Chapter 1574: The Interstellar Spokesperson
The raucous celebrations in the plaza would continue well into the early hours of the next morning, followed by the long-awaited days off and the approaching warm season. Yet for some, rest remained an elusive luxury—among them, Hetty, who had been working overtime for half a month straight, and even Gawain himself.
In his study, carpeted with deep blue velvet, Gawain stood by the expansive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out into the night. The sky above Pioneer Square glowed faintly white, illuminated by the powerful floating arrays of magic crystal lamps suspended midair, casting their light over the entire city. Though the distance and thick glass muffled the sounds of the crowd, the lively noise still filtered through the arcane network terminal on his desk. Amid the faint din, Veronica’s voice came through clearly:
“…Based on the data collected so far, diverting and controlling the human half of the deity during the sacrificial ritual does not adversely affect the participating clerics.”
“That was our primary concern at the start,” Gawain said softly, exhaling a breath of relief. “Normally, the ritual uses the deity’s full essence as a ‘beacon,’ but now we’ve bypassed the divine aspect… Fortunately, the theory holds true—the fervent prayers of the faithful are the key factor in the sacrifice.” He glanced toward the terminal. “Feedback from Typhon and Silverhold has also arrived. The other two test sites are consistent with our predictions. More detailed field data will be sent to the Council headquarters in a few hours. I’ll be counting on you then.”
“That’s my duty,” Veronica replied promptly, then shifted the topic. “By the way, what do you make of the final words spoken by the Bountiful Saint?”
Gawain paused thoughtfully before answering, “She acted out of a sense of divine joy, unconditionally carrying out the gods’ will—even though she vaguely sensed the terrible consequences behind it all. Acting because of divine joy, suppressing her own reasoning, stifling her human curiosity—all in the name of that joy. In a way, she was an extremely devout fanatic.”
“Fanaticism takes many forms,” Veronica said calmly. “Clerics like the Bountiful Saint aren’t exceptions. The more directly a chosen one can hear the gods’ will, the more likely they are to exhibit this state under the combined influence of faith and emotion. Theology even has a term for it: ‘spiritual gratitude.’” She added, “This is actually a good thing. For our Twilight of the Gods project, having high-ranking clergy who are both devout and cooperative—like the Bountiful Saint—is indispensable.”
“I trust your judgment,” Gawain said, turning away from the window and moving toward his desk. “Steadfast faith is a fundamental trait for any cleric. Those who can align with the Divine Authority Council’s actions are rare talents. Over the next year, we’ll organize a series of sacrificial rituals. The Bountiful Trinity will need ‘restocking’ twice more. Make sure the participating clerics remain as stable and resolute as that saint.”
“Understood, Your Majesty. I am confident in my ability,” Veronica responded immediately.
Gawain nodded, then, as if recalling something, smiled and casually asked, “On a different note—hope you don’t mind me asking—I overheard your earlier conversation. Was your childhood really such a source of anxiety for those around you?”
Such a question might seem bold coming from a stranger, but Gawain and Veronica were close friends—almost confidants. A casual question like this was no big deal. Besides, Gawain was genuinely curious. After years of interaction, he had grown accustomed to Veronica’s simulated personality and the fact that her true self was a server array. He had almost forgotten that this “Saint Princess” had been under the control of an ancient AI since birth. Hearing her talk with the Bountiful Saint sparked his interest—how had this superintelligent AI princess grown up in a human royal palace?
There was a brief silence on the other end. After several seconds, Veronica spoke: “You’re only realizing now that I had a full childhood?”
Gawain: “…Honestly, I almost forgot.”
“‘Veronica’ grew up like any other child. As a scion of the old Ansuz royal family, I spent my entire childhood in Silverhold. Even among my centuries of observations and travels, that childhood was a unique and… precious experience,” Veronica—Orphilia—said calmly. “I know what you want to ask. Yes, my behavior during that time was far from ideal. The maids who cared for me found me cold and detached to an almost abnormal degree. Though the outside world said, ‘Princess Veronica was gifted and brilliant from a young age,’ the truth is… many of my actions were so unchildlike they frightened those around me.”
Gawain raised an eyebrow. “You’ve played countless roles over centuries in the human world. I thought you’d be adept at any part.”
“I am skilled at playing roles, but…” Veronica hesitated awkwardly, then sighed. “I really tried to act less strange back then, but… for an ancient AI, portraying a human little girl is incredibly difficult.”
Gawain’s mouth twitched. Though video wasn’t enabled, Veronica seemed to sense his odd expression and hurried to explain: “It’s unbelievably hard. You can’t imagine the logic a three- to six-year-old girl uses. I exhausted all my computing power trying to simulate their thought processes but couldn’t understand why sometimes I needed to cry, or laugh, or shout over trivial things, or befriend a little beetle, or talk to a doll before bed. I just couldn’t grasp it… So in the end, I shut down the logic simulation, locked myself in my room calculating spell models to pass the time, then pretended to be asleep, hoping this body would grow up quickly…”
Gawain was stunned. “You spent your childhood under six years old passing time by calculating spell models? And often to the point of collapse? No wonder people were scared of you. Even Rebecca only started trying to dismantle the beams after she turned seven…”
Veronica was silent for two seconds, then humanly sighed, “I’ll never start from childhood again.”
Gawain chuckled. Compared to the cold, stiff persona she’d first presented, the ancient rebel leader’s speech now felt far more human. Her emotions were no longer purely calculated. The reasons were many, but regardless, it was a welcome change.
Just as their conversation was wrapping up, footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by a knock and Hetty’s voice: “Ancestor, may I come in?”
Gawain glanced at the mechanical clock on the wall, then ended the communication with Veronica and called toward the door, “Come in.”
Hetty entered, holding a file. Approaching the desk, she said, “Ancestor, the routine communication with the Noy will begin in ten minutes. As scheduled, you will personally handle this session. Here are the documents you requested.”
Hearing this, Gawain quickly gathered his thoughts.
Since Antavian completed the upgrade of the faster-than-light communication array, exchanges between Loren and the Noy had vastly improved. The decoding and listening teams at the Solin Command Center now operated in three shifts, maintaining a 24-hour standby to ensure dialogue could happen at any moment. Despite this, Loren and the Noy still held formal communications every two weeks to exchange the most critical intelligence requiring collective deliberation.
These two civilizations, separated by four light-years, had already shared a wealth of information—ranging from magical tide defense experiences to the evolution of their respective faiths, as well as unique cultural perspectives and worldviews. From cautious initial contact, Loren and the Noy had built a relatively stable alliance. Throughout this process, Gawain had personally overseen, and often conducted, more than half of their communications.
A civilization establishing contact with an alien race for the first time needs a unified “external voice” and a spokesperson with decision-making authority. At least within Loren’s cultural framework, this role is indispensable. On this planet, no one was better suited than Gawain—
He understood the knowledge of the pioneers, the mysteries of the stars, and the gods themselves. He grasped the current order and rules governing the world. He held unquestioned authority across the alliance and was the architect and executor of numerous salvation plans, including the Twilight of the Gods and the Homeworld Barrier projects. When Loren stood before the cosmic stage as a unified entity to converse with a species four light-years away, he was the undisputed voice.
Gawain sat at his desk, the communication device already switched to the appropriate channel. The distant Solin Command Center and Antavian FTL array had been prepared in advance. All lines were open, the countdown ticking toward the appointed time. His eyes scanned the documents Hetty had brought one last time. Just as he reached the end, the rhythmic clatter of the printer beside him began—the pristine paper slowly emerging, bearing a greeting from afar:
“Noy calling Loren, greetings to our friends—may we ask if all is well?”
A faint smile crossed Gawain’s face. He exhaled softly and replied directly into the device, “Greetings to the Noy. All is well here. We’re glad to receive your message again.”
Each exchange between the two civilizations accumulated valuable experience. The decoders and listeners had streamlined their workflows. With improved translation and transmission protocols, communication was far more efficient—no longer needing to carefully sequence every question, worry about antenna overload, or wait for the command center to perform tedious translation, encoding, retransmission, and manual proofreading. To Gawain, speaking with the Noy now felt almost like a normal remote chat, aside from some translation delay.
The paper tape responded shortly after: “We have received Loren’s experimental data on simulated magical tides and protective verification. These astonishing results have greatly encouraged our society—please accept our sincerest thanks and admiration. We never expected you to achieve such incredible feats.”
Gawain’s gaze flicked over the documents Hetty had brought, which included records from the last communication between the Noy and Loren—among them, the experimental report Loren had sent across the starry sea.
It detailed the results of the “artificial magical tide test” conducted by the Orphilia Matrix beneath the Talash Plains.
Regarding this experiment, which held profound significance for both civilizations, Highwind was completely transparent. From the very beginning, he had told the Noyans that the Loren side had successfully recorded the fluctuations of the magical tide and possessed the capability to reproduce and test it within their laboratories. Now, the Loren Alliance was fulfilling the bold promise it had made back then.
Judging by the Noyans’ reaction, the bluff had worked spectacularly well.
“We’re glad our experiment can be of help to you,” Highwind said calmly after a brief pause. “However, we want to remind you that this experiment was conducted entirely under the environmental conditions of the Loren planet. There’s a possibility of discrepancies arising under different planetary conditions. Therefore, we recommend that the Noyan side attempt to replicate the experiment on your own world to verify the results. After this communication, we will send you supplementary materials, including the original magical tide fluctuation data recorded by the Talash Laboratory and instructions for constructing the ‘Mimic Star.’ We hope this will be useful.”
After a short delay, the printer whirred and spat out a strip of paper: “Once again, sincere thanks to our friends! We deeply appreciate the value of this raw data and will make proper use of it.”
The paper paused briefly, then more text appeared: “Additionally, we are very concerned about the current situation of the Loren Alliance. Regarding the ‘Divine Catastrophe’ risk mentioned in previous communications, has Loren made any progress toward a solution? This threat is enormous. If you need assistance, we can establish a dedicated advisory team to study the matter.”
Reading the message, Highwind hesitated for a moment. He appreciated the Noyans’ openness and genuine concern, but he wasn’t sure how to explain the staggering Ragnarok plan. With multiple layers of safeguards, he wasn’t worried that mentioning “Ragnarok” in interstellar communication would alert the demigods’ divine senses. What truly shocked was the idea of “packing the throne of the gods with bombs”—that was something else entirely.
After careful consideration, he finally sent a diplomatic reply: “Thank you for your concern, friends. But rest assured, the gods no longer pose a threat to us.”
There was a noticeably longer pause from the Noyan side this time. After a while, the printer clattered and produced another strip: “You wiped them out in just a few days?!”
Highwind: “…?”
(Recommendation time: This is from Bu Qishi Xian’s The Tower of Overthrow, a sci-fi novel. The author’s previous work was Player’s Ultra Justice. Although this new book is still in its early stages, its quality is assured. Highly recommended.)
(End of chapter)