Chapter 1579: Twilight Overture

In the afternoon, warm sunlight bathed the small garden beside the wing of Cecil Palace. The light filtered through the branches of the trees lining the path, casting dappled patches of brightness on the ground. Tender new shoots swayed gently in the breeze atop the trees, and a few spring sparrows took flight from one of the fresh branches, swiftly tracing arcs across the vast, cloudless blue sky.

Gawain, strolling through the garden, paused. He looked up toward the direction the birds had flown, then softly spoke to the air beside him, “Spring’s warmth has come earlier than usual this year.”

“Maybe it’s the ‘Goddess of Spring’ in a good mood lately, giving the season a little extra strength?” Amber’s voice came from the air, and her figure gradually materialized beside Gawain, her face bright with a radiant smile. “Seriously, can’t you ever pretend not to notice me? I snuck up here all stealthy, and you just casually call me out like that—it’s a blow to my morale…”

“Wait until you have the Lady of Night’s skills before you complain,” Gawain said, casually ruffling the head of the shadowy assault goose. As he resumed walking, he asked offhandedly, “Did you bring news from the Theocracy Council? How are things looking?”

Amber hurried to keep pace with his long strides, chattering rapidly, “Don’t worry, everything’s been arranged. The Council sent messengers to every major church of the true gods in the city today. The heads of each church have pledged full cooperation with this month’s festival activities. Preparations are well underway—the Council has been planning the entire year’s schedule for over two weeks now. As long as the major sects cooperate, everything will proceed on schedule.”

She paused briefly, then added, “The recent Renewal Festival served as a ‘demonstration’ for everyone. The true god churches now understand that as long as they follow the Council’s directives and comply with imperial law, large-scale rituals can be held smoothly within the city. In that sense, the Renewal Festival was a successful ‘rehearsal’ for all involved.”

Gawain listened, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Sounds like they’re cooperating well. The liaisons the churches have stationed in the capital must have been carefully selected.”

“Of course they cooperate. The ones who resisted back then are long dead and buried,” Amber shrugged. “The current Emperor Gawain’s policy of conciliation is genuine, but the bloodstains behind your name haven’t faded in these few years. The smart ones still running the cathedrals aren’t goldfish—they remember everything.”

“It’s good they remember. It prevents a lot of trouble,” Gawain said, slowing his pace as he looked up at the high blue sky. The magnificent sun had passed its zenith and was now slowly descending toward the western horizon. A hazy glow surrounded the giant orb like mist, filling the sky and his gaze. “The Skyward Station project, the planetary shield, the magical tide observation devices, and the shelters and archives scattered across the land—all these projects are either in their final stages or entering critical phases. We simply don’t have the luxury to deal with extra complications right now.”

Amber glanced up at him, hesitation flickering across her face before she spoke her mind. “Why must the Twilight of the Gods plan start on the same day the planetary shield activates? In theory, we could gather the required ‘equivalent power’ for the divine realms before that day. If all the divine kingdoms act simultaneously, the Twilight could be completed before the magical tide arrives… Wouldn’t it be better to get this big problem out of the way early? Then we could activate the shield without worries.”

Gawain tilted his head slightly and patiently explained, “I know you’re worried that tackling these two major issues together might cause chaos, but actually… aside from the initial ‘transport’ phase, our mortal forces have almost no direct involvement in the Twilight plan. The most critical parts will be carried out solely by the gods’ human aspects. Meanwhile, the planetary shield is entirely a mortal endeavor. Do you see? These are two separate, parallel operations.

“So whether the Twilight starts earlier or later won’t interfere with the shield’s progress. Moreover, the gods acting early won’t increase the plan’s success rate. If anything, by being patient, we all gain more time to prepare, which might improve the odds.

“On our side, the only help we can offer the gods is to deliver more ‘ammunition.’ Every extra day means the gods’ human halves have more cards to play. So we must prepare until the very last moment and put all our strength into it. In a way, the problem we’re solving is very simple—equivalent power. That’s the key to success. Everything else is secondary.”

Amber pondered Gawain’s explanation and slowly nodded. “True enough. There’s only one chance to set it off, whether early or late. Blowing it up early only gives peace of mind, but it’s better to wait for the planetary shield activation and build an absolute advantage… But, speaking of which, how much are you planning to stack on ‘that side’? Judging by your expression, it seems the Council’s previous estimates were conservative…”

Gawain considered for a moment, then said calmly, “Rebecca and I discussed it. We’re aiming for three times the planned amount—at the very least, double. That’s what we call a ‘safety margin.’”

Amber’s eyes went wide. “A damn safety margin… Should I be mad that you’re consulting Rebecca on this, or that you’re treating the equivalent power like a safety margin?”

Hearing Amber’s sharp wit, Gawain smiled with satisfaction. “You’re starting to talk like me now.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Amber retorted, unusually serious this time. The idea of tripling the theoretical target seemed to have shaken her. She stared at Gawain. “Have you discussed this with the gods? Don’t want them to be caught off guard and have the human and divine halves wiped out in one blast…”

“Relax, I’m not that reckless,” Gawain said with a half-smile, amused by this rare reaction from the little shadow goose. “I’ve already consulted the gods’ human halves. They see this as a way to increase the final success rate and are eager to cooperate. Rebecca has also provided detailed safety guidelines after precise calculations to prevent accidental harm to the human halves.”

“Safety guidelines, huh? That’s reassuring,” Amber finally exhaled, but then frowned. “Wait, what kind of safety guidelines did Rebecca give?”

Gawain shrugged casually. “Stay far away when detonating.”

Amber blinked. “You two are serious?!”

“Don’t worry, it’s all data-backed. And you don’t need to worry about the gods’ human halves—they’re part of the divine essence, tough as nails. Even if they get grazed on the outskirts of the blast, it’s just a bloody face at worst. But any divine halves caught in the epicenter are definitely toast.”

Amber held back a laugh and muttered, “You and Rebecca really are a pair…”

…

That year was the fifth year of Cecil’s reign. On the 25th day of the Renewal Month, a grand festival was held as scheduled—the secret pact between gods and mortals, the overture to the Twilight of the Gods, a rare opportunity won by the Lady of Night for this world, all wrapped up as the most magnificent ritual of the year.

The festival spanned the entire alliance—not just the three great empires, but every member nation held celebrations in their capitals.

Officially, the festival commemorated the alliance’s founding, the sacred accords sealed at the 112th Conference that shaped history’s course, and offered blessings for the world, as well as honoring the hard-won victory in the Wasteland War. But in truth, it was the prelude to the coming of age of Loren civilization. Across hundreds of ritual sites throughout the alliance, hundreds of massive armories were emptied in a single day. Beyond the eyes of worshippers and priests, the symbolic tomb marking the end of the Age of Gods was slowly being built.

Deep within the Shadow Realm, in a courtyard shrouded by endless chaotic darkness, the golden oak tree’s faint glow illuminated the nursery of the Nature God. Amon rose from beneath the oak and slowly walked to the garden’s edge, gazing absentmindedly at the open wasteland beyond—the gathering ground where gods and mortals had jointly prepared the Twilight plan, and where mortals taught the gods the “Cecil-style modern martial arts.” But today, the field was empty.

Around the vast clearing, powerful magic crystal lamps lit the entire area. At the center stood a solitary platform bathed in light. Scattered giant stones surrounded it, and pockmarked scars marked the edges of this “classroom”—battle scars from the gods’ explosive training sessions. About half of these marks were the handiwork of the cursed goddess, Lady Gizna.

Fortunately, Lady Gizna had at least passed in the end…

Lost in thought, Amon gazed at the empty gathering ground, recalling the lively scenes of lessons past. He finally shook his head and sat down at the garden’s edge, muttering, “Everyone’s gone busy…”

No sooner had he spoken than a nearby magic network terminal buzzed to life. Then Melmina’s teasing voice sounded in his ear, “Could you stop sounding like a lonely old man left at home after his kids go off to work?”

Amon glanced at the glowing terminal and the floating image of Melmina above it, shaking his head. “It was lively here not long ago. Rebecca came almost every day to teach the ‘human halves of the gods.’ I watched them discuss lessons, bury themselves in exercises, and do practical tests. It was actually quite interesting. Now that the course is over and the plan has moved to phase two, it’s suddenly so quiet here… I’m really not used to it.”

Melmina glanced at him through the comm screen. She knew exactly what the “oldest god of the season” was thinking—worried the Twilight plan might fail, that all the confident preparations and plans of recent days might be undone by fate’s cruelty. But she pushed those thoughts aside and instead teased, “You’re just jealous because everyone else is celebrating and you’re stuck at home, aren’t you?”

Amon squinted his eyes, shifting into a more comfortable position as he lay among the saplings. He muttered casually, “Well, if you say so, then so be it. With all this commotion, neither of us can really go anywhere anyway…”

“What’s the point of getting involved in this kind of fuss?” Mimirna curled her lips. “It’s just another sacrificial ritual. Didn’t you get enough of that back when you were a god? Honestly, whenever I see mortals messing with sacrifices, it gives me the creeps—they get all fired up and start tossing all sorts of weird stuff into the divine realm. If you don’t accept it, they throw a fit; if you do… well, it’s all pretty useless. Even my own cult of the Goddess of Magic is one of the few that doesn’t rely heavily on sacrifices. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for someone like you, with such a long history and followers everywhere, back when you were collecting offerings.”

“That’s true…” Amon seemed to recall some ancient memories, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The naturalist sect’s sacrificial ceremonies really gave me a hard time back then. I never understood what the elves were thinking, coming up with so many bizarre festivals. They turned almost the entire southern continent into one big shrine. I was pretty straightforward in those days—if the kids brought me something, I took it. Once it was in my hands, I couldn’t bear to throw it away…”

Mimirna rarely heard Amon talk about the time before the “Fall of the White Star.” Her expression grew curious. “And then?”

“And then? Then there was no place left to stay under the Tree of Reincarnation. I ended up camping on the border of the divine realm for over two hundred years,” Amon sighed. “After a while, I realized this couldn’t go on. There was simply no room at home, so I finally made up my mind to toss all those offerings into the deep sea. At the same time, I gave the high priests a divine command—within the bounds of prevailing beliefs—to switch to a unified national ritual. Local religious events wouldn’t need to prepare sacrifices anymore…”

Mimirna was stunned silent for a moment after he finished, then muttered, “You really were straightforward back then… You took whatever they gave you?”

“I was worried they’d be upset,” Amon shook his head, two small flowers on his antlers swaying gently in the dim light. “Turns out, until recently when some younger gods gathered here, I was the only one who took everything. The others usually just accepted some insignificant keepsake, and a few even insisted on using dew as their offering…”

Mimirna: “…No way. I have to tell the little Empress about this later—help her strengthen her rebellious streak…”

“Don’t drag me into this!” Amon jumped up immediately. “We’re just chatting, not broadcasting it everywhere!”

“I’m just saying,” Mimirna laughed, her tone noticeably lighter than before. “See? Some things that felt so heavy back then are actually pretty amusing to talk about now.”

Amon grumbled, “…I think you’re the only one enjoying this.”

Mimirna didn’t argue. Instead, she narrowed her eyes slightly, as if recalling something—or perhaps pondering deeply. After a long silence, she suddenly spoke: “The last component of the sensor tower has just been delivered to the Ancestor Plains.”

Amon blinked, then quickly caught on. “Once that sensor is assembled, you’re going to…”

“Yes,” Mimirna said softly, “I will become the first eye on this planet to gaze deep into the starry sky, to see the traces the magical tide leaves among the stars.”

Amon lowered his head, unsure what to say. After a long pause, he finally murmured, “…I wish you success.”

“It’s a wish for all of us.”

(End of chapter)