Chapter 1244: The Gates Slowly Open

A curtain of pale gold shimmered like a veil separating reality from illusion, silently drawing closed beneath the golden oak. High above, Gawain’s figure vanished into the swirling autumn leaves stirred by the breeze, and the square gradually fell back into silence.

Around the table, the oldest gods and those who governed the realms of nature and magic withdrew their gazes. Amon gently shook his head, muttering, “He really can’t sit still, can he…”

“If he ever did, I doubt we’d have the leisure to while away time here like this,” Mimirna replied casually, then glanced over at Enya beside her. “He’s heading to Talrond soon… don’t you have any thoughts about that?”

“That’s no longer a place I can intervene in,” Enya said calmly, her voice low and steady. “I only hope everything goes smoothly for him. I left far too many messes behind in Talrond, but neither I nor the current dragonkind have the strength to fix the problems at our doorstep. Leaving those burdens to someone originally unrelated to our house—it’s not how dragons usually operate.”

“Who hasn’t left a mess behind?” Amon suddenly chuckled. “We gods who came here to escape the hustle and bustle… we just left the troubles of the outside world to mortals.”

“Besides, if we stayed in those positions, we’d only be making things worse for them,” Mimirna said without hurry, her gaze sweeping over the table. “Ah, now it’s just the three of us left—shall we swap mahjong for cards?”

“Can you think about anything besides games for once?” Amon sighed in mock exasperation, brushing his hand over the ancient stone table. The scattered mahjong tiles silently transformed into playing cards. As he reached for the cards, he muttered, “You’re turning into a card-playing addict lately…”

“Wasn’t it you who dragged me into this in the first place?” Mimirna shot him a sharp look but didn’t slow her hand. “I used to do meaningful work—helping the administrators find vulnerabilities in the neural network and all that… But Nariel and those admins were so unreasonable, never grateful and always giving me trouble. In the end, playing cards is just more fun. Hey, Lady Enya, will you be free later?”

Enya glanced at Mimirna, holding her cards casually. “I have to help with the children tonight, but before that, I’m free. I can join you for a while.”

“How are the two little ones?” Amon asked, looking up as he shuffled. “I heard the ‘mutations’ caused by the Deep Blue magic have been progressing recently. If you need any help, just say the word.”

“They’re developing normally—the marks left by the Deep Blue magic have become part of their physical structure, changing as they grow. That’s actually the most natural thing…” Enya said offhandedly. But then she noticed Mimirna’s expression shift—her eyes glazed over, and she forgot to draw a card. Curiosity piqued, Enya asked, “Distracted?”

“Wait… something feels off…” Mimirna blinked, confused, her gaze flickering between Enya and Amon. “The Sentinels… you remember we were just talking about them, right?”

“Of course, but we didn’t reach any conclusions,” Amon replied casually. Then, noticing Mimirna’s expression, his face grew serious. “Hmm? You… thought of something?”

“No, I didn’t think of anything,” Mimirna shook her head slowly, a haze of confusion deep in her eyes. “Like you, I don’t really know anything about the Sentinels. I just suddenly felt something was strange… like I’d overlooked something important. But I don’t know what.”

“Is your memory failing?” Amon’s tone turned grave. “That shouldn’t be possible—gods’ memories are indelible. I’ve never heard of a god losing their memory.”

“Check your condition again,” Enya said firmly, setting down her cards. “If you still can’t find the problem, we’ll have to inform Gawain. It might not be much, but at least it’ll make him more alert.”

…

The biting autumn wind howled across the vast, desolate plains, linking Winterwolf Keep and Longwind Fortress. Recently, a cold cyclone had formed over the plains between them. The Alliance banners fluttered fiercely atop the Keep, dust swirling beneath, and dry yellow grass tumbling in from who-knows-where.

Winter was truly coming. Yet for the engineers and technicians stationed here, their fiery passion never waned, day or night.

Surrounding the fortress built from massive stones and molten metal, three towering energy facilities stood tall against the sky. These iron-gray spires braved the cold winds, each surrounded by slender, needle-like magical apparatuses made of metal and concrete. Pale blue runes glowed faintly on their bases and casings, while bright arcs of magical sparks leapt like lightning from their sharp tips, weaving dazzling loops of arcane energy. Each flicker released immense power; even ordinary people nearby could feel a chilling “magical immersion” creeping along their nerves.

These sparks represented colossal energies even high-level mages struggled to gather. In the old days, such power could sustain a mid-sized mage tower. But here, a fusion of ancient and modern arcane extraction technology turned this immense energy into mere “fuel.” Each flash compressed and extracted magic on a massive scale, continuously channeling it to the heart of the facility—the Keep itself—and into the seemingly bottomless “gate” deep within the fortress.

Inside the Keep’s great hall, brightly lit and bustling with technicians, a massive, complex device had been assembled. Its alloy triangular base resembled an ancient altar, layered like steps. Along each edge, countless intricate runes intertwined with magical conduits, embedded crystals, and brass tubes designed to cool the system.

These brass pipes ran deep inside, circulating activated pure water and liquefied crystal dust. They had to operate constantly—if the cooling failed, the immense energy would melt the gate’s hardware in moments.

Above the triangular base rose the gate’s “core”: three curved alloy arms extended from each corner, arching as if cradling an invisible sphere. Between these arcs floated a huge metal ring, lying horizontally in a dormant state.

Endless energy poured into the hall, and within the ring’s center, a twisting, shifting mass of light and shadow pulsed. An ancient, distant aura radiated from its depths.

Kamail hovered beside the colossal gate, eyes fixed on the charging alloy arms and metal ring. Arcane sparks flickered brightly in his eyes—only those who knew him well could see the storm of emotions beneath that glow.

“I never imagined… this thing would work so smoothly,” he murmured to himself.

“That’s because we’ve prepared for this day for many years,” a female voice spoke nearby. Kamail turned to see Windsor Mapel, the legendary mage from the Typhon Empire, standing beside him. “The technology for the gate comes from the ancient era. In that long-forgotten history, a group once used it to open a door to the divine realm, worshipping the power or certain ‘entities’ leaking from that gate as miracles… So advanced, yet so primitive. The contradictions it brought caused the Augustus family of Typhon two centuries of suffering.”

“I know of that,” Kamail said sincerely. “Even from the perspective of a Gondorian mage and a former rebel, your emperor and his family’s efforts were truly great.” His gaze returned to the gate. “Thanks to the Eye of God, we can now build such a ‘gate,’ can’t we?”

“Yes, thanks to the Eye of God… We’ve recreated an ancient technological marvel here, with our own wisdom,” Windsor said with a hint of awe. Then, curiosity and anticipation crept into her voice. “Master Kamail, what do you think lies beyond that gate?”

“…I don’t know,” Kamail paused, shaking his head calmly. “No one has ever seen the War God’s divine realm. As a former rebel, I’ve never held romantic notions or expectations about the ‘divine realm.’ But one thing I’m sure of—it must match the collective imagination of countless War God followers over the centuries.”

“Then it surely has walls built from swords and shields, palaces and plazas where warriors rest and feast, and an ‘Eternal Arena’ watched over by the gods—that’s how the War God’s scriptures describe it,” Windsor smiled faintly. “I wonder if, after the War God’s fall, the realm itself crumbled… When we step through that gate, perhaps all we’ll see are the remnants.”

Kamail glanced at Windsor, one of the most outstanding mages of their time. On her face—not exactly beautiful—he saw a familiar spark.

The light of a seeker, an explorer, a pioneer—burning with fierce curiosity, insatiable thirst for knowledge, and just a touch of fearless ignorance.

He was truly familiar with that expression. A thousand years ago, in an era when mortals knew almost nothing about the gods and could only explore through limited knowledge and uncertain protective techniques, countless researchers threw themselves onto the front lines of resistance against the divine and fate itself. They were the smartest, the most creative, the ones capable of generating real value—but also the ones closest to danger. Nearly every day, some of them fell. And those who survived… gradually transformed into figures even they themselves barely recognized.

But that era was long gone—Kamail couldn’t help but think. The painstaking efforts of those predecessors had finally formed a rich legacy, allowing the new generation of “Rebels” (now called scholars of the Divine Authority Council) to conduct their research and exploration under relatively safer conditions. They could afford to be bolder than their forebears, without having to squeeze themselves into inhuman states through extreme vigilance and caution… This truly was a good age.

Still, Kamail felt it necessary to offer a word of warning to the “junior” before him.

“Don’t approach knowledge related to the gods with too much expectation or curiosity. Even though we now know that these gods are essentially benevolent, their power remains far too dangerous for us,” he cautioned. Though she was a Typhon, since the formation of the Alliance and the gradual establishment of the new order under His Majesty, the old animosities between their two nations had been slowly erased. At least within this facility, he had to regard her as a comrade in the shared struggle against fate. “Caution and vigilance are the proper attitudes—and they must be eternal.”

Perhaps she was already outstanding in her own field, but to Kamail, this master magician from Typhon was clearly not cautious enough when it came to the realm of the gods.

Windsor Mapel glanced at this “ancient scholar” who had stepped out of history. Looking into his eyes, which shimmered with arcane light, she found it impossible to read his expression on that face no longer quite human. Yet from his tone, she could hear the sincerity behind his advice—and the heavy weight that sincerity carried.

How many pioneers’ lives had been exchanged for that weight?

Living in this age, Windsor could hardly imagine. All she could do was lower her head and humbly accept the ancient scholar’s counsel. “I will remember your words at all times, Master Kamail.”

“You are a master as well, and you possess knowledge that even I find astonishing,” Kamail smiled, though his smile was subtle, almost imperceptible to others. “I hope we can continue to work well together on the projects ahead.”

Windsor returned a faint smile and extended her hand. “I look forward to it as well.”

Behind them, the massive teleportation device pulsed with pure, potent arcane energy. This raw, pristine power was gradually constructing a gateway to the divine realm. A clear radiance spilled outward from the faintly shimmering light, opening a crack into an unknown domain. The brilliance of the gods bathed the hall.

Once, this light symbolized the supreme will, the shared reverence of countless believers, the “grace” won through the self-sacrifice of innumerable priests.

But now, no one in this hall worshipped that radiance as a miracle. For those gathered here, it was nothing more than a necessary step in mortal understanding of the world.

(End of chapter)