Chapter 1530: One Story, Two Storytellers

Before the towering Shadow Throne, as massive as a mountain, the silence atop the stone pillar where Wilde sat stretched on. Nearly a minute passed before he finally broke the quiet with a dry remark: “Your joke isn’t funny at all—Lady, if even an ancient deity like you calls herself a ‘mortal,’ then what gods are left in this world?”

“The essence of divinity isn’t about strength, nor is it about age,” the Lady of Night replied calmly, as if chatting with an old friend about the passage of time. “Dragons have existed for over two million years. The oldest living dragons today are my contemporaries, yet they remain mortals because their minds are mortal, and they live according to mortal ‘paths.’ Everything in this world follows its own path. Gods walk the path of gods; humans walk the path of humans. But these paths are not unbreakable.”

“Adventurer,” she continued, “many, many years ago, I crossed that boundary—though I had a little help from the Voyager back then. But by all accounts, I no longer fit the world’s definition of ‘gods.’”

“Crossed the boundary…” Wilde repeated, half understanding. Then, as if a thought struck him, he added, “Wait, does that mean you could help the mortals of this age…?”

“No,” the Lady interrupted firmly. “And you just said it yourself—‘this age.’ I do not belong to this age, Adventurer. I am a ghost clinging to existence from the ancient past. Even as a ghost, no longer a god, I cannot take the place of mortals in this era to do what they must do. The fact that I can intervene at all is a loophole—because I have found a faint thread of ‘connection’ in this dusty age, I can meddle in current affairs.”

“A ‘connection’ in this age’s mortal realm…” Wilde mused. “I don’t quite understand. Is this ‘connection’ you speak of…?”

“Don’t worry if you don’t understand,” the Lady said with a slight shake of her head, clearly losing interest in the topic—or perhaps signaling him not to press further. She casually picked up the scepter resting beside her throne, summoning a shadowy rift to gently wipe its tip. Her voice dropped low. “I have done all I can to pave the way for them. But the greatest challenge… they must overcome on their own. A ghost’s power only goes so far.”

Wilde watched quietly, gazing at this ancient deity burdened by endless years, bound to an ancient oath through near-eternal time. After a long pause, he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you wiping blood off that stick?”

“I told you, it’s a scepter first and foremost,” the Lady said, correcting him with a serious expression.

Wilde thought it over. She hadn’t denied there was blood on it, only emphasized it was primarily a scepter—implying it could also serve as a club, right? But he wasn’t interested in arguing with an ancient god. Watching her softly hum an old chant as she cleaned the weapon, seemingly in good spirits, he took the chance to ask what he really wanted to know: “That expedition team… will they find the City of a Thousand Towers?”

“Since I’ve extended the invitation, of course they will find it,” the Lady replied casually. “Why, are you looking forward to it?”

“The last time I was truly excited about something was centuries ago,” Wilde said quietly. “Sometimes, when I look back, it feels unbelievable. I pride myself as a great adventurer, believing my life has been one long journey. But the truth is, I’ve lain quietly before your throne for hundreds of years. I haven’t left this desert, not even a step, nor visited any unknown lands. The only thing I’ve done is tell you stories—stories long faded and blurred by time.”

“Lady, you knew from the start this isn’t how ‘Adventurer Wilde’ should be. I’ve been stuck here too long. From my own perspective, more than half my life has been this kind of stagnation.”

“That’s because you yourself cannot move or leave,” the Lady said, pausing her cleaning to lower her gaze. “Until recently, until this prison between worlds edged closer to reality, you had no chance to briefly leave the throne and reach the dream’s border, did you?”

“Being physically trapped is one thing, but accepting that reality in my heart is another,” Wilde replied, undeterred by her change of subject. “I lay here quietly, watching pages yellow. They say I’m trapped, but I’ve accepted it calmly because the part of me that craves adventure isn’t here… That impulse is ‘on the other side.’ His name is Modir. He’s wandered the world for centuries, witnessed countless wonders never recorded in my books. And even now, he’s still journeying, never stopping.”

“But at the same time, he can’t fully record any of his adventures. His centuries of wandering are less adventures and more aimless drifting. He’s seen many things, but often after a dreamlike haze, he fades away in the sunlight. He says he keeps logs, but those precious notes always get lost or damaged for one reason or another.”

“Lady, ever since my memories began to return and my mind cleared, I’ve been wondering how ‘Modir Wilde’ was split in two. Now I think I’m beginning to understand—and I suspect… you did it on purpose.”

The Lady had returned the scepter to its place beside the throne. She gazed silently beyond the clouds at the tiny book before the throne, like watching a fleeting ripple at the end of time’s river. A strict god might not waste attention on such a small thing, but her gaze softened with a touch of humanity. Breaking the silence, she said, “Humans are made of two parts, Adventurer.”

“One is called ‘Curiosity.’ It looks toward the unknown future, always eager to set out and never stopping its pursuit. The other is ‘Memory.’ It guards the past, recording every scene witnessed in a lifetime. It is proof that a person once existed. Because of these two parts, mortals have the drive to move forward and the ability to record and reflect on history.”

“So you split my ‘Curiosity’ and ‘Memory,’ leaving me neither moving toward the future nor trapped in the past, but forever stuck in the ‘now,’” Wilde said, realization dawning. “Because only in the ‘now’ do I exist?”

The Lady said nothing—a rare silence that felt like tacit admission. Wilde’s voice continued from the pillar’s summit: “Curious Modir embarks on endless adventures but cannot record any of them. Remembering Wilde holds every past journey but never sets out on a new one. No wonder one is a traveler in the world, and the other is an ancient book lying before a ruined throne. It makes sense.”

Listening quietly, the Lady remained silent for a long time. After the throne’s stillness returned, and several minutes passed, she finally spoke: “You once carried a message—one far beyond mortal reason and body could bear. Splitting and preserving you was all I could do then. If it were now, perhaps I could better cleanse the corruption of the Reverse Tide and heal your soul. But back then, I could not.”

“I know. You were fighting the invading Reverse Tide, and to spare some strength to help a humble mortal like me was already a great kindness. I’m not ungrateful, nor would I complain after such a favor,” Wilde’s voice held a hint of a smile. “I just feel a bit wistful, realizing it took me so long to understand this. The lack of ‘Curiosity’ really made a difference. If it were the other me, I think he’d have realized his true state within years and asked you for change.”

“…Death is another kind of ‘stagnation,’” the Lady said suddenly. “When the journey ends, there are no more journeys.”

“No, death isn’t stagnation. Death is the witness of life,” Wilde answered calmly. “An ending is part of the journey, just as death is part of life. Being forever stuck in the ‘now’ is very different from peacefully concluding an adventure.”

Her gaze lingered long on the pillar. After an unknown stretch of time, the Lady sighed: “Adventurer, you are a good friend. If I could, I would truly long for an adventure like the ones you tell—packing up, shedding this stale burden, and striding boldly to the world’s edge.”

“That won’t do, Lady. Not yet. If you left suddenly, the world would be in great trouble,” Wilde laughed. “But I can offer you my blessing—that you may soon fulfill that wish. Didn’t you say they’re very close to the ‘perfect model’ the Voyager described to you…?”

“Then thank you for your blessing, Adventurer,” the Lady smiled, leaning back against the cold throne. Her amber eyes seemed fixed on the silhouette city at the horizon. “I’m tired now. Tell me a story—while there’s still time, I want to hear a brand-new adventure.”

“A brand-new adventure? That’s a challenge… but as you wish.” The black leather-bound book atop the pillar fell silent for a moment, then began to speak in a low voice, telling a story he hadn’t told in centuries—

“Adventurer Modir has led his expedition deep through endless forests and wildlands. They’ve wandered the Violet Isle, unknowingly reaching the heart of the Mage Kingdom. The City of a Thousand Towers should be here, but before them lies only desolation…”

…

Adventurer Modir had led his team through the endless forests and wildlands for a very long time, wandering the Violet Isle until they reached the deepest part of the Mage Kingdom.

Along the way, they discovered even more “stone pile monuments,” learning more about the history of the Violet Kingdom. They found abundant traces left by this nation, born and flourishing in dreams, then quietly vanished in dreams—messages from the Violet people, images of history and cities, and many cultural and artistic relics.

The materials captivated and amazed every member of the exploration team. This “hidden kingdom,” which had sealed its borders for centuries, clearly possessed a richness far beyond what outsiders had imagined. Many aspects of its folk culture were being revealed to the outside world for the very first time. Even Maggie, who was not a professional scholar, could foresee the tremendous impact these findings would have once made public.

Perhaps the Violet Kingdom never truly “existed” in the conventional sense, but the records left behind on this island were undeniably real. Even if they originated from dreams, they painted a complete and vivid picture of an ancient realm’s glorious civilization. To genuine academics, these materials were anything but mere fantasy. And to the leaders back home, these “national proofs” were sociological treasures—valuable references and testimonies to a nation’s history that demanded serious attention.

To maintain communication between the forward exploration team and the command center, the Cold Star—still anchored in the bay—had deployed specialized relay drones. Three of these drones patrolled the skies above Violet Island in rotation, ensuring uninterrupted contact between the explorers and their mothership. Thanks to this reliable link, Wilde and Maggie had been diligently organizing and transmitting all their discoveries back home. The full impact of these materials was yet unknown, but at least the Duchess Victoria, who was overseeing operations from the rear, was repeatedly astonished.

The hidden kingdom of Violet—this ancient realm—was now unveiling its mysteries to the world in a way no one had anticipated.

Yet, despite the piles of stones and relics, Modir and his team had still not found what they truly sought: the City of a Thousand Towers.

This vast island was covered only by dense, barrier-like forests, with wildlands, valleys, and mountain streams scattered irregularly between the trees. Although the stone piles they’d found confirmed they were on the right path, after days of wandering deep into Violet Island’s heart, they had yet to discover the legendary “Mage’s Capital.”

On the fourth day after entering the island’s center, Maggie once again transformed into her dragon form and scouted the entire area from above. But, as before, she found nothing.

Modir stood at the edge of an open plain, gazing toward the horizon now tinged red by the setting sun. Maggie, freshly returned to the ground, stood beside him. The black dragon maid still held her armored draconic form, her arcane machinery radiating residual heat. Not far behind them loomed the dense forest, shadows shifting within as if formless creatures might slither out at any moment—but to these rangers, who had been operating on the island for nearly a month, such sights were nothing new.

As long as they followed proper exploration methods and avoided the obviously unnatural shadowed areas, the island was not nearly as dangerous as it seemed.

“Theoretically, the City of a Thousand Towers should be right here,” Maggie broke the silence, her voice low and rumbling like distant thunder. “But all we see is wasteland… Yet that magical intelligence called Benadette was clear—the city remains where it always was, whether in the real world or the dream world. Could we be looking in the wrong place?”

“No matter how wrong, it can’t be so off that it’s invisible even from the air,” Modir shook his head. “Our general direction is definitely correct. The stone monuments we found earlier all pointed toward the city’s location.” He paused, then added, “I’m more inclined to another guess—a more… ‘magical’ one.”

Maggie tilted her head slightly, curiosity flashing between her sharp teeth. “Oh?”

“Perhaps we’ve already arrived at the City of a Thousand Towers,” Modir exhaled softly. “It’s here—just beyond the limits of our perception.”

(End of chapter)