The Author Reincarnated As An Extra-Chapter 39: • Prayer at Dawn

Deremiah reached down and closed his hand around the hilt of his sword. The metal was quite cool against his palm even though he had been wielding it just a few seconds ago.

He picked up the sword and straightened, then he performed a thrust, a slice and a jack. He spun his body with the blade following his motion before he stabbed the air strongly and ended the warm up by spinning the sword and placing it on a resting position beside him.

His gaze shifted toward the mountain in the distance. He could see the peak from where he stood and it wasn’t a very high mountain. The rocky face was covered with glowing plants and mushrooms clinging on its shaft from the base to the tip like a mosaic.

Back when it was darker, their light had been vivid and brilliant, but now they were subdued under the growing daylight.

There was a sun in the sky too. A real, natural looking sun, pouring golden rays across the land. The sky was a canvas of soft blues and whites, with clouds drifting lazily overhead.

Even in the morning, the Gigantic Ether Forest was still a fairly beautiful sight.

Deremiah noticed a sudden movement among the plants beside him. He turned his head just in time to see one of the glowing mushrooms dim into a dull gray before crumbling into dust.

"Hmm," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Seems the NeonSquid is still feeding."

He turned to his right, where Elora was, intending to share his observation.

"Mhm?" he raised a brow when he saw her.

Elora Cassiel was kneeling on the ground, her fingers laced together resting on the hilt of her sword which was embedded in the ground. Her head was bowed slightly in a gesture of prayer, her eyes closed.

He didn’t hear anything her moving lips were saying but he knew exactly what she was doing.

Elora was praying to the Dawn.

The tradition was ancient, rooted in the history of the Dawn Clan. The Dawn Clan worshipped the rising of the sun as some kind of god or a celestial incidence beyond their comprehension.

Who knew? Maybe they were right to worship it? And the rising of the sun must then be a generous god because the Dawn Clan was the most powerful of all Clans.

Perhaps the other Clans could learn a thing or two.

But Deremiah knew better. The Dawn Clan’s power didn’t come from divine favor from the sun, but from the cunning and raw strength of its founders.

Dawn Clan had been created by three of the most powerful Mancers at the time, with one of them being a Voidmancer. When they were formed, they had quickly taken over the Fire and Ember Clan which had both been competing to initiate any of those three Mancers into their Clan.

So the betrayal of a new Clan stung and took the two rival Clans by surprise. Then over the years, the Dawn Clan surpassed them in power and in population, as their reach extended faster and farther all over the Mortal Realm of Uxetor.

Their faith and unwavering belief in the rising sun as a symbol of renewal and hope became their defining trait. They believed the sun’s ascent marked the triumph of light over darkness, a daily miracle bestowed by the Dawn — a kind and watchful god in their eyes.

Even though these rituals and prayers were a farce to him, a means to cultivate loyalty and unity among the clan’s followers, Deremiah couldn’t deny the gravity of the moment as he watched Elora embody that tradition.

She had been trained to be a warrior ever since she was a child. The values of the Clan had been instilled in her, and she had been taught the way Dawn so much so that she barely knew any other way. Deremiah couldn’t disrespect that, especially since he knew she could kill him with a slice of her blade.

He watched her continue to pray for a while longer, wondering when it would be over. The prayer seemed to resonate with the world around them. And if Deremiah was religious, he would have believed that the way the sunlight poured gently on her as she prayed was a sign of the Dawn answering her prayer.

When she finally finished, Elora rose to her feet gracefully. She didn’t say anything to Deremiah but she reached behind her, her hand finding the crown of thorns that had been resting in its place.

She carefully used her fingers to pull it forward and lifted it out with deliberate care. Then, as Deremiah watched, she placed it upon her head, crowning herself.

Again, the golden light shone on the crown with the dark obsidian used to create it, glistening like it had polished over and over.

Deremiah couldn’t decide whether he was perplexed or astonished at how genuinely cool she was. He began to wonder if he had overdone it with her.

’I mean,’ he thought. ’A character like this really should be a main character. She was certainly more likeable than Astrea.’

His mind wandered to one of the raging comments of his readers, the Elora Cassiel fanboys who despised that they had to deal with annoying Astrea when they could have had Elora.

He saw her pick up her sword and then let out a sigh of relief. That was when he remembered again that Elora was not just here as a participant trying to gain powers, but she was here with a responsibility, and the Dawn legacy rested on her shoulders.

Elora turned to him, catching him off guard as he quickly flattened his face.

"Let’s go," she said, her voice cutting through the stillness with quiet authority.

"O... kay," Deremiah nodded, gripping his sword tighter as he fell in step behind her, inspecting the details of her armor from the back.

The dawn stretched out before them, the glowing neon plants were just translucent plants now, their lights were weak now with the sun up, and Deremiah and Elora pushed them out of the way as they made their way to the mushroom mountain.

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