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Time flew by, and seven hundred years had passed since humanity was created.
"Phew—"
At the foot of Mount of the Gods, another nearly ten-meter-high boulder had been moved, and Cohen wiped the sweat from his brow, looking at another temple that was about to be completed in front of him.
Tall and majestic, unlike the Oracle that was born from the finger of a god at the very beginning, this was a temple built by the Golden Humanity on their own.
Before this, they had already constructed many temples in turn, and every True God on the mountain had one of their own.
There were no exquisite bas-reliefs, no mysterious patterns, no sense of the sacred that could reach the soul at a single glance, but Cohen still felt very satisfied.
What gods built symbolized their might; what mortals constructed symbolized their devotion. The two should not be confused.
"King, please take a break."
Just as he was about to move another stone, a voice from nearby made Cohen halt his steps.
