Chapter 1154: Reflection

Across the testing grounds, intricate and arcane runes pulsed in unison, their magic rippling through the open space. The low, resonant hum they emitted carried a delicate, wind-chime-like melody—at least to Windsor Mapel, who was utterly immersed in the realms of magic and knowledge, this harmonious interplay between mana and air was the most beautiful sound in the world.

As she listened to her assistant’s report, Windsor’s gaze swept over the steadily operating stone tablets, crystals, and metal rune nodes. These devices embodied the pinnacle of magical craftsmanship in the Typhon Empire—indeed, arguably the highest achievement of all mortal peoples across the continent of Loren. Naturally, maintaining their operation demanded staggering resources and manpower. Yet here, these costly constructs served only one purpose: to unveil the veil shrouding divine power.

“Directional resonance does exist… and it exhibits a certain degree of controllability under intense arcane feedback…” The youngest legendary mage in history broke the silence softly, as if speaking to herself. “So, His Majesty’s theory, derived from the Eye of God, is correct… gods and divine realms are essentially the same entity. Both are products shaped by mortal thought currents, and from a certain perspective, they exhibit ‘continuity’…”

“Mortals described gods within their collective consciousness, thus gods were born. Then, based on the primal concept of divinity, mortals created ‘divine realms’ or ‘heavens,’ and so corresponding divine realms and heavens came into existence. This creation process is consistent and continuous. According to our latest theory, the consistency in the thought currents during creation evolves into the consistency of the gods themselves, which is logically sound,” the mage’s assistant, clad in a deep blue robe embroidered with golden patterns, nodded solemnly. “Extending this theory further, we can consider the fragments shed from a god’s essence as shards of the divine realm itself, and these fragments maintain long-lasting connections in some ‘dimension’ beyond common understanding.”

“I believe our experiments have already confirmed this ‘connection,’” Windsor said gravely. “The key question now is: what use does this connection have?”

“…Recent studies indicate that after the fall of the war god, his divine realm did not vanish immediately,” the assistant said with a serious expression. “However, we have observed signs of decay in the links between those fragments, suggesting the divine realm they point to is undergoing a slow, ongoing collapse. This process will likely continue for a long time…”

Windsor glanced at her assistant calmly. “So, if we want to attempt something bold, there’s still time. Is that what you mean?”

“That judgment should be yours to make,” the assistant lowered his head. “I’m merely offering my opinion.”

“No, this decision should be made by those above us—the leaders of the Alliance,” Windsor shook her head slowly. “Compile a comprehensive report on the situation here and send it to His Majesty. I’m sure he will make the most appropriate decision.”

…

In the Obsidian Palace, within the lavish study on the top floor, Rosetta Augustus sighed suddenly as she reviewed documents. Her expression was tinged with helplessness. Princess Matilda, sitting nearby assisting with paperwork, looked up curiously at her father. “Is something troubling you?”

“Not exactly troubling… just a bit exasperating,” the ruler of Typhon replied with a wry smile, shaking his head. “Those ‘mysterious texts’ Cecil sent us have gradually been made public, and the response to the ‘recruitment’ has been overwhelming. But the results are far from satisfactory. According to Minister Fulton’s report, the first batch of feedback is wildly varied. Many applicants are no longer just ‘amateurs’… from tavern scholars who’ve read half a book and think they’re qualified, to ‘occultists’ flaunting powerless crystal balls on the streets, even villagers who claim divine visions after strange dreams and insist on joining the fray…”

Rosetta sighed again, shaking her head with a mixture of amusement and frustration. “Minister Fulton did his best to describe the chaos diplomatically, but I can only imagine how messy it is. Perhaps we should have anticipated this and set higher entry barriers or assigned more officials to handle the matter.”

Matilda’s expression froze briefly, then she twitched the corner of her mouth. “This… is somewhat unexpected.”

“Cecil’s side is probably facing the same situation—we underestimated the enthusiasm of these ‘folk experts’ when confronted with a problem beyond their understanding,” Rosetta said, shaking her head. “We hoped to crowdsource clues to decipher these symbols, but now we’re spending several times the effort dealing with frauds, charlatans, slackers, and lunatics…”

Matilda pondered briefly before shaking her head slowly. “I actually see it differently. These mysterious symbols are a very special puzzle. Those ‘folk experts’ may not understand them, but even the true scholars in the Royal Mage Association and the Artificers’ Guild are baffled. None of the known scripts or cipher rules apply to these symbols, so in a sense… everyone is starting from the same baseline.

“The ‘folk experts’ have strange and unreliable ideas, but what if… by some stroke of luck, they stumble upon something?”

Rosetta fixed her gaze on Matilda for several seconds before sighing. “You’re more optimistic than I expected, child. But I don’t think this academic matter will unfold as you hope.”

Matilda smiled but didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she suddenly looked at Rosetta with intense focus, as if she’d just discovered something. A warm smile flickered in her eyes, causing Rosetta to furrow his brow. “Why are you looking at your father like that all of a sudden?”

“You’ve been smiling more lately,” Matilda said happily. “Not just smiling, but openly showing your helplessness and frustration—though you still keep a stern face in formal settings.”

Rosetta hadn’t expected that to be on her mind. He paused, then gradually relaxed. The face that had hardened and grown cold over more than twenty years now regained a touch of warmth and flesh. Though his demeanor still made him appear serious and intimidating, he knew his perceptive daughter could see all the subtle changes.

Before Matilda, he finally felt more like a father than a symbol slowly fading into oblivion.

Rosetta smiled and let the topic drop, returning to the symbols and Cecil’s ongoing “Listening Project.” “Many scholars have been shaken by Cecil’s discoveries. Those with flexible minds now share a similar thought: there are other sentient beings beyond our planet. This aligns with the intelligence High King Gawain Cecil shared with us during the last covert communication. On this matter, I want to hear your thoughts.

“How do you view the civilization sending these signals? What do you think their purpose is? Do you believe they are friendly?”

Matilda lowered her eyelids, thinking carefully before answering slowly: “The messages they send are extremely basic ‘mathematical language.’ This language isn’t complex or obscure knowledge, but something any civilization that has developed to a certain level can understand. So, I agree with High King Gawain Cecil: the sole purpose of these materials is ‘self-introduction’—to show that they are an intelligent species with a shared mathematical understanding. And as long as the fundamental laws of our universe are consistent and uniform, this ‘mathematical understanding’ serves as a universal standard and calling card.

“As for whether this civilization is friendly or not… I actually think that question is less important. Since we can’t even reach them, and their true nature is completely unknown, we must prepare ourselves mentally for anything—from utter hostility to complete benevolence. More than that, I hope we can quickly determine how far away they actually are.”

Rosetta pondered for a moment, then spoke softly: “How far… in the terms of our astrologers, no matter the distance, it’s still an ‘astronomical distance’…”

…

In the Cecil Empire, within the Arcane Technology Research Institute’s large-scale arcane flux laboratory, Kamail floated silently above an artificial elemental pool.

Around the massive pool, metal containment rings shimmered with pale blue runic light. Two crystal conduits, each about a meter in diameter, stood on either side of the pool. Pure, dazzling arcane energy surged through these conduits like straight jets of flame, connecting floor and ceiling. These immense energies combined to form a powerful energy field in the air above the pool, and Kamail hovered at its center. His rune-engraved armor gleamed, arcane energy flowed slowly through his form, and tiny bolts of lightning continuously sparked from his surface, communicating and exchanging energy with the ambient arcane field.

The archmage wasn’t conducting any precise magical experiment. Instead, he was thinking, using the arcane resonance to “activate” himself and enter a state of “cognitive overload.”

In the strange terminology coined by His Majesty, this was called “overclocking.”

In this overclocked state, Kamail’s mental efficiency soared; ideas flashed and connected rapidly and sharply. Yet even so, he felt his thoughts weren’t fast enough—or rather, he couldn’t fully process the overwhelming and stimulating “shocking news.”

He recalled the recent meeting convened by Gawain, which gathered all master-level scholars. In just half a day, it overturned everyone’s worldview. He remembered the revelations about the magical tide, the “closed-loop system” of the gods, and the flickering lights of civilizations dying and being born among the stars.

These revelations supposedly came from the ancient memories of the Dragon God—a deity who knew the most secrets in the world and had now completely broken free from all constraints—making the information highly credible. Kamail had no doubt about His Majesty’s judgment. It was precisely because of this deep trust that the information unsettled him, making his arcane body feel as if it were boiling from the intense mental activity.

The “cognitive overload” state lasted a while longer. The sparks swirling in the elemental pool gradually subsided, and the bright jets of flame in the conduits dimmed. Kamail slowly disengaged from the energized field, watching the tiny bolts of electricity on his body disconnect one by one from the sparks in the air. The ancient archmage exhaled softly.

At that moment, he sensed a nearby presence and heard a familiar voice beside him: “It’s rare to see you daydreaming for so long.”

“Your Majesty?” Kamail looked toward the voice in surprise, seeing Gawain standing at the lab’s entrance, smiling at him. He immediately felt flustered. “Ah, apologies, I was too absorbed and didn’t notice you…”

“No trouble at all, I just came by to check in,” Gawain said casually, waving a hand as he headed toward Kameer. “But you… you still seem shaken from the intel you got a while back, haven’t quite recovered yet?”

“…Sorry,” Kameer sighed, a hint of shame in his voice. “Maybe it’s because of my life form—fluctuations in thought and emotion affect me far more than they would a normal flesh-and-blood person. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to steady myself, but it seems I’m still not fully back to normal.”

“I get it,” Gawain said. “Not everyone can easily handle the shock of the ‘truth of the world,’ especially when it clashes so violently with what we’ve always believed.” He reached out, intending to pat Kameer on the shoulder, but realizing the other had no shoulders—just a cluster of flickering sparks—he instead tapped the rune-engraved armor plate where an arm would be. “When I first learned the true nature of the magical tide, it felt like my entire understanding had to be rebuilt from scratch.”

“The displaced observer… The essence of the magical tide is indeed staggering, forcing us to restart much of our previous research,” Kameer’s voice hummed low and somber. “But more unsettling than the magical tide itself are those signals that once echoed through starspace—signals that have now all gone silent.”

“Those signals…” Gawain murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Behind every signal was a civilization as advanced as ours, or even more so. Each time a signal fades, it means a sentient race like ours has ultimately fallen on the path to ‘ascension.’ The ‘Great Filter’ you mentioned—it’s real. It stands like an impassable chasm across the stars. Knowing that, how could anyone remain calm?”

Gawain said nothing. In that moment, a realization dawned on him—something he had never fully grasped before, something he had long subconsciously ignored.

Why, in this world, did civilizations evolve so rapidly and cluster so densely across the cosmos, far beyond what he had ever known in his previous life?

(End of chapter)