Chapter 1142: How to Break the Deadlock

From the perspective of the true universe, this world has never been reshaped, nor will its future be rewritten by any kind of magical tide.

Even someone like High Lord Gawain—who had lived through countless bizarre and uncanny lifetimes, witnessed innumerable unfathomable miracles, and was himself an “anomaly”—found his breath faltering at this moment. A profound upheaval shook his worldview, as if everything he had long believed about this world was suddenly called into question. His eyes widened, his mind swirling with thoughts, the foundation of his understanding trembling, making him doubt every judgment and hypothesis he had ever held.

Yet, the resilience forged through endless eons soon took hold. His brief disorientation did not cloud his rational mind for long. He gathered his scattered thoughts and, in his heart, summarized the key information Enya had revealed so far about the magical tides and the laws governing this universe:

From the vantage point of the true universe, this world is not reshaped by the magical tides. The existence of all things is stable and orderly. But from the perspective of the observer—intelligent, rational beings—the reshaping of the world’s fabric does occur, and it is an inevitable consequence of the magical tides. Moreover, the “observer effect” in this universe manifests as a chaotic, macroscopic phenomenon: the observer’s perception directly influences the reality of “their own world.” The observer’s universe and the true universe mirror each other like shadow and substance. Under normal circumstances, they align perfectly, keeping the observer stable. But during a magical tide, the two diverge, and the observer is swallowed by the maddening illusions they perceive…

Magical tides do come in “large” and “small” varieties. According to Enya, the so-called small magical tides are actually “pre-tremors” of an unformed magical tide. In terms of “not affecting physical entities in the true universe,” they are no different from the real magical tides. The catastrophe that the refugees of the Gondor Empire experienced seven centuries ago was not the magical tide itself, but merely the shockwave following the explosion of the Deep Blue Well.

At this moment, Gawain didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more troubled. All he knew was that a veil had been lifted from this strange and surreal world, revealing an even more reckless and chaotic reality beneath.

His gaze fell on Enya’s eggshell. “So you mean that the chaotic magical energy in the Gondor wastelands, or the crystal ore we mined in the Dark Mountains, are actually just ‘reaction products’ formed when intense magical radiation interacts with certain materials? The mortals from seven centuries ago… were never truly affected by the magical tide itself, whether large or small?”

Enya’s voice was calm and steady. “Exactly.”

“What exactly is a ‘small magical tide’? What do you mean by an ‘unformed pre-tremor’?” Gawain pressed on. “Does that mean it’s still part of the larger magical tide but just didn’t erupt fully? Or are the large and small magical tides essentially two phases of the same disaster, and the mortal kingdoms today are merely surviving a temporary lull?”

“In fact, both interpretations are correct,” Enya replied slowly. “You must understand, I am not omniscient. My knowledge of the magical tides is built on long observation, research, hypothesis, and verification. I can only share what I know—

“The magical tide is a natural phenomenon of this world, occurring in irregular cycles. Between major eruptions, there are always several smaller ones, but the exact timing is nearly impossible to predict. Small magical tides share many characteristics with the large ones, but differ in that their eruptions are usually localized. Large magical tides sweep across entire star systems, while small ones are confined to a continent or even a single kingdom. Small magical tides are brief and weaker; they don’t necessarily annihilate all observers within their range—there are various ways to weaken or even nullify their effects.”

“Small magical tides can be weakened or nullified…” Gawain suddenly had a thought. “Wait, are you referring to…?”

“If you don’t have precise techniques, brute force is the only option,” Enya said. “A short burst of extremely high-intensity magical energy can compress the magical flux within a planet’s turbulent atmosphere, creating an energy field that covers a vast area. Since the magical tide itself is a magical phenomenon, it is affected by this energy field and can even be extinguished by it. This energy field is terrifying—it can cause regional ecological collapse—but at least some fortunate seeds can survive at the edges.

“Seven centuries ago, there was only one energy source on the entire Loren continent capable of this—”

“The Deep Blue Well.” Gawain’s face darkened as he said it gravely.

“Detonating the Deep Blue Well was the most effective—and the only timely—way to stop that ‘pre-tremor’ from escalating.”

“So the Deep Blue Well was deliberately detonated?!” Gawain’s eyes widened as he stared at Enya’s eggshell, where faint golden runes shimmered. “Could it be that the one who triggered it was…?”

“Don’t misunderstand—it wasn’t me,” came Enya’s voice from the golden egg, tinged with a hint of regret. “I am merely the guardian deity of the dragons, bound by duty to Talrond. Naturally, I cannot interfere with events on the Loren continent. The Deep Blue Well was indeed detonated, but it was done by the gods who protect the peoples of Loren.”

“You mean the gods themselves detonated the Deep Blue Well?!” Gawain stared in disbelief, then slowly exhaled. He recalled a recent guess he had made and smiled wryly. “I had suspected there was more to the Deep Blue Well’s explosion, but it seems the truth is quite different from what I imagined…”

As he spoke, a long-standing mystery that had troubled humanity suddenly surfaced in his mind, as if an answer was within reach. “Wait—I just remembered. Not long after the magical tide erupted, the priests of the major churches all lost contact with their gods. The gods fell silent for an entire year, only regaining their power after the Council of the Ancestor Peak. Could it be that the detonation of the Deep Blue Well caused the gods’ slumber?!”

Enya pondered before answering. “I cannot be certain of the exact circumstances. As you know, gods interfere and pollute each other’s domains, so we cannot establish direct contact. Usually, we can only observe the ripples in the ‘deep sea’—the underlying fabric of the world—to roughly gauge other gods’ states. I can confirm that a god or gods protecting Loren intervened in the energy flow of the Deep Blue Well, but who exactly, how, and what happened afterward is unknown.

“Likewise, I cannot say how many gods were involved—maybe one, maybe more. The massive energy fluctuations from the Deep Blue Well’s explosion reverberated through all realms of the world, creating large-scale blackouts in the deep sea. What exactly happened during that blast… even I do not know.

“But I can tell you this—the year-long slumber of the Loren gods was not caused by the Deep Blue Well’s explosion.”

“Not caused by the Deep Blue Well?” Gawain asked, surprised. “Then what was the reason?”

“The collapse of church operations, the breakdown of parish structures, the sudden halt of regular religious activities, and most importantly… the sharp population decline,” Enya said in a low voice. “Don’t forget, the foundation of faith is a sufficient population. The gods’ roots lie in their believers. The catastrophe seven centuries ago killed too many people. For the Loren gods, who were still bound by the ‘chains’ and reliant on the flow of belief to function, this was a devastating blow.”

Gawain instinctively held his breath, then slowly exhaled.

“But I have another question,” he continued. “After that magical tide, although the nations struggled to recover, population growth was slow. Within a year, the four great kingdoms showed no significant increase, and in Typhon and Ansu, populations even declined slightly due to food shortages and monster attacks. Yet the gods began to revive during this harsh period. How do you explain that?”

“That very hardship drove more people to seek solace in faith,” Enya patiently explained. “You know the situation then—how many became devout believers in their desperation? How many who were once nonbelievers or shallow believers prayed through freezing nights? Not everyone is a strong-willed hero; most ordinary people are fragile. In dire straits, many shallow or casual believers transformed into devout followers. So even though your population didn’t grow, the number of devout believers increased—accelerating the gods’ return.”

Gawain’s expression brightened with understanding, then he pondered aloud, “In that context, the gods’ return was a blessing that eased many nations’ crises. But in the long run… it sowed the seeds for the churches’ overreach and their attempts to influence royal authority… even shaping the current plans for the Theocratic Council.”

“On the scale of history, the merits and faults of many things must be viewed separately.”

“You’re right,” Gawain sighed softly, his mind racing to organize his thoughts and identify any remaining questions. Soon, another question came to him. “Wait, according to you, the magical tide disrupts the ‘link’ between observers and the true universe, causing cognitive distortions. How do the dragons avoid this? How has Talrond survived the magical tides time and again?”

Enya’s voice fell silent for a few seconds before she spoke gently. “That involves specific techniques, Gawain.”

Like a cold breeze cutting through a summer afternoon, Gawain’s excitement from the flood of revelations suddenly cooled. He realized their discussion had ventured into dangerous territory but couldn’t help asking, “You can’t tell me that? You’ve already shared so much foundational knowledge…”

“Knowledge and technology are not the same,” Enya replied. “Advanced knowledge can be dangerous and even contaminating, but it requires learning and transformation. You can gradually accept it through study, understanding, and verification. Even if harmful, the damage can be minimized. Technology, however—technology that bypasses the research process—will eventually reveal its toxicity. The dragons learned this painfully during the Rebellion Against the Tide.”

Enya’s words left Gawain speechless. The feeling of having the answer just beyond reach, blocked by a thin barrier, was deeply frustrating. Fortunately, Enya’s voice soon returned, warm and encouraging.

“Of course, I cannot directly share the technology, but that doesn’t mean I can’t point you in the right direction—especially after the great sacrifices both your people and the dragons have made. The mortals of this world deserve to take a step further on the path to survival.

“Though the magical tide is a terrifying natural phenomenon, its duration is not long. Each tide usually ends within one planetary orbit cycle. The longest recorded lasted no more than two cycles. What you need to do is survive through one or two planetary orbits.”

“The key to survival lies in isolating the observers from the influence of the magical tide. As long as the observers’ minds remain unaffected, no matter how fierce the tide, it’s nothing more than a gentle breeze to you.”

“The reason Talrond remained untouched by the magical tide was because of the shield system that once enveloped the entire continent—the ancient Great Talrond Shield. Not only did it provide protection against physical threats, but it also deflected the mental impact the magical tide had on the observers. For over a million years, whenever the tide came, the dragons would retreat behind the Great Shield to avoid the world-wide ‘mental exile,’ only emerging once the tide had passed… to sift through the remnants of fallen civilizations.”

“So, the crux of the matter is the Great Talrond Shield,” Gawain said, his eyes fixed intently on Enya’s shell. “The key technology to resist the magical tide lies buried in the ruins of that shield. If we can help the dragons rebuild it, and gradually learn and master this technology in the process, then we can—”

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly where the trouble begins,” Enya interrupted softly, sighing before he could finish. “First, the Great Shield is far too ancient. It was built during Talrond’s golden age over a million years ago, and its core technology is vast and complex. Even a master engineer like Balogur couldn’t fully comprehend it. With the dragons as they are now, repairing the shield is simply impossible. Not to mention, during Omega’s era, the shield underwent dozens of self-upgrades and iterations. The shield generators left on the Talrond wasteland today are no longer things that a flesh-and-blood mind can understand… I’m afraid only Omega itself holds the complete blueprint of the system.”

“Secondly, even if the shield generators were repaired, the Great Shield wouldn’t regain its full protective function, because the ‘core component’ that protects the observers isn’t part of the shield’s internal systems.”

Gawain raised an eyebrow instinctively. “The core component that protects the observers isn’t inside the shield generators? Then where is it…?”

“It’s me,” Enya said calmly. “The dragons’ key to resisting the magical tide was their discovery of a way to convert divine power into a shield—but the Age of Myth has ended.”

Gawain was speechless.

After a stunned silence that lasted half a minute, he finally spoke. “So, when the dragons broke their chains at the coming-of-age ceremony, they didn’t just shatter their bonds—they also destroyed their key means of resisting the magical tide? That’s…”

“Exactly as you said,” Enya sighed. “The Great Talrond Shield, with me at its core, was the reason they survived so many cycles of civilization during the magical tide. Because of that, they and I have been forced to endure this two-way shackle for so long. But such a fragile balance was bound to break eventually… Though we’ve tried to maintain it carefully, my divine aspect reached a critical point of instability many years ago. Heragor knows this well,” Enya’s voice carried a hint of regret. “Remember what I told you? Nothing in this world is truly eternal. Even if they hadn’t broken the cradle, this balance couldn’t have lasted much longer.”

“Well, breaking it open to rebuild is at least a way out of a slow, inevitable death. That’s something,” Gawain said, shaking his head helplessly. “But the problems we’re about to face… they’re going to be huge.”

(End of chapter)