Chapter 1156: Just Like That, the Mood Was Gone
Cecile Palace.
The blazing midsummer sun streamed through the expansive crystal windows, flooding the long corridor with golden light. From the courtyard came the ceaseless chorus of summer insects, their chirping rising and falling like waves. The sunlight slanted across Gawain’s shoulders as he passed an open window, prompting him to pause and gaze thoughtfully toward the source of the insect song.
Midsummer—the season of life in full bloom. The courtyard was alive with the busiest day of the year. The endless hum of insects heralded a vibrant little world hidden among the bushes, thickets, nurseries, and fountains. Countless tiny creatures—bugs, ants, small beasts—were busy breeding and thriving in this time of plenty, rushing to multiply before the season passed.
The brilliant sun in the sky poured energy into these small lives.
Yet the glory of the summer insects’ lives was fleeting, especially in this northern land. Over the coming month, the sun’s energy would wane, temperatures would drop, rainfall would lessen, and plants would enter dormancy. The “little world” nestled among the shrubs and gardens would soon face its own demise, losing all vitality through the harsh winter—only to begin anew the following early summer, in an endless cycle.
Gawain stood by the window for a long moment, imagining the changes unfolding in that tiny kingdom of insects and ants. He wondered: if among them there were a wise thinker who somehow grasped the secret link between sunlight, seasons, rainfall, and the “end times,” how would that sage view their world? Would they try to save their people’s fate, or simply accept the seasonal change with bowed head, embracing the end of summer?
Of course, there was no answer to such a question. So Gawain sighed softly. This universe was in midsummer, yet the mortal civilizations that fancied themselves highly intelligent faced a fate far harsher than that of the insects. The universe’s midsummer would never truly end; instead of a cold winter, the “end” would come as a tide far swifter and more relentless. The insects might hide in burrows and hibernate until spring, but the magic saturating this universe left no safe “caves” to hide in.
Perhaps the only way to survive was to stop being “insects.”
A familiar presence suddenly stirred the air, and Amber’s figure gradually took shape in the sunlight. She leapt nimbly to the floor and glanced up at Gawain. “You’re spacing out again, standing in one spot like that?”
Gawain snapped out of his reverie, withdrawing his gaze from the window to look at Amber. “You’re slacking off again, aren’t you?”
“Do I look like someone who slacks off?” Amber’s eyes flashed as she crossed her hands on her hips, speaking with righteous indignation. “I just came back from the Administration Office, and I’ve got a message for you—the ambassador from Talrond has crossed the northern identification line and will land in the capital soon. The landing site by the Whitewater River is ready, and Hetty has already gone with the officials responsible for reception. Since it’s someone familiar, you should make sure to welcome them properly.”
“That actually is important,” Gawain said, surprised, then nodded. “Got it. I’ll have Betty handle the arrangements—she’s pretty experienced with this kind of thing.”
“Fine,” Amber waved her hand casually, then couldn’t help but glance at Gawain a couple more times. “But seriously, what were you thinking about just now? You looked so serious, like you were about to gather all those nobles from the Shattered Ridge and fight them all over again…”
“What kind of weird metaphor is that?” Gawain couldn’t help but laugh at Amber’s strange comparison. The serious mood he’d been building just moments ago dissolved almost entirely. He shook his head with a smile. “Nothing much. I was just discussing some things with Kamail, and it made me realize how ruthless the world we live in really is.”
“The world? Ruthless?” Amber looked puzzled, scratching her head before quickly adopting a wary expression. “Since when did your nonsense become so hard for me to understand?”
Gawain’s last shred of seriousness vanished under Amber’s playful teasing. His eye twitched as he shot a sideways glance at the shadowy figure beside him. “…As if you ever understood what I was saying before. Alright, enough messing around—go find Betty or something.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Amber’s form began to fade into the air, her voice echoing down the empty corridor: “No need to tell me…”
Gawain smiled and shook his head, then after a moment’s thought, turned toward the incubation chamber.
Near the chamber, an unexpected sight caught his eye—a gleaming silver metal sphere floated down the corridor toward him. Its comically wide grin made the scene oddly striking. Judging by where it had appeared, this metallic orb must have just left the incubation chamber.
“Oh—Your Majesty!” The silver sphere spotted Gawain at the corner and sped over, its voice cheerful. “Good to see you here! What brings you this way?”
Gawain was halfway through greeting when the words caught him off guard, nearly making him lose his footing. When the orb hovered before him, he spread his hands in a puzzled gesture. “This is my home.”
“…Fair enough,” Nicholas—the “Egg”—paused midair, sounding a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, I was just busy debugging the internet system I installed for Lady Enya. Got a bit dizzy from it…”
“I saw you come out of the incubation chamber,” Gawain nodded, curiosity piqued. “What happened? Did Enya have trouble connecting?”
His tone grew serious—this wasn’t just about letting a retired individual surf the net for fun. Behind it was a complex, daring experiment to test the controllability of the link between gods and thought currents, to see if the “chaotic zone” in the neural network could be converted into effective anti-divine defenses. Enya’s custom network device contained the empire’s most advanced tech, monitored around the clock by several research teams. Any malfunction was a direct nerve-wracking issue for Gawain.
That was why Nicholas, the “Master Craftsman,” had to personally intervene.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing major,” Nicholas said, bobbing up and down. “The simulated brainwave converter was overloaded and burned out, causing the neural cable to lose tracking. Just need to replace a part—no spiritual contamination or reverse infiltration.”
“Overloaded and burned out?” Gawain frowned despite relief. “How did that happen? That device shouldn’t draw much power, and Nariel personally tested it—divine power can’t penetrate the protective barrier…”
“Continuous operation too long,” Nicholas interrupted, swaying side to side. “Honestly, you should’ve warned her not to stay online 24/7. Machines need rest, especially one exposed to divine mental shocks. I checked—the device hasn’t been offline since installation…”
Gawain: “…”
After a brief pause, he gave a weird look. “So Enya’s basically been online nonstop, no breaks?”
“Exactly. Otherwise it’d have burned out sooner,” Nicholas said with a helpless sigh. “Ugh, don’t remind me—I still have to go to the Defiance Fortress later. Two more devices burned out there.”
Gawain: “…?”
So these retired gods have been soaking in the neural network at high intensity for nearly half a month without him knowing? And they even fried their internet gear? Can’t they do anything else?
Despite the whirlwind of thoughts, Gawain could only manage a resigned smile. He shook his head and tried to sound calm. “Alright, I get it. They’re probably bored and just excited to be so close to the mortal world. Don’t worry, I’ll remind them.”
“That’s good,” Nicholas said, spinning in the air. “Hopefully these powerful ‘gods’ will tone it down. The equipment is made with special processes—every basic part costs a fortune. I don’t want to face Lady Hetty’s murderous glare at the next budget review.”
With that, he turned and floated off down the corridor. “Well, if you don’t need me, I’ve got to get back to work. Two more neural interface devices need fixing.”
Gawain nodded, watching the gleaming sphere drift away. Then, a strange thought struck him—he wasn’t sure if it was bold or just plain odd. Driven by impulse, he called out, “Nicholas, wait.”
“Huh?” The metal orb stopped, confused. “What is it?”
Gawain hesitated, feeling his question was strange, but since he’d already stopped him, he went ahead. “You’ve been working closely with Enya lately, right?”
“Indeed,” Nicholas bobbed up and down. “I personally installed her equipment, so there’s been a lot of debugging. Is there a problem?”
Gawain: “I’m just curious—what’s your impression of Enya?”
He forced his expression to stay neutral, silently repeating to himself: They’re both round, they’re both round. No harm in asking, and I’ve got time to kill…
Nicholas didn’t know why Gawain asked but thought seriously for a moment before answering slowly: “Lady Enya is a woman worthy of admiration. She possesses profound knowledge and impeccable manners, treating others with kindness. From her demeanor to her cultivation, I find her nearly perfect…”
Gawain had asked casually but now found himself widening his eyes. “So you think she…”
“Unfortunately,” Nicholas sighed, cutting him off, “she’s not quite round enough.”
Gawain: “…Not quite round enough?”
“Yeah, it’s just a shame she’s not quite round enough,” Nicholas said with surprising seriousness. “Of course, I’m not one to fuss over appearances—especially after landing in this world, where all I see are strange creatures like you. So I’ve long stopped caring about how others look. But Miss Enya… she’s just not round enough. Ah, I shouldn’t be judging a lady behind her back, but… but…”
Nicholas hesitated several times before finally sighing, “Ah, what a pity—one head big, the other small…”
Gawain: “…”
An awkward silence fell over the corridor for a moment, broken only by the tireless chirping of summer insects drifting in through a nearby open window. The bright sunlight slanted through the glass, spilling onto Nicholas’s gleaming, smooth shell, making it shine brilliantly.
It was almost as if he was showing off his perfect roundness.
“Your Majesty, any other questions?” Nicholas finally sensed the odd atmosphere and broke the silence.
“No, that’s all,” Gawain said, suddenly feeling a bit foolish for his earlier behavior. He waved weakly. “You go on with your business.”
“Alright then, I’m off…”
…
The hatch to the incubation chamber slid open, and Gawain stepped into the building’s most unusual “guest room.”
The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting light onto the pedestal at the room’s center. The pale golden egg stood quietly as always, its surface etched with intricate, arcane runes that shimmered with a dreamlike glow. The ventilation system hummed softly, while a neural interface device beside the egg blinked rhythmically. Several containers filled with liquids floated around the golden egg, constantly mixing the dark solution inside. A newspaper hovered just in front of the egg, opened to a page discussing “cosmic scales.”
Now Gawain understood: this retired dragon goddess could easily multitask all these things—and still find time to surf the internet.
“Welcome, Gawain,” came a gentle, slightly cheerful voice from within the golden egg before he could even speak. “Lovely weather today.”
Gawain looked at Enya and opened his mouth, but suddenly found himself at a loss for words. After leaving Kamail, he had rehearsed countless questions and serious topics, but by the time he arrived here, all those emotions had drained away. Now, staring at the former deity before him, only one thought remained in his mind:
Did you know you just got rejected by an iron ball? Because you’re one head big and the other small…
(End of chapter)