Chapter 1297: The Starting Line

Coming up with a name for the new conjecture?

To be honest, Mimirna hadn’t really thought about it—after all, throughout her long divine existence and her time skipping duties, she had never truly explored mysteries beyond the realm of prevailing thought like a genuine researcher. She possessed vast knowledge and a mortally unattainable insight into magic, but in some respects, she lacked experience.

Even the formatting of her papers was something she had hastily learned from neural networks.

“I… don’t have any ideas,” the former goddess of magic said thoughtfully, a bit embarrassed. “Honestly, I never really considered it… but you’re right, it does need a name. That way, future scholars studying this conjecture will find it easier to reference. How about calling it the ‘Unified Fluctuation Conjecture’?”

“At first, I thought we might follow tradition and name it after the proposer—like the ‘Mimirna Conjecture,’” Gawain chuckled. “But the name you suggested sounds pretty good too.”

“The ‘Mimirna Conjecture’…” Mimirna was a little surprised. She thought seriously for a moment, then shook her head with a smile. “No, that sounds kind of odd to me.”

Gawain shrugged. “Alright then, ‘Unified Fluctuation Conjecture’ it is. Though I bet future students won’t be too happy—they’ll have to memorize the discoverer’s name alongside the conjecture itself…”

“Not like I’m the one memorizing it,” Mimirna waved her hand dismissively. Then, as if remembering something, she added thoughtfully, “Since we’re on the topic, I’ve actually been pondering something else these past couple of days… When the Theocracy Council or some other research body eventually publishes my work, should they reveal the name of the ‘author’?”

Gawain paused, realizing that what seemed like a simple question was actually quite complex. He fell into deep thought for several minutes before slowly looking up. “If you want my personal opinion, I think you should put your name on the paper. Of course, at this stage, it’s not appropriate to publicly reveal the true identity behind the name, but the name ‘Mimirna’ itself can and should be made public.”

“Why?” Mimirna looked him straight in the eye, serious. “Is it just because it’s some kind of ‘right’ I’m entitled to? Honestly, I don’t care much about that. More than the signature, I worry this might rebuild the chains I’ve struggled to break free from, causing some people to start ‘longing’ for the goddess they once knew.”

“But I see it differently,” Gawain said calmly, meeting her gaze. “Having the name ‘Mimirna’ appear in cutting-edge academic literature might actually separate that name from its divinity. No god’s name has ever appeared in such a context—no god has ever done this: writing papers, submitting to authoritative scientific journals, conducting experiments alongside mortals in advanced projects, having their name attached to national initiatives. This would be the form in which a god is furthest from their throne.”

Mimirna hadn’t considered it from that angle before. Hearing Gawain’s analysis, she pondered quietly, her eyes flickering with a faint light. After a moment, she said uncertainly, “Could it really be like that?”

“Keeping distance from former belief systems is indeed an effective way to break free from ‘shackles,’ but it’s not the only way,” Gawain said carefully. “Putting the names of gods alongside mortal names will more efficiently strip away the divine aura behind those names. This aligns with the Theocracy Council’s goal of ‘secularizing divine authority.’ To put it simply, if a mage scholar sees an article in the latest journal authored by ‘Mimirna,’ and notices that their peers and colleagues also use that name, the specialness of the name will quickly fade in their mind…”

Listening to Gawain’s reasoning, Mimirna thought for a long time before finally nodding slightly. “That makes some sense… but we should limit it to just the ‘name,’ right?”

“Of course,” Gawain nodded. “The full truth is still too early for most ordinary people. The reverence and nostalgia for the goddess of magic remain deeply rooted in the hearts of many mages. Only a few upper members of the Theocracy Council know your current situation. Let’s start with the ‘name’—let the world slowly get to know you again, the goddess who skips work.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Mimirna smiled, settling back under the golden oak tree, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Gawain. “I’ll put my real name in the author field of the paper—and list you as a co-author.”

Gawain was nodding along to the first half of that sentence when the second half hit him like a splash of cold water. He nearly choked on his spit. “Cough… cough, what? Why is my name in there too!?”

“If I said it was to hitch a ride and get the paper accepted more easily… you wouldn’t believe me,” Mimirna said with a playful smile. The former goddess was clearly in a good mood. “The real reason is—I genuinely think your name belongs there. Remember those key points you just summarized about the ‘Unified Fluctuation Model’? That’s exactly the part I was researching but hadn’t yet completed in the paper.”

“Just from that?” Gawain looked at her in surprise, then laughed. “No, compared to the research you’ve done these days, my few offhand remarks don’t deserve a name credit. I was just following your train of thought. If anyone deserves a spot, it’s Kamail—he’s the one who actually conducted the magical fluctuation experiments. He started it all.”

“His name is already included,” Mimirna said, dropping the playful tone and becoming serious. “As for you… maybe you don’t realize it, but I’ve been thinking about the most accurate and fitting description of the ‘Unified Fluctuation Model’ these past days, focusing on its key points. Your ‘offhand remarks’ were the answers I needed. It might sound sudden, but I’m serious—I never joke when pursuing knowledge and truth.”

Gawain hadn’t expected Mimirna to suddenly become so earnest. He was a bit taken aback, but after a moment of eye contact, he relaxed.

“I think I understand what you mean,” he smiled, exhaling deeply. “At the moment the name ‘Mimirna’ returns to the world, you probably need a ‘partner’ with enough weight to stand alongside you. Alright, I accept your reasoning.”

“Thank you very much, my friend,” Mimirna said with a gentle laugh.

“It’s time for me to go,” Gawain nodded lightly, glancing at the time projected above a nearby magitech device. He turned to Mimirna and Amon. “I still need to gather allies to discuss how to deal with the dangers in the wasteland. I’ll come visit you again when I have time.”

“Feel free,” Mimirna nodded solemnly. “I no longer have the power to bestow blessings, but I still wish you all the best—and I will do my best wherever I can be of help.”

Amon, who had been silent for a long time, stood and turned his head toward them. The pale pink flowers entwined in his antlers swayed gently. He lowered his voice warmly, “Want to take some cucumbers and eggplants with you? I just harvested them—fresh…”

Gawain blinked in surprise.

A moment later, Gawain and Amber left with several attendants—carrying a large bundle of fruits and vegetables.

Under the golden oak, Amon looked up, gazing toward the Rebellious Fortress in the distance. At the end of the paths winding around the nursery, a “garden wall” made of wooden fences and shrubs blocked out the chaotic darkness beyond the courtyard. Inside, this once bleak and oppressive place was now full of life.

“They left pretty quickly,” Amon shook his head. “I was planning to properly introduce them to the garden and vegetable patch I just cultivated.”

“Not everyone has your leisure,” Mimirna said with a hint of helplessness, surrounded again by swirling symbols, formulas, and self-writing texts. She glanced at the sacred giant stag beside her. “I kept wondering what you’d do once you were free, and it turns out you just spend your days playing cards and gardening?”

“No, I’m growing vegetables too,” Amon corrected her seriously. He seemed oblivious to the teasing tone—or perhaps tending these plants truly was the most important and rightful thing in his world. After correcting her, he looked at his “roommate” with a complicated expression. “Your name is really going back out into the world.”

“Yeah… I wonder how scholars and mages will react when they suddenly find that some cutting-edge research papers are authored by ‘Mimirna,’” the former goddess of magic said with a sigh. “And those with access to the Theocracy Council’s confidential files… they probably never imagined I’d be busy with this kind of thing.”

“I don’t know about the latter, but as for the former… ordinary people will just think it’s a special name,” Amon said casually. “Without someone pointing it out, how would they connect a name in a technical journal to a former goddess?”

“That’s true—it’s just a name,” Mimirna smiled and shook her head. Then, suddenly looking at Amon with a strange expression, she said, “Wait, are you jealous? Jealous that my name is returning to the world?”

“What would I be jealous of?” Amon snorted dismissively, clearly finding her idea childish. “It’s just reclaiming your name in the eyes of the world, breaking the rigid link between true name and faith, and finding your place again in the mortal realm. I’ve got a whole garden to tend—I don’t have time to write and calculate all day like you.”

“Then you’re jealous. Your fur isn’t even as shiny as mine.”

“Say whatever you want. I’m going back to… wait, where are the seeds I just cultivated? Did you sit on them?”

“Huh? I didn’t!”

“I don’t believe you. Get up!”

…

Early the next morning, after finally getting a good night’s sleep and feeling refreshed, Hetty entered the dining hall and stared blankly at the large pile of vegetables on the table.

“Did you bring all these… local specialties from the Rebellious Courtyard?” The empire’s steward rubbed her eyes, suddenly wondering if she’d overslept and woken up in a different world, because the scene this morning felt a bit off. “The former ‘Goddess of Nature’ is now dedicated to… this?”

“He’s started a greening project in the courtyard—honestly, I’m a bit surprised,” Gawain said helplessly. “But it’s not a bad thing. Amon is finding a new ‘way of life.’ The more humanized his behavior, the more thoroughly his divinity fades, and the more reassuring his state becomes. Besides, the stuff he grows is actually pretty good.”

Rebecca, sitting nearby, speared a leaf of lettuce with her fork and stuffed it into her mouth, looking thoroughly miserable. “But I want to eat meat…”

Hetty immediately shot a glare at the empire’s steel-willed girl. “Don’t talk with your mouth full!”

“Arrange a direct conference call with Typhon and Silver this afternoon,” Gawain said, turning to Hetty. “Tell them the situation is urgent. They must make time.”

Hetty’s attention snapped away from Rebecca at once, her expression turning serious. “Is it… a threat from the wasteland?”

“A threat from the wasteland, from the Sentinels,” Gawain nodded slowly. “We probably don’t have much time left to prepare. I want to deploy as much force as possible to the Magnificent Wall in the shortest time we can. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Hetty immediately lowered her head. “Understood. I’ll arrange it right away.”

Gawain nodded, then glanced at Rebecca sitting across from him, her mouth full of vegetable salad.

Rebecca caught the elder’s gaze and tensed up, nearly choking. She hurriedly swallowed before looking up, her face blank but clearly bracing herself—ready to take a scolding, even though she wasn’t sure why.

But Gawain wasn’t about to reprimand her. He had questions. “How’s the status of Project 115?”

Rebecca exhaled in relief and thought for a moment before answering, “The main assembly and core subsystems are nearly complete, but it’s a massive project. The central system still needs some time for adjustments—mainly the servo-hydraulic arrays. They’re still getting used to their ‘bodies.’ And the newly installed weapons systems are also…”

“Can it fly?” Gawain cut her off, his expression grave.

“Uh… not quite ready for deployment yet,” Rebecca admitted nervously. “I spend most of my weeks over at Project 115 now, but some system tweaks and integrations can’t be rushed, no matter how much overtime we put in. Testing the subsystems and integrating the neural nodes all have fixed schedules.”

“…Get it flying as soon as possible,” Gawain said seriously. “Even if Project 115 isn’t ready in time, we have to get those general-purpose aerial platforms airborne quickly—we’re going to need them very soon.”

(End of chapter)