Chapter 1180: Words of Experience

Deep within the neural network of the Narrator, in a corner of the “New Dream City” modeled after the imperial capital of Cecile, a towering oak tree rose majestically in the center of a quiet square. Beneath its sprawling canopy, a gentle breeze stirred, carrying faint, tinkling chimes that seemed almost ethereal. The ground was blanketed with pale golden leaves, dappled by sunlight filtering through the sparse gaps between branches, casting a patchwork of light and shadow—like a tranquil afternoon carved by the interplay of sun and shade.

The square was empty and still, with only a few passersby, as if the city’s residents had yet to discover this secluded haven. Directly beneath the oak, a modest square table was set upon the leaf-strewn ground. Seated there were two of the square’s few “regulars”: an elderly elf with a kindly, weathered face framed by silver hair, and a mysterious human woman dressed in an elegant, somber black court gown, her beauty both striking and enigmatic.

Before these two deities, a game of chess was unfolding—an intense, evenly matched battle. The pieces, arranged by fate, clashed and shifted within the confined space of the board, each side struggling to claim their small corner of the battlefield. Yet the players themselves remained calm, treating the fierce contest as a leisurely pastime. This serene atmosphere had lasted for an indeterminate time, until the elf suddenly lifted his gaze toward the entrance of the Golden Oak Square.

“Looks like we have a visitor, Old Stag,” the dark-haired woman said, sensing the sudden presence. A faint smile curved her lips as she watched a figure rapidly materializing at the edge of the square. “Gawain—what brings you to seek us out here in the Dream City all of a sudden?”

From a shimmering ripple of light and shadow, Gawain’s form took shape. After a moment’s adjustment to the sensory reset, he stepped forward toward the two gods engrossed in their game. Hearing Mimir’s voice, he sighed. “Well, I was originally going to visit the Defiant Courtyard, but just as I was about to leave, I thought—why not find you online instead? You two spend twenty-three out of twenty-four hours plugged into the neural network anyway!”

“Yes,” Amon nodded slightly, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. “Following the advice of the Master Craftsman Nicholas, we’ve cut back on our time in the network. We make sure to power down the neural interface for at least an hour each day to rest…”

Gawain was speechless.

He felt like the conversation was going sideways somehow, but both gods wore expressions of serene composure, leaving him momentarily at a loss for words. He forced a dry chuckle and quickly steered the topic back to business. “Actually, I came today because there’s something I want to discuss with you…”

“I can tell, and I can guess,” Mimir smiled faintly, placing a piece on the board with a casual air. “You rarely come to chat unless you’re facing a tough problem. I can sense that ‘anti-divine barrier’ you’ve set up is active. Looks like this challenge you’re dealing with isn’t simple. So before this problem ruins our leisure time, how about we finish this game of the Gods’ Chess first? Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

As she spoke, Amon also moved a piece, the crisp sound of the chessmen clicking against the board echoing beneath the golden oak. It was as if the great tree itself was applauding the divine duel.

“Gods’ Chess?” Gawain finally noticed the board before the two deities and widened his eyes in surprise. He was momentarily stunned, until the sound of another move brought him back to reality. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he said, “I don’t mind you playing chess online, but I didn’t come here to watch you two play checkers all day, especially with take-backs…”

Amon ignored Gawain’s remark and pushed a piece forward. Mimir, sitting beside him, casually added, “Quiet now, this game’s almost over—we’ve been at it for hours.”

Gawain was dumbfounded. They’d been playing a single game of checkers for half a day? That was beyond what any ordinary mortal could endure. Yet calling their two bumbling players’ match a “Gods’ Chess” game left him deeply conflicted—was this an insult to the gods, or to the game itself? After some thought, he decided it was probably an insult to checkers.

Lost in his musings, Amon took back a move, and the battle seemed to stretch on endlessly. Gawain finally interrupted, “Hold on, friends, I came here to…”

“Why don’t we switch things up?” Amon interrupted, as if not hearing Gawain. With a gesture, the thought-projected board vanished, replaced by a set of beautifully illustrated cards. He smiled at Gawain. “Now that we’re all here, how about a game of the Gods’ Cards? Though you insist you’re mortal, from our perspective, you’ve already crossed the threshold to play with gods…”

Gawain was about to protest again but suddenly realized something. His expression turned thoughtful. “…You actually know why I came.”

Amon paused mid-shuffle, and Mimir shrugged. After a brief awkward silence, the former goddess of magic finally broke the quiet. “You’ve found the God of War’s divine realm, haven’t you?”

“How do you know?” Gawain was surprised despite having guessed it. “Besides the neural network, you shouldn’t be able to perceive what’s happening in the real world. And the God of War’s realm hasn’t been mentioned on any public or even secret channels within the network… How did you find out?”

“We truly don’t know what’s happening in the ‘real world,’” Amon said slowly, shuffling the ornate cards in his hands, their patterns shifting constantly. “But while we rest in the Shadow Realm’s courtyard, we can glimpse deeper changes… though only faintly.”

“The once silent God of War’s realm suddenly stirred, ripples spreading through the deep sea, causing waves in the Shadow Realm’s depths. The dull gods trapped within their domain may not have noticed yet, but…” Mimir smiled softly, “I happen to be a ‘leisurely god’ who likes wandering the Shadow Realm. On one of my walks to the deepest parts, I accidentally saw something. And not long after, you arrived. It’s easy to connect the dots.”

“Deep in the Shadow Realm?” Gawain’s sharp mind caught the key phrase. “You mean the experiment really linked to the God of War’s realm, and the ripples from that connection even spread into the Shadow Realm? So the deepest Shadow Realm and the ‘deep sea’ are actually connected?”

Amon, still shuffling, tossed a card onto the table. The card depicted swirling, indescribable vortices and illusions, lines and patterns constantly shifting. “I’ve said before, the ‘deep sea’ isn’t a fixed ‘place.’ It… is the deep sea—the bottom layer of all things. Everything in the world can be reflected in the deep sea, and everything in the deep sea can be reflected back. Among all these reflections, the ‘distance’ between the deep sea and the Shadow Realm is… somewhat closer than elsewhere.”

“Mortal thoughts form projections in the deep sea, which outline the shadows of the gods. This process is invisible to the real world, but in a place like the Shadow Realm… as I said, the ‘distance’ is a bit closer.”

Hearing Amon’s vague explanation, a sudden impulse stirred in Gawain. He almost immediately wanted to leave the neural network and peer into the deepest parts of the Shadow Realm from the Defiant Courtyard. But it was only a fleeting urge. He had been to the Shadow Realm before, but all he saw was eternal, unchanging chaos—murky, shapeless masses drifting in a dim void, with lightning-like cracks flashing and vanishing. There was nothing else: no thoughts, no divine radiance, no traces of gods, and certainly no sign of the ever-hidden “deep sea.”

Perhaps he had seen it but couldn’t comprehend or process it.

“You want to go to the Shadow Realm now?” Amon seemed to read his thoughts, a faint smile on his aged face. “Don’t bother. You won’t see anything, even if you follow Mimir deeper. Your mortal body’s eyes and nervous system can’t perceive or understand it. It’s a kind of extrasensory information diffusion—requiring a perception beyond the senses. In short, you need our perspective and form of life.”

“…Alright,” Gawain nodded slowly, setting that matter aside for now and returning to the earlier topic. “Judging by your attitude… you don’t support the Typhonites’ bold move?”

“That ripple was the Typhonites’ doing?” Mimir sounded surprised. “I didn’t expect that… I thought only you Cecilians were reckless enough for such a stunt.”

Amon answered Gawain’s question. “We’re more worried—worried that this risky move could bring unforeseen consequences. When it comes to digging into the secrets of a god’s realm, even a small accident could mean total disaster. Frankly, we won’t gamble on it.”

“This is something we truly have no control over,” Mimir added. “Gods can’t fully understand themselves, so we have no idea what will happen if you really enter the God of War’s realm. We can offer advice on many things, but this… we can’t think of any helpful answers.”

Gawain’s expression grew serious. He had never seen Mimir and Amon show such hesitation. Even when faced with difficult problems, they always had some advice, never revealing doubt or weakness. Now their reaction made him realize the risks of exploring the God of War’s realm might be far greater than he imagined.

After a long moment of reflection, Gawain looked up. “Based on your guesses, what’s the worst possible outcome?”

“That’s truly unknowable—our blind spot as gods,” Mimir sighed. After a few seconds’ thought, she offered her speculation. “The worst case might be even worse than the entire expedition being wiped out. Failure wouldn’t just mean death; it could bring the fallen God of War back. After all, a god’s realm and the god are two sides of the same coin. Though the God of War is dead, his divine realm… in a sense, it’s still ‘alive.’”

Gawain’s eyes suddenly widened. “You’re saying that mortal expeditions might cause a dying divine realm to ‘reactivate’?”

“I’m just guessing…” Mylmina quickly added, “Honestly, there’s no solid basis for it…”

Gawain sighed softly. “Alright, well, whatever the case, I’ll seriously consider the proposal from Typhon’s side…”

Before he could finish, a familiar voice suddenly interrupted their conversation from nearby. “On this matter, my stance is completely opposite to these two juniors.”

Gawain immediately turned toward the voice. In the clear daylight, he saw a figure gradually materializing, bathed in a soft golden glow. He recognized the signature long golden hair that reached down to the ankles, the elegant pale-gold gown, and that beautiful yet commanding face.

It was a familiar presence, but he still paused for a moment to register it.

After all, he’d grown used to seeing her in the form of an egg, quietly reading or sipping tea indoors. Suddenly seeing her true form like this still felt a bit strange…

Enya, however, had no idea what was running through Gawain’s mind. She simply walked over to the golden oak tree and sat down opposite him, between Amon and Mylmina. Then, glancing at these two genuine “juniors,” she repeated her earlier words: “My stance is completely opposite to theirs.”

“You mean… the exploration of the War God’s divine realm?” Gawain hadn’t expected Enya to appear so suddenly, but after a brief surprise, he focused on her words. “You think the risks are acceptable?”

“We need to be bold this time,” Enya said, her gaze shifting to Mylmina on her left. “Mylmina, Goddess of Magic… you embody both the courage and caution of spellcasters venturing into the unknown. But in this matter, your caution and Amon’s caution have outweighed reason. I understand why — you both know how hard it has been for this era’s civilization to reach this point in ‘deciphering the gods.’ You don’t want to see the fragile flame of hope snuffed out. But trust me, I want nothing more than you do to avoid failure for this age.”

“Because I have waited far longer than all of you combined.”

“Mylmina, you worry that mortal exploration might revive the War God’s realm, even bring back a fallen war deity. On that point, I can assure you: a god’s return is never that simple — especially when their true form has perished and their divinity has faded. A ‘god’ doesn’t just come back that easily.”

“…Are you that certain?” Mylmina still looked hesitant. “After all, we all know that a ‘god’s’ form of life is very unusual…”

“I speak from experience,” Enya interrupted firmly. “I have died.”

(End of chapter)