Chapter 1465: Progress Milestone

Myrmidon didn’t really mind the teasing tone in Amon’s voice—she had long since grown accustomed to interacting with this god of nature, and she was sure he felt the same way.

For the “gods” who had once been trapped upon their thrones, this kind of bickering and squabbling was almost a blessing in disguise—a slice of normal life.

But now, that everyday routine was about to be interrupted.

“I’ve been crashing here with you for so long, it’s going to feel strange moving out all of a sudden,” Myrmidon said with a hint of wistfulness. “In a few days, I’ll be leaving.”

“I know. You’re heading to the Peak of Ancestors, right?” Amon lifted his eyelids lazily to glance at his “roommate.” “You’re really set on using yourself as a conduit to reshape the Deep Blue currents within the Peak, to help mortals build that ‘Resonance Focus’?”

“It’s the best plan we’ve come up with after much discussion,” Myrmidon replied seriously, shedding the faintly languid posture she’d held moments before. “Highest chance of success, lowest difficulty. And if I personally serve as the core of the Resonance Focus, the entire system’s stability and controllability will be guaranteed. After all, I’m the goddess who governs the secrets of magic—this is exactly my domain.”

“But that means you’ll be trapped in that rift,” Amon sighed. “I thought with your personality, you’d never want to be bound like that again…”

“It’s only temporary—I’ve always been patient with this kind of ‘waiting,’” Myrmidon smiled and shook her head. “Besides, don’t you think it’s worth it? I’ll witness the future of this world from that rift. Whether it’s ultimately saved or doomed, I’ll see it with my own eyes and experience it firsthand. And after that… no matter what happens, I’ll be free.”

“Now that you say it, I’m a little envious,” Amon chuckled, then looked up into Myrmidon’s eyes. “But there’s one thing I have to ask—are you really sure you can serve as this ‘core’? The power of the Deep Blue currents… even gods dare not touch it lightly. And your strength has waned considerably. Don’t forget, since the moment you severed your chains, you’re no longer the ‘Goddess of Magic.’”

Myrmidon fell silent. After a long pause, she spoke slowly but firmly: “They once believed I held all authority over the realm of magic—even if I no longer occupy that throne, I will still accomplish what they once firmly trusted me to do.”

“The Noyans also believed their god sent into space would complete that long observation journey,” Amon shook his head. “Beyond the bounds of understanding, mortal ‘faith’ and a god’s true power don’t necessarily align.”

“But I think that Noyan god didn’t embark on the journey because they were certain of success,” Myrmidon said with a faint smile. “Some things just have to be done.”

“…Fine. It’s your idea anyway. Besides, if it were me, I’d do the same,” Amon sighed, then shifted tone. “Now, let me tell you something worth being happy about—you might find this interesting…”

“Oh? Something I’d be interested in?” Myrmidon looked at him with mild surprise. “What is it?”

“I asked Duvalet. He said there’s a network at the Peak of Ancestors,” Amon said casually. “Nariel can help project signals into the Deep Blue currents. After all, that stuff is essentially pure magical flow…”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier!”

…

An internal report on the reactions following the release of Master of All Laws landed on High Lord’s desk. He read it carefully from start to finish twice before a faint, relieved smile appeared on his face.

On the surface, it was just the latest magical drama, notable mainly because the Empire’s Propaganda Department and the Theocratic Council were among its co-producers. But those in the know understood the complex truth behind it—hidden beneath the “entertainment” was the largest and boldest ideological experiment ever undertaken jointly by the Theocratic Council and the Imperial authorities.

The Empire’s supreme leader had personally ordered it. The Theocratic Council’s senior advisory panel and countless experts had designed it, with even an “Old God” involved. Its purpose was to evaluate the Council’s policies and achievements over recent years and to preliminarily test the direction of the “Final Order.”

Countless eyes from multiple departments closely monitored the impact of this “magical drama” after its release. This influence extended beyond ordinary public opinion to include divine feedback, readings from anti-divinity barriers surrounding the Goddess of Magic, and surveillance reports from monitoring points around several “faithful sample” individuals. The latter was especially crucial.

The Goddess of Magic’s faith was loose and shallow, but even so, among the vast number of mages, there were a few devout followers. Such “devout believers” were not easily swayed and had been closely monitored by the Tribunal for years. Each had a Tribunal inquisitor assigned to shadow them. Similarly, in the Silver Empire and Typhon, inquisitors secretly monitored “faithful samples” of the Nature God and the War God.

These inquisitors weren’t interested in the personal privacy or speech of these believers. Their task was to monitor magical fluctuations and divine responses within a certain radius around the believers, indirectly judging whether the target had regenerated ideological projections pointing to the gods in the deep sea. Devices based on the principle of divine inversion arrays could effectively distinguish “spirit-sensitive” individuals among ordinary people, and the inquisitors were experienced in this.

This was one of the Tribunal’s most important daily tasks—and the intelligence gathered was always personally reviewed by High Lord.

High Lord set down the report—its raw data came from intelligence agents across the country, Tribunal inquisitors, supervisors monitoring the anti-divinity barriers, and Myrmidon herself. Through the joint efforts of mortals and gods, the ideological fluctuations once considered “beyond mortal comprehension” had been compiled into rationally interpretable texts and data. The models these data outlined already vaguely matched High Lord’s vision of the “Final Order.”

His gaze swept to the end of the report, where the letters were crisp and clear, the printed font pleasing to the eye:

“…When a divine projection within the ideological currents is ‘overlaid’ by another projection mode, the god’s activity no longer maintains any ‘connection’ to the mortal world… Even if ‘devout believers’ remain as anchors within the group, their personal thought tendencies are affected by this ‘overlay’ effect and can no longer point to the deity…

“Sampling results from Sample Group One show that as most people gain a basic understanding of the ‘ideological concept’ and the ‘principles of divine birth,’ the directional ideological responses released by the ‘devout believers’ in this group rapidly decline. Even if these believers have never directly encountered Master of All Laws or understood its conveyed messages, the change is still significant… Individual thought projections in the deep sea are overlaid by group projections, consistent with the laws of ‘ideology’…”

High Lord stroked his chin, mentally reviewing the steps needed to realize the “Final Order”: first, weaken the ideological connection between gods and mortals; second, use a new, rational mode of thought to “overlay” the old ideological projections; third, achieve coexistence between gods and mortals. So far, these steps seemed sound. He just wasn’t sure if the Noyans had followed the same path.

If he had the chance, he should ask the Noyans about their religious transformations and mythological history—of course, only for reference. They were a people utterly different from Loren, with potentially vast physiological and psychological differences. Ideological shifts were easily influenced by cultural behavior patterns; what worked for the Noyans might not apply to Loren.

At the same time, High Lord considered another matter: theoretically, the impact of Master of All Laws wasn’t limited to the faith of the Goddess of Magic. The concepts of “ideology” and “divine birth” it conveyed were universal. Applied to other gods, they held true as well. As long as enough people absorbed the subtle influence of the drama, the “thoughts” about gods and churches would inevitably spread among the populace, gradually affecting the faith domains of other deities…

Considering the Theocratic Council’s continuous work over recent years, many churches had been adjusting and transforming, either actively or passively. In theory, the gods of Loren should already be feeling the effects of ideological “loosening.”

One could even be more optimistic—some gods’ “divine thrones” might have already been slightly pried loose.

Of course, this “prying” wouldn’t be drastic. No matter how smoothly the Council’s work progressed, no matter how scientific and efficient High Lord’s methods were, the collective ideology formed by billions of mortals worldwide limited the impact of these small changes. Not all gods could be as reckless as Amon, who threw himself headfirst into a space station, or as Myrmidon, who starved herself for millennia to break free. Most gods in Loren held exceptionally stable thrones.

But High Lord sensed that as long as there was a tendency toward “prying,” something would happen—a chain reaction would be triggered.

Because gods had their own “subjective initiative.” Even if they hadn’t found opportunities to act before, now that one had arisen, they—or at least some of them—should move.

They might try to reconnect with the mortal world, cooperate with mortal actions, or actively sever feedback to their followers… Whatever it was, taking action was inevitable.

High Lord instinctively tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. The ideological transformation project itself lacked a clear numerical benchmark, but as the mastermind behind the plan, he could vaguely sense a kind of “progress.” This large-scale ideological experiment was the most important milestone on that progress chart.

Since the Theocratic Council began operating, this was the Empire’s first large-scale, public transmission of “ideology” and related concepts to the masses. It was a grand experiment and a “contact signal” sent proactively to the gods.

Would the gods respond? Or had they already begun acting before the experiment even started?

Whatever the answer, one thing High Lord was certain of—Myrmidon’s actions at the Peak of Ancestors would be safe and controllable. Although the ideological experiment wasn’t designed to verify this, the report arrived just in time to dispel many of his doubts.

He exhaled softly and set the report aside. Then, casually, he pulled from a nearby drawer a sheet of paper covered in mysterious patterns.

It wasn’t a document submitted by any department—just a hand-drawn sketch, drawn by High Lord himself.

On the broad, smooth sheet of paper, delicate strokes traced countless winding, interconnected lines—like runes, yet not quite. These patterns carried an ancient, mysterious aura that seemed to transcend this era of civilization. They nearly filled the entire page, save for a small section left unfinished.

Gawain stared at the drawing for a moment, then casually picked up the fountain pen beside him and began filling in the last few lines.

Just then, a familiar presence appeared beside him. Amber’s head popped up from the desk, half emerging from a shadowy rift. Curiously eyeing Gawain’s work, she asked, “What are you drawing now…? What even is this? It doesn’t look like runes or mechanical schematics or anything.”

Gawain, used to Amber’s sudden appearances, didn’t bother looking up. “This is what Nicholas and the others saw in the ‘Shadow Hall’—the patterns covering the surface of the ‘Anchor Point Generator.’ I’ve been reconstructing them from memory over the past couple of days.”

Amber’s eyes went wide, stunned for several seconds before she let out a shocked yelp. “No way… You just casually say stuff like that? You drew this dizzying mess from memory? Is that even humanly possible?!”

“I just happen to have an exceptional memory,” Gawain said, finishing a stroke before glancing at her. “Either come all the way in or go back to the Shadow Realm. Don’t just float your head in front of my desk like that—it’s kind of creepy.”

“Oh, right, I forgot I was only halfway in.” Amber suddenly realized and patted her head. Then she hopped fully out of the shadow rift, only to turn back and carefully pull the rift closed, smoothing it flat with her hands. Normally, she wouldn’t bother with such a fuss, but today she seemed inspired—and the sight made Gawain’s eye twitch immediately.

“You’re one to talk,” he said, staring at the shadowy troublemaker before him. “Is that even something a normal person can do?!”

“Don’t mind me, don’t mind me.” Amber waved him off and leaned closer. Gawain lowered his head again, sketching the final lines. As the pattern gradually took shape, Amber found her gaze involuntarily drawn to the twisting, curling lines for a moment.

Then, in the next instant, she vanished without a trace.

(Jeez!)

(End of chapter)