Chapter 1115: A Place of Peculiar Vibes

Belsethia stood before the seemingly faint energy barrier, suddenly feeling as if she had been transported back many, many years—to the very moment she first took her seat on the Throne of Dominion, the first time she connected her nervous system to the AI cluster of the Star Sanctum. She remembered the cacophony of chaotic, incomprehensible machine souls exploding inside her mind, far beyond the grasp of any ordinary person. That same bewildered helplessness washed over her now, as if the confidence she had painstakingly built over the years was suddenly shaken, leaving only an unpredictable future stretching out before her.

She recalled how, back then, she had slipped into a semi-conscious state on the Throne, sinking for hours into negotiations, learning, and adaptation with those ancient AIs. Though the record keepers later declared her the most capable “Dominion Holder” in history, she still shied away from recalling that utterly uncontrollable state.

Shaking her head, Belsethia banished the unwelcome memories and distractions, then stepped forward, crossing the thin energy shield. The boundless, dark, and sinking Shadow Realm surged around her.

This was a world… of strange perception.

Her silver elf senses immediately kicked in. Belsethia instinctively twitched her nose, frowning at the “hollow aura” that hung in the air. She felt the solid ground beneath her feet, the moderate gravity, the neither cold nor warm temperature. In the pitch-black darkness, every detail around her was clear. Everything she touched seemed normal, yet upon closer feeling, Belsethia sensed an immense… emptiness emanating from this so-called Shadow Realm. The orderly laws of the material world she was familiar with had somehow shifted here, but exactly how—that she could not say.

Only then did the Silver Queen begin to notice the desolate, chaotic environment of the Shadow Realm, and the strange, fragmented state of the distant land.

“This is truly… a bleak place,” she murmured. “Our gods actually dwell here?”

“‘Dwell’ isn’t quite the right word, but it’s the closest we can say,” Gawain replied beside her, gently nudging her from behind. “Let’s move forward—the anti-divinity barrier is running at full power. You don’t need to worry about spiritual contamination from the gods here. But we can’t linger too long; this system is still in testing, and the backend servers can only maintain stability for a limited time.”

Belsethia realized that countless people and devices were working behind the scenes to make this meeting possible. The cutting-edge technology here was backed by massive human and material resources. She nodded and followed Gawain onward.

The sacred radiance, rising like a small mountain, grew nearer. Her heart pounded wildly as she finally began to discern details within the glow—the colossal figure, the crisscrossing, wreckage-like structures, the numerous arcane devices scattered around. She reached a suitable vantage point and stopped, gazing up at the radiant, holy presence.

A pure white giant stag lay prone on the shattered earth, breathtakingly beautiful and solemn, just as all the sacred scriptures described. Yet unlike those texts, there was no towering “Tree of Reincarnation,” no “City of Life,” nor “Great Tomb of Death.” Around the Nature God were only countless shocking remnants—twisted alloys and crystals piercing through the stag’s body like enormous nails, pinning this divine and mighty creature to the ground. The sight was chilling.

Belsethia’s eyes widened in shock, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips. She had imagined countless times how the Nature God might appear before her, but never like this. She instinctively stepped forward half a pace, but before she could speak, the sacred stag suddenly opened its eyes—eyes clearer than any earthly gem, radiating a gentle white light that froze all her movements and words.

“Hello, little one,” Amon’s voice echoed out of nowhere, as if directly inside her mind. “Welcome to my little courtyard.”

Belsethia parted her lips, feeling Gawain’s hand lightly pat her shoulder. That small gesture helped her scattered nerves regain composure, and she finally found her voice. “You… you are the Nature God?”

A terrible opening line—after days of rehearsing, all her preparations seemed wasted.

The words barely left her mouth before the Silver Queen felt a wave of genuine regret. She had imagined herself handling this first “human-god conversation” with grace and poise, but instead nearly botched it. The awkwardness of her opening felt foolish. Yet somehow, she sensed the sacred stag was smiling at her.

Of course, that was impossible—the stag had done nothing but open its eyes, showing no other movement or expression. Smiling was out of the question. But Belsethia was certain she had seen a smile.

Amon was indeed smiling, though the smile was hidden deep within. He could tell the queen was flustered, but that was expected—not everyone was Gawain Cecil or an ancient rebel. For ordinary mortals, simply standing before him was a miracle. This shock had nothing to do with spiritual contamination and couldn’t be blocked by the anti-divinity barrier.

More importantly, Belsethia was a silver elf. Though she might have shed her faith in the Nature God, the imprint left on her race had not fully faded. As a long-lived elf, this imprint affected her far more deeply than the mental steel marks that bound humans. This internal influence could not be negated by the anti-divinity barrier.

“Don’t be nervous,” Amon’s voice came again, softer now. “Try to relax. Don’t think about your identity or mine… just be an ordinary guest. That way, we can have a proper conversation.”

Belsethia felt herself steadying, as if with time and these simple words, her soul was gradually “adapting” to some kind of pressure. She took a deep breath, feeling both body and mind calm, then looked up and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, I lost my composure.”

Before she could finish, a gentle, melodious voice with the same divine authority as Amon’s suddenly sounded from above: “Actually, you’re doing quite well—better than I bet with Amon.”

Startled, Belsethia instinctively looked up toward the voice’s source. Only then did she notice another enormous figure had appeared before her—a towering presence like a clock tower, resembling a lady in an elaborate court gown. Yet her lower half was a misty, chaotic swirl. The lady looked down at her, her upper body clearly feminine, but her face veiled by a thin shroud. Beneath it, a stunningly beautiful visage and a pair of eyes glowing with arcane light could be faintly seen.

Belsethia was taken aback, but strangely, facing this suddenly appearing goddess did not unsettle her as Amon had. She was simply stunned, yet still managed to ask, “Who… who are you?”

“Ah, just call me Mylmina—‘Miss’ is optional,” the former goddess of magic said with a smile in her voice. “Hello, little silver elf.”

“Mylmina?!” Belsethia froze, quickly realizing the identity behind the name. She stared at the goddess figure in shock, blurting out, “The Magic Goddess? The fallen Magic Goddess?!”

Suddenly, memories of last year’s grand “funeral” hosted jointly by the Cecil and Typhon Empires flooded her mind—the widely circulated eulogies, the commemorations across mortal realms. She turned sharply to Gawain, who was smirking knowingly.

“That information will soon be declassified in the high-level files of the Theocratic Council. The major leaders of all nations will know the truth,” Gawain said, spreading his hands. “For now, keep it confidential.”

“So… the Magic Goddess is actually alive, and the so-called ‘fall’ was just a ruse,” Belsethia said, dumbfounded. “To strip her of divinity… another experiment by the Theocratic Council?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, though you’re not far off,” Mylmina’s voice interrupted from above. “That funeral was indeed to further sever my ties to the mortal world, but the whole plan to relinquish my divinity was my own design—Gawain Cecil just lent a little help.”

Belsethia listened, nodding slowly. Though still full of questions, many things began to make sense. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Then… what are you doing here? Do all gods who safely relinquish their divinity gather in this place?”

“There’s no such rule,” Mylmina replied casually. Suddenly, her massive form lowered—her cloud-like lower half contracted as she crouched beside them, still towering so high that others had to look up. “As for me… don’t mind me. I’m just here to watch the show.”

Belsethia: “…?!”

The Silver Queen’s mind momentarily went blank.

In this mysterious Rebellion Courtyard, at the very scene of mortal-god communication, a goddess had shown up uninvited, casually crouching nearby and declaring she was just here for the spectacle. The sheer oddity of this development stunned Belsethia into silence, the shock rivaling even the moment she first faced a god. Even Gawain looked a bit concerned—should he have warned her more beforehand?

Fortunately, the awkward atmosphere didn’t last long. Belsethia’s strong will soon kicked in, forcing herself to regain composure and suppress the urge to lose it. She forced her attention back to the giant stag Amon, took a deep breath, and asked, “How… should I address you now?”

She deliberately avoided calling him “Master”—as the nominal High Priestess of the Druids, she should have done so without hesitation.

This question already made her stance clear.

Amon sounded very pleased. “Just call me by my name, little one… Belsethia. You can add ‘Sir’ at the end if you like.”

Belsethia hesitated, then tentatively said, “Amon… Sir?”

“Good. Very good.”

“You look like you’ve suffered some serious injuries,” Belsethia said, relaxing slightly. Her gaze then fell on the scattered remnants that looked like instruments of some cruel torture. “What are these…?”

“A small price paid for reckless exploration in the name of freedom,” Amon quipped, reflecting on his actions from three thousand years ago. “To break free from my divine station, I went headfirst into something pretty solid… almost didn’t make it.”

“To break free from your divine station…” Belsethia paused, slowly catching on. “You mean the fall of the White Star three thousand years ago?”

“In the mortal world, that’s indeed what they call that impact,” Amon said slowly.

Belsethia blinked and instinctively glanced toward Gawain beside her. He still wore that faint, knowing smile, standing aloof as if this wasn’t his concern—showing no intention of getting involved.

Just like the goddess of magic crouched not far away, was this “Outsider” here merely to watch the spectacle unfold?

Suddenly, the Silver Queen’s heart cleared—today’s meeting was about to reveal truths far beyond anything she had imagined.

“Tell me about the elves’ current situation,” the voice of the great stag Amon echoed in her mind, breaking her reverie. “For three thousand years, I’ve deliberately avoided focusing on the elven realms and blocked out all information about you… The limited data I have comes from Gawain Cecil, but he’s not an elf.”

Belsethia looked up at the sacred great stag, took a deep breath, and said slowly, “…We’re struggling on the edge of the vortex.”

…

In Cecil Palace, inside the spacious, bright “Incubation Chamber,” Enya was placing the newspaper she had just finished reading onto a nearby bookshelf. The newly delivered shelf leaned against the wall, already filled with all kinds of leisure reading: recent newspapers from the Cecil Empire, bound volumes of magazines from the past two years, and a vast collection of folklore, novels, and scripts gathered from all over. The sheer number of books filled nearly the entire wall, bringing a lively warmth to the otherwise cold and sterile chamber.

“Too bad, just reading newspapers can get a bit dull,” the golden sphere standing on its base murmured softly to itself. “I wonder when they’ll bring the Arcane Network terminal…”

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, interrupting the golden sphere’s quiet musings.

Enya looked toward the door, a little surprised—few visitors ever knocked before entering this room. Still, she politely said, “Please come in.”

The next second, the chamber door gently opened from the outside, and a large metallic sphere floated in. Painted on its surface was a cheerful, comical smile, turned in Enya’s direction.

“Hello, I’m here to install the equipment,” the metal sphere said politely, its jovial grin unwavering.

(End of chapter)