Chapter 131: The Eternal Stone Tablet

Some say that facing the brink of life and death can completely change a person. Others say that those who escape death often gain a clearer perspective on life. Regarding these two points, Gawain believed that at this moment, Viscount Andrew was experiencing both deeply.

During the days when the cultists controlled him with magic, Andrew remained fully conscious—his mind trapped inside a weakening body, enduring the relentless assault of the cult’s frenzied thoughts and tortures. He watched helplessly as “he” issued a city-wide martial law order, saw his family and servants in the castle dragged away by the cultists, and witnessed his once-proud ancestral home sink deeper into darkness and corruption day by day. In those long, seemingly endless days, he realized that the distant king could not save him, the small chapels claiming divine protection in the town could not save him, and even the centuries-old glory of the Leslie family could not save him.

In the end, the one who saved him was none other than the ancient duke from seven centuries ago, who had come rushing up the Whitewater River.

Fate is truly an inscrutable thing. A bold “investment” made months ago had now yielded an unexpectedly generous return—a life.

In the lord’s council chamber, which had been blasted open by a massive hole, the somewhat recovered Viscount Andrew sat in his large chair, forcing a bitter smile as he revealed the truth behind the disaster: “Because a new crystal vein was discovered in the mine, I ordered a new tunnel to be dug. But during excavation, the tunnel collapsed. The overseer reported that beneath the tunnel, they found a vast underground space…”

Gawain’s heart skipped a beat. So this Viscount Andrew had discovered the secrets beneath his lands?

His earlier suspicions were confirmed: the viscount had indeed been unaware of the Gondor ruins before. His discovery of the hidden world beneath the mine was a recent development.

Andrew continued, “It was an ancient ruin, with old stone-like walls and support structures—wide corridors like those in a palace, not narrow tunnels. Most of it had collapsed and was buried, but some parts were well preserved. I sent people to explore, and they found a heavily sealed chamber. The magical seal had failed, so the mages in my domain easily disabled the traps inside. There, we found some ancient artifacts… including a fragment of the Eternal Stone Tablet.”

The Eternal Stone Tablet—Gawain was no stranger to the name. It was said that all secrets about the gods came from that mysterious tablet. In the ancient times, before mortals had ever encountered divine miracles, the tablet was whole. When the first sages of humans and other races touched it, divine knowledge flooded their minds—divine magic, the hierarchy of gods, their names and domains. These first “Revelators” became the earliest popes and pontiffs among mortals.

But soon after, the tablet shattered, as if the gods themselves refused to let mortals bear the full weight of their grace. The immensely powerful tablet broke into countless fragments scattered across the world.

Over the centuries, the major mortal religions—such as the mighty War God’s Church, the Church of the Holy Light, and the Triune Fertility Cult—found some of these fragments. They treated them as sacred relics, kept under lock and key in their sanctuaries. Only the highest-ranking clergy could access the fragments and receive divine revelations. Though broken, the fragments still held considerable power, allowing mortals to grasp divine knowledge. This was a key reason why these orthodox churches remained strong and influential for centuries.

According to the churches, all “divine knowledge” was safely kept within their hands. But Gawain knew better. The churches only controlled the largest fragments. Countless smaller shards were scattered across the world—some secretly held by minor cults, others in the hands of kings, dukes, or wealthy collectors. These smaller fragments carried far less divine power, insufficient to raise one’s divine magic rank or grant full godly knowledge. That was why they could remain semi-public among the populace, without the major churches hunting them down relentlessly.

Gawain had never expected Viscount Andrew to be so lucky—or unlucky—as to find one of these scattered fragments.

Immediately, Gawain’s mind jumped to the ancient ruins in the Dark Mountains and the experiments Nicholas had mentioned from a thousand years ago—the “local samples” unearthed, the speculations about “divine corruption.”

Could it be that this fragment was discovered by the mages of the old Gondor Empire and hidden in these underground ruins? Were those “local samples” actually pieces of the Eternal Stone Tablet? No, that seemed unlikely. Though precious, Gondor’s empire was at its peak then, and the major churches dared not openly challenge its authority. Gawain doubted the emperor of the Age of Sparks had only a few fragments to toy with. So the fragment buried deep beneath this land was probably just part of the original finds…

His thoughts raced, but only for a moment. Then he looked at Viscount Andrew with a perfectly measured surprise. “So the cultists were after the Eternal Stone Tablet fragment you have… That makes sense. The End of All Things cult evolved from the Druid Church. Their twisted faith would naturally obsess over such divine relics. But how did they find out about it?”

“My steward,” Andrew said after a pause, a bitter smile on his face. “I should have known. When he brought me all those potions and showed knowledge of the occult, I should have known—he was already a member of the End of All Things cult!”

Gawain was taken aback, then remembered who the steward was—mainly because Amber had stolen a watch from him, which left a strong impression.

Amber, standing nearby, rubbed her chin and muttered, “Looks like I don’t have to return that watch after all.”

Viscount Andrew himself had little magical talent and no extraordinary knightly or wizardly gifts. But as a noble, he had to maintain a basic “supernatural qualification.” He was always interested in potions and mystical rituals that could enhance such abilities. His steward, who had served him for years, was a learned man with some knowledge of the occult and always managed to procure effective potions. Naturally, Andrew trusted him deeply. Who would have guessed that such a seemingly loyal steward, who had never shown the slightest hint of betrayal over decades, was actually a spy for the End of All Things cult?

Unfortunately, the steward had fled early—disappearing from sight soon after the cultists took initial control of the castle.

From these scattered clues, Gawain guessed that the steward was likely a peripheral agent cultivated by the cult—someone without supernatural talent but with occult knowledge, able to easily gain a noble’s trust without raising suspicion. When the cult acted, such agents would quickly vanish, possibly resurfacing under new identities in other noble households or moving deeper into the organization.

What truly worried Gawain was that this was probably not an isolated case.

Viscount Andrew was not from a family powerful enough to sway the kingdom’s fate. Yet the End of All Things cult had grown into a monstrous force spanning multiple nations. It was unlikely they would plant a decades-long spy only in a border viscount’s household. The only explanation was that placing eyes among the nobility was standard practice for them.

What kind of monster had this druidic cult, fallen seven centuries ago, become?

Soon, Gawain learned why the cultists had forced Andrew to issue the martial law order.

“I told him the Eternal Stone Tablet was already promised to the king and that I had arranged for it to be transported out of the castle,” Andrew said slowly, a faint smile of satisfaction on his face. “His dark magic could control my limbs and tongue, but not my mind. He could make me speak the lines he wrote, but he couldn’t make me reveal what I truly knew. So he had no idea where I hid the tablet. He could only lock down the city and search house by house. But before finding anything, he dared not let me die…”

“I see…” Gawain nodded in understanding. The fallen druids’ magic could control a person’s speech and actions, but it was not necromantic mind control—it was a shallow form of nerve control, a twisted evolution of the druidic “animal domination” spell. With a strong enough will, one could resist and refuse to speak.

Gawain hadn’t expected that this seemingly frail, drug-addled viscount would possess such a resilient spirit.

“So that’s why the cultists buried the castle’s inhabitants in the courtyard to extract their thoughts—to interrogate the tablet’s whereabouts,” Amber suddenly realized, looking at the weak viscount in surprise. “But they had no clue where the fragment was. Only you knew. Does that mean… you never actually sent it out?”

“Of course not,” Andrew smiled weakly but proudly, lifting his head despite his frailty. “I am a Leslie. I would rather starve, die outside, or jump from this place than bow to a cultist!”

Though the phrasing felt oddly familiar, Gawain couldn’t help but admire this traditional nobleman. This was the nobility of the age—stubborn, outdated, sometimes foolish from a god’s-eye view, but upheld by a so-called “noble spirit.” This spirit fueled an almost unreasonable pride, one that would never yield to cultists, even in death.

“So where exactly did you hide the Eternal Stone Tablet fragment?” Gawain asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Hah… ha ha…” Andrew laughed with satisfaction, coughing violently. “Right under that fool’s nose! Right under his nose!”

Straining, the viscount rose from his chair and lifted the thick cushion.

“That idiot ransacked my treasury, tore through my magical supplies, searched my bedroom and attic, pried open every locked chest and cabinet in the castle—but he never, ever thought I was sitting on it!”

As the thick cushion was lifted, Gawain’s eyes fell upon it.

It lay quietly on the seat, no larger than a palm, its thickness estimated at less than half a centimeter. What surprised Gawain even more was that this so-called eternal “slate” wasn’t a slate at all.

Instead, it was a thin, pale gold metal plate, its surface impeccably smooth and flat, etched with mysterious patterns.

(End of chapter)