Chapter 1105: Keeping Distance from the Divine

Although Gawain still knew very little about the deepest secrets behind the gods, thanks to the tireless efforts of several research teams in the rear over recent years, he had at least confirmed a few highly effective methods to combat divine corruption. From the earliest sea monster runes, to the later emergence of the Deep Sea Song and the Human Barrier, and now to the anti-divinity defense technology centered on “non-directional thought currents” currently undergoing verification—these techniques built upon one another, gradually revealing a promising path forward.

The sea monster runes and songs ultimately came from alien races, their principles shrouded in many unknowns. In contrast, the non-directional thought currents originated from Cecil himself, with a clear technical roadmap and immense potential. At the core of this technology was the Narrator Neural Network—a vast structure formed by the interconnected minds of countless mortals. It used the chaotic subconscious of the masses to resist the divine’s corrupting influence. This meant the larger the neural network, the stronger its resistance to divinity. Based on this theory, building a global neural network that incorporated as many mortal minds as possible was inevitable.

This was also why Gawain was so determined to establish a “united front,” to bring together all the nations on the continent, big and small, as allies. Even the weakest kingdoms could contribute effective strength within the neural network.

Nations varied in strength, people in wisdom and folly, and even civilizations differed in advancement. Many failed to understand Gawain’s motivation to drag along those inconspicuous, backward little countries. To them, some regions were burdens, only adding cost to the alliance. Even within Cecil itself, such opinions were not uncommon. But Gawain knew clearly that on the battlefield against divine corruption, mortals were truly equal—population itself was wealth.

Rebecca couldn’t fully grasp some of her ancestor’s far-reaching thoughts, but at least in this technical field, her thinking was as clear and sharp as Gawain’s. Noticing the subtle changes in his expression, she couldn’t help but say, “If only the elves could directly upgrade their communication facilities using our magic network technology…”

“Good idea, but not very feasible,” Gawain smiled and sighed. “The elves’ sentinel data chain is vast, mature, and deeply integrated with the Grant Wall. The cost and risk of large-scale modification are unimaginable—even the mighty Silver Empire wouldn’t attempt it lightly. At best, they might upgrade the interfaces of their national communication network and produce immersion pods compatible with Silver Empire standards. It’s a bit troublesome, but at least the neural network can be extended that way.”

“Isn’t Typhon cooperating?” Rebecca scratched her head—her hair even more disheveled than before. “I saw you and Rosetta Auguste talking quite well.”

Gawain looked into Rebecca’s eyes, his faint smile serious. “Silly girl—remember, between nations there is no such thing as ‘intimate trust.’ There are only temporary alliances of interest and limited trust based on shared goals. Never assume a country is open-hearted just because its leader seems friendly. Even if Rosetta and I are ‘kindred spirits’ to some extent, I will always prioritize my own country’s interests. If I consider his interests temporarily, it’s only because we share a common goal in that area, and there’s no conflict between Typhon and Cecil there—for now.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re being dishonest or engaging in fraudulent diplomacy. We’re simply fulfilling our responsibilities and looking out for our own countries.”

“Back to Typhon’s attitude on communication technology… After establishing technical exchange channels, Rosetta should realize the importance of the ‘anti-divinity barrier,’ but he won’t let us reach too far—he’s already suffered losses with the railways. Intelligence from Aldern shows they’re tightening domestic railway investments and construction interfaces, indicating they’ve caught on somewhat.”

“So, although Rosetta has expressed willingness to consider Cecil’s communication tech, I estimate he’ll at most allow an ‘interface’ similar to what we have with the Silver Empire, or build backup magic network facilities in a few domestic regions. Overall, Typhon’s transmission tower arrays will continue operating. They were recently upgraded extensively, and even if Rosetta decided to scrap them, Typhon’s treasury wouldn’t allow it.”

“In the best case, the three communication technologies on Loren continent will coexist for a long time: Cecil’s magic network, Typhon’s transmission towers, and the Silver Empire’s sentinel data chain. What we should focus on now isn’t hoping the other two disappear, but figuring out how to make existing anti-divinity protections effective across all three networks. Don’t worry—the old tech will fade away, but it takes time.”

Rebecca frowned. She understood Gawain’s words but didn’t like the answer. “I get it… but that definitely means extra costs. Sigh… I thought after forming the alliance, the countries would cooperate more closely.”

Gawain smiled and ruffled Rebecca’s hair. “Do you know about porcupines?”

Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “Ah, I know! They’re delicious! When I was little, I sneaked into the mountains to… uh… you probably don’t mean that, right?”

Gawain’s expression faltered for a moment, but he was used to Rebecca’s unpredictable thoughts. Clearing his throat, he restored his dignified demeanor. “What I mean is, human nations are like a bunch of porcupines huddling together for warmth. Everyone needs to endure this long, harsh winter, but each has sharp quills to protect themselves. The world is dangerous; we can’t just pull out our quills. So what we can do is find a small balance between those quills and the warmth. It takes extra effort, but that’s mortals—weak, cautious, knowing how to band together, yet not very good at it.”

Rebecca listened quietly, and in that moment, it seemed she understood many things. Then she softly asked, “Is that how the alliance you built operates?”

Gawain nodded. “That’s exactly how it works.”

Rebecca left with a thoughtful expression. After she disappeared, Amber’s voice suddenly came from beside Gawain. “Looks like she’s got a lot on her mind all of a sudden.”

Gawain smiled and sighed softly. “Probably my answer wasn’t what she expected.”

“Because she sees you as too great—so great you can do anything, even change many lives. So she views the alliance you built as something equally magnificent—a shining miracle forged by epic heroes, flawless in every way,” Amber said, watching Rebecca’s retreating figure with a faint smile. “But this alliance isn’t that great. It’s just a bunch of porcupines.”

“I don’t need to be that great. Being too great makes you like a god,” Gawain shook his head, then looked toward the Silver Elves’ team not far away. “The process is almost over. We should head back soon… and run one more errand for me.”

…

The final procedures had concluded. The convoy of magical vehicles carrying representatives from various nations began departing the assembly point on the open plains. The massive procession rolled onto the newly built temporary road, flags of the alliance fluttering on both sides, heading toward the 112th Elven stronghold. At the rear of the convoy, a magic vehicle bearing the Cecil flag pulled to the roadside. A figure with long golden hair bent down and climbed inside.

In the back seat, Gawain looked at the Silver Queen who had just taken the seat opposite him and smiled in greeting. “Good afternoon, Belsethia.”

“Good afternoon, Uncle Gawain,” Belsethia glanced out the window at the receding scenery, then smiled back. “I was surprised when I received the message from Miss Amber. Do you have something to discuss with me on the return trip? You know, after the meeting, the Silver Queen and the Cecil Emperor traveling together will surely attract attention—there will be countless speculations about shifts in the situation among intelligence agents of various countries.”

“Cecil’s emperor and the Silver Queen have known each other for seven hundred years—hopefully, their speculations will start from that fact,” Gawain replied casually. “Besides, if I waited until everyone returned to the 112th stronghold to talk to you, the attention wouldn’t be any less.”

“True. Those eyes never really left us from the start,” Belsethia said, then glanced toward the driver’s seat. Seeing Amber gripping the steering wheel and controls tightly, her expression turned serious. “The Intelligence Minister is driving personally. Looks like what you want to discuss isn’t simple.”

Gawain met Belsethia’s gaze.

The 112th conference was over. The alliance was formed. The Divine Authority Council established. The Silver Empire had boarded this war chariot. Subsequent technology sharing and joint construction would follow. The time was ripe. Some matters needed to be addressed.

“Do you remember what we talked about on our first day here?” Gawain asked.

Belsethia paused, a certain intuition rising within her, vaguely sensing something. “About the elves’ religious history, the changes in the Druidic Church, natural faith, and the conflicts with heretical natural faiths?”

“Now we continue that topic,” Gawain nodded, locking eyes with her. “If I gave you a chance to speak directly with the God of Nature—what would you say?”

The Silver Queen’s usual calm and composed demeanor suddenly stiffened, as if a chilling wind swept through the carriage. Her expression froze for several seconds before shifting to a delayed shock mixed with nervousness. “You… mean to say? Speak directly with the God of Nature? You mean… that God is…”

“Amorn the Great Stag, guardian beneath the Tree of Rebirth, master of nature, the original chief deity of the Druidic faith.”

“Are you serious?” Belsethia finally regained composure, staring into Gawain’s eyes as if searching for a joke. “You mean… but how is that possible? Even if He still exists… how could mortals directly communicate with a god…”

“Ordinary mortals can’t. But Outsiders can,” Gawain said. Outside the window beside him, the slanting sunset spilled over the distant wasteland mountains, falling on the retreating flagpoles. The alliance banners fluttered proudly in the sunlight. “To fight this cruel world, your Uncle Gawain has more than one card up his sleeve.”

Belsethia’s expression shifted from shock and stiffness to gradual calm. She pondered, calculated, and finally replaced all emotions with resolve. As if making the most important decision of her life, she took a deep breath and broke the silence. “Once I return to the city, I will begin arrangements immediately. Valendian will return home first. You and I will go to Cecil—don’t worry, I will find a perfect reason. This matter will remain confidential.”

Above the arcane network terminal, a holographic projection displayed distant landscapes, while a lively, upbeat commentary played just beyond the frame. Amon’s eyes—like they were forged from pure light—blinked twice. The former god of nature let out a long, wistful sigh. “Their conference is finally over… Good thing we didn’t miss the final broadcast.”

“Yes, yes, we didn’t miss it. Of course not,” Mimirna’s voice chimed in nearby, thick with complaint. “All the channels were airing the same thing. They even canceled the latest episode of Modir’s Adventures—and that’s the extended Friday special! Hopefully, they’ll make it up before the day off next week.”

Unable to move his body, Amon could only shoot a sideways glance at the ever-grumbling goddess. “You should cut back on the complaints and your obsession with magical dramas. Try focusing your limited energy on something more meaningful. Don’t you think this conference was quite valuable? Especially the part about the ‘Divine Authority Council’ at the end… Too bad that ‘expert’ only mentioned it briefly, vaguely stating that such an organization was established, without explaining its purpose at all…”

Mimirna’s interest was finally piqued by Amon’s muttering. The goddess of magic pondered for a moment, then spoke softly, “The Divine Authority Council, huh… That name alone is intriguing. It sounds like it has a lot to do with us, like those mortals are planning something big… Too bad the entire broadcast only mentioned it in passing.”

“Based on my observations these past few days,” Amon said thoughtfully, “mortal ‘news’ tends to use fewer words when something is really important. If the Divine Authority Council was only mentioned once, then this must be a matter of great significance.”

Listening to the former god’s reasoned analysis, Mimirna just shrugged indifferently and went back to lamenting her canceled series. But barely a few seconds into her complaint, Amon suddenly spoke up again.

“Hm?!”

Mimirna immediately looked over. “What is it?”

“I… just felt a strange sensation wash over me,” Amon hesitated. “Like a sudden chill? Or the urge to shiver? Something like that. It feels like something is about to happen to me…”

Mimirna quickly dropped her casual tone and grew serious. “Are you sure? This isn’t trivial—divine intuition is almost like foresight, especially when it concerns oneself…”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been away from godhood for three thousand years—I can’t even remember the last time I felt anything like this,” Amon’s voice grew muffled, then suddenly took on a very odd tone. “Wait… uh, this might not be good.”

“What now?”

Amon’s voice carried a hint of despair. “That strange feeling has lessened, but my back… it’s starting to itch.”

(The squid’s new book is out!!!)

(End of chapter)