Chapter 1160: The Retired Deities

The incubation chamber was quiet. Enya’s eggshell shimmered with its usual peaceful, warm glow. Yet, high above the golden giant egg, Highlord calmly stared at it in silence. After about thirty seconds, he finally broke the stillness.

“Honestly, we could still call Melita and Noiretta back in time…”

“No,” Enya’s voice cut in immediately, firm and unwavering. “I can handle everything. Incubating dragon eggs isn’t complicated, especially with the automated systems in this room. I don’t really need to do much. And caring for hatchlings is actually quite simple—they’re far easier to keep alive and help grow than human babies.”

“But you just said you have no practical experience,” Highlord said, his expression oddly amused as he looked at this ‘goddess.’ For a moment, he felt like he was meeting her for the first time all over again. “Is your theoretical knowledge really enough?”

“Trust me, Melita and Noiretta’s situation is even worse—they don’t even have reliable theory,” Enya’s voice gained confidence, her reasoning much more convincing now. “As the younger generation of dragons, they lack the experience and wisdom of the ancient dragons. Everything they know about caring for hatchlings probably comes from Andar or Heragor. I, at least, have witnessed over a million years of dragon history firsthand… Though I’ve devoted little effort specifically to ‘hatchling care,’ my accumulated knowledge far surpasses those two young ladies.”

“Alright, if you’re that confident,” Highlord’s lips twitched slightly, realizing this ‘goddess’ was quite proud after all. “Then it’s yours to handle. If you need any help, just ask. I’ll do what I can.”

The glow flowing over Enya’s eggshell gradually steadied. She smiled softly and said, “Thank you very much.”

Highlord gave a short grunt in response and said no more. Instead, his gaze shifted to a smaller, ordinary dragon egg nearby. This tiny miracle of life stood quietly, bathed in artificial light… A hope, a future healthy individual, utterly unaware of the challenges ahead.

A hatchling personally incubated and cared for by a former dragon god… Fate truly is a strange thing. No matter what, this little one’s start was already extraordinary.

…

Deep within the Fortress of Rebellion, in the Shadow Realm courtyard, a round metallic sphere finally finished calibrating its last set of components. It floated up, circled the large neural interface twice, then turned toward two massive figures watching from nearby—a white stag bathed in holy light, and a mysterious lady shrouded in magical mist, her silhouette towering like a spire.

In size, Nicholas the Egg was minuscule compared to these two colossal presences, yet both powerful beings watched the tiny iron orb’s dazzling operations with a kind of reverence, barely daring to breathe. Only when the neural interface beside them suddenly hummed to life did the spire-like lady finally exhale. Her breath stirred a small magical vortex in the void, and from it came a slightly hoarse, magnetic voice:

“Master Artisan, is the repair complete?”

“Done—though it took more effort than I expected,” Nicholas sighed in a surprisingly human way. “You all should be gentler with these machines. They have ‘souls,’ too. These poor parts… Enya’s neural interface is in far better shape than these.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be careful,” Amon, the giant stag, replied in a deep, pleasant voice filled with sincerity. “It’s mostly Merlmina who’s been too obsessed with collecting all sorts of random entertainment fragments online. I try to be more cautious, at least…”

“You’re the worst offender—your neural links are fried,” Nicholas interrupted, shaking his body. “The device’s login records don’t lie.”

Amon fell silent instantly. Merlmina turned her head slightly away, her eyes hidden behind a veil of mist, shooting a deep glance at the nature deity.

“That’s your problem now. I have to float off,” Nicholas said, seemingly oblivious to the sudden tension between the two former gods. After finishing his work, he took his leave. “If anything happens, just contact Nariel directly. If the network goes down completely, don’t worry—the tech team will detect it immediately and send someone. Though honestly, I hope nothing else breaks…”

With the Master Artisan gone, the courtyard cloaked in chaotic darkness fell quiet. After a few seconds of awkward standoff, Merlmina finally spoke.

“Anything else you want to say now?”

Amon immediately activated his own neural interface. Light flowed through him, connecting within a second to the runic circle around the device’s base.

“I’ll check the network to confirm the repair is truly done…”

In the next moment, the former nature god’s consciousness sank deep into the network. Merlmina watched in surprise, then after a long pause, let out a soft laugh.

“You’ve gotten pretty good at this.”

…

Light shifted, consciousness reassembled. After the familiar yet long-overdue twenty-four-hour “connection” process, Amon no longer saw the dark, gloomy courtyard of Rebellion. Instead, he found himself in the bright, vibrant world of the neural network. Taking the form of an elderly elven druid, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring a rare moment of relaxation in this illusory realm.

Two seconds later, he opened his eyes, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He glanced left and right out of habit, though he knew he wouldn’t see Merlmina here. Though they were close in the real world, in this virtual space, the distance between them could span an entire city.

Shaking his head with a smile, Amon relaxed further. He skillfully activated a translucent floating window in the air. With a simple thought, his avatar vanished from the street and instantly reappeared in a plaza surrounded by stone pillars and golden oak trees, the ground carpeted with golden leaves.

This was a free teleportation function allowed within the Dream City’s limits. He had mastered it well—not taught by the secretive Merlmina, but by the guide Miss Patty, a far friendlier mortal girl compared to the somewhat eccentric “goddess of magic.”

Amon’s mind wandered briefly, then he used the guide’s directions to find his target. He walked toward a bench at the plaza’s edge, where a figure with flowing golden hair sat quietly. She possessed exquisite beauty and a unique, elegant aura, dressed in robes no human had ever seen. Her golden hair cascaded to the ground, mingling with the golden leaves. Surrounded by the gentle breeze beneath the golden oaks, she seemed isolated from the world, peacefully enjoying the moment’s tranquility.

Amon quickened his pace, a joyful smile on his face.

“Lady Enya, time for cards, time for cards…”

The golden-haired figure was none other than the dragon goddess Enya’s avatar within the neural network. After so long, Amon had learned that the “Tea Egg” lady who had once replied to his messages was actually one of Tal’Rond’s “gods,” the oldest protectors of this world’s civilization. After initial shock, doubt, and caution, the three retired deities—including Merlmina—had established communication here in this mortal-built mental realm, gradually growing familiar with one another.

Knowing her true identity, Amon naturally no longer called her by the odd nickname “Tea Egg.” Out of respect—and partly so she wouldn’t keep calling him “Speedy Stag.”

“Amon,” Enya said, as if roused from thought. She looked up, nodded slightly in greeting, then shook her head. “Sorry, no cards today.”

“No cards? Because Merlmina isn’t here?” Amon paused, then caught on. “That’s fine—I’ll call Duvalet over. He’s usually free anyway…”

“No, the ‘gods’ card game is on pause today. I’m busy with something,” Enya interrupted, her expression serious. “Something important.”

Only then did Amon notice faint, blurry, translucent sparks flickering in the air before the former dragon goddess—signs she was opening a query window. Due to privacy restrictions, a connected user can’t directly see another’s open windows without authorization, which piqued Amon’s curiosity.

“You’re researching something?”

“Some information,” Enya nodded, granting authorization to share the query interface. The faint sparks before Amon’s eyes sharpened into clear images. “But I found the data here is incomplete—the neural network’s database still has a long way to go.”

Amon paid little attention to her last remark. His eyes were drawn to a key phrase on the screen: Psychological Preparation Necessary for First-Time Childcare, author—Pittman.

Amon blinked.

He stared blankly for a moment before finally reacting.

“Why are you looking this up? Do you… need to care for a child?”

He almost bit his tongue saying those last words. The topic was so bizarre, so far beyond the shared logic of gods and mortals alike, that even imagining it felt like a challenge to his worldview.

Enya, however, was calm and straightforward. She shook her head, expression unchanged.

“It’s… a friend’s request. Highlord’s request.”

She added Highlord’s name at the end.

Amon’s eye twitched. Somehow, the strangeness of this matter hadn’t lessened one bit.

Enya glanced at Amon, silently revoked the query sharing authorization, then casually asked, “I remember you once held the authority over life. This is somewhat related to what I’m researching—do you have any advice on caring for hatchlings?”

“Well… I’m afraid I can’t help you there,” Amon’s expression turned awkward. “The species on Loren continent are one thing, but hatchling dragons… I’ve never cared for any myself.”

“Then you won’t be of much help,” Enya shook her head. “I’ll just have to manage on my own.”

Amon was left speechless.

After being brusquely shown the door, Amon could only shake his head and leave the plaza sheltered by the golden oak trees. For a moment, he had no particular destination or purpose. He didn’t reach out to Mylmina, who should have already entered the network, but instead strolled slowly along a broad, straight avenue leading toward the city center.

Even with nothing pressing to do, just walking here, watching other minds ambling casually through the streets, feeling this world—built and sustained by countless mortal souls—“breathe” all around him, brought a genuine sense of peace and joy to the former god of nature.

He walked on for who knows how long before suddenly stopping. In his line of sight, a girl in a white dress, her face seemingly forever lit by a happy smile, sat on a nearby bench, waving at him from a distance.

She was one of the guides in the mental network, and the first individual he had met in this world—the girl named Patty.

Amon approached the figure on the bench, a gentle smile softening his features. “Patty.”

“Mr. High-Speed Stag!” Patty hopped lightly off the bench, grinning as she stood before him, cheerfully greeting him. “Out for a walk? It’s rare to see you strolling so leisurely these days—lately, whenever I’ve seen you, you’ve been playing cards or debating current events or religion with someone.”

“No one’s playing cards with me today,” Amon said with a helpless shrug, “and I haven’t found a topic worth arguing about.”

He didn’t correct her use of “High-Speed Stag,” accepting it naturally, as if he had grown used to the nickname.

“Not playing cards, huh? That’s good too,” Patty laughed even more brightly. “You should explore the city more, meet new people, visit new places—this is an incredible world, full of fascinating and meaningful things. Just playing cards with friends every day would be such a waste.”

As she spoke, the lively girl reached out her hand to him. “Come with me to the newly opened ‘Hall of Imprints.’ It’s a virtual museum in the city, where Grandpa Norris and several immortal lecturers work. They share their knowledge with anyone who visits—it’s really interesting.”

Amon didn’t know the names Patty mentioned, but her enthusiasm was infectious. Smiling, he reached out, letting the girl grasp his broad hand. The touch was soft, with a faint chill beneath the warmth. Suddenly, he froze.

“Mr. High-Speed Stag?” Patty noticed the change immediately, her eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s wrong?”

“Patty,” Amon said, looking at the young girl before him, his gaze fixed on the hand holding his, “what’s going on with your body?”

(End of chapter)