Becoming a God Starts with Acting-Chapter 44: [Frog] - The Prophet’s Part (19)

"We must capture Gon and perform the sacrifice before the day ends." Silas quickly arranged everything: "Alice, Austin, and I will capture Gon while the rest of you prepare the altar according to the records in the book."

No one objected to this arrangement until Silas and Drake simultaneously turned to look at Prophet.

Even though they said nothing, their thoughts were all too clear.

[Hahaha, the decisive moment is here, but I bet Prophet would never choose Alice.]

[Is Alice even part of this battle? Come on, this is a silent showdown between Drake and Silas. I’m sure even Silas has been won over by Prophet’s perfection!]

[Hahaha, Prophet? Perfect? Some people are way too delusional...]

[But Prophet is the strongest one here, the hope of humanity, okay?]

It doesn’t matter; I think Silas and Prophet are a way better match! Prophet, choose Silas! Choose Silas!]

[Drake is the most devoted follower; he’s choosing Drake!]

Did he have to choose?

Reading all the pointless comments deep within Drake’s heart, this question suddenly surfaced.

And as for the exaggerated praise of Prophet’s strength, it nearly numbs Silvanus’ nerves with secondhand embarrassment.

It’s fine. That reaction just proved that his performance had indeed been outstanding. Silvanus thought this to himself, then directly turned around and walked off with Drake.

Silas lowered his head slightly but didn’t show any particular expression—he led his team straight to Gon’s house.

The torrential rain poured fiercely, each raindrop sharp like needles, piercing everything in its path. Fortunately, the leaves covering their bodies were strangely sturdy—so long as they didn’t stay in the rain for too long, they’d be fine.

"Alright, let’s move!"

Drake hefted his massive blade twice his height onto his shoulder. Its razor-sharp edge couldn’t even leave a scratch on him. He smirked, an untamed arrogance flashing across his face as the others quickly followed behind.

[No matter where he is, Drake will always lead, no doubt about it, hahaha.]

[Silas’ team joining Drake’s squad instantly turned them into a gang of thugs.]

[Even July looks way braver now.]

[Come on, don’t say that—July has always been a courageous and strong girl.]

Drake’s group charged into the rain, racing toward the altar at breakneck speed.

By the time they arrived, the altar had already been fully adorned. Countless multicolored fringed fabrics hung down from above, and wind chimes swayed in midair, ringing with an eerie resonance. Five frog statues, their heads tilted skyward, had begun to change. Chunks of stone crumbled from their bodies, revealing slimy, mottled skin beneath, oozing with a sickly green mucus.

They’re waking up, Drake thought coldly.

Beneath the altar, many others were already gathered, their bodies cloaked in thick rain gear. They all turned their heads in unison at the sound of Drake’s approach. Beneath the dark, stormy sky, their glowing red eyes looked like a horde of demons clawing their way out of hell.

"Step aside. This altar belongs to us."

Drake pointed his blade forward, his gaze icy as he stared down the villagers—or rather, monsters, at this point.

They suddenly lunged at them all at once at the sound of his voice.

Their speed was incredible, their leaps unnaturally high and far, and they were nearly impossible to shake off once they latched onto something.

July screamed. She twisted and slashed at the villager clinging to her, but it was useless.

Just then, a blinding arrow of light shot through the air, striking the creature that had latched onto July. The monster was sent flying, writhing in agony as it hit the ground. But even with a gaping hole, it still got back up.

Using both hands and feet, it crawled toward July once more—relentless, unstoppable.

July screamed, tears finally spilling from her eyes.

Beside her, Drake swung his blade relentlessly, slicing the lunging monsters in half as he shouted, "The useless ones, get out of the way!"

All right, July’s self-sacrificing spirit was admirable, but she really wasn’t helping at this moment.

Alice grabbed her and quickly said, "Find a safe place to hide, or just step aside—don’t get in their way."

Alice herself remained on the sidelines. Her ability was highly specialized—she could heal any wound, and the more severe the injury, the faster the recovery. Because of that, no one ever expected her to fight. She only needed to conserve her strength and act at the right moment.

July bit her lip, tears streaming down her face as she fearfully watched the battlefield before her.

[No matter how brave July is, she’s just too weak. Conquering a dungeon takes more than just courage.]

[This is not a stage for the weak.]

Not a stage for the weak?

Silvanus stared at the damage notifications constantly increasing on Prophet’s card due to standing in the rain. His gaze darkened.

Stepping forward, his cloak billowed in the wind. The rain poured heavily—but not a single drop touched him.

The monsters charging toward the humans suddenly cowered before him, instinctively shrinking back and clearing a path for him to ascend the altar.

The five frog statues trembled as if warning the intruder who dared enter forbidden grounds. But at this moment, they could do nothing. They were still just statues.

Silvanus stood in the center of the altar with ease.

This wasn’t a stage where the weak were unworthy—this was his stage.

Lifting his hand, a calligraphy brush instantly materialized in his grasp. It was far more significant than an ordinary brush, its body inscribed with incomprehensible golden symbols. The bristles were stained black with ink, yet despite the torrential rain, not a single drop fell from the tip.

The ability [Creation] turned gray the moment the brush appeared.

Prophet raised his hand, his fingers tracing elegant motions in the air. Strange symbols, identical to those in the ancient texts, formed on the ground, arranging themselves into a mysterious magic array.

Alice’s eyes shone as she watched. This was the embodiment of true power.

"Is everyone ready?"

Silas and Austin arrived from the distance. Seeing Drake and Damian still locked in battle with the monsters, a hint of urgency flashed across Silas’ face.

Alice turned to him and said, "Captain, it’s Prophet! He’s prepared everything for us!"

Silas looked over—and saw Prophet standing in the center of the altar, brush in hand, chin slightly raised. His expression was unreadable as he gazed at them, yet it made them hesitate to meet his eyes.

Drake cleaved through the final monster, clicking his tongue. "Bet he thinks we’re a bunch of useless weaklings."

Alice opened her mouth, about to defend Prophet, but surprisingly, someone else beat her to it.

"Not everyone is like you, Drake. Don’t assume the worst about people—especially not Prophet."

Alice almost clapped for her Captain on the spot!

Drake narrowed his eyes at Silas, his gaze turning icy. "You? Having faith in someone? Don’t make me laugh."

Silas ignored him and walked past. "Enough. Let’s begin the ritual. We don’t have much time left."

At that moment, Austin arrived, carrying a tightly bound Gon over his shoulder.

Gon’s eyes were filled with sheer disbelief as if he had just suffered the ultimate betrayal. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

Silvanus thought this guy has a passion for acting, feeling an unexpected camaraderie.

"You all got here faster than I expected," Damian remarked, watching Silas swiftly position Gon in the sacrificial formation Prophet had prepared.

He had assumed Gon would be the final boss of this dungeon, that capturing him would be a grueling ordeal—but Silas’ team had arrived far too quickly.

Austin, however, was now scratching himself relentlessly. Yellow blisters had formed on his skin, oozing a sickly fluid and spreading alarmingly. He glanced at Damian and muttered, "Capturing Gon was easier than I expected... Looks like he was just an ordinary human."

Silas had finished the preparations. He closed his eyes briefly, then began reciting the sacrificial chants recorded in the ancient texts.

The moment he completed the incantation—

The rain froze.

Each raindrop hung suspended in midair, caught in time.

A vivid crimson light burst from the magic array, engulfing Gon and forcing a pained scream from his lips.

At the same time, Silas’ deep voice resonated through the space:

"This is not the end. We have no idea what horrors await us after the sacrifice—prepare yourselves."

The vertical eye on his forehead snapped open, its pupil writhing.