Chapter 1174: “Schizophrenia”?

In this world, what could possibly strike fear into gods like Amon and Mimirna?

Not the wars waged by the church, not the rebellious tidal waves, nor even their own downfall—but the birth of a new god.

Every time a god is born, it further tightens the bond between humanity and the divine. The more such bonds form, the more this era’s human civilization leans toward “divinity” over “humanity.” When this trend reaches a certain point, even gods like Amon and Mimirna—who have long since stepped down from their divine thrones—risk being dragged back into the ranks of the gods by fanatical mortals consumed by religious zeal. For Amon and Mimirna, who paid a tremendous price to finally gain limited freedom, this is nothing short of a nightmare.

A heavy silence fell over the Rebellion Courtyard. Neither High King nor Mimirna spoke. The faint, shimmering glow around Amon flickered unevenly, betraying the unrest within the god of nature. After a moment, High King finally broke the silence.

“Perhaps we’re speculating too far ahead.”

“Indeed,” Mimirna sighed softly. “Right now, it’s all conjecture. Without evidence, it’s just an extension of conspiracy theories. But judging by what the Violet Kingdom has done over the past six centuries, and the logic behind how gods operate, these black boxes do carry the risk of creating ‘artificial miracles’…”

“But magic hasn’t become miraculous, has it?” Amon’s voice came from the side. “These black boxes have been around for six hundred years, yet magic remains magic. Mages are still the least devout believers in this world. Ordinary people respect magic and its wielders, but it’s always been a mortal-to-mortal kind of respect—no one truly sees magic as a miracle. Even the most ignorant villagers know those bolts of lightning and fireballs are man-made.”

“That’s where our assumptions fall apart,” High King nodded. “The black boxes might be one factor that could lead ordinary people to see magic as miraculous, but they’re neither necessary nor sufficient for that. To claim the Violet Kingdom is trying to ‘manufacture gods’ is too hasty. There’s another puzzling fact: their deliberate isolation from the existing faith in the goddess of magic.”

“That’s true,” Amon agreed. “They’ve done everything to exclude the worship of the magic goddess from their kingdom, yet they export this black box magic system that could easily be seen as miraculous. If their goal was to build faith in the magical realm, that’s a contradictory approach. Of course, there’s also the possibility they think the ‘magic goddess’ is unreliable, so they want to create a more dependable one themselves…”

Before Amon finished, Mimirna shot him a sharp look. “Let’s keep this a discussion about the issue, not an attack on divine status.”

“I’m just drawing conclusions based on what we know—unless you have a better explanation?” Amon said flatly, as usual expressionless. “Do you really think you’re a competent god?”

“Alright, alright, that’s not the point,” High King quickly intervened, sensing the conversation was veering off course. “We should focus more on the Violet Kingdom. The unease I feel about that country is growing stronger.”

“We won’t get anywhere just talking here,” Mimirna said seriously, lowering her gaze to High King. “That land is a darkness to me. I probably know no more than you do. If you want to understand what those mysterious ‘Violet Mages’ are up to, you’ll have to find a way to infiltrate them.”

“We’re trying,” High King shook his head regretfully. “But progress is slow. Of course, we’ll keep at it. Officially, we’re also trying to establish direct dialogue with the Violet Kingdom’s leadership. They haven’t responded to the Alliance’s invitation yet, but in private correspondence with Cecil or Typhon’s upper echelons, the so-called ‘Archmage Prince’ isn’t a complete recluse who refuses all communication.”

He paused, choosing a gentler phrase than “doesn’t speak human language.”

At that moment, Amon suddenly spoke up. “I’m curious… Is it just the magic goddess and nature god whose worship is absent in the Violet Kingdom? Or are all gods excluded?”

High King froze. This was a direction he hadn’t considered before. Amon’s question made him realize there might be something significant behind this.

“If the Violet Kingdom only rejects the magic goddess’s worship, then we might suspect a conspiracy—they could be trying to usurp a divine position, like the ‘artificial god’ of the End of All Things cult, perhaps aiming for Mimirna’s seat. But if they reject all gods internally, that complicates things,” Amon said slowly. “A nation without faith, yet promoting black box technology that easily leads to ‘miracles’—that’s… almost schizophrenic.”

“Schizophrenic…” High King’s brow twitched. Amon’s choice of words was unexpected, but the description fit perfectly. It captured the vague, unsettling feeling the Violet Kingdom had always given him—indeed, a kind of schizophrenia.

“I’ll keep investigating this,” High King finally exhaled deeply. Though he hadn’t gotten the clues he wanted from Mimirna, he’d gained unexpected insight. The new information needed careful thought. For now, it was time to leave. “If either of you has new ideas or discoveries, contact me immediately.”

Mimirna lowered her head, a faint smile flickering in her misty eyes. “Of course. I’d be glad to.”

High King nodded. As he turned to leave, his gaze lingered on Amon. “One more thing.”

Amon’s voice came promptly. “Sounds like it concerns me?”

“Bersethia sent word. She’s contacted those ancient Druid priests who still ‘cling to tradition.’ They may soon depart from the Silver Empire. She hopes you’ll be ready.”

The great stag god fell silent. For half a minute, he said nothing. High King waited patiently. Finally, the former god of nature broke the silence.

“Tell that young queen… let them come. I’ve been preparing here for three thousand years. There’s nothing left to prepare.”

…

At the southernmost tip of the Loren Continent, vast jungles shield the ancestral home of the elves. Lush tropical plants stretch endlessly, covering the Silver Empire’s main island and the broad lands along the Reflux Coast. To the east and west, the jungle connects to the borderlands of the Ogure tribes and the Typhon Empire. To the north, it extends into the Highland Kingdom, and to the south, it reaches the southern shores of the main island.

The dense jungle makes most of the Silver Empire’s territory appear untouched and wild. Many neighboring peoples mistakenly believe the elven empire is a traditional, stagnant land—one that has maintained a low level of development for centuries, hoarding advanced ancestral technology but unwilling to change its environment. The more backward the information flow, the stronger this misconception. In rural taverns and street corners, bards’ embellished tales dominate, painting elves as “primitive, natural, peace-loving, and elegant,” far more approachable than “advanced, disciplined, and a warrior people.”

But the reality of the Silver Empire is far from the gentle image in stories. Deep within the primeval jungle lies an ancient, powerful empire. After the Great Sundering in the distant past, the Silver Elves painstakingly established countless ancestral legacies on this land.

Hidden deep in the jungle are extraction factories and gas transfer stations thousands of years old. Beneath the solid earth lie countless production facilities and energy distribution nodes. Among towering ancient trees are communication terminals linked in real time to the sky fortresses. Every river and magical source is dotted with age-old sensors and interference devices.

These relics of a long history have sustained the empire for millennia. The elves, true to their nature and aesthetics, have cleverly concealed all this within their homeland’s green mountains, clear waters, and dense valleys. Only three places stand out from the jungle, boldly showcasing the empire’s advanced presence—

First, the floating sky fortress “Sanctuary of the Stars,” which never falls and serves as the control node for the Sentinel Tower system; second, the bustling capital city at the empire’s heart, home to the Silver Queen’s true residence, the Elven Royal Court; and third, the grand bridge connecting the empire’s main island to the Loren Continent, hailed as one of the “Ancient Wonders”—the “Bridge of Return.”

On a quiet mountain near the Reflux Coast on the northern side of the main island, the pale gold sunset spilled its last light of the day. As dusk deepened, a massive ancient tree atop the peak rustled softly in the breeze.

At the tree’s base stood a small oak cabin, nestled against the trunk. Around it bloomed a tranquil flower garden, enclosed by wooden fences that seemed to grow naturally from the earth itself. The air was thick with the scent of untouched nature, filling this secluded retreat.

An elderly elf, bent with age, stepped out of the cabin and walked to the mountain’s edge, gazing thoughtfully into the distance.

Silver Elves live long lives, and for most of their years, their appearance remains youthful to middle-aged. While elves can roughly estimate a fellow elf’s age by looks, to outsiders, over ninety percent of Silver Elves appear “young and beautiful.” To show obvious signs of old age to outsiders means one has lived an extraordinarily long time, far beyond human imagination.

It was midsummer, and this equatorial land was sweltering. Even as evening approached, the heat lingered in the air. But the mountain breeze was cooler, carrying a faint scent of earth. The old elf, with his stooped back and once-golden hair now white as snow, smiled faintly and squinted northward.

At the edge of the forest, at the far end of the main island, the colossal marvel known as the “Bridge of Return” basked in the glow of the setting sun. This massive structure, forged from ancient alloys and enchanted monoliths, spanned the expanse between the Silver Empire’s main island and the continent of Loren. Its surface shimmered with a texture somewhere between metal and stone, while the unusually wide bridge deck sparkled with shifting colors. Magical “lightboats” ferrying supplies and mechanical golems tasked with maintaining the bridge’s flow-guiding mechanisms darted back and forth like schools of fish in a river, ceaselessly busy.

This was the Silver Empire’s vital lifeline—the great artery linking the main island to Loren. Built by ancestors in an age long past, using techniques now lost to time, it was named the “Bridge of Return.” Later generations of elves had long since forgotten why their forebears chose that name, but in this era, they had come to imbue it with meaning: any elf venturing beyond the island had to cross this bridge, and any return journey would inevitably lead them back across it. For those traveling afar, the bridge was a symbol, a beacon of homecoming.

The elderly elf squinted slightly, the sunset’s radiant glow reflected off the Bridge of Return blurring in his vision.

Soon, when he himself crossed that bridge once more… would there still be a day to come home?

Footsteps suddenly sounded behind him. The old elf did not turn around; from the familiar presence, he already knew who it was. “Karl, have you escorted Her Majesty to the mountain’s base?”

“Yes, Master,” the young druid apprentice answered respectfully, standing behind him with hands folded, “I accompanied the Silver Queen to the foot of the mountain and only returned after seeing her safely reunited with the soldiers and attendants waiting there.”

The elder nodded, slowly turning to face him as his voice dropped low. “Good… but you must be careful. You should address her as ‘Your Majesty,’ not just by her title.”

Karl hesitated briefly but then nodded. “Understood, Master.”

A satisfied smile appeared on the elder’s face. He chuckled softly and said, “Come, Karl. Stay with me a while and enjoy the view.”

The apprentice’s expression twisted with inner conflict, but he did not defy his mentor. Instead, he stepped closer, and after a long pause, finally spoke. “Master, are you truly going to accept the Silver… Her Majesty’s invitation to that distant northern empire?”

“Karl,” the elder said gently, shaking his head with a warm smile, “that matter has already been decided. What use is there in discussing it now?”

Seeing his mentor’s indifferent attitude, the apprentice could no longer hold back his feelings. His voice rose. “But don’t you think there’s a trap behind that invitation? What if—”

“Karl,” the elder interrupted softly, his smile still gentle, “I don’t believe it’s a trap. But whether it is or not, I know this much: once I go, I most likely won’t be coming back.”

(End of chapter)