Chapter 1281: Retrieving the Magic Automaton

Deep within the dim, chaotic Rebellious Courtyard, a faint glow hovered over the ground, which was piled high with shattered boulders. At the center stood a massive oak tree, its origins unknown, towering above the ruins. Surrounding the oak were numerous arcane devices in operation—some projecting ever-shifting holograms, others emitting light that wove together into a complex lattice barrier.

Beneath the oak, the former goddess of magic, Mylmina, sat with her eyes closed, resting. Pale golden leaves drifted down from the canopy, some settling in her long hair before dissolving into shimmering fragments that slowly faded away.

Suddenly, Mylmina’s eyes snapped open. The serene, indifferent expression she had worn moments before was now tinged with an odd, unsettling gleam.

At that moment, Amon’s voice came from nearby. “What’s wrong? Were you dreaming?”

“No… I wasn’t asleep,” Mylmina muttered, rubbing her temple with a strange tone. “It’s just… I suddenly felt a bit anxious for no reason. It startled me out of my meditation.”

“Anxiety? Waking up from meditation like that doesn’t sound good,” Amon said, tending to the oak tree with a hint of genuine concern on his face. “Could it be that some part of your ‘divine nature’ is still lingering…”

“Not that bad,” Mylmina waved him off. “Just a fleeting panic, like some embarrassing secret from long ago suddenly being exposed.” She didn’t know why that odd comparison came to mind, but she quickly brushed it aside and turned her attention to Amon, who had been busy these past few days. “By the way, you’re still not done?”

“Not even close. This is just the beginning,” Amon replied, shaking his head. The pale green runes spiraling around his antlers flickered and faded into the air. “Finally having some free time, I want to spruce up my little courtyard. After all, I’ve lived here for three thousand years, and who knows how much longer I’ll stay. At least I should plant a few more trees. What do you think of this oak? Should it be taller?”

“It’s perfect as it is—unless you’re planning to plant something else,” Mylmina glanced up at the beautiful golden oak. It was the only “plant” in the Rebellious Courtyard, radiating a soft halo of light. Its vibrant life force emanated outward, filling the entire courtyard with a rare sense of ease and joy. For the first time in millennia, this dark, lonely place felt alive. Mylmina wasn’t particularly interested in Amon’s “landscaping project,” but she was glad to see him enjoying this newfound freedom after his body had healed. It was certainly better than spending all day playing cards online. “You really have the drive, planting trees in the Shadow Realm. What was that saying… even Philm couldn’t come up with something so ridiculous.”

“I didn’t spend three thousand years lying among barren rocks because I liked it,” Amon said cheerfully. “By the way, do you need help? I’ve noticed you’ve mostly been resting among these boulders and ruins lately. I’m used to it, but you should be more comfortable with some shelter. I could build you a place—a magically growing tower, perhaps? Gawain and his friends wouldn’t mind. They said I could remodel the courtyard however I like, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the arcane devices.”

“No, this is fine! Don’t even mention magic towers!” Mylmina’s eyes snapped open wide, her reaction almost instinctive and loud. Then she realized she might have overreacted and looked a bit sheepish. “If I wanted a place, I’d handle it myself. Don’t forget, ‘shaping’ is a major branch of magic—I’m better at it than you.”

“Alright, alright, just a suggestion. No need to shout,” Amon shook his head, then gave Mylmina a once-over. “So, what conclusions did you reach in your meditation? You’ve been doing all sorts of strange magical experiments, meditating under the tree, or writing reports these past few days. You’re starting to sound like those busy researchers in the Council. What exactly are you up to?”

“I told you, you wouldn’t understand,” Mylmina said, uninterested in explaining. She waved her hand and stood up. “Anyway, my paper’s almost done. If you’re curious, you can check the neural network database yourself when it’s finished.”

Amon snorted softly but didn’t press the matter. His attention returned to his “courtyard beautification project.” A new planting plan was taking shape in the mind of the former nature deity. Around the magnificent golden oak, a life energy field had formed, creating an environment where plants could grow in the Shadow Realm. He thought about planting a flower meadow or berry-laden bushes nearby…

Or maybe some cucumbers, eggplants, scallions, ginger, and garlic would do just fine.

…

The boulder with the “message” slowly drifted away, vanishing into the darkness beneath the false starry sky. A towering spire stood at the heart of the divine realm, like a silent sentinel guarding all the secrets of a kingdom its master had long since abandoned.

“…I think we’d better pretend we never saw anything,” Amber muttered, shrinking her neck and glancing around nervously. “If the ‘person involved’ found out, they definitely wouldn’t be happy…”

Gawain agreed. Putting himself in Mylmina’s shoes, the contents carved on that stone must have hit her like some youthful, reckless heartbreak scribbled in a spatial status update. Bringing it up to her face-to-face after returning would probably end in bloodshed…

The ancient ship sailing through the dark chaos trembled again as its engines ramped up. The colossal vessel plunged deeper into the darkness. As eerie black silhouettes reappeared beyond the shield, Gawain and his group realized the ship was setting off once more.

Just as the intelligence had predicted, the ship cruised between divine realms, visiting one after another. Each stop was brief, hovering at varying distances to observe before moving on to the next target. For Gawain and the others, this was an invaluable opportunity.

Mortals had never had such a chance—to directly observe the inner workings of divine realms so vividly, without fear of spiritual contamination. The heavy price paid on the Winter Fortress battlefield had yielded astonishing returns in an unexpected way.

Of course, not every divine realm was as clear or straightforward as the “Fertile Realm” or the “Magic Realm.” Sometimes, they encountered baffling phenomena: spaces completely shrouded in impenetrable light, or chaotic overlapping shadows where spatial layers twisted in incomprehensible ways. It was unclear whether the “deep sea” of chaos was distorting their perception or if some ancient divine realm truly appeared so bizarre.

Once, the ship abruptly stopped in a patch of darkness, turning on its lights and scanning the void for a long time—as if an invisible divine realm lurked there.

Kamail and Modir meticulously recorded all these strange observations—perhaps one day, all the mysteries would be unraveled.

These “observation points” along the journey slowed Gawain’s team considerably. They repeatedly paused to document the scenes outside the ship’s shield, leaving behind extensive images and written records. Even their exploration of the ship itself took a backseat to these observations.

Still, despite the delays, they finally reached the entrance to the ship’s interior—a gate made of unknown alloy stood at the end of the deck. The gate was open, its bright lights indicating the basic systems in the connecting passage were still operational.

“The ‘Explorer’ is inside,” Kamail said, hovering at the entrance, sensing the magical energy nearby. “I’m receiving its location signal—clear and stable. The environment inside is very stable.”

“Let’s go in,” Gawain said, glancing once more at the pitch-black “deep sea” beyond the shield. The voyage wasn’t over; new divine realms would appear outside the ship. But he also needed to uncover the ship’s own secrets. “Victoria, set up a recording crystal here to capture the outside shield conditions. We’ll retrieve it later.”

Victoria immediately began setting up the recording crystal and the sustaining formation. Amber casually remarked, “The ship circles every two days. We’ve figured out the pattern. Once we map the whole voyage, we can send exploration teams aboard regularly for long-term observation. The divine realms won’t be able to hide—we’ll have all the data after a few rounds.”

“…I hope it’s really as simple and smooth as you say,” Gawain said, casting Amber a serious look.

“Then don’t say it out loud,” Melita said nervously.

Seeing the blue dragoness on edge, Gawain shrugged helplessly and followed Kamail into the passage leading inside the ship.

Beyond the gate was a spacious corridor, brightly lit, illuminating a place that might have been silent for 1.8 million years. Just like inside the Tidebreaker Tower, time had not corroded this creation of the Voyagers. The “deep sea” contained no dust or debris. As they walked through the clean, bright passage, everything gave them a strong illusion—as if the place had only recently been abandoned, as if moments ago, busy crew members had still been bustling back and forth.

After a short walk, they finally found the “Explorer” automaton that had been sent aboard days ago and had been operating autonomously for some time.

“There it is,” Kamail said, raising a hand and pointing ahead.

Gawain looked up to see a small brass automaton with a rounded shell quietly tucked into a corner at the end of the corridor. It had retracted all its limbs and working appendages, using a device on the corner as cover, currently in a deep sleep state.

It looked fragile, pitiful, and helpless.

Considering the astonishing level of technology represented by the Voyager ship itself, the brass automaton before him—with its simple mind and fragile mechanical frame—did seem somewhat… pitiful.

Yet, as he gazed at the dormant figure, a strange feeling stirred in Gawain’s heart. He found himself thinking of this mechanical device, which didn’t even reach half the sophistication of a Gondorian Iron Man, as something of a hero.

So primitive, so delicate—this simple machine now stood at the pinnacle of technology across the lands of Loren. But compared to the creations of the Voyagers, it might not even qualify as a toy. And yet, this little “gadget,” capable only of basic thought, had been operating alone on this mysterious ship for days—traversing dark decks, wandering ancient corridors, uncovering countless secrets.

Perhaps it deserved the title “Mechanical Pioneer”?

Gawain’s thoughts drifted off in a whimsical haze. Meanwhile, Kamail had already sent the activation command. A faint series of clicks and whirs came from the automaton’s belly. The round little thing wobbled in place, then slowly unfolded several mechanical limbs.

It was as if it had just awoken from a long dream, stretching like a person waking up—gradually extending its folded limbs. The previously folded sensory apparatus and mechanical arms popped out from its spherical shell. Its precise crystal lenses locked onto Kamail’s figure.

One mechanical claw, designed for picking up objects, lifted and waved cheerfully—it was clearly delighted to have completed its mission and been retrieved.

“…The Typhon really did learn a lot from the Gondorian Iron Men’s technology,” Victoria couldn’t help but remark, watching the automaton’s surprisingly human-like behavior.

“They learned a lot, yes, but it’s still far from enough,” Daniel said expressionlessly from the side. “After all these years, we still can’t replicate the Iron Men’s cognitive cores, nor create those lifelike bionic structures. Our automaton experts are still waiting for the next breakthrough—or a stroke of incredible luck.”

“Sometimes, a breakthrough does require a bit of luck,” Gawain chuckled, then turned his gaze to Kamail. “For now, let’s check the data the automaton recorded. Let’s see what it’s seen on its journey.”

The last time the “Steel Earth” approached the God of War’s realm, the explorer automaton had already transmitted some of its collected data remotely to the tech team stationed there. But due to the ship’s brief stay and the limitations of remote transmission, only a small portion of the data made it back—and much of the footage was blurry.

To retrieve the full exploration data, they still had to rely on the most old-fashioned method: physical recovery.

Kamail opened the explorer automaton’s casing and carefully extracted the device containing the key data from the intricate runic core and mana-conducting structures inside. He held it gently in his hand.

It was a palm-sized cube, mostly encased in expensive mythril and adamantine, its surface inlaid with high-quality crystals and gems. Inside, a far more complex storage mechanism was immersed in an alchemical solution.

It bore clear marks of a fusion between traditional magical craftsmanship and modern arcane technology.

(By the way, everyone should know by now—the extra chapter of ten thousand words was added a few days ago. It’s free to read once you subscribe to the full series!)

(P.S. Ten thousand words… Ten thousand words… After finishing it, I deeply realized I’m really not young anymore—my hands were numb…)

(End of chapter)