Chapter 1412: Gazing into the Distance

From long ago, Myrmyna had developed a fondness for “wandering” through the Deep Realm. As a goddess presiding over mysteries and exploration, her curiosity was boundless—both in her mortal and divine aspects. The gods drifting in the Deep Realm, bound tightly by layers of “shells” formed from collective thought currents, had always fascinated her.

She hoped to glimpse deeper secrets of the world through these other deities, to find a true path to break free from the chains of faith.

Of course, her “explorations” were far from unrestricted. Peering into a divine realm was deadly for mortals—and even more so for gods. Deities of different domains often held inherently contradictory thought tendencies, and this “contradiction” maintained the “purity of faith” that was the foundation of their divine realms. If a god ventured too close to another’s domain, even if the other was friendly and willing to communicate, the inherent “tendencies” of that god’s realm would instinctively attack the “intruder”—a natural phenomenon beyond anyone’s control.

Though Myrmyna had long since relinquished her divine status, this “repulsion” still affected her. So even she could only gaze from afar at those drifting kingdoms in the Deep Realm, piecing together fragments of leaked “information” to guess what might be happening inside.

“Just a shift in attention, a glance, maybe even a coincidence…” Myrmyna sighed softly. “I know these aren’t really ‘proof’—at best, just suspicious. You could say I’m overthinking it. But I can’t shake the feeling… that after the Sentinel disappeared, the gods’ realms have truly begun to change.”

Amon remained silent for a moment, his eyelids drooping as if deep in thought. After a pause, he finally broke the silence. “You said you couldn’t find the Sentinel’s home port, right?”

“That’s beyond my ability,” Myrmyna nodded. “I suspect it has ‘sunk’ even deeper than before—maybe it’s already ‘bottomed out’ in the deep sea. That’s a realm no mind can penetrate.”

The world’s structure was like a layered ocean. The material world where mortals lived—the “real” world—was the surface layer. Below lay the Shadow Realm and the Umbral Realm, known to mortals but still largely unexplored. Each deeper realm contained strange, distorted echoes of the one above. By the time one reached the Umbral Realm, it was nearly impossible to discern any direct reflection of the real world in that dark chaos. And beneath all these layers lay the Deep Sea.

The Deep Sea was the universe’s “foundation.” According to the current “Unified Fluctuation Theory,” it could be seen as the primordial “background ripple” from the universe’s birth. Everything in the world today was built layer upon layer atop this ripple.

The “Deep Realm” was a unique domain among these layers—situated between the Deep Sea and the Umbral Realm. It was not a product of the universe’s origin but rather the place where gods’ kingdoms existed. These were “projection clusters” formed on the Deep Sea’s surface by the thought currents generated by mortal minds in the material world, reflected through multiple layers. The blurred boundary between physical and ethereal in this universe allowed these floating “projection clusters” to take on the form of gods and divine realms—but these forms were not eternal.

Once the reflection from the real world was lost, the decaying gods and their shattered realms became drifting debris orbiting within the Deep Realm. Slowly eroded by the Deep Sea, these remnants disintegrated and drifted away over tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands of years in a process akin to a “whale fall.” Some fragments, tainted by ancient mysteries or elder god corruption, would resurface in the upper world as historical enigmas. But most would eventually sink to the Deep Sea’s bottom, becoming part of the universe’s background radiation—reduced over endless time to the basic units of information.

Those massive, twisted shadowy masses occasionally glimpsed in the skies of the Umbral and Deep Realms—shapes that defied physics and geometry—were likely the last traces of these dissipating remnants.

This was the most complete, advanced, and perhaps closest-to-truth theoretical model so far—and Myrmyna was one of its founders.

So… would the out-of-control Sentinel’s home port also gradually fall through the Deep Sea and eventually break apart like the gods?

“Nothing left behind by the Voyagers is immortal,” Myrmyna mused. “Perhaps that home port will sink to the universe’s depths after countless ages. But it will surely take far longer to fall than the dead gods did.” She paused thoughtfully. “But why the sudden question? I thought you weren’t interested in what lies beyond the ‘boundary’…”

“I just got curious,” Amon said softly. “All the Deep Realm kingdoms we know of are projections of mortal civilizations on this planet. So beyond the known boundary of the Deep Realm… shouldn’t there be other kingdoms? There are intelligent beings on more than one planet, gods born on more than one world. If our model is correct, there should be more than one ‘Deep Realm projection cluster’ drifting in the Deep Sea… These divine kingdoms might be like islands floating in the darkness and chaos. So, is there any way for us to… ‘see’ these neighbors?”

Amon finally voiced his thoughts clearly. Myrmyna’s eyes widened bit by bit. She looked at this usually laid-back guy—who mostly just surfed the net and played cards with retired gods—with disbelief. She couldn’t help but say, “Is that really you? Since when do you start thinking about such profound things?”

“What kind of image do you have of me?” Amon gave her a helpless look. “I just wielded different authority than you did. I’m not incapable of thinking. Have you ever beaten me at potato planting?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Myrmyna said, her gaze strange for a moment before she waved it off. “Anyway, your question is a good one. Are there other ‘projection clusters’ beyond the Deep Realm’s edge? That really makes me curious. Just like mortals gaze at the stars, maybe we can turn our gaze even farther…”

“Just don’t get too carried away,” Amon warned, “Don’t go rushing out beyond the boundary on a whim. If you fall out, you’ll die halfway for sure. I know mages—they’re either noble seekers of truth or just experts at courting death. As the mistress of magic, one of your powers is basically self-destruction…”

Myrmyna thought for a moment, then stood and conjured a hundred-forty-meter-long spear of light.

“Forget I said anything,” Amon said, very rationally.

“I know my limits,” Myrmyna replied, dissipating the gathered magic in the void. Standing beneath the towering golden oak, her gaze drifted to the far end of the Umbral Garden, where the garden met the dark chaotic land beyond. “I just have a new research direction. But until I figure out how to cross the ‘boundary’ safely, I definitely won’t go… hmm? Is that a new flower you planted? I don’t remember seeing this kind before…”

“A new flower? Where?” Amon blinked, then stood to look where Myrmyna was staring. His sharp eyes immediately spotted a small patch of unusually vibrant plants at the garden’s edge—right beside the cucumber and bean trellises, at the end of the cabbage patch—a cluster of delicate pink-and-white flowers quietly blooming on the dark, barren land of the Umbral Realm.

“That… wasn’t me,” Amon said, walking to the garden’s border, staring down at the flowers blooming beneath his feet with some surprise. These fragile-looking plants thrived in the darkness, giving off an unreal feeling. “Could they have grown under the golden oak’s influence?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Anyway, they’re weeds here. I’ll move them somewhere else—don’t want them messing up my cabbage patch.”

“Such pretty flowers, and you call them weeds?” Myrmyna muttered as Amon busied himself. “And didn’t you start this as a flower garden? Now half the space is for vegetables. What’s next, you gonna rip up the front yard and plant potatoes?”

Amon looked up at the “goddess of magic” silently. “That patch is already planted with potatoes.”

Myrmyna: “…”

“This garden’s mine. You’re just a magic researcher who doesn’t know many fruits or veggies, so don’t complain. The kids at the Imperial Academy love them, so what can you do?” Amon shook his head, then glanced again at the mysterious pink-and-white flowers that had appeared out of nowhere, whispering, “But seriously, when did these pop up? I don’t remember at all…”

…

As the blue flame streak piercing the sky over the Talash Plains came into view outside the car window, Diana suddenly felt her mental core overheating just a little.

The magic engine powered this magecraft vehicle, built by the Typhon people themselves. Ahead and behind them, a sizable convoy moved steadily along the road engineered by arcane engineers. Diana’s gaze drifted out the window, watching the straight road stretch toward the Talash Plains. The silhouettes of towering purification devices stood beneath the clear sky. Occasionally, she spotted military outposts and watchtowers lining the roadside—lonely sentinels guarding this vast, barren land of Gondor, a road forged through countless blood and sacrifice.

“This road was built during Andsha’s advance into the wasteland, as part of constructing the blockade wall,” Rosetta Augustus’s voice came from across. “Some sections were repeatedly destroyed and rebuilt amid battles with the aberrations. Some road builders’ bones lie buried beneath the roadbed.”

“This road, running from the empire’s northwest border straight to the Talash Plains, will become an artery—a foundation for the empire in the Gondor wasteland,” Diana said slowly. “We need to erect a monument at its start, inscribing the names of those who sacrificed for this road—noble or common alike. Just like the Cecilians do.”

“We must, and we will,” Rosetta nodded gently. Then she glanced at Diana. “You’ve seemed a bit off since we neared the Talash Plains. That’s unusual for you—are you feeling emotional?”

“My cognitive core is slightly overheated… perhaps you could call it ‘excitement,’” Diana said calmly. “In my deepest memories, this plain still holds the image of what it once was. Back then, it was called the ‘Talash Greenfields’—a lush, vibrant place.”

She paused briefly before continuing, “I was manufactured in a factory on the outskirts of the Old Imperial Capital. At the time, a hundred other female-model iron beings identical to me were produced alongside. We were packed into crates and shipped to a sales and service center on the edge of the Talash Greenfields. The scenery of the plain was fed into each of our cognitive cores through a shared visual input device as our ‘initial visual stimulus’ after production. The view I saw then… was beautiful.”

“You rarely talk about these things—things that seem almost unimaginable to me,” Rosetta said. “Were all iron beings female?”

“Not all. It depends on user demand and model type,” Diana shook her head. “Generally, more than half of the civilian iron beings are female, and regardless of gender, they tend to have approachable appearances and flexible personalities. Military iron beings are mostly male models or very tall female models—this allows for installing more powerful drive systems and heavier armor within the frame.

“Of course, this isn’t absolute. Iron being technology developed over many years in Gondor. Although all iron beings belong to the ‘Iron Network’ directly controlled by the royal family, our branches are still incredibly diverse and ‘personalized,’ far from the rigid, monotonous image some historians imagine.”

“That’s… incredible knowledge,” even someone like Rosetta was astonished by Diana’s description of the “ancient society.” Then he smiled wryly. “But no matter what, the Deep Blue Well has universal parts compatible with you. The problem that’s troubled us for years can finally be solved.”

“Yes, that’s something to be glad about—provided my maintenance doesn’t become a bargaining chip that harms Typhon’s interests. Though I don’t believe His Majesty Gawain Cecil or Her Majesty Ophelia would do such a thing.”

Rosetta nodded slightly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Just then, he suddenly felt the vehicle jolt slightly.

Instinctively, he looked out the window toward the Talash Plain.

In the next moment, the ruler of Typhon’s face finally showed a long-lost expression of shock and disbelief.

A thick cloud in the sky was slowly parting, revealing a towering aerial fortress emerging from the mist. Bathed in sunlight against the backdrop of the blazing sun, the steel city hovered above the Talash Plain, reigning over the world below like a sovereign.

The Dawn of the World—a silhouette once seen only in frontline reports and magical recordings—was now truly and unmistakably before his eyes.

And before every alliance leader and national representative who was entering or already on the Talash Plain.

(End of chapter)