Chapter 1560: The Traveler

Gawain was momentarily dazed as Amber suddenly appeared before him. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t sensed her presence at all—it was also the lingering haze from the storm of chaotic perceptions and the whirlwind of information that had battered his mind moments ago. He vaguely recalled what he had seen and heard at the Lady of Night’s domain, the fragments of memory he had regained, and his meeting with Gawain Cecil. Yet beyond that, there was a nagging feeling that something important had slipped from his grasp, a sense of dissonance that furrowed his brow.

He stood still for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Once his mind settled, he exhaled softly and fixed his gaze on Amber. “Where have you been? Since arriving at the City of a Thousand Towers, I haven’t seen you or Modril… Speaking of which, where is Modril?”

“We’ve been out for a while now,” Amber grinned carefree, pointing toward the camp. “He’s resting over there. I sensed your presence and came to check on you. We’ve been waiting here for three days—well, actually, we’ve been wandering around the Lady of Night’s divine realm all this time.”

Gawain frowned. “You were in the Lady of Night’s divine realm?”

“Yeah, near the divine throne. She showed us all sorts of incredible things—ancient observation records, relics of the voyagers, and more. I’ll tell you all about it later,” Amber said with a mischievous smile. “But enough about us. What about you? What did you see? What did the Lady say? What’s next for us?”

Gawain hesitated, fragments of memory flickering in his mind. Then he shook his head. “I’ve recovered some memories, but it’s complicated. I’ll explain when the time is right.”

“Fair enough,” Amber waved her hand. “If there’s nothing else, we should pack up and head back soon. The Alliance has plenty waiting for you—this is a critical phase for the Mother Star Barrier project.”

Gawain steadied himself, nodded lightly, and followed Amber as she turned toward the camp.

…

Beneath a sky shrouded in murky twilight, a colossal city loomed—its layered buildings and towering spires stretching endlessly through misty, shadowed streets. On a fog-laden avenue, a weary traveler approached a door.

His tattered cloak and hood concealed his face, but his stooped frame and withered, aged hands betrayed his years. Pausing before the heavy black wooden door, he looked up at the sign hanging above it—a wine glass crossed by a dining knife—and pushed the door open.

With a creak, the door swung inward, revealing a bustling tavern. A long bar faced the entrance, behind which a pale-skinned girl with silver hair was wiping a glass. Her eyes, as pale as her skin, held an unsettling, almost otherworldly quality—like an unpainted plaster statue. She glanced up at the traveler, then nodded coolly after a brief pause, her detached demeanor hardly fitting for a tavern hostess.

Near the bar, several tables were occupied by patrons whose forms flickered like shadows in a haze. Their indistinct shapes, outlined by shifting black mist, resembled human figures but remained elusive. Their murmured conversations sounded like whispers of secrets only madmen could understand.

Among these nebulous guests were two or three others who, like the silver-haired girl, had pale skin and white hair. Unlike the misty figures, these few acknowledged the traveler’s arrival with a nod.

The traveler’s hood bobbed slightly in response. Ignoring the misty patrons, he made his way through the tables to the bar.

The silver-haired girl set down her cloth, poured a glass of frothy, pale wine, and placed it before him. “You’re late—the drink’s been waiting for you a long time.”

The traveler eyed the glass hesitantly, then lifted it. A raspy voice emerged from beneath his hood. “I’m sorry, miss, but my memory isn’t what it used to be. I don’t recall making an appointment—I just felt drawn here. Did I miss something?”

The girl raised an eyebrow in surprise but quickly smiled, softening her earlier aloofness. “That’s understandable. After a long journey, people tend to forget things. Looks like you’ve traveled far.”

“Yes, very far. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been on the road,” he chuckled, raising the glass. “This place is incredible—especially this city, this… endless city. I feel like I could explore it forever. Thank you, miss. This wine is excellent.”

“It’s our specialty. The brewing technique was passed down from my great-grandfather,” she said with a smile, then gestured toward a corner of the tavern. “If you plan to continue your journey here, you might want to speak with that guest. She’s been here a long time, searching for a traveling companion.”

The traveler looked up and noticed a small figure cloaked in black sitting quietly by a fogged window. The street outside was blurred by mist, and the figure seemed to merge with the shadows, barely noticeable amid the tavern’s patrons. Had the hostess not pointed her out, he might have missed her entirely.

Without hesitation, the traveler lifted his glass and approached the shadowy corner. Taking a seat opposite the figure, he saw her hood shift slightly as she focused on him. Though her face remained hidden, he felt her gaze.

“I hear you’re looking for a companion on the road,” the traveler said. “I’m an adventurer, new to this city, and I’m also seeking someone to travel with. Do you have a destination in mind?”

The small figure spoke thoughtfully. “I’m waiting for someone—or maybe looking for someone. I can’t quite remember. All I know is that there’s someone very important to me, and we got separated. I have to find him soon.”

“That sounds serious,” the traveler nodded. “What does your friend look like? Maybe I’ve met him before. Don’t let my age fool you—I’ve been to many places and met many people.”

She considered for a moment. “He’s tall. When he walks ahead of me, he’s like a wall blocking the sun. In summer, standing in his shadow is cool. He used to scare people, saying he’d slam them against walls, but he never actually used violence. And…”

She paused, struggling to piece together the hazy memory. After several seconds, her tone brightened. “Oh, I remember now—he sleeps in a coffin.”

The traveler froze, momentarily lost in her strange description. After a pause, his voice came from beneath his hood. “Sounds like your friend has… unique tastes.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Where do you plan to look for him? How will you find him?”

The figure thought for a moment, then reached beneath the table. With a few swift movements, she pulled out a small shovel.

“I have to dig him up again.”

Her voice held a mix of excitement and resolve. Beneath the shadow of her hood, the traveler Modril clearly saw a pair of amber eyes faintly glowing.

…

A gray sky stretched over an endless desert. At its center stood a towering throne, where the master of light and shadow sat like a mountain, gazing down from the depths of mist upon his realm. His eyes rested on the black colossal city at the desert’s edge—a city so vast it nearly encircled the entire divine kingdom, yet still only a fragile silhouette. Above it, streams of light cascaded from the sky like auroras, painting the bleak world with vivid, breathtaking colors.

In this shadowy divine realm, only its ruler could create such “color.” Yet exceptions existed—direct data manipulation from the Anchor Generator could also inject “color” here.

“All travelers have set out,” the towering figure finally broke the silence after a long gaze. “The anchor injection process has begun.”

“Is it really necessary to be this cautious? And to take extra risks?” came the voice of the great adventurer Wilde from before the throne. “The Anchor Generator is your foundation, yet you’re allowing an outsider near it. His high-level access could threaten your existence—if he chooses to, and knows how to operate it.”

Wilde paused, then added, “Though I think the risk is small… While the possibility of a great king undergoing ‘divine transformation’ exists, you’ve said the measures in place are effective. As long as nothing goes wrong, this civilization’s transition from ignorance to enlightenment should proceed smoothly.”

“I cannot gamble on that probability,” the voice from the throne declared with authority. “Because the cost is not just my own safety, nor merely the future of this planet. The new gods born during maturity and the primordial gods from the cradle of civilization are entirely different concepts. If I lose this bet… the price could become a disaster spreading endlessly through the stars.”

“A disaster spreading through the cosmos?” Wilde’s voice was taken aback.

The Lady of Night fell silent, weighing whether to share certain truths with the great adventurer. After a moment, she sighed softly. “Tell me, do you find the gods terrifying?”

“…From a mortal’s perspective, of course it’s terrifying,” Wilde answered honestly. “They’re overwhelmingly powerful, unstoppable, and when driven mad, they can bring ruin on a cosmic scale. As civilizations advance, these gods only grow stronger. By the time a divine catastrophe erupts, they’re often already capable of obliterating entire civilizations in an instant—this is pretty much the greatest disaster any epic tale can portray.”

“Indeed, terrifying,” Lady Ye said softly, shaking her head. “But even such mighty and dreadful gods… are still just beings born on a single planet. No matter how world-shattering their power, they remain bound by gravity. All their might is confined within the mountains, rivers, and atmosphere of that planet. These fearsome gods don’t understand the secrets of the stars, the orbits of suns and planets, the radiation storms of space, or what faster-than-light travel and spacetime fold fields even are. That’s because they were born inside an information prison defined by their ‘homeworld.’ All their power is doomed never to break free from that cage.”

Listening to Lady Ye, Wilde seemed to grasp her meaning. “You mean… a god born outside this prison…”

“Gods are projections of collective consciousness, Mr. Great Adventurer. Have you noticed? Under these rules, there’s never been a limit that gods must be born only within a planet’s domain. It’s just that the civilizations that happen to birth gods are usually still primitive, still crawling on their homeworld’s surface,” Lady Ye’s voice lowered. “But have you ever considered—if a civilization has already broken free from planetary bonds, if it has advanced to the point of roaming the star seas, even building colonies on hundreds or thousands of planets, and behind them stands a god… just how powerful could that god be?”

Wilde fell silent. The chilling possibility left him speechless.

“Civilizations that reach for the stars almost inevitably gain enough understanding of collective consciousness that it becomes difficult for new gods to be born. But the current Loren… is at a dangerous tipping point,” Lady Ye said gravely. “It hasn’t fully matured yet, so it still has a chance to birth new gods. It’s about to step into the stars, meaning any gods it births will be cradled by the cosmos itself, wielding unprecedented power with nearly limitless potential. And because of the unique nature of their birth, these gods are very likely to be mad from the moment they come into being.”

She paused, then sighed softly. “Under pressure, the Loren civilization has accelerated rapidly to reach this point. Now it’s about to cross the critical threshold into the stars. Once it does, the ‘divine disasters’ of primitive gods will no longer threaten it. Fields like nature, abundance, commerce, and contracts will become safe, ordinary disciplines. But compared to this surface-level brilliance, the civilization’s foundational transformation is far from complete. In the hearts of all beings, new awe and gratitude are brewing. And Gawain… the accelerator of civilization, stands right at this focal point.”

“The ‘God who leads all beings to the stars’… His vague silhouette now stands at the farthest frontier of the deep sea.”

“Is this a warning left by the voyagers?” Wilde finally broke the silence.

“It’s the purgatory they witnessed with their own eyes on their expedition,” Lady Ye said. “And the price the fleet paid for it was staggering.”

(End of chapter)