Chapter 1181: Enya, Full of Experience

There was no denying it—when it came to most controversial topics, saying “I have experience” always carried far more weight than “I don’t think it’s possible.” Especially when that experience was something no one else could replicate, its persuasive power multiplied a hundredfold. The moment Enya uttered the words “I have died,” the room fell completely silent. Amorn and Mimirna froze, their expressions stiffening—let alone what came next. Only Gawain still had any room to speak, since he, too, had died before. But he had never been a god…

Clearly, the kind of experience involving doing sit-ups inside a coffin was something Enya’s unique perspective couldn’t be matched.

That awkward silence stretched on for nearly half a minute before Mimirna hesitantly broke it. “Well… your argument is certainly compelling, but right now…”

The former goddess of magic pondered for a long moment, then finally managed to compose her words smoothly. “You’re alive again now… and since you’ve already returned from death, then our worries about the war god’s return are…”

“Precisely because my humanity has returned, I understand what it means for divinity to die,” Enya interrupted before Mimirna could finish. “My ‘return’ was the result of having preserved and condensed my humanity in advance. The only part that could come back was the human aspect. So rather than the old dragon god resurrecting, I’m more like a personality backup of the dragon god. The war god, on the other hand, who went completely mad before descending and was killed outright on the battlefield, had no chance to prepare like this. His fall meant the simultaneous annihilation of both humanity and divinity. It’s nearly impossible to rely on something like ‘divine realm reactivation’ to bring him back.”

She paused briefly, her gaze slowly sweeping over Gawain, Amorn, and Mimirna, her tone grave. “Indeed, gods in this world do continuously regenerate and return. As long as mortal thought still harbors tendencies toward blind reverence and worship of the unknown, there will be fertile ground for gods to be born anew. I have witnessed generation after generation of war gods, death gods, elemental gods, and so on, endlessly reborn. But this rebirth requires crossing the span of an entire civilization’s season—hundreds or even thousands of years are far too short. Reshaping thought currents is no simple matter.”

Amorn mulled this over, then couldn’t help but ask, “Are you confident about this as well?”

“I am,” Enya nodded solemnly. “Because I’ve seen them die.”

Amorn, Mimirna, and Gawain were speechless.

“…You’ve just delivered the two most convincing sentences in the world,” Gawain said, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “You’ve died, and you’ve seen them die… Fine, I admit you’re right.”

“Since you say so, I have no further objections,” Amorn finally recovered from his shock and nodded slowly. “But this matter still requires extreme caution. After all, what you’re exploring is a divine realm. Even if all signs now indicate that mortals have developed an ‘immunity’ to the war god’s divinity, we can’t be sure whether a divine realm in gradual collapse might harbor dangers beyond divine contamination…”

“Of course I understand that,” Gawain said with a slight nod. “Everyone involved in this project knows the risks. We’ll be as prepared as possible—at least as much as we can be.”

Enya glanced at Gawain, then at the two former gods seated on either side of her. Her gaze finally settled on Mimirna. “Mimirna, you…”

“I know. I can help,” Mimirna cut in before Enya finished, nodding decisively and turning her eyes to Gawain. “When you set out, take me with you.”

Gawain’s eyes widened in surprise. This was clearly unexpected. “You mean… you want to come with us to explore the war god’s divine realm?!”

“What other choice is there?” Mimirna shrugged helplessly. “This ‘senior’ here can barely move now, and the ‘colleague’ opposite me is completely paralyzed. The only god left who can actually do something is me. Exploring the war god’s divine realm is extremely dangerous. Beyond thorough preparation, you need experience with divine realms and eyes that can fully observe them. In that regard, I can be of help.”

Mimirna spoke clearly and logically, but Gawain still hesitated. “You make a good point, but is it really safe? As far as I know, there’s a barrier between gods caused by thought currents. Because of their strong tendencies, gods of different domains are like signals on different frequencies. When they come into contact, ‘signal interference’ inevitably occurs. If a goddess of magic like you enters the war god’s divine realm, wouldn’t that…”

“That interference does exist,” Mimirna nodded gently, “but only if the connection between thought currents and gods is still active. A living god is essentially a projection of thought currents. The constant changes in mortal thought manifest as the gods’ various activities. So when two gods meet directly, it’s like two different thought currents colliding and interfering. But if a god falls or the connection to thought currents is severed, that interference mechanism disappears.

“The war god has already fallen. His divine realm has long since ceased functioning. It’s like a frozen, fading illusion. There’s no longer any echo of thought currents within it, so it no longer has the power to contaminate other gods. When I enter, it’s like one shadow passing through another—both remain isolated. And besides…”

Mimirna suddenly smiled. “Even without considering the war god’s fall, I myself am basically a ‘dead’ goddess now. Maybe not as completely as Lady Enya, but since the whole world knows about that funeral and accepts that the goddess of magic is dead, my connection to thought currents is so weak it’s almost entirely severed. Even if there’s some residual ‘activity’ in the war god’s divine realm, I should be safe going in.”

Listening to the former goddess’s explanation, Gawain nodded slightly. Though she had initially opposed the project out of extreme caution and what could be called ‘divine PTSD,’ now that she was committed, it was clear she was fully supportive. But Mimirna’s last words sparked a new thought in him. “Wait—so by your logic, as a ‘dead’ goddess, you can safely approach other gods’ divine realms as well?”

Mimirna blinked, clearly not expecting the question. She hesitated briefly, then nodded faintly. “In theory, yes… There would still be some contamination, since my connection to thought currents isn’t completely severed. There are still a few believers who firmly expect the goddess of magic to return. But overall, I can approach other gods and come away unscathed.”

Gawain leaned forward, curiosity and anticipation shining on his face. “Then you could go check on other gods’ realms?”

It was like visiting other divine realms as if they were neighbors—Gawain thought. The analogy might sound crude, but it was apt.

Mimirna immediately shook her head. “No, I’d get beaten up.”

Gawain blinked in confusion.

“Think about it. All gods are bound tightly by the chains of thought currents, trapped in their own places. Their divine realms are their prisons. None of them can leave. Now imagine one of their kind suddenly running free inside their prisons, wandering through their divine realms, hopping from one to another…”

“I see. That would definitely get you punched,” Gawain said, understanding immediately, his expression a little odd. “It’s like a paralyzed person suddenly jumping around and moving their limbs—it’s enough to send the ‘victim’s’ blood pressure through the roof…”

Amorn, sitting nearby, suddenly covered his forehead and sighed wordlessly.

Mimirna nodded. “Something like that, but even riskier. The gods still in their positions are free to move and extremely powerful in their own realms. A paralyzed person can’t suddenly stand up and beat someone up.”

Amorn finally looked up, locking eyes with Mimirna. At that moment, a line of text appeared in the air before her: “User ‘High-Speed Deer’ has challenged you to a duel. Accept/Decline.”

Without hesitation, Mimirna chose “Decline”—clearly, she’d done this before.

Amorn’s expression fell, and he looked at Gawain helplessly. “Is there no place in this divine network beyond the reach of administrators?”

Gawain glanced between Amorn and Mimirna, suddenly realizing something. He was shocked by facts that had happened without his knowledge, then shook his head with regret—and sympathy. “Unfortunately, the entire divine network is monitored by the Overarching Narrator and the Empire’s Computing Center. Unauthorized attacks are definitely grounds for being kicked offline…”

Amorn sighed again, while Mimirna wore a slightly smug smile, raising an eyebrow. “Actually, I just discovered a blind spot in the monitoring system a couple of days ago. But I’m definitely not telling you where…”

“Let’s get back to the main topic,” Gawain said, steering the conversation back on track. “I understand Mimirna’s concerns. Investigating other divine realms is indeed extremely risky. Even if contamination isn’t an issue, the hostility of other gods is an even bigger problem…”

“The biggest problem is that their attitudes have nothing to do with their own will,” Mimirna’s expression grew serious again as she nodded. “Because of the exclusivity of faith, except for gods like the ‘Three Fertility Deities’ who were ‘bound’ together by doctrine from their birth, gods are mutually exclusive. Mortals see followers of other gods as heretics or infidels, so gods must treat other gods as enemies—especially within their own divine realms. This exclusion is part of the ‘chains’ themselves and cannot be controlled by their own will.

“As for me, though mortals see me as a ‘fallen goddess,’ other gods still see me as the goddess of magic, Mimirna. Unless they are freed from their bonds, this perception will firmly control their actions.”

She sighed softly. “There is no friendship between gods, no communication, no alliances. This is the greatest obstacle in our way. If it weren’t so, I would have already tried to contact other gods, acting as a messenger to help them exchange ideas. Maybe then I could even form a ‘divine alliance’ aligned with the ‘Divine Council,’ cooperating with your mortal efforts to sever ties…”

The scene Mylmina described stirred a flood of images in Gawain’s mind. He imagined how thrilling and joyous such a moment would be. Yet the more he pictured it, the more it slipped away into a sigh—an impossible dream destined to remain just that. The more he thought about it, the deeper the regret grew.

Amon couldn’t help but look at Mylmina seriously. “I never expected you to hold such… ideals. I thought—”

“Thought what?” Mylmina shot him a glance. “That I dashed off to the depths of the Shadow Realm every now and then, risking attack, wandering the borders of those divine realms, just because I loved running?”

“That’s not what I meant… Never mind. I admit I’ve misunderstood you before.”

Listening to the exchange between these two former gods, Gawain’s curiosity about how they got along in the Rebellion Court only deepened. But now was clearly not the time to pry. He turned his gaze back to Mylmina. “Though what you describe sounds nearly impossible, there’s no harm in researching it. Our scholars have always worked to analyze and harness the laws of nature. I’ll share your idea with the experts on the Divine Council. Perhaps… it might spark a new line of thought.”

“If they truly find a way, such a feat would surely earn the admiration of all the gods,” Mylmina said solemnly. “Though I still believe it’s nearly unattainable, you’ve accomplished many things once thought impossible over the years…”

Amon pondered this, then after a long silence muttered, “The isolation and rejection among the gods… that’s a tough problem. I think every god wishes to break free from their chains, just like us. But even with shared goals, the gods can’t form alliances, let alone act together. Is there no… ‘catalyst’—some kind of spark, like iron filings aligning in a magnetic field—that could bring these mutually repelling gods to move in unison?”

Under the golden oak, a hush fell. Amon’s idea sounded even more far-fetched than Mylmina’s. Yet after a moment, Enya suddenly spoke up. “It’s not impossible. The gods can reach consensus. But you won’t like the nature of that ‘catalyst.’”

All three turned to her, and Gawain’s mind clicked into place.

As expected, Enya voiced the answer he had anticipated. “When the Rebellion finally erupts—that’s when the gods will unite. Their shared goal will be the destruction of all mortals. Such a singular, unified purpose can forcibly stitch the gods together, creating a monstrous fusion of divinity.”

“I have experience with that,” she added quietly.

Gawain pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed deeply. “I knew it would come to this…”

(End of chapter)