Vile Evil Hides Under The Veil-Chapter 1977: Justified Arrogance of a God?

God Raashim felt very pleased when he first arrived in Labh Salem.

Shir had followed the instructions perfectly.

The altar was stable, the sacrifices had been accepted, and the Divine Bridge had opened without resistance.

With the blessing of the witch goddess, his arrival had been smooth.

For once, Raashim felt… present. Alive in a way that even the Immortal Domain could not offer.

He looked around, studying the people below him. Many were still in awe. Some trembled. Others stared with hope in their eyes, believing that their god had come to deliver justice.

Yes, justice.

Raashim thought and chuckled.

God Raashim could also see that the majority of his followers had their faith in him shaken to its core.

After all, this wasn't a planned descent into Labh Salem—he had appeared here forcefully, using sacrificial energy.

Usually, only the Children of Echidna who had ascended to Immortality relied on their followers to conduct sacrificial rituals. Then there were demons, who practically required their followers to engage in self-harm or extreme devotion.

However, most Immortals who liked to call themselves gods and thought themselves to be in a righteous faction didn't use such methods. Not because they disliked the idea of killing innocents, but because it had long-term drawbacks.

Sacrifices could taint faith and reduce the quality and sustainability of faith power over time. It was very difficult to get someone to follow a certain faith if the "blessings" weren't dished out personally and there was the early access to death waiting for them.

God Raashim considered himself a righteous god—or at least, as righteous as he could be, given there were worse Immortals than him.

Under normal circumstances, he would never have allowed Shir to carry out a sacrificial ritual in his name. But after hearing his avatar's report about Eren's raid, Raashim realized the situation was serious.

If he sat back and let things unfold on their own, even if his faith didn't completely vanish from Labh Salem, it would still suffer a heavy blow. It could take centuries for his avatar to recover the lost prestige of the Raashim Temple—if Shir survived at all.

Still, losing faith power in Labh Salem wasn't a devastating blow for Raashim. Not really.

As an Immortal with a solid foundation, he had followers spread across dozens of worlds, many of which matched or exceeded Labh Salem in both quantity and quality of worshippers.

He was also expanding into four newly developing worlds, where civilizations were just beginning to flourish. The business of faith was always booming. As long as there were living beings, they would need to believe in something unless they want to hollow out their own souls.

Guys like Eren, who had learned to believe in himself, were rare. As such, their existence didn't matter in the broader picture for these Immortals.

In short, worlds like Labh Salem were like generators—valuable, but not irreplaceable. If one saw a significant drop in faith production, Raashim could simply focus his efforts on other worlds to spread his faith and recover the losses.

It would take work, but it was manageable.

As for carrying out a sacrificial ritual in front of millions of his own followers?

Shir didn't think twice about it. And God Raashim cared even less.

As an Immortal, he had long since mastered the art of dealing with mortals—or, as he often called them—sheep.

Mortals were very easy to manipulate. Given enough time and brainwashing-style teachings, they could be made to believe anything an Immortal wanted them to.

Perhaps, in a few decades, the same followers who had witnessed the sacrifices would come to believe that God Raashim had done it for some divine reason, for their benefit.

He could cause a great flood here, and they would think he did it to wash away their sins.

Because of that, the idea of his followers losing faith in him never truly bothered God Raashim.

As long as he remained an Immortal and his avatar was present to manage things, he was confident he could recover his influence in Labh Salem in no time.

Then what about Shir? Did God Raashim not care about him?

He did—but in his own way.

To Shir, God Raashim was everything—his source of power, his divine master, and his only support.

But to God Raashim, Shir was just one avatar. He had eight others, each active in a different world. He was also preparing to create two more to expand his faith into two newly discovered realms.

Even though Labh Salem was a large and well-established world, Shir's problems alone wouldn't have been enough to make Raashim descend personally. He would have sent resources, divine blessings, and even reinforcements—but taking such a big risk just for one avatar's trouble wasn't how Immortals operated.

The real reason God Raashim had come to Labh Salem was because he knew the Witches' Sabbath would soon take place here. He wanted to discuss certain matters with the witch goddess regarding the upcoming event.

Unless it was within the Celestial Court, it was very difficult for two Immortals to meet and speak directly. Most were preoccupied with their own matters and rarely sought cooperation from one another.

In many ways, being an Immortal was a lonely existence.

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Even if they found enjoyment through their avatars or divine trials, they were still caged within their Immortal Domains. That isolation couldn't be escaped.

So, true interactions between Immortals were rare and precious.

The witch goddess was no exception. Reaching her wasn't easy unless the topic concerned Labh Salem's future.

That was why Raashim used Shir's crisis as a convenient excuse to descend.

He had planned to handle the matter quickly and then find the witch goddess for a private conversation.

And what about Eren—the one God Raashim had heard about through Shir's report?

Even though his avatar was hell-bent on taking revenge on Eren and his demon army, God Raashim actually didn't care about him.

Eren could kill another million of Raashim's Templars and non-combat followers, and Raashim would barely blink.

It wasn't because God Raashim had become too detached to feel human emotions like anger, vengeance, or wrath—nor because he had become some kind of neutral god.

It was because Eren was like an ant in his eyes.

One doesn't waste time hating an ant or thinking about getting revenge on it and its nine generations just because it gave a little bite.

They simply squash it and move on.

It was that simple.

This was the justified arrogance of a god.