Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 1175: Chapter 1174: "Schizophrenia"?

In this world, what could possibly make gods like Amon and the Goddess of Magic feel fear?

It’s neither the wars of the church nor the defiant surge, nor even their own downfall, but rather—the birth of a god.

The birth of every god signifies a further locking of the relationship between humans and gods. The more this relationship is locked, the more this season’s human civilization will lean towards the path of "divinity" rather than "humanity." When this tendency develops to a certain extent, even gods like them, who have already escaped their divine thrones, might be drawn back into the ranks of gods by zealous mortals. For Amon and the Goddess of Magic, who have finally achieved limited freedom at great cost, this is undoubtedly a terrifying prospect.

For a moment, there was silence in the defied Court. Neither Gawain nor the Goddess of Magic spoke, and the ethereal glow on the silent Amon flickered, as if reflecting the unrest in the heart of the God of Nature. After a moment, Gawain finally spoke again, "Perhaps we are speculating too far."

"Indeed, everything now is speculation, and without evidence, this is all just an extension of conspiracy theories," the Goddess of Magic sighed softly. "But given what the Violet Kingdom has been doing for the past six hundred years and the logic behind the operation of gods, these black boxes do pose a risk of creating ’artificial miracles’..."

"But in fact, magic hasn’t been deified, has it?" Amon’s voice came from the side. "These black boxes have been around for six hundred years, and magic is still magic. Mages remain the most faithless group in this world. Ordinary people deeply respect magic and spellcasters, but it is always a reverence from mortals to mortals—no one actually regards magic as a divine act. Even an unlearned rural peasant knows that lightning and fireballs are man-made."

"So that’s where our speculations fall short," Gawain nodded. "’Black boxes’ are merely one of the possible factors for ordinary people to see magic as a miracle, but they are neither a necessary nor a sufficient factor. Assuming the Violet Kingdom is trying to ’create gods’ is indeed an overly arbitrary conclusion. Furthermore, another confounding fact is... their ’isolation’ attitude towards the existing faith in the Goddess of Magic."

"To be fair, it’s true," Amon agreed. "They try every means to exclude the faith in the Goddess of Magic outside the kingdom, yet they export a black box magic system that might be perceived as ’miraculous.’ If they intend to establish a faith in the magic field, this serves as too much of a contradiction... Of course, there’s a possibility that they find the ’Goddess of Magic’ unreliable and decide to create a reliable one themselves..."

Even before Amon finished speaking, the Goddess of Magic had already glared over: "Let’s stick to the issue without resorting to divine character attacks..."

"I’m making inferences based on existing conditions—unless you have a more reasonable explanation?" Amon said expressionlessly (he never had expressions). "Do you truly find yourself qualified as a god?"

"Alright, alright, that’s not the main point here," Gawain noticed things were going off track and quickly intervened, "let’s focus more on the Violet Kingdom. This country’s unease is increasingly pressing..."

"We’re not going to get any results merely by discussing here," the Goddess of Magic’s tone turned serious as she looked at Gawain, "that land is a mystery to me; what I know is likely no more than you. If you want to understand what the ’Violet wizards’ are really up to, you need to infiltrate their ranks somehow."

"We’ve already been trying, but to little effect," Gawain shook his head regretfully. "Of course, we will continue our efforts. Meanwhile, on official channels, we will keep trying to establish direct dialogue routes with the upper echelons of the Violet Kingdom... They still haven’t responded to the invitations from the alliance, but at least with private letters between the Cecil or Typhon upper echelons, that ’Mystics Prince’ isn’t exactly a completely ’communication-refusing hermit.’"

He deliberated for a moment, ultimately opting for the more moderate ’refusal to communicate’ instead of saying "doesn’t speak human language."

At that moment, Amon suddenly spoke, "Actually, I’m suddenly curious... In the Violet Kingdom, is it just the absence of belief in the Goddess of Magic and the God of Nature, or... is there no belief in any god at all?"

Gawain was momentarily stunned; it was a direction he’d never considered. With Amon’s mention, he suddenly realized... there was indeed something to it.

"If the Violet Territory simply excludes belief in the Goddess of Magic, it could somewhat be guessed towards conspiracy—they might aim to usurp the divine position, as the Oblivion Association attempted ’artificial god creation,’ their target possibly being the position held by the Goddess of Magic. But if they internalize the rejection of all divinities, the matter becomes subtle," Amon said slowly. "A nation of no faith internally, yet externally promoting black box technology that easily leads to ’miracle-like’ effects, has an air of... something akin to schizophrenia."

"Schizophrenia..." Gawain’s eyebrow twitched involuntarily. Amon’s choice of words was unexpected, but soon he realized it aptly described the implicit impression the Violet Kingdom had given him—indeed, schizophrenic.

"I’ll continue to investigate this matter," Gawain finally exhaled deeply. He hadn’t obtained the clues he desired from the Goddess of Magic, but he did gain unexpected insights. The newly surfaced intelligence would require thorough reconsideration after returning. For now, it was time to bid farewell and leave. "If either of you comes across new thoughts or discoveries, do contact me promptly."

The Goddess of Magic lowered her gaze, with a hint of mirth appearing in those eyes hidden in mystical mists: "Certainly, I’d be glad to."

Gawain nodded in acknowledgment, but before turning to leave, his gaze settled on Amon once more: "Oh, there’s one more thing."

Amon’s voice immediately followed, "It seems to involve me?"

"Queen Belsetia has sent word that she has reached out to those... ancient Druid priests still ’adhering to tradition.’ These priests are likely to set out from the Silver Empire soon, and she hopes you... can be prepared."

Amoen, the Giant Stag, fell silent, and for the next half a minute, he did not speak. Gawain did not urge, merely standing by silently until the former God of Nature finally broke the silence: "Reply to that little Empress... Let them come. I’ve been preparing here for three thousand years; there is nothing left to prepare for now."

...

At the southernmost tip of Loren Continent, vast and boundless jungles enclose the homeland where elves have resided for generations. Lush tropical plants stretch continuously, covering the main island of the Silver Empire and the expansive land beside the Backflow Coast. This verdant forest connects on its east and west sides with the borderlands of the tribal country of Augari and the Typhon Empire, extending north into the territory of the Highmountain Kingdom and spreading south all the way to the southern coast of the main island.

The dense jungles make most of the Silver Empire’s territory seem as if it is in a primitive, undeveloped state, leading many residents of neighboring kingdoms to hold this mistaken impression of the elves’ land, thinking of the Elven Empire as a traditional and outdated nation that has maintained a low level of development for thousands of years, possessing advanced ancestral technology but unwilling to actively improve their living environment. Where information dissemination is more backward, people of another race tend to have this misconception about the Elven Empire, as in those rural taverns and street corners, the bard’s processed poems still dominate the scene. In the bards’ stories, the "original, natural, peace-loving graceful elves" obviously seem much friendlier than the "advanced, disciplined, martial nation inclined to fight."

However, the actual Silver Empire is far from the gentle and harmless description in stories—hidden deep within the primal jungles lies an advanced and powerful ancient empire, where, after the "great division" in the Ancient Era, the silver elves painstakingly settled numerous ancestral heritages on this land.

Deep within the vast jungles, extraction factories and gas transport stations, which have been in place for over ten thousand years, lie hidden. Beneath the solid ground is a multitude of production facilities and energy distribution nodes, while towering ancient trees conceal transceiver terminals capable of real-time communication with the Sky Fortress. Between each river and Magic Surge Source, sensors and interference devices of great antiquity are scattered.

These elements rich in historical depth span thousands of years, jointly sustaining the operation of a colossal empire. The elves, simply due to their own aesthetic and nature, have cleverly hidden all this amidst the green mountains and water and dense forests and valleys of their homeland, so that the entire Silver Empire stands out from the primal jungle in only three places, where its advanced presence is showcased grandly—

The first is undoubtedly the Sky Fortress "Sacred Stars Temple" floating in the air, never to fall, and it is the control node of the sentinel tower system; the second is the prosperous capital standing at the heart of the Empire, with the Elven Royal Court, the Silver Empress’s true residence, lying at its center; the third is that magnificent bridge connecting the main island and Loren Continent, acclaimed as one of the "ancient miracles" —the "Homeward Bridge."

On the northern side of the Silver Empire’s main island, atop a serene mountain near the Backflow Coast, the pale golden sunset is casting the last light of the day across the horizon. As the sky gradually darkens, a giant ancient tree standing at the mountain’s peak rustles in the wind.

At the foot of the tree, an oak cottage is built next to the tree, surrounded by serene flower fields and wooden fences that appear to have grown directly from the ground and formed naturally. A primitive, natural atmosphere fills this peaceful retreat. An elderly elf with a hunched waist and back emerges from the house, arriving at the edge of the mountain and gazing out at the distant view in a trance.

The silver elves lead long lives, and for the majority of their lifespan, their appearance remains between youth and middle age. Though elves can judge a fellow’s approximate age from their appearance with relative accuracy, to outsiders at least, over ninety percent of silver elves are seen as "young and beautiful" —the ability for aging to become visibly apparent to outsiders implies that a silver elf has lived long enough to have experienced a history far longer than humans can imagine.

In the height of summer, this country located near the equator is engulfed in scorching heat. Even though evening draws near, the warmth in the air remains relentless, yet the mountain’s peak offers a somewhat refreshing breeze. When a gust, mildly scented with the fragrance of soil, blows towards him, the elderly elf, whose hair has turned a pale white from its original golden hue, breaks into a faint smile and squints at the north.

At the forest’s edge, the main island’s end, the colossal miraculous structure "Homeward Bridge," built from ancient alloy and enchanted giant stones, bathes in the setting sun. This giant bridge connecting Loren Continent reflects a texture somewhere between metal and rock. Its unusually wide surface sparkles with light, and magic "skiffs" transporting goods along with mechanical constructs responsible for maintaining bridge conduits shuttle back and forth on its span—like fish in a river, busily bustling.

That is the most vital lifeline of the Silver Empire, an artery connecting the main island and Loren Continent. In the Ancient Era, ancestors crafted it with technology now impossible to recreate and named it "Homeward"—though later generations of elves are uncertain why their ancestors chose such a name, they preserve its meaning in this era: a departing elf must cross that bridge to leave the main island, and upon returning must pass through it again. For elves traveling abroad, the grand bridge connecting Loren serves as a comforting symbol—a token of returning home.

The elderly elf squinted slightly, the afterglow reflecting off the Homeward Bridge blurring in his vista.

Soon, when he crosses that bridge himself... would there still be a day to return home?

A footstep suddenly resounded from behind, but the elderly elf did not turn around. He already confirmed the newcomer’s identity from the familiar aura: "Carlo, have you escorted His Majesty to the mountain’s base?"

"Yes, mentor," the young druid apprentice replied respectfully, standing behind the elder with his hands lowered, "I escorted the Silver Empress to the mountain’s base and only returned after watching her meet with the soldiers and servants waiting below."

The elderly elf nodded, speaking in a deep voice while slowly turning around: "That’s good... But you need to pay attention, you should address her as ’His Majesty’ rather than casually referring to her title."

Called Carlo, the young druid apprentice’s face briefly hesitated, but ultimately nodded: "I understand, mentor."

The elderly elf appeared satisfied, smiling gently and said slowly: "Do join me in viewing the scenery, Carlo."

Once more, the apprentice’s expression twisted into a conflict, yet he did not defy the mentor’s wish. Instead, he stepped over to the side of the elderly elf, enduring silently for another half a minute before finally speaking hesitantly: "Mentor, are you truly inclined to accept the Silver... His Majesty’s invitation, venturing to that distant northern Empire?"

"Carlo, the decision has been made," the elderly elf shook his head with a warm smile, "is there any point in discussing it now?"

Seeing the mentor’s nonchalant attitude, the apprentice no longer forced himself to suppress his emotions, his voice raised: "But don’t you think this invitation conceals a trap? What if things over there..."

"Carlo," the elderly elf softly interrupted the disciple’s excited words with gentle laughter, "I don’t believe it’s a trap—but I do know, whether it is a trap or not, after making the journey, I likely won’t return."