Chapter 1193: The Passage Through the Crystal Rock Hills

Surrounding the divine realm lay countless layers of ruins and wreckage, remnants left over since ancient times. These vast “rings” of debris ceaselessly circled the gods’ domain day and night, like a blind, ravenous pack of beasts lurking in wait—waiting for a new divine kingdom to fall, waiting for the gods who had not yet perished to be torn apart, becoming new fragments scattered across this immense sea of ruins…

This was the realm of the gods as Enya described it—in a sense, it was likely the very “Deep Realm” Gawain had heard whispers of before, that strange domain beneath the deep ocean, shaped and projected by mortal thoughts.

At last, many of the vague, half-understood concepts he had struggled with began to take shape in his mind.

When Enya finished speaking, Gawain fell silent, pondering for a long while. Then, with a thoughtful expression, he finally spoke: “So these fragments just keep piling up endlessly? Could it be that if we found a way to enter the divine realm and resist its corrosive effects, we might even be able to sift through that sea of ruins and uncover historical echoes from the ancient past? Traces of thought left behind by civilizations long since destroyed?”

“In theory, yes,” Enya replied gently. “If you truly reach the divine realm and manage to capture those fragments, you could do such a thing. But you can’t trace history back indefinitely. These fragments don’t last forever. Though their decay has slowed considerably, they still have a cycle of extinction. From what I recall, even the oldest fragments only persist for a few hundred thousand years after a civilization’s fall. After that, they gradually blur and distort, sinking deeper into the ocean’s abyss, drifting beyond the reach of any divine domain, until they dissolve into meaningless noise and vanish completely.

“Perhaps only then can we say a civilization’s final echo has truly faded.”

“A civilization’s last projection in the deep ocean…” Gawain murmured, struck by the image. He pictured it vividly in his mind and couldn’t help but whisper in awe. But he quickly shook off the feeling and refocused on their earlier discussion. “So outside the divine realm, there really is something—countless ruins circling it with extinction cycles measured in hundreds of thousands of years. And these echoes of thought from long-dead civilizations no longer possess any of the powers or traits of gods—is that right?”

“That’s about right,” Enya’s voice came softly from within her shell.

Gawain furrowed his brow. “Then what about those beings who came to our world by inhabiting the bodies of the Filna sisters… could they be some kind of ‘things’ that crawled out from those ruins?”

“I don’t think so,” Enya said gravely. “In the depths of my memory, long before the dragon gods underwent their ‘fusion,’ they observed the outskirts of their divine realm for tens of thousands of years. During that time, no living creatures ever emerged from those ruins. As I said, those are just echoes—fragments of thought projected into the deep ocean by civilizations that have already perished. With the destruction of their source, these projections lost their ‘life force.’ How could anything possibly crawl out from that sea of ruins?”

As she spoke, the faint glow of runes slowly drifted across her shell’s surface. Her tone carried a hint of nostalgia and regret. “Those fragments are lifeless, endlessly drifting through the chaos between divine realms year after year. My own kind once tried to glean secrets from them, but first, we cannot leave our own divine realm at will, and second, we dare not casually touch the thought-forms beyond it. The sea of ruins hides ancient contamination. Though theoretically ‘dead,’ who can guarantee that some faint projection won’t resonate with us and cause harm?”

Gawain thought deeply, then nodded slowly. Yet a question lingered: “Besides those ruins, is there truly nothing else outside the divine realm?”

“Not in my memory,” Enya said after a moment’s reflection. “But remember, my memories of the divine realm stop at 1.87 million years ago. After that, I became a fused being of the gods, a monster descended into the mortal world. My connection to the divine realm—or the ‘Deep Realm’—was severed. What changes may have occurred since then, I do not know.

“Still, I doubt the divine realm itself has changed. Its birth and operation are based on the fundamental laws of this world. As long as those laws remain constant, the projection rules of the divine realm won’t change either. At most, the ruins will continue to cycle and replace one another.”

Gawain considered this, then said slowly, “Amorn and Mimirna should know the current situation over there, right?”

“They certainly have more recent information than I do,” Enya replied, “but I don’t recommend you ask them—at least, not yet. The divine realm isn’t owned by any single god. Its underlying laws point directly to all the gods. Before you’ve successfully set foot in the war god’s domain, recklessly probing into this could spread contamination. If the information you glean points to a god in a weakened state, the ‘incarnation’ event from the Winter Fortress battlefield could happen again at any time. Such a shock… your current immature ‘anti-divinity barrier’ technology won’t be able to withstand it.”

To be honest, Gawain had briefly entertained a bold idea: to overload the anti-divinity barrier’s control core with a ton of sugar beans, then sneak off to ask Mimirna about the divine realm. But Enya’s serious warning snapped him back to reality. Still, the mischievous part of him couldn’t resist trying a workaround. He casually asked, “Couldn’t we try an indirect approach? Like, you ask them, then tell me what they say. Theoretically, you wouldn’t be contaminated, nor would you contaminate others…”

Before he finished, he suddenly felt a strange “gaze” fixed on him. Who would believe this? He was being glared at by an egg. Enya’s exasperated yet amused voice rang out: “How did I never realize you had such a ‘rebellious’ streak? You actually thought of such a roundabout plan?”

“It was just a bold idea…” Gawain admitted.

“Then put that bold idea away, my friend. It won’t work,” Enya sighed. “The key isn’t ‘who tells you,’ but ‘where the knowledge originates.’ Contamination depends on the source of cognition. That’s an inescapable law.”

“Alright, alright,” Gawain said, a bit embarrassed, nodding and waving his hand. “But since we’re on the topic, I have to ask—if we do reach the war god’s realm and see what’s outside the divine realm with our own eyes… will that really be safe? That’s still a form of cognition, just that the path changes from two retired gods telling us to us actively exploring. Wouldn’t that risk touching other gods?”

“As long as you don’t directly enter another god’s domain, it won’t be a problem,” Enya answered firmly. “As for the difference in cognition paths… that’s exactly the ‘key factor’ I’ve been trying to tell you: mortals actively seeking knowledge is embracing it; knowledge coming from gods is knowledge chasing you. That’s the ‘direction’ of contamination. Whether it’s blind worship of ‘black box knowledge’ leading to divine growth, or blind reverence for the ‘mysterious unknown’ breeding faith, both stem from this ‘direction.’ This was the mistake the dragons made over a million years ago with the Inverse Tide Empire:

“The dragons allowed the empire to fall into the ‘being chased by knowledge’ path and couldn’t reverse it. The birth of the Inverse Tide god was inevitable.

“What you must remember is this: no matter how you explore the unknown or uncover truth, always keep in mind that mortals must actively embrace knowledge, not be chased by it. If you can do that, you can avoid most contamination risks.”

“Actively embrace knowledge, don’t be chased by it…” Gawain repeated thoughtfully, his expression serious. Finally, he nodded solemnly. “I’ve got it. But honestly, today you’re kind of like a worried mother, constantly reminding me about all these things.”

The runes drifting across Enya’s shell suddenly paused. Then came her resigned voice: “Gawain, don’t you think that’s a bit rude to say to a lady?”

“Ah, sorry,” Gawain laughed, clearly reading the tone and knowing she wasn’t angry—it was just friendly teasing. “But you really do seem like that today.”

“Is that so…” Enya mused, then turned her attention to a small dragon egg nearby. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been taking care of this egg lately… Caring for young ones tends to make one anxious and protective. I always thought that only affected mortal races. Didn’t expect it to affect me too.”

“Is that right?” Gawain raised an eyebrow, then stood and walked over to the dragon egg, curious. “By the way, how’s the egg doing? Melita’s been visiting it a lot lately, hasn’t she?”

“Yes, Melita and Noretta have been coming often. They care deeply for their ‘child,’” Enya said with a smile. “As for the egg… it’s doing very well. It’s nearing the end of incubation; the hatchling will emerge soon. But this is also the most fragile stage—the newborn’s heart, lungs, and parts of its nervous system are still forming. Even I dare not casually inspect inside the shell. But I can feel a vibrant life force radiating from it. This will be a healthy, lively little one.”

“For Talrond, a newborn dragon means hope,” Gawain smiled, as if recalling the early days when this land was still being settled, remembering the first baby born here. “We should celebrate properly when the time comes.”

…

Across a vast, scorched plain, the cold wind howled, sweeping over the open land with no shelter. Snowflakes swirled, mingling with dust storms. Yet in the center of this expansive plain stood a lone hill, stark and out of place. It rose abruptly from the flat earth, surrounded by ruins of pipes and storage tanks melted and warped beyond recognition. Crystallized plates of material spread around its base, climbing the slope to form a hill that looked as if forged from countless irregular crystals. These jagged crystal formations crisscrossed along the hill’s contours, pointing skyward like countless gnarled beast bones beneath Talrond’s dim, gloomy sky.

The young huntress, Lora, stood with her companions at the gathering point before the hill. Around them, several other adventuring parties had assembled, and a few massive dragon warriors had just landed nearby. Their enormous wings, which had momentarily blotted out the sky, were now folding away, while the snow and dust stirred by their descent slowly settled back onto the ground.

“So this is Crystal Rock Hill…” Lora looked up, her eyes fixed on the oddly shaped mound ahead. Her gaze lingered on the jagged, interwoven crystal clusters, and a note of awe crept into her voice. “After all this effort… the safe passage from Agondor to Crystal Rock Hill is finally stable. Once we set up an advance camp here, the safe zone will expand significantly.”

One of her companions smiled beside her. “Yeah—when you think about it, it does feel like an accomplishment. Like we’ve actually done something remarkable.”

Lora nodded with a smile. She knew that none of the adventurers gathered on this land were heroes in any grand sense. They had traveled thousands of miles to this barren place for one reason only: the chance to strike it rich once they returned. The high-energy materials scattered across Talrond, along with the rare elements and spirit creatures—so scarce on the continent of Loren—were what drew them here, fueling their battles and struggles. No matter how you dressed it up, their motives weren’t exactly noble.

But after clearing dangers alongside the dragons, rebuilding a crucial passage, and carving out a new safe zone in the wasteland, even the most selfish adventurer couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride—an emotional spark of “being a hero,” however fleeting.

“It looks really beautiful,” a female swordswoman squinted at the translucent crystals on the hill and admired them. “I heard this used to be a factory? After it melted down, some raw materials leaked out and were struck by divine power, turning into these gorgeous crystals… They almost look like a crown.”

But before she finished, a discordant voice cut through the group. “Honestly, it just looks like Mother Earth’s acne to me… A weird structure suddenly popping up on the plains like this…”

At that, Lora frowned. She turned toward the voice and saw the old mage Modir standing in the middle of the group, wearing his black soft hat. He was stroking his beard with a completely innocent expression, shrugging his shoulders. “Don’t look at me—I’m just speaking my mind…”

Several pairs of eyes that had been fixed on him quickly dropped away once they recognized who it was, including Lora’s.

Ah, Master Modir. Well, that settles it.

(Wishing everyone a Happy New Year!)

(End of chapter)