, reduced to pulp upon its sudden appearance. But the witches were physically no stronger than ordinary humans; their strength lay solely in psychic force. Thanks to the hive mind's shielding, they could not harm him.
In reality, Xu Zhi was merely a weak and oddly-formed creature.
"Who are you?" the witches demanded, shock flickering across their beautiful faces. This was the first time they'd encountered an intelligent being other than humanity—a peculiar, three-eyed raven cloaked in midnight-black feathers.
"An intelligent species… besides us humans?" Their breathing quickened as ancient legends resurfaced in their minds. Gilgamesh's records mentioned non-human intelligent species—the legendary Wise Beasts, servants of the Creator. Could this raven truly be one of those divine entities?
Standing unclothed within the pool, their perfect figures poised and unafraid, the witches regarded the strange and mysterious creature with awe.
"You… Are you… a god?" Medeia asked, voice trembling.
In their world, the concept of gods had never existed—only the vague and powerful notion of a Wise Beast. After the terrifying reality of the Great Flood, mortals had finally glimpsed the presence of divine beings. Yet this speaking creature, though smaller than the legendary Creator, carried an unmistakable aura of divinity.
It had long been theorized that humanity was not the first intelligent species created—only the first to flourish. Perhaps the Creator had spawned countless experiments, producing monstrous failures before finally crafting a perfect, mortal species capable of reproduction. Perhaps this mysterious raven was one of those perfected intelligences, chosen by the Creator himself.
"You truly are a god?" Cersei repeated, her voice filled with awe and fear.
Xu Zhi's raven form gently ruffled its glossy feathers. He offered a calm, inscrutable smile that nevertheless carried a chill of otherworldly authority. "If that is how you wish to see me," he croaked softly, his voice rasping yet strangely compelling, "then yes—I am indeed a god."
He had never actively sought godhood. But since they had already concluded as much, he would accept the mantle willingly.
Clearing his throat, Xu Zhi continued, "I am one of the Creator's perfected intelligent beings. Unlike you, I possess no ability to reproduce. I am called Hermes—the god of wisdom. You may also address me as Mercury. I have come here, to this troubled Babylon tribe, to reignite the spark of civilization and to reveal to mortals the truths of this world."
Silence enveloped the witches; their hearts pounded. Meeting a living god in person—a being existing beyond mere legend—felt like stepping into an impossible dream.
"Great Hermes," Cersei whispered, her voice trembling, "what truths do you bring?"
Xu Zhi's voice softened, yet each word resonated with profound, indescribable power. "Truth is the source of all rules and all power in this universe. Everything you perceive falls within its domain. I offer mortals three sacred teachings: meditation, alchemy, and sorcery."
Medeia and Cassandra exchanged astonished, breathless glances. Gilgamesh himself had once received three divine gifts, birthing civilization—now they, too, would inherit a new triad of divine wisdom.
"What… what exactly are meditation, alchemy, and sorcery?" Medeia asked, barely steadying her voice.
Xu Zhi spread his raven wings slightly, as if embracing the entire world. "Meditation is the path to mastering your inner spirit—the foundation for eventual godhood itself. It leads you toward wielding authority like mine, to serve the Creator in the Celestial Temple and hear divine teachings directly."
A stunned silence followed. The possibility of ascending to join a pantheon—of surpassing even the legendary Gilgamesh—shattered every previous notion of possibility.
"Alchemy," Xu Zhi continued, voice ringing clearly, "is the mysterious art of creation. It unlocks the doors to the fundamental truths of the world. Mastering alchemy means mastering reality itself. All principles of transformation hinge upon the Trinity Formula: one substance satisfies another, one substance overcomes another, one substance dominates another."
His cryptic yet irresistible words echoed gently through the air, filling the valley beyond the pool. The witches felt their bones stir with excitement and apprehension.
"And sorcery," Xu Zhi concluded quietly, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried immense gravity, "is the ability to transmute spirit into elemental force—to draw forth earth from flame, light from storm, fire from ocean. From a single primal substance arises infinite transformations."
Wind, rain, lightning—even reality itself—could be reshaped by mere thought.
The witches' breaths came in ragged gasps. They felt themselves drowning in the vastness of this revelation. Every word struck them like lightning, igniting their souls with awe and terror. Before them unfolded an impossible truth: they stood at the threshold of divine power itself.
4.5