Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 1194: Chapter 1193: Passageway of Crystal Rock Hillock

Around the kingdom, there sprawls a vast accumulation of ruins and wreckage that have been left behind layer upon layer since the Ancient Era. They form an immense "ring," circling ceaselessly around the realm of the gods day and night, like a blind pack of beasts watching with predatory patience, waiting for a new kingdom to meet its end, waiting for those gods who have not yet fallen to be torn asunder, to become new fragments within this boundless sea of ruins...

This was the divine domain as Enya described it—in a certain sense, it should be what Gawain had once heard referred to as the "Deep Realm," that bizarre territory in the deep-sea, outlined and projected by the tides of mortal thought.

At this point, many of the vague and crude notions he had never quite understood finally became clear.

After Enya’s words fell silent, Gawain remained quiet and thoughtful for a long time before speaking again, as though with something in mind: "Those wrecks just keep piling up like that? Then can we understand it this way: if we had some way to reach the kingdom and could withstand the erosion there, could we even find historical projections of the Ancient Era in that sea of ruins? Find traces of the thought-currents created by those civilizations that perished long ago?"

"In theory, if you truly could reach the kingdom and truly could seize those fragments, then you could do such a thing—but you cannot trace things back without limit," Enya said gently. "Those fragments do not persist indefinitely. Though their rate of disintegration has become very slow, they still have their own cycle of extinction—according to my memory, even the oldest fragments can only persist for several hundred thousand years after a civilization’s demise. After that, they slowly grow blurred and distorted, and bit by bit ’sink’ into the deeper layers of the deep-sea, until they drift far from all kingdom domains and become a meaningless noise in the depths, utterly dispersed.

"Perhaps only then can one call it a civilization’s true ’final echo.’"

"The last projection a civilization leaves in the ’deep-sea’..." Gawain suddenly felt something stir in his heart. He imagined in his mind what such a scene would look like, unable to keep from sighing softly, but he quickly pulled himself free of that mood and turned his attention back to their previous topic. "In short, there really are things outside the kingdoms—at the very least, countless ruins and wreckage with extinction cycles on the order of several hundred thousand years revolve around them. And these ’Thought Echoes’ from Ancient Era civilizations that have already vanished no longer possess all those powers and traits of a ’God’—is that right?"

A gentle voice came from within Enya’s eggshell: "You can more or less understand it that way."

"Then that thing which once came to our world by borrowing the bodies of the Fyrna Sisters..." Gawain’s brow furrowed slightly. "Could it have been one of those ’things’ that crawled out of the ruins?"

"I think that’s quite unlikely," Enya said, her voice deep. "Deep in my memory, back when the Dragon Gods had not yet undergone ’suture,’ they had long gazed upon the outer reaches of their own kingdom. In observation cycles that lasted tens of thousands of years, nothing appeared in those ruins that could be called a ’living thing’... As I said just now, those are nothing more than scattered echoes of an old age, projections in the deep-sea of the various thought-currents once created by civilizations that have already perished. With the destruction of the civilizations themselves, these projections lost the ’source’ of their activity. How could anything still ’crawl out’ from that sea of ruins?"

As she spoke, the shimmering runes on the surface of Enya’s eggshell drifted slowly. There was a trace of recollection and sighing in her tone: "Those remnants and fragments... merely run lifelessly year after year in the chaos between kingdoms. I... the individuals that composed me once tried to excavate certain secrets from those fragments, but first, we could not leave our own kingdom to act freely; second, we did not dare to casually touch the thought-products outside the kingdom. The sea of ruins hides latent pollution from the Ancient Era. Though in theory they have all ’died,’ who can guarantee that some sliver of thought-projection within those ancient echoes will not happen to resonate with us?"

Gawain pondered for a long while before nodding lightly, yet he still had questions: "Apart from those ruins and wreckage, is there truly nothing else outside the kingdoms?"

"At least in my memory... there is not," Enya said in a low voice after a brief recollection. "But I have also said that my memories of the kingdom stop at one million eight hundred and seventy thousand years ago. After that, I became the suture of the Goddess of the Night, became the monster that descended into the real world. My link with the kingdom domain—or in other words, with the ’Deep Realm’—was severed. Whatever changes may have occurred there since then, I do not know.

"However, I do not think the kingdom domain would undergo any change... Its birth and operation are founded on the fundamental laws of this world. So long as these fundamental laws do not change, the projection rules of the kingdom domain will not change either. At most, there will only be the continual Samsara of ruins and wreckage replacing one another."

Gawain thought for a moment, then slowly said, "Amon and the Goddess of Magic should know the ’current situation’ over there, right?"

"The intelligence they hold is certainly more recent than mine, but I do not recommend that you ask them about such matters—at least, not yet," Enya warned solemnly. "The kingdom domain does not belong exclusively to any single god; the laws behind it directly point toward the Goddess of the Night. Before you have successfully stepped into the War God’s kingdom, rashly inquiring into this field will very likely cause pollution to spread. Once the information you pry from those two happens to point toward some god in an unstable state, what happened with the ’descent’ on the Winterhold Fort Battlefield may replay itself at any time. A shock on that level... with your current, still immature Anti-Divine Barrier technology, you would not be able to withstand it."

To be honest, a bold notion really had just surfaced in Gawain’s mind. He had been thinking of feeding twenty pounds of sugar beans into the Anti-Divine Barrier’s control Main Brain, overloading the barrier once and then going to consult the Goddess of Magic about the kingdom’s situation. Now, hearing Enya’s solemn warning, he immediately sobered. Yet even as a sense of caution rose in his heart, he could not quite stop himself from wanting to try some tricks, so he casually asked, "Then could we use some more roundabout method—for example, you go and ask them, they tell you, and then you tell me. In theory you would neither be polluted nor pollute others..."

He had not even finished speaking when he felt a strange "gaze" fall upon him—who would believe this if he told them? He had actually been glared at by an egg. Enya’s helpless yet amused voice sounded at once: "How did I never notice you had such an ’unruly’ side before? You can even dream up such a leap of logic?"

"It was just a bold idea..."

"Then put away your bold idea, my friend. It will not work," Enya said with a sigh. "The key issue is not ’who tells you,’ the key issue is ’where the knowledge comes from’—pollution is determined by the source of cognition. That law cannot be circumvented."

"All right, all right," Gawain said, a little embarrassed, nodding while waving a hand. "But since we’re on the subject, I have to confirm something—if we reach the War God’s kingdom and see with our own eyes some things outside the kingdom... will that truly not cause problems? That is also a kind of cognition; only the route of cognition shifts from two retired gods to our own active exploration. Would that really not touch upon other gods?"

"So long as you do not directly enter the domains of other gods, there will be no problem," Enya replied with great certainty this time. "As for the difference in routes of cognition... this is precisely the ’key factor’ I have always wanted to tell you about: mortals’ active exploration is moving toward knowledge; ’revelation’ from the gods is being pursued by knowledge. That is the ’directional choice’ of pollution. Whether it is blind worship of ’black box knowledge’ leading to the growth of the divine, or blind awe of the ’mysterious unknown’ giving rise to faith, in essence they are both outcomes of this ’directional choice.’ This is also the very mistake the Dragonkin made over a million years ago in the affair of The Inverted Tide Empire:

"The Dragonkin drove The Inverted Tide Empire into a state of ’being chased by knowledge’ and were powerless to reverse the process, so the birth of the God of the Inversion Tide became something inevitable.

"And this is exactly what you need to keep in mind: no matter what method you use to explore the unknown or uncover the truth, always remember, it is mortals who must actively approach knowledge, and never fall into a fate of being hunted by knowledge. As long as you can do this, you can avoid most of the pollution risks."

"Actively approach knowledge, don’t be chased by it..." Gawain repeated the words, looking thoughtful; his expression grew serious, and at last he gave a solemn nod. "I’ll remember that. But, putting that aside, the way you’re acting today... kind of feels like a nagging mom, you keep proactively warning me about all sorts of things."

The magic symbols drifting across the surface of Enya’s eggshell suddenly stalled for a moment, and from within the shell came the helpless voice of the former Goddess: "Gawain, don’t you think that’s a bit disrespectful to say to a lady?"

"Ah, sorry," Gawain laughed. From Enya’s tone he could clearly tell she wasn’t actually angry—this was just a joke between friends. "But you really are a bit like that today."

"Am I..." Enya spoke with a hint of reflection. Her attention then shifted to the smaller dragon egg not far away. "It’s probably because I’ve been looking after this egg for so long... Taking care of a youngling easily makes one’s mindset turn overly anxious and possessive. I always thought this sort of thing only affected the Mortal Races—never expected I’d be influenced by it myself."

"Is that so?" Gawain raised an eyebrow, then rose from the sofa and walked over to the dragon egg nearby, asking curiously, "Speaking of which, how’s this egg doing? Melita Ponia seems to be visiting it a lot these days?"

"Yes, Melita Ponia and Nuoletta have been coming by frequently—they care a great deal about their ’child’." Enya’s tone carried a smile. "As for this egg... it’s doing very well. It has already entered the final stage of incubation; the day the Young dragons break through their shells is fast approaching. But this is also the most fragile phase for a dragon egg—the hatchling is right in the key period where its heart, lungs, and parts of the nervous system are forming. Even I don’t dare casually inspect what’s happening inside the shell. Still, I can clearly feel the surging vitality spilling out from within. This little one is sure to be healthy and lively."

"For Talronde, each newly born Young dragon means hope," Gawain couldn’t help but smile as well. It was as if he were recalling that spring when this land was still in the harsh founding period, remembering the first infant born on this soil. "When the time comes, we should really celebrate properly."

...

Across the vast plains scorched into barren cinders, a freezing wind howled over the wide, unobstructed expanse, driving flurries of snow and clouds of dust. Yet in the middle of this great open terrain stood an abrupt hill, rising from the earth—its bulk heaved up from the center of the plain, surrounded by ruins of pipes and storage tanks melted and warped so badly that their original shapes were almost impossible to discern. Crystallized plate-like material sprawled around it, climbing along the rising ground all the way up, forming a hill that looked as if it had been forged from countless irregular crystals. Those interwoven Crystal Clusters ran along the slope, jutting towards the sky; under the dim daylight of Talronde, they resembled innumerable jagged beast bones.

The young huntress Lola and her companions stood at the rally point before the hill. Around them were several other gathered adventurer squads, and a few massive dragon warriors had just landed near those teams—their gigantic dragon wings, which had moments ago blotted out the sky, were now folding away, while the snow and dust stirred up by their descent slowly settled back to the ground.

"So this is Crystal Rock Hillock..." Lola tilted her head back, staring at the oddly shaped little mountain ahead. Her gaze lingered on the jagged, interlocking Crystal Clusters, and her tone carried a touch of emotion. "We’ve worked so hard... The safe route from Agondale to Crystal Rock Hillock has finally stabilized. Once a forward camp is built here, the safe zone will have expanded by another large chunk."

A companion beside her broke into a grin. "Yeah—when you think about it like that, it actually feels kind of satisfying, like we’ve accomplished something huge."

Lola nodded with a smile. She knew that the adventurers gathered on this land weren’t really heroes. Everyone had come across mountains and seas to this desolate place for one simple reason: to strike it rich in one go when they returned. The land of Talronde Dukedom was strewn with high-energy materials, and it teemed with elementals and Spirit Body Creatures that had become rare on the Loren Continent. These things lured them here to fight and struggle. Motives like that... no matter how you try to dress them up, they could hardly be called noble.

Yet when they joined forces with dragons to clear the dangers in a given area, rebuild a critical route, and carve out a new safe zone in the wasteland, even the most selfish, self-serving adventurer couldn’t help but feel a surge of hot-blooded emotion, a sudden sense of "having been a hero."

"It’s really beautiful," a female Swordsman squinted as she gazed at those translucent crystals on Crystal Rock Hillock, marveling aloud. "I heard this used to be a factory? After the factory burned out, some sort of raw materials that leaked out were struck by Divine Power and turned into these gorgeous crystals... It looks just like a crown..."

But as soon as the Swordsman finished speaking, an abruptly discordant voice sounded from within the group: "Why do I feel like it looks more like the Earth Mother’s acne... this random structure popping up out of the plains like that..."

The moment that off-key comment rang out, Lola’s brows instantly knitted together. She followed the sound and looked over, only to see the elderly Mage Modir standing in the middle of the group, wearing his black soft cap. He was twirling his beard, looking around with an innocent expression, and even spread his hands. "Don’t look at me, I just spoke from the heart..."

Several gazes that had focused on him quickly withdrew once they saw who’d spoken—including Lola’s own.

It’s Master Modir? Then it’s fine.jpg.

(Happy New Year, everyone!)