God Simulator: The Goddesses In The Simulation Are All Real Chapter 138: Rise, Archbishop John

John heard the words, and though his body felt heavy and worn, the weight of the man's voice seed to lift sothing deep within him.

It was as though the promise of change was real, tangible, but as the man's faint smile faded from his vision, so did everything else.

The dream unraveled around him. The misty void, the purple-eyed man, the distant echoes—it all slipped away into nothingness.

John's consciousness began to fade, sinking deeper into a quiet abyss until there was nothing but darkness.

…

Sowhere, in a forgotten alleyway littered with dirt and debris, John's bruised and battered body vanished without a trace.

…

When he opened his eyes again, everything had changed.

John blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden burst of light that filled his vision.

He lay on the cool stone floor, surrounded by towering walls of white marble.

The air here felt different—clean, almost sacred.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, wincing from the aches of his previous beatings, but the pain... it was less now, almost like a distant mory.

His gaze swept the room, taking in the grandness of his surroundings. This wasn't the dingy alleyway where he had collapsed. No, this place was far more magnificent.

He was inside a vast hall, its ceilings stretching impossibly high. Marble columns lined the walls, each one adorned with intricate carvings of figures he recognized—the man from his dream.

Statues of the purple-haired god lined the hall, each one immortalized in different poses. So depicted him with his arms raised in command, others seated on a throne, but every statue bore the sa regal expression, exuding an aura of unshakable power.

The stained-glass windows cast vibrant colors onto the polished floors, painting scenes of battles, conquests, and victories all under the na of this divine being.

John took it all in, awe filling his chest as he realized where he was.

This was no ordinary place—it had to be the Holy Church of the Sinclair Order, the very place of worship for the god who had appeared to him. The god who had promised him salvation.

His breath caught in his throat as he turned his gaze to the altar at the far end of the hall.

There, at its center, was a golden statue—far larger than the others—depicting the god, with his piercing purple eyes staring out over the room, as if watching him even now.

The golden statue shimred, its radiant glow intensifying as the air around it rippled.

Suddenly, from within the statue, an ethereal figure erged.

It was a projection—an illusory avatar of the god John had seen in his dream.

Linsley, the God of Real Fantasy, stood before him, his purple eyes gleaming with power and wisdom. His presence filled the vast hall, even though it was only a projection, and John could feel the imnse power radiating from him, overwhelming and divine.

Linsley extended his hand toward John, his expression calm and almost serene.

As he did, a golden light poured from his fingertips, cascading down onto John's battered and bruised body.

The warm light enveloped him, seeping into his skin, his bones, and his very being. John gasped as the pain lted away, his injuries disappearing as if they had never existed.

The wounds closed, the bruises faded, and the exhaustion that had weighed him down for so long was gone, replaced by an invigorating sense of strength.

John stared in awe at his healed body, unable to believe what he was witnessing.

This was power beyond anything he had ever imagined—a power that only a true god could wield. The reality of it struck him hard, and he marveled at the sheer magnitude of the divine strength Linsley possessed.

The illusory avatar of Linsley smiled slightly, as if pleased by John's reaction.

His voice, calm and commanding, resonated through the grand hall. "You are the first to join the Sinclair Order, John Smith. Your potential is great, and I have chosen to reward that potential with a new life, one of power and purpose."

John swallowed hard, still overwheld by what had just happened.

Before he could even process Linsley's words, the god continued. "You are no longer a wasteborn. From this mont forward, you will serve the Sinclair Order as an archbishop, overseeing the expansion of my faith and spreading my teachings."

With those words, Linsley reached forward again, his hand hovering over John's head.

A surge of energy followed, golden light cascading down once more, but this ti it filled John's mind.

His eyes widened as knowledge flooded his consciousness—he suddenly understood the intricate workings of the Sinclair Order, its divine rules, its sacred hierarchy, and the responsibilities that ca with his new position.

At the sa ti, he felt a deep transformation within himself.

A surge of power awakened in his body, and he could feel it—he had beco a Level 7 Diviner, a power he had never dread of possessing.

John's heart pounded in his chest.

From a wasteborn with nothing to a royalty, an archbishop of the Sinclair Order, and a Level 7 Diviner—it all happened in an instant. Yet, despite the rush of power and status, John didn't let arrogance or pride consu him.

He knew that just as easily as Linsley had bestowed this power upon him, the god could take it all away. This gift, this new life, was not to be taken for granted.

With newfound reverence and humility, John fell to his knees before Linsley's projection.

He bowed deeply, his head touching the cold marble floor as he offered his worship.

"Thank you, my Lord," he whispered, his voice filled with devotion. "I swear to serve you wholeheartedly, and I will spread your na far and wide. I will not fail you."

The avatar of Linsley watched John's display of loyalty with a faint smile.

"Good," he said, his voice low but powerful. "Rise, Archbishop John. Your journey is just beginning."

As Linsley's words echoed through the hall, John felt the weight of his new responsibility settle upon him, but it wasn't a burden.

It was a purpose—a divine mission bestowed upon him by a god.