Chapter 1093: Analyzing the Divine

Within the shadowy, chaotic courtyard, the colossal stag Amorn was carefully manipulating magical energy, attempting to tinker with a nearby Maginet terminal. Meanwhile, the goddess of magic, Mylmina, sat idly nearby, her gaze drifting toward the distant sky, where black lightning crackled amid swirling chaotic geometric shapes.

Of course, since she had no legs—her lower body a swirling mist resembling a long skirt—her so-called “sitting” was more like compressing the cloud-like form beneath her, reshaping her lower half.

“They only broadcast the opening seating and the opening speech,” Mylmina said, glancing back at Amorn, who was absorbed in studying the Maginet terminal. Her tone carried a hint of disappointment. “After that, it just turned into a bunch of so-called ‘guest scholars’ sitting in a room endlessly chatting and analyzing…”

“I actually found the mortals’ ‘current affairs analysis’ segment quite interesting,” Amorn replied thoughtfully. “It’s a chance to see how others perceive an event that could reshape the world order. They’re trying to get ordinary people to pay attention to the world’s changes—and it seems to be working. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“Alright… the event itself is interesting,” Mylmina sighed. “But honestly, I want to know how far their meeting has progressed now…”

“That kind of thing can’t be broadcast publicly,” Amorn said in a knowing tone. “Besides, their meeting lasts several days, maybe even over a week. They can’t just stream it nonstop.”

“You’ve only just started using the Maginet communication system, but you act like an expert,” Mylmina teased, shooting him a sideways glance. “By the way, have you figured it out yet? If you have, switch back to the Shadowplay—I haven’t finished watching.”

“Wait, wasn’t this Maginet terminal mine?” Amorn muttered, then curiously toggled some extra functions with his magic. “I’m trying to activate the neural network interface switch… Strange, there’s definitely a function here, but when I follow your instructions, it doesn’t respond at all.”

Mylmina frowned, turning toward the terminal. “Let me see.”

After a moment, the former goddess shook her head. “Forget it. It’s not the terminal’s fault. The upper-level nodes haven’t granted us access. The neural network interface switch changes the device’s send-and-receive mode. Once activated, the terminal isn’t just a receiver of public Maginet signals—it lets us connect directly to the neural network. Understand? That’s not something they’d open to us.”

Amorn blinked, momentarily stunned. “Why wouldn’t they open it to us?”

Mylmina’s tone grew patient. “Because once we enter the neural network, we can actively contact other users, broadcast information, and with some signal conversion, even access the consciousness layer within the network—the ‘Origin Space’ built from the mental imagery world.”

Though not an expert in magic, Amorn’s quick mind caught on fast. He recognized some of the terms she mentioned. “You mean that network connecting many mortal minds? This device can let us enter it?”

“Exactly—the neural network,” Mylmina nodded. “The Maginet is the physical foundation; the neural network is an application layered on top, linking countless people across many places. I once dove through its nodes to the edge of the sea of consciousness, using non-directional thought currents to wash away my divinity…”

“…Then they definitely can’t let us in,” Amorn sighed. “From the neural network’s perspective, our minds are a huge risk.”

The former god of nature sighed, a trace of regret in his voice. But Mylmina suddenly fell silent, her eyes fixed intently on the Maginet terminal. Amorn noticed immediately. “What is it? Did you think of something else?”

“This Maginet terminal is custom-made,” she said. “Designed so you can control it despite being immobile, and adapted to your massive body. Every part of it was redesigned.”

Amorn’s eyes glimmered faintly white. “So?”

“So, if Gawain Cecil really didn’t want us accessing the neural network, didn’t want us sending information out, he could have just left this function out entirely. But he installed it, then cut off the signal at the upper nodes. Doesn’t that seem contradictory?”

“I’ll correct you—it’s not that he doesn’t want ‘us’ accessing the neural network, but specifically ‘me.’ This thing was meant for me. How did it suddenly become something we both share?” Amorn reminded Mylmina, who had been lingering here for quite a while. Then he admitted, “But you have a point… If he truly didn’t want us accessing the neural network, he wouldn’t have included this function at all.”

Mylmina said nothing, quietly watching the news broadcast playing on the terminal. After a long moment of contemplation, she smiled softly. “He really is an interesting mortal.”

…

At the northern shore of Cecil City, inside the Empire’s computing center shaped like a massive pyramid, a large hall blazed with light. Numerous arcane devices and technicians bustled with tense urgency. At the center, the Mind Hub pulsed with flickering lights and flowing runes, emitting a low, steady hum. Around it, over a dozen immersion pods were connected and active. Through their transparent covers, apprentices in white uniforms lay still inside. Further away, dozens of control consoles displayed floating images and numbers, with staff busily monitoring them.

Projected onto the hall’s walls were complex runes reminiscent of the deep sea. Several psionic singers floated above, accompanied by a brain encased in a crystal container. Compared to the large “wetware servers” used on battlefields, this brain’s external devices were fewer and its overall size smaller. It was a new-generation “servo brain” designed for indoor experimental environments, providing additional computational power and magical support to the psionic singers, amplifying their song’s effect. Though less durable and stable than military models, it was perfect for lab use.

Under the control of the psionic singers and the servo brain, inaudible low-frequency oscillations filled the hall, offering mental protection to everyone present.

A technician in a white robe with black trim left a console and approached the Mind Hub. His uniform bore a distinctive emblem: an eye gazing down upon the earth, with two crossed daggers between the eye and a horizontal line symbolizing the land. Below the emblem was a bold inscription:

Divine Analysis Laboratory, Researcher No. 1175.

Holding a folder, the technician hurried to the Mind Hub, where a bespectacled, scholarly-looking middle-aged man was intently analyzing parameters projected by a device. Noticing the approach, the man turned. “What’s the matter?”

“Scholar Yuri,” the researcher reported immediately, “the special terminal’s monitoring device just sent a signal. ‘Over there’ attempted to access the neural network, but it was intercepted.”

Yuri—the former Sleeper, now the Empire Computing Center’s “Node Scholar,” a senior researcher specializing in neural networks and brain-machine interfaces—adjusted his glasses with interest. “Looks like simply watching the program isn’t enough for the god on leave… He’s discovered a new function of the Maginet terminal.”

“Maybe… it’s not just one god,” the researcher glanced at the folder, a strange expression crossing his face. “We’ve recorded multiple operation patterns that differ significantly, and the terminal’s activation device detected previously unrecorded magical fluctuations. Clearly, more than one entity is using that device.”

Yuri’s expression shifted oddly, then he shook his head. “As expected… His Majesty was right, but I didn’t think it would be so easy to lure them out…”

“Should we intervene?” the researcher asked cautiously. “This doesn’t quite fit our original plan.”

“No need to disturb them. Just observe and record,” Yuri replied, shaking his head. “This situation is part of the plan—just the backup plan.”

He adjusted his glasses again, his expression serious. “What about the sample feedback and filtered results?”

“So far, results meet expectations!” the researcher said excitedly. “After filtering through non-directional thought currents, the spiritual pollution from ‘over there’ has been significantly reduced. Moreover, during cross-boundary Maginet signal transmission, the non-directional currents didn’t affect normal communication, and their fluctuations remained within normal ranges. This proves that the ‘chaos’ data zone deep within the neural network can effectively eliminate divine contamination without compromising network security!”

Yuri listened quietly, his expression shifting several times before he finally controlled his excitement, leaving only a faint smile.

It was too early to celebrate—but the current progress was already cause for optimism.

Not long ago, Gawain ordered a set of Maginet devices sent to the deepest part of the Rebellion Fortress. Officially, it was to give the former “nature god”—now stripped of divinity—a way to pass the time. But behind the scenes, it launched a critical project: to test whether the non-directional thought currents deep within the neural network could be harnessed to solve divine spiritual pollution, and even be used as a controllable tool to directly influence a god’s divinity.

It was a bold idea, but not fanciful. Essentially, the project tested whether the process Mylmina underwent—abandoning her divinity and cleansing her godhood—was repeatable and operable. It was a legitimate scientific endeavor grounded in both real cases and theory.

Yet the very notion of using what a god did as a reference, even treating a god as a test “tool deity,” left Yuri marveling silently. Gawain truly deserved his title as the “Wanderer Beyond the Realms.” His broad, daring vision was beyond ordinary comprehension.

“Node Scholar, should we proceed further?” the researcher asked cautiously, noticing Yuri’s silence. “We could now directly read data from ‘over there.’ If the non-directional thought currents remain stable, perhaps soon we could consider direct interaction with the Shadow Courtyard…”

“…It’s still a bit too early. We need more data,” Yuri said after a moment’s thought, shaking his head. “The mental contamination from these divine entities often manifests in subtle, almost imperceptible ways. Compared to direct, violent corruption and mutation, these gradual changes are far more terrifying and insidious. We need to set up a long-term observation team. Every researcher working in this hall should be logged and monitored. Only after we’re sure there are no issues should we consider moving to the next phase.”

At that, the former Sleeper couldn’t help but recall the “Upper Narrative Contamination” that once spread beneath Orlandell. The memory still sent a chill down his spine.

The researcher caught the seriousness in Yuri’s eyes and nodded immediately. After a brief pause, Yuri added, “Although it’s not time to advance yet, given our current progress, today we can try overlaying the filtered signals onto the test network and observe the response… Are there any spare observation windows left in the immersion pods?”

“Immersion Pod Three just became available,” the researcher replied, glancing at the folder in hand before looking up at the psionic singers floating midair, their ethereal voices shielding the entire hall. “But if we’re going to run overlay tests, we’ll need to boost the hall’s defense level. The psionic singers might not be strong enough—their bodies aren’t tired, but the servo brain is already running near full capacity.”

Yuri looked up at the “lab protection team” hovering above, his gaze settling on the brain soaking in a crystal container, its tentacles dangling lazily in midair, looking utterly relaxed. “The Solin Lab said this kind of ‘servo brain’ has excellent tolerance for overclocking… Let’s push it a bit. Just one short test.”

“Understood.”

The researcher agreed immediately, then signaled to one of the psionic singers floating above. When the singer descended, the researcher said, “Put the servo brain into overclock mode. We need a short burst of high-level protection.”

The psionic singer, clad in lightweight protective gear, gave a thumbs-up and floated toward the brain. From a tactical pouch on their suit, they pulled out a handful of jellybeans. The previously languid brain suddenly perked up, rapidly extending its tentacles toward the candy. Bubbles rose inside the translucent crystal container, gurgling softly.

The researcher on the ground looked up at the scene and muttered, “…Honestly, this is pretty weird.”

“Ms. Beltira’s creations are always this strange,” Yuri said with a complicated expression, then couldn’t help but look up and warn, “Don’t push it too hard! The blood sugar can’t handle it!”

(End of chapter)