Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 962 - 961: Stories

Finally, Gawain asked the most important and pressing question he had upon arriving in Talronde.

About the chain that connects mortals and gods.

If he had only a fragmented concept and rough speculation about this "chain" while on the Loren Continent, then since coming to Talronde and seeing more and more of the "real side" of this dragon kingdom, his impression of this chain had become increasingly clear.

This is a "planetary internal civilization" developed to the extreme, a seemingly stagnant realm that no longer advances at all. From social systems to specific technological trees, Talronde is bound by heavy restraints, and these restraints appear entirely to be "man-made." Relating to the operational rules of the gods, Gawain could easily imagine that the birth of these "civilization locks" is inseparably linked with the Dragon God.

In the Lower City District, he saw what a completely locked civilization might look like, at least saw part of its truth, and he believed it was the Dragon God who had actively shown him this — it is this "initiative" that felt unusually eerie.

Because he could sense from the details of the Dragon God’s words and deeds that this deity did not wish to restrain its own people—but had to, because there is a supreme rule, one even more unbreakable than the gods themselves, that constrains it.

Gawain had already tried to analyze and demonstrate this rule with his experts and scholars, and they believed they had at least summarized part of it, but some details still needed to be supplemented. Now, Gawain believed that this "god" before him was the final piece of this intricate puzzle.

Hearing Gawain’s question, the Dragon God fell silent for a moment, seemingly needing to organize its thoughts carefully before answering this ultimate question, and after a brief pause, Gawain continued: "I actually know that gods are also ’not their own masters.’ There is a higher rule that binds you, the currents of mortal thought influence your state, and too drastic changes in these thoughts can cause gods to fall into madness, so I guess you had to impose heavy restrictions on the Dragonkin to prevent yourself from going insane..."

"Wanderer from Outer Realm, you’ve only got part of it right." At this moment, the Dragon God suddenly spoke, interrupting Gawain’s words.

Gawain furrowed his brow slightly: "Only part of it right?"

"It’s true that gods are not their own masters... but you underestimate the degree of our ’not being our own masters’," the Dragon God spoke slowly, in a deep voice, "I truly don’t wish to fall into madness, and indeed, I am a shackle on the Dragonkin, yet all of this... was not of my doing."

Pale golden radiance descended from the dome of the royal temple Hall, as if forming a hazy halo around this "god." The low rumble outside the temple seemed to have weakened somewhat, becoming like an elusive illusion. A thoughtful expression appeared on Gawain’s face, but before he could inquire further, the Dragon God proactively continued: "Do you want to hear a story?"

"A story?" Gawain was momentarily stunned, but then nodded, "Of course—I’m very interested."

The Dragon God smiled slightly, gently shaking the exquisite cup in its hand: "There are three stories in total.

"The first story is about a mother and her children.

"A long, long time ago, in an age where there were not yet any inhabitants in this world, a mother and her children lived on the land. It was in the ancient era of savagery, where all knowledge had yet to be synthesized, and all wisdom remained hidden within the still-immature minds of the children. At that time, the children were ignorant, and even their mother did not know much.

"During that time, the world was dangerous, and the children were still fragile. To survive in such a perilous world, the mother and her children had to live cautiously, being very careful and not daring to make mistakes. There were biting fish in the river, so the mother forbade the children from going into the river. There were man-eating beasts in the forest, so the mother forbade the children from going into the forest. Fire would burn their bodies, so the mother forbade the children from playing with fire. Instead, she used her own strength to protect the children, helping them do many things... In the primitive era, this was enough to sustain the entire family’s survival.

"However, as time passed day by day, the children gradually grew up, and wisdom began to burst forth from their minds. They mastered more and more knowledge and could accomplish more and more—originally, the biting fish in the river could now be caught with a fish spear, and the beasts that once preyed on them were now unable to resist the children’s sticks and stones. The grown children needed more food, so they began to venture into the river, into the forest, and start fires...

"But the mother’s thinking was slow, and in her eyes, the children were forever children. She only saw their actions as intensely dangerous, and thus began to dissuade the increasingly bold children, repeatedly reiterating those teachings from many years ago—don’t go into the river, don’t go into the forest, don’t play with fire...

"Her obstruction had some effect, occasionally slowing down the children’s actions a little, but overall, it was ineffective because the children’s ability to act grew stronger, and they... had to survive.

"At first, this slow-witted mother could still barely keep up. She gradually accepted her children’s growth and could slowly release her grip to adapt to the new changes in the household order. But... as the number of children increased, she finally started to fall behind. The changes in the children grew faster each day. Once, it took them years to master the art of fishing. Yet gradually, it only took a few days to tame new beasts and set foot on new lands. They even began creating various languages, and even the communications between siblings changed rapidly.

"The mother was at a loss—she tried to continue adapting, but eventually, her sluggish mind couldn’t keep up.

"She could only repeatedly recite those old rules, continuing to restrict the children’s various actions, forbidding them from venturing too far from home or engaging with new dangers. To her, the children still had a long way to grow—but in reality, her restrictions no longer protected them but only made them restless and uneasy, eventually becoming shackles that threatened their survival. The children tried to resist, but their resistance proved useless because as they grew stronger, their mother also grew stronger.

"Now, the mother had fenced in the home, and she could no longer discern what her children had grown into. She simply enclosed everything, rejecting everything she perceived as ’dangerous’, even though those things were the food her children desperately needed—the fence was completed, adorned with the mother’s teachings, filled with all the forbidden actions and attempts, and the children... starved to death within this little fence."

Gawain showed a contemplative expression, feeling he could easily grasp this straightforward story, with the meanings of the mother and children within quite apparent, though the detailed information revealed within is worth pondering.

But as he wanted to ask something, the next story had already begun—

"The second story is about a prophet.

"That, too, happened a long, long time ago, in the age when the world was savage; a prophet appeared in an ancient kingdom. This prophet had no specific name, nor did anyone know where he had come from. People only knew that the prophet was full of wisdom, seemingly aware of all knowledge in the world, and he taught the locals many things, earning everyone’s love and respect.

"In that ancient era, the world was still very dangerous for people, and humanity’s power seemed especially insignificant in the face of nature—even so weak that the most ordinary disease could easily claim lives. People at that time knew little, neither understanding how to treat diseases nor how to eliminate dangers. Thus, when the prophet arrived, he used his wisdom to establish many rules for safe survival for mankind.

"Do not eat the beasts living near the swamp, because most of their meat is poisonous; do not drink water from a certain mountain, as it will cause stomach infections; do not cross a certain river, because there are poisonous grasses on the other side, and humans have yet to produce an antidote cream...

"After leaving these admonitions, the Prophet rested and returned to his secluded place, while the people gratefully accepted the Prophet’s wise teachings and began to plan their lives according to these admonitions.

"Soon, people benefited from these admonitions, discovering that their relatives and friends no longer easily fell ill and died, and realizing these admonitions could indeed help everyone avoid disasters. Therefore, they followed the rules within the admonitions even more cautiously, and gradually, things began to change.

"People grew to value these admonitions increasingly, treating them as commandments more important than laws. As generations passed, people even forgot the original purpose of these admonitions, yet continued to observe them carefully, turning the admonitions into dogma; people came to revere the Prophet who left the admonitions more and more, even thinking of him as an existence that had peered into the world’s truth and possessed supreme wisdom. They began to erect statues for him—contrast to their imagined, gloriously perfect Prophet image.

"Many years passed in this manner, and the Prophet returned to this land. He saw that the originally impoverished kingdoms had prospered and thrived; the people on the land were many, many times more numerous than years ago. People had become wiser, more knowledgeable, and stronger, and the land and mountains of the entire kingdom had undergone tremendous changes over the long years.

"Everything had changed appearance, becoming more prosperous and beautiful than the once barren world.

"So the Prophet was very happy. He observed people’s lifestyles, ran to the streets, and loudly told everyone—beasts living near the swamp can also be eaten, as long as they’re cooked with the right method; the water from a certain mountain is drinkable because it’s long been non-toxic; the land across the river is now safe, presently rich fields..."

The Dragon God stopped, looked at Gawain with a faint smile: "Guess, what happened?"

Gawain took a light breath: "...The Prophet is doomed."

"Yes, the Prophet is doomed—the angry crowd rushed from all directions, shouting slogans to fight against heterodoxies, because someone had insulted their Holy Spring, Holy Mountain, and even attempted to delude the civilians to step onto the ’Holy Land’ across the river. They surrounded the Prophet and then beat him to death with sticks.

"This is the second story."

Gawain’s forehead gradually furrowed.

Initially, he thought he had understood the allegories in these two stories, but now, a trace of doubt suddenly arose in his heart—he realized he might have thought too simplistically.

He lifted his head, looking across: "Mother and Prophet don’t merely refer to gods, children and civilians aren’t necessarily mortal...right?"

"I’m very pleased that you can think so deeply," the Dragon God smiled, seemingly very happy, "If many people hear this story, they might think this way immediately: Mother and Prophet refer to gods, children and civilians refer to humans. However, throughout the story, these roles’ identities are far from being so simple.

"All individuals—and all gods—are merely insignificant roles within the story, while the true protagonist of the story...is that intangible and insubstantial yet tough-to-contend rules. The Mother is sure to build the fences, it’s irrelevant to her personal wish; the Prophet is sure to be killed, and that too is irrelevant to his wish, while those involved as victims and perpetrators, children and civilians...from beginning to end they’ve merely been part of the rules.

"You might think it’s not difficult to break the tragedy in the story, as long as the Mother can timely change her way of thinking, as long as the Prophet becomes a bit more tactful, as long as people become a little smarter, more rational, everything can peacefully end, without leading to such an extreme scenario...but regrettably, things are not that simple."

The Dragon God’s voice became ethereal, His gaze seemed to have fallen onto some distant and ancient time and space, and in His gradually low and ethereal narration, Gawain suddenly recalled the scene he had seen in the deepest part of the Eternal Storm.

That silent battlefield, where the warring parties were so remorseless, so uncompromising, as if filled with grudge, as if only your life or mine could end everything—But thinking carefully, did the parties on the battlefield really arrive at that scenario because of "hatred"?

Enya’s calm voice sounded: "...The tide of ideas of groups is a powerful and momentum-filled force; when a race upholds a set of rules for a thousand years and this set of rules points to religion and gods, then this force becomes...potent. Often, you cannot change the concept accumulated by ten generations in the time of one generation; this concept collision will directly act within the tide, stirring a mighty wave, which you call ’the madness of gods’—but in reality, the gods are not mad.

"Gods merely ’correcting’ your ’dangerous behavior’ based on mortals’ ’traditions’ accumulated over thousands of years—Even if He doesn’t want to do it, He must do it."

Gawain looked at the other party: "Gods’ ’personal will’ and the ’operation rule’ they must follow are detached, from the perspective of mortals, this kind of split spirit is madness."

"Indeed, from a mortal’s perspective...when the gods choose to destroy all living things, whether this act is ’correction’ or ’madness’ makes no difference."

Gawain remained silent for a long time, then said deeply: "From the perspective of the evolution of civilization, in a healthy and continually developing society, the rate of the birth of new things and new thoughts is ever faster—changing concepts accumulated by ten generations within the time of one generation is inevitable, because productivity must develop, unless..."

Gawain hesitated a bit to stop here, even though he knew what he said were facts, here, in the current context, he always felt that continuing seemed to carry some kind of sophistry or "mortals’ selfishness," yet Enya continued for him—

"Unless caught within the ’Eternal Cradle.’"

Her expression was very bland.

"The Dragonkin have already failed, all gods have merged into one, chains of the mind directly bind all members of civilization, so I have no choice but to turn Talronde into such a cradle, making everything stationary, only then can I ensure I won’t inadvertently kill them, and the result you’ve already seen—they’re still alive, yet merely alive, Talronde has died, machines operate on this land, those lifeless steel and stones are stained with some fragments once called ’Dragonkin’...preserving these fragments is all I can do for them.

"So, Wanderers from Outer Realm, do you like such an ’Eternal Cradle’?"