Chapter 1551: “Simulation”

A new control center was rising deep within the heart of the Talash Plains. This center was directly linked to the underground Ophelia Matrix. Its newly designed information transmission system worked in tandem with the advanced computational arrays inherited from the Gondor era, capable of handling massive processing tasks—everything from sending and receiving signals across the countless rune stone nodes scattered throughout the Deep Blue Network, to real-time monitoring of the planet’s energy circulations in the upper atmosphere, and managing the colossal data exchanges between the homeworld’s barrier and its neural network.

But this control center at the core of the Talash Plains was not the sole “brain” of the homeworld’s barrier. Two other backup control centers were about to come online—one on the Sorin Plains, the other within the Elven royal court. Each was fully functional and interconnected through the neural network. Thanks to the network’s distributed architecture, all communication channels maintained multiple redundant links simultaneously. This ensured that even in the worst-case scenario—if one or two control centers were severely damaged and went offline—the homeworld’s barrier would continue to operate without interruption.

Ophelia stood quietly on a platform beside the control center, her eyes fixed on the bustling construction site before her. Yet her mind was running multiple threads in parallel, not just focused on the scene in front of her.

Far beneath the center of the Deep Blue Well impact crater, in the ancient, energy-rich underground source, a vertical shaft plunged straight down through layers of armor plating, rock, soil, and enchanted barriers. At the shaft’s end lay a massive experimental facility.

This enormous laboratory was encased within several spherical shields. Thick layers of earth and stone kept it isolated from surface-dwelling sentient beings. Inside, towering obsidian-like obelisks stood in neat rows, all arranged around a circular platform at the room’s center. The scene resembled a strange ritual site, as if countless silent black stone priests were gathered around an invisible deity on the platform. Yet this eerie, cult-like setup was actually the pinnacle of current technology—a creation of the Ophelia Matrix, the “eye” through which the Loren humans sought to peer into the truth of the magical tide.

The Magical Tide Simulation Device—Ophelia Matrix’s boldest creation.

Over seven centuries ago, a faint “pre-tremor” of the magical tide swept across this planet, like a wisp of wind brushing the edge of a storm over the Gondor Empire. Though weak, this “gust” carried enough power to obliterate an entire civilization in a single season. Faced with this crisis, the God of the Holy Light detonated the Deep Blue Well, sacrificing His own humanity and wiping out over half of Gondor’s population to block that pre-tremor. The result was an endless scorched wasteland centered on the Talash Plains.

Deep within that wasteland, a set of sensors that had stubbornly continued operating after the cataclysm left behind a precious relic—a recorded “shadow” of the magical tide within that faint gust.

The Noy people held the legacy of the Pioneer race. They knew how to build a unified mental field and how to observe the magical tide to obtain calibration parameters for that field. But they had never truly “controlled” a sample of the magical tide itself, so they could not verify whether their technology would actually work. The Loren Alliance lacked both the Pioneer legacy and the technology to observe the magical tide—but they did possess this invaluable sample. What if the two were combined?

The Loren could confirm in the lab, before the magical tide’s arrival, whether the unified mental field was effective. They could even recalibrate and adjust the system—a feat the Noy Pioneers had never achieved.

A faint mechanical scraping came from the lab’s heavy door as it slowly slid open. A slender figure with golden hair stepped inside—her appearance was identical to the Ophelia on the surface, down to every strand of hair and eyelash.

This was another physical avatar of the Ophelia Matrix. There were a dozen or so such avatars scattered across underground fortresses and surface complexes, each handling the myriad tasks the Ophelia Matrix required. Though their efficiency wasn’t much better than the old iron soldiers who once operated the system, Ophelia was beginning to enjoy this “hands-on” feeling.

“All systems normal,” Ophelia reported calmly as she looked up at the obsidian obelisks arranged like a ritual site. A stream of parameters flashed through her crystal-like eyes. Speaking to the air, she began issuing commands to the lab’s systems. “Filter walls ready. Observation units functioning normally. Initiating simulation test number 136.”

A low hum filled the lab. The silent black obelisks seemed to awaken under an invisible force. The surging energy from the Deep Blue Well was channeled into these specially crafted field generators, jumping and resonating between them. The ceiling lights flickered briefly, though their output remained constant—the intense energy flow simply caused slight anomalies in light transmission. Ophelia’s gaze remained steady. To the naked eye—though hers were no ordinary eyes—there was no visible change in the black devices, no sign of what was forming between them. But she knew the system had started and was running according to the preset program.

The waveform data recorded by the sensor that had operated until the very last moment seven centuries ago had been recompiled and fed into the system. The field array formed by the multiple obelisks would use this data as a blueprint, converting the Deep Blue Well’s magical energy into “waves” resembling the magical tide, focusing them onto the platform at the lab’s center. When the energy reached a certain intensity and the oscillation pattern matched perfectly, the result she sought would appear: with mortal intelligence, a simulation of the universe’s most primordial cry.

A deep voice echoed through the lab. It was Gawain’s. “Status report?”

“System stable. Data from the obelisk array confirms ‘initiation’ is successful,” Ophelia replied evenly. “But no phenomena are visible to the naked eye. The ‘focus platform’ at the lab’s center remains perfectly still.”

She saw nothing, but that was expected—the magical tide was inherently invisible to the naked eye. Only when the observer was consumed by their own observer effect could its presence be indirectly confirmed. Strictly speaking, the magical tide was more like a natural cause producing effects, an intangible, formless “factor.” So even if the experiment succeeded, nothing would appear on the platform.

Unless a hapless test subject stood on the platform, to see if they would suddenly be torn apart by an unseen force or erased by a disrupted natural order.

At the lab’s inception, that was the only way to observe results. But now, Ophelia and Gawain had a new option—one born from Noy civilization.

“Activate the observation units,” Gawain’s voice came from a corner of the lab. “Let’s first verify if the Noy ‘Magical Tide Observation Device’ actually works.”

Ophelia nodded. Without any visible movement, the matrix transmitted new commands through internal channels. Another hum came from deep within the isolation walls. Moments later, the wall opposite the lab began sliding open, revealing a massive apparatus.

The magical tide couldn’t be seen directly, but that didn’t mean it vanished without a trace in the universe. The Noy data had enlightened the Loren, showing that powerful magical foci—like stars—could interact with the magical tide. Just as water flowing over stones creates turbulence, these cosmic “magic hotspots” could reflect the true form of the magical tide within their eddies.

It was like a pitch-black room studded with countless tiny mirrors, each briefly reflecting the shadow of an invisible beast passing by.

The Noy had built their “Magical Tide Observation Device” to catch the tail of the magical tide. After acquiring its blueprints, Gawain and Ophelia realized their problem had a solution.

Of course, mortals couldn’t recreate a star-like focus in the lab, and the full-scale observation device was enormous—requiring an ancestral peak as the “initiation focus.” Such a colossal device couldn’t fit inside the lab. But Gawain and Ophelia didn’t need a real star or a complete observation lens. They only needed to verify whether the process worked, whether the simulated magical tide truly appeared in the controlled environment, whether the observation device could detect its faint traces, and whether the simulated unified mental field could shield the system.

Since the simulated magical tide in the lab didn’t sweep over any natural celestial bodies or carry information from the cosmic depths, there was no risk of provoking the gods.

The heavy wall fully retracted, revealing a dimly lit hall. At its center rose a large, dark red spherical structure, surrounded by mechanical frameworks, countless pipes, and lattices—grotesque and menacing.

Encircling this mechanical sphere was a ring of devices—the miniature “Magical Tide Observation Device.”

To maximize data capture, Ophelia had placed the “simulated stellar focus” right at the observation device’s center, theoretically the initiation focus point.

When activated, the simulated stellar focus would emit a uniform magical field outward, while the surrounding observation devices continuously recorded magical parameters throughout the experimental area.

In theory, each sensor should record identical values.

But if the magical tide oscillation truly appeared, the sensors’ data would show corresponding deviations—even if the magical tide simulation array was outside the sensor ring. This was the “close-range disturbance” between the magical tide and the magical focus.

Though these small sensors couldn’t capture as many parameters as a full-scale observation device, they were enough to detect even the slightest abnormal fluctuations on the lab’s central platform. The deviations might be minuscule—like a faint breeze compared to the true cosmic forces—but Gawain and Ophelia’s standards were modest. They only needed proof of existence.

“The simulated focus is charging,” Ophelia said, watching the device array in the opposite hall. The mechanical sphere gradually glowed, its dark red lattice filling with scorching flame-like streams. The dim hall brightened with this red light, resembling a fiery hellscape. The ring of observation devices lit up one by one, beginning to record environmental parameters. “Observation array is focusing.”

“…I hope this really works,” Gawain’s voice carried a hint of unease. “Compared to a real star and a complete observation device, what we’ve built in the lab is tiny—far too small.”

“But in principle, everything is feasible,” Ophelia’s voice remained as calm as ever. “And from another perspective, although a real star is enormous, the distance between it and our instruments is astronomical. The simulation device in the lab may be small, but it doesn’t have to sense a target billions of kilometers away—the straight-line distance between the data source and the nearest sensor is only about twenty meters. That’s more than enough.”

She paused briefly, then added, “Of course, theoretically it’s sufficient. The only worry is that the numerical deviations might be so small they fall below our measurement precision…”

“Then we just build a bigger lab, a larger simulation setup,” Gawain said. “Actually, the best approach would be to put the simulation equipment on a space station, then, once activated, use the sensor array on Ancestor’s Peak to focus on the sun or ‘Ao’—but that’s far too likely to trigger the gods losing control.”

“Not just likely—it’s guaranteed to cause a loss of control,” Ophelia shook her head. “No part of the experiment can take place outside the atmosphere. That’s an absolute rule. But the Noyans don’t have that restriction.”

“…If our experiments here keep failing, we can send the data and blueprints for the corresponding devices to the Noyans,” Gawain said after a moment’s thought, his voice low and steady. “Let them see if they can complete the process in space.”

“That’s definitely an option,” Ophelia nodded slowly. “But…”

She suddenly stopped.

Delicate as a porcelain doll, she lifted her head and fixed her gaze on the hall opposite the lab. The sensors arranged neatly there were running silently, but through her secondary vision, she could see the “image” those sensors were drawing from the data. In that image, she saw a man-made “stellar focus” surrounded by a uniform force field cloud. At the edge of this “cloud,” pointing toward the magic tide simulation device, there was a subtle “spike.”

Three sensors simultaneously returned parameters that differed from the others, with deviations no greater than one part in a hundred thousand—but this was enough to tell Ophelia, beyond doubt, that something had appeared among the black obelisks silently standing in the lab.

Something invisible, intangible, unknowable, and immeasurable was silently influencing the artificial “simulated star” in the adjacent hall, leaving behind a ghostly projection within the energy field it emitted.

(End of chapter)