326: Chapter 327 A Vast Divine Sense, Across India

Lu Chen sat upright on the lotus throne, his eyes tightly closed.

Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi, like two exquisite Protector deities, stood silently on either side behind him, their auras restrained, merging with this reborn Nalanda Monastery.

One million zhang!

Three thousand three hundred and thirty-three kilometers!

The invisible, majestic Divine Sense was no longer the previous tentative ripples.

At this moment, it was like the light at the beginning of creation, instantly covering the entire South Asian Subcontinent.

From the snowy peaks of the Himalayas to the shores of the Indian Ocean.

From the Khyber Pass at the western end to the Arakan Jungle in the east.

The entire Tianzhu was clearly presented within Lu Chen's perception.

...

Northwest Tianzhu, Khyber Pass.

The wild wind howled, kicking up sand and stones.

A heavy cavalry unit was passing through this vital passage connecting Central Asia and South Asia.

Carrying a chilling aura born from surviving a hundred battles.

The Marquis of Xiyu led the Mongol army, covered in dust, his eyes as sharp as an eagle's, gazing at the vast plains on the other side of the pass.

Behind him, the main force of the Ming Army, the White Tiger Army, was as silent as iron, their marching formation strict and orderly, showing no sign of confusion even on the steep mountain paths.

Their arrival was silent, yet carried the power to shatter mountains and split the earth.

...

Southeast Tianzhu, Arakan Mountains.

Miasma filled the air, and ancient trees reached for the sky.

Another army, like a burning flame, was passing through the damp and sweltering rainforest.

However, a ten-zhang wide stone-paved road had already been built here.

Vermilion Bird Army!

Their armor flickered with a crimson glow under the shifting light and shadows of the forest.

The Marquis of Nanliang led the hundred thousand Mongol troops, still serving as the vanguard.

Their target was aimed directly at the Ganges Plain.

...

The movements of the two great armies, like two pieces placed on a chessboard, fell clearly into the lake of Lu Chen's heart.

But he did not pay them much attention.

His Divine Sense was currently attracted by something more interesting.

Nalanda Monastery had risen from the ground overnight, reappearing in the world!

This news, as if it had grown wings, spread throughout Tianzhu faster than the swiftest messenger.

Delhi.

Deep within the Sultan's palace.

The Sultan, with his thick, curly beard, suddenly crushed the glass cup in his hand; fragments pierced his palm and blood dripped down, yet he was completely oblivious.

"A miracle? In Nalanda?"

His voice carried an unbelievable terror and a hint of inexplicable anger.

The True God he believed in had never shown such great power!

And that den of heretics, crushed by the iron hooves of their ancestors, had actually... revived?

This was practically slapping him, slapping the face of the entire Sultanate!

"Send troops! Go see! No, go... destroy it! Destroy it completely!"

The Sultan's roar echoed through the palace.

...

By the banks of the Ganges.

The ancient holy city of Varanasi.

A Brahman High Priest, dressed in magnificent robes and adorned with gold and silver jewelry, was presiding over a grand sacrificial ceremony.

Smoke swirled, and the sounds of sanskrit chanting filled the air.

The believers prostrated themselves on the ground, praying devoutly.

However, when the news of Nalanda arrived, the holy radiance on the High Priest's face instantly froze.

His hand holding the sacrificial Magical Artifact trembled slightly.

In the depths of his eyes, a trace of imperceptible panic flashed.

"Nalanda... has revived?"

A young priest beside him, his face pale and voice trembling: "High Priest, is this... a real miracle? Could it be..."

"Shut up!"

The High Priest interrupted sharply, though his voice lacked conviction.

He looked around, seeing the same suspicion and confusion rising in the eyes of the believers.

All along, they, the Brahmans, were the spokespeople of the gods, the bridge between Mortals and gods.

They made the rules, interpreted the divine oracles, and enjoyed a status of supreme authority.

But who has truly seen a god?

Everything was nothing more than rituals passed down through generations and classics spread by word of mouth.

Now, Nalanda Monastery, a symbol of "losers," a long-forgotten ruin, had actually displayed such an incredible miracle!

Appearing out of thin air overnight!

This...

How could they, who claimed to be messengers of the gods, bear this?

If that was a true miracle, then what were they?

If that was a True God, then where was the god they believed in?

Panic, like a plague, spread rapidly among the Brahman and Kshatriya classes.

Compared to the Muslim rulers far away in Delhi, these "indigenous" controllers of theocratic power were even more terrified of this subversive force.

Because this directly shook the Foundation of their rule—theocratic power!

...

Countless panics, speculations, fears, and angers churned like surging undercurrents in the sea of Lu Chen's Divine Sense.

The Delhi Sultan's roar, the Brahman priest's cold sweat, the Kshatriya nobles' conspiracy...

All of this was incredibly clear.

However, Lu Chen still sat motionless, his expression calm.

As if all the storms of the outside world had nothing to do with him.

These reactions were well within his expectations.

One could even say it was the result of his own guidance.

He did not care about the terror of these Mortals.

His attention was completely drawn to something else.

The Brahman sacrificial... chanting!

Yes, those ancient and lengthy sanskrit prayers and incantations chanted by the priests on the banks of the Ganges and in various temples.

Lu Chen's Divine Sense, like an all-encompassing giant network, captured the sounds from every corner of this continent.

And these sacrificial chants, with a unique rhythm and energy fluctuation, stood out clearly amidst the countless noises.

These sounds came from different places, chanted by different people, with subtle differences in tone, rhythm, and even certain syllables.

But their core pointed to the same ancient language—sanskrit.

Before coming to Tianzhu, Lu Chen had already mastered sanskrit.

He knew that this language initially had no writing, relying entirely on generations of monks and priests to pass down the vast Vedas, upanishads, and Puranas through oral tradition with astonishing memory.

It wasn't until the Song Dynasty that a writing system gradually formed.

Even so, in the Brahmanical tradition, oral "Mantras" were still considered to possess power beyond comparison with written words.

sanskrit was further deified by them as the "language of the gods."

At this moment, what Lu Chen was listening to was the most vivid and primitive state of this "language of the gods."

Thousands upon thousands of voices converged.

Every syllable contained unique information.

Not just the meaning of the words, but also the chanter's own faith, emotions, and... a weak energy resonance induced through a specific rhythmic structure.

This was more direct and vivid than reading any classic text.

Lu Chen seemed to see countless invisible lines connecting the past to the present, weaving a giant network called "faith" that covered all of Tianzhu through the mouths of these priests.

Ancient, complex, yet... fragile.

"Language of the gods..."

These chants, these rituals, in Lu Chen's view, were more like a... crude method of energy application.

Through specific syllables, rhythms, and mental states, they attempted to induce the free-flowing energy between heaven and earth, or rather, the mental power of the believers, to achieve a certain effect.

Although the efficiency was low and filled with self-deceptive fantasies.

But within it, there seemed to be hidden some... interesting mysteries.

About the power of sound, about mental resonance, about the essence of faith...

The outside noise was gradually blocked out by Lu Chen.

The anger of Delhi and the panic of the Brahmans receded slowly in his perception like an ebbing tide.

Only the ancient and continuous sanskrit chanting from all directions, like thousands of streams flowing into the sea of his Divine Sense, became clearer and purer.

He closed his eyes and listened quietly.

Like a most focused student listening to a lesson that spanned a thousand years.

And like a most clever hunter, patiently waiting to capture the... prey he was truly interested in from these complex chants.

The secrets of Tianzhu might be hidden within these "languages of the gods."

Lu Chen adjusted his sitting posture to make himself more comfortable.

His entire being was completely immersed in this wonderful listening.