Chapter 1595 — 8:05

When the countdown to the apocalypse reaches zero, what are people doing?

The spearhead of the magical tide was closing in on its fated convergence point, now just a breath away from the tiny planet where all mortal life dwelled. The first alarm came from the Pioneer satellite array; the second, from the Observer’s chamber deep within the Ogure tribal lands. Less than three and a half minutes separated the two warnings, and when both alerts sounded, most of Cecile was still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness.

At 4 a.m. in Cecile, at the Luan Hub, the tower keeper Green awoke abruptly from a restless, tangled dream. The faint, dim light outside reminded him it wasn’t yet time for his shift change—but sleep had fled him. He slipped on his coat and climbed to the equipment room atop the tower. Sharing a simple breakfast with his night-shift colleague, he then cradled a steaming cup of coffee by the observation window, pondering the day’s tasks while waiting for dawn.

Meanwhile, in Aldernan, sunlight already bathed the city. The towering clock began to chime, and the vast imperial machinery stirred to life. Factory workers and postal carriages moved like shadows through the morning mist. The elderly Duke Ferdinand felt the stiffness in his joints on this chilly morning. Before setting out for the Obsidian Palace, his thoughts turned to Andersa, still stationed at the border. Age was catching up—even the famed Iron Duke’s joints rusted with time. Perhaps… it was time to consider his granddaughter’s future.

By the shores of White Sand Lake, Holm finished an all-night shift. Though his status no longer demanded such toil, the joy of working with ore kept fatigue at bay. The former mine slave and now head of the mining company dozed briefly at his desk. In his dreams, he saw the dark tunnels where he once lived, the shackles on slaves, the blackened bloodstains soaked into the stone piles. Jolted awake, the nightmare shattered along with the memory of whips and chains. His gaze fell on his prized possession—a trophy carved in the shape of a magical network obelisk. The base bore an inscription: “Presented to Holm, discoverer of the original ore, outstanding mining expert — Rebecca Cecile.”

At 5:15 a.m., the sun was just peeking over the horizon. Merchant magnate Cade Bald hurried toward his office, newspaper tucked under his arm. No longer young, his slightly portly frame tired more easily than before. Slowing his pace, he tried to adjust to the rhythm of a man nearing middle age. The golden light spilled across the street’s end, and he looked up to see a magnificent arc rising from the horizon—the massive sun’s edge tinged with vivid crimson clouds.

When the countdown to the apocalypse hits zero, everyone is simply living their lives.

At 5:35 a.m., after breakfast, Gawain arrived at his study. He didn’t sit at his desk but stood quietly before the large floor-to-ceiling window, watching the sun’s fiery disk slowly fill his view. The blood-red glow at its edge spread inch by inch over the city skyline. Amber stood beside him, her face serious as she reported the latest:

“…The deep blue network’s space projection process began an hour ago. All nations’ magical observation departments have successfully detected the formation of a massive mana field. Though invisible to the naked eye for now, data suggests the field’s intensity beyond the atmosphere has reached the threshold, ready for thought projection at any moment.

“The Talash Plain control center reports all parameters normal. Highest system privileges have synchronized with the Observer’s chamber. The homeworld’s barrier system will activate in fifteen minutes, producing an optical phenomenon visible to the naked eye…

“All divisions of the Theocratic Council have reached their assigned positions. They completed their final synchronization an hour ago and now await the scheduled moment.”

Gawain nodded softly but said nothing, still calmly admiring the view as if utterly absorbed by the breathtaking scene.

Because, in truth, there was nothing left for him to do. The battle against the apocalypse was not a tale of one or two heroes making a last-ditch effort, nor a story where the protagonist presses a single button at the final second to turn the tide. It was a long journey, a colossal plan forged from the sweat and blood of thousands, years of preparation, countless sacrifices, and painstaking calculations. It had a heavy beginning, a thunderous process, and a solemn, peaceful final moment. At least, that was how he saw it.

Before the end came, people had done everything they could. The wise had labored tirelessly, the diligent had borne great hardships, the brave had shed blood. They built dams and walls before the flood and storm arrived—not calling for heroes or lighting candles to sing praises once disaster struck. They would watch the apocalypse approach with cold eyes from behind the fortress walls they had raised together, scolding the blood rain and endless night—and in the end, survive the dawn.

Now, Gawain was ready. He watched as the dawn approached.

At 5:45 a.m. Cecile time, Amiel Kreit, commander of the Holy Sun Remnant Battle Group and leader of the White Knights, stood before the statue of the God of Commerce. Born in Luan City and once a cleric of the Holy Light Church, Amiel lifted his gaze calmly to the sacred idol of an alien god. Behind him stood a small squad of fully armed White Knights and an equal number of battle nuns.

The original clergy of the God of Commerce had been evacuated yesterday—thanks to prophetic warnings and the cooperation of church leaders, the evacuation passed without incident.

A low hum buzzed near Amiel’s ear. A voice crackled through his helmet comms: “This is the Temple of Abundance, final synchronization, five minutes before ‘delivery.’”

Amiel pressed his hand to the side of his helmet and replied in a low voice, “This is the Great Cathedral of Commerce, final visual confirmation, five minutes before delivery received.”

He then looked back at the knights and nuns behind him. Two White Knights stepped forward to arrange a simple sacrificial setup as prescribed by the God of Commerce’s rites. They placed special stones and metals before the statue, sprinkling blessed holy water and sacred oils. A battle nun approached and lit prepared candles. Amid the soft crackling flames, Amiel opened his pocket watch and watched the seconds tick by.

He stood like a statue for an unknown length of time before finally moving. He pulled out a slightly yellowed parchment and, as the countdown hit zero, without hesitation cast it into the small altar made of metal and stone. The parchment ignited on contact—not consumed by flame, but transported to another realm. Before it vanished completely, a brief message caught Amiel’s eye:

“The Sword of Dawn.”

“Great Cathedral of Commerce, letter delivered.”
“Temple of the Blood God, letter delivered.”
“Temple of the Wine God, letter delivered.”
“Temple of Abundance…”

Far below, in the deep realm, a towering palace stood silent atop a mountain. Faul, the God of Winter and Forests, sat on a massive stone before the palace, holding a large drinking horn made from some animal’s antler. Expressionless, he stared at the magnificent hall that had imprisoned him for centuries like a cage, as if bored and waiting for something.

He saw brilliant light deep within the palace, soulless spirits praising the god’s valor and greatness near the throne. Yet countless explosives were stacked in every corner—from corridors to halls, towers to the throne itself.

After waiting silently for an unknown time, the God of Winter and Forest suddenly sensed something. With a casual gesture, a small scrap of paper appeared in his hand. Reading the words, the guardian deity of the mountain folk finally smiled.

The giant god rose from the stone, raising his drinking horn in salute toward the palace. His voice thundered across the divine realm: “A toast to the entire Mythic Age!!”

The detonators triggered instantly. Countless high-powered explosives, incendiary bombs, and pre-charged crystals unleashed their cataclysmic force as planned. All this power was contained around the throne, compressed and released toward the soulless deity seated there. The palace, sturdier than any mortal structure, shook violently and began to collapse at a visible pace. Amid the roaring destruction came furious howls and maddening whispers echoing from the throne, reverberating throughout the divine realm.

The divine half-being was enraged—its roar filled with the weakness of grievous wounds and endless madness.

The mountain folk’s guardian downed his drink and frowned. “…Still not as good as the Wine God’s brew… Hope he doesn’t die on me!”

He slammed the horn to the ground, grabbed a hunting knife and battle axe nearby, and strode headlong into the searing heat and ongoing explosions. He marched toward the palace’s heart, where a growing shadow loomed—the “god” badly wounded but not yet dead.

Clearly, the God of Winter and Forest wasn’t the best at demolition class.

But that didn’t matter. What he lacked in explosives, he’d make up for with axe and blade.

The guardian of winter and forest charged into his final battlefield.

“None of you are allowed to die!”

…

A sudden, inexplicable radiance descended from the sky, enveloping the entire church district, which had already been placed under early lockdown. More glimmers followed, accompanied by a deep, resonant rumbling that seemed to echo from the clouds above—like an invisible thunderstorm brewing, or countless furious spirits howling over the mortal realm. Residents, having been evacuated to nearby neighborhoods, looked up in stunned silence, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and unease as they watched the strange phenomena unfolding above the church. Meanwhile, the priests, also relocated nearby, gathered anxiously around their bishops, high priests, and saints, seeking guidance and reassurance.

“No need to fear. This is a trial bestowed upon us by the Goddess herself—a crucial step on our path of faith.”

The Fertility Saintess stood before her followers, her back turned to the Fertility Temple. Her voice was calm and gentle, soothing the restless hearts of the clergy.

“The Goddess knows the true path. They are walking it rightly, and we…”

A faint warmth spread through her chest. She lowered her gaze and noticed that the wheat-ear-shaped holy emblem pinned to her chest had quietly cracked.

She stared at the fissure in stunned silence, but after a moment, she lifted her head, her expression even more serene than before. “We, too, shall walk the path that is right for us.”

The colossal beast, painstakingly prepared by the people of the mortal world to withstand the final judgment, had begun to stir. Every signal from its countless limbs converged like nerve impulses into its central brain.

“…The latest reports,” Amber briefly stepped away but soon returned to Gawain’s side, “indicate that the sacred icons, emblems, and relics corresponding to the Fertility Triad, the God of Commerce, and the Blood God have all suffered varying degrees of damage. The Blood God’s icon reacted most violently—the statue in the cathedral was reduced to dust with a thunderous roar…”

“The divine throne has collapsed,” Gawain murmured, “and inevitably, the symbols of the mortal world are affected. This confirms that the actions of the various divine realms have begun as planned, and some demi-gods have already fallen.”

“The Divine Authority Council continues to monitor all major cathedrals closely,” Amber nodded softly. “Until all sacred icons show signs of damage, the alert level remains at its highest. The Dawn of the Mortal World battle group and ground forces have assembled at the ‘induction points’ outside the city. Sacred relics and eternal tablets collected from various sect headquarters have been deployed. If any deity’s plan fails, causing a demi-god to descend into the mortal realm, our forces can launch an attack immediately. In theory… a weakened, heavily injured demi-god won’t stand a chance against the Dawn of the Mortal World.”

Gawain nodded slightly. Almost at the same moment, an unusual glow appeared in the sky within his sight.

It was a misty, pale purple radiance, suddenly emerging at the highest point of the sky, as if another layer of clouds had formed beyond the usual ones—an otherworldly sky cloaking the sky itself. The glow began to spread outward in rippling waves, expanding circle after circle into the distance. Wherever the light touched, the sky momentarily twisted and trembled. Alongside this visible phenomenon, Gawain sensed a brief surge of magical energy in the surrounding environment.

The next instant, he realized: “…Ophelia has activated it.”

The planetary shield was slowly closing beyond the atmosphere.

The entire world witnessed or sensed this historic moment. The strange, colorful clouds rose and spread beyond the atmosphere, gradually enveloping the planet. The immense energy barrier altered the color of the sky itself, casting the clouds in a breathtaking palette of pale purples and soft blues. Those gifted with the ability to perceive magical flows could see the magical field trembling visibly in the sky—a fleeting anomaly caused by the transformation of the celestial magic currents into the planetary energy shield.

The Sentinels had once planned to use this phenomenon to destroy the world’s ecosystem. But now, after Ophelia’s matrix was recalibrated and reset, this terrifying “atmospheric energy surge” had become a brief, harmless breeze that swept gently across the mortal realm as the planetary shield closed.

For those still stationed at the Celestial Station, the sight was even more magnificent and wondrous.

A dreamlike shimmer, like a soap bubble’s iridescence, rose from the planet’s surface, expanding outward into space and creeping closer to the station’s synchronous orbit. Ashelena stood on an observation platform, gazing into space, watching the iridescent mist rise against the darkness, making the station appear like a steel fortress floating above the clouds, held aloft by endless curtains of aurora stretching upward.

The “cloud” finally halted, not fully reaching the station’s altitude—this was the limit the Deep Blue Network could support. But for the station’s broadcast and relay arrays, it was enough to project the collective consciousness of all mortals onto the planetary shield.

From the station’s compartments came the voice of Chief Engineer Nicholas: “All units, attention. Thought projection will commence in ten minutes.”

Ashelena took a slow breath and withdrew her gaze from the viewport. “I really want to bring that guy up here to see this. Ordinary people won’t witness a sight like this in their entire lives.”

“You mean Mr. Byron?” Cassandra, the siren, gently swayed her long serpentine tail. “Then invite him next time you’re on leave. He should be able to come up then.”

“…He’s afraid of heights,” Ashelena sighed. “Really, really afraid. If I took him for a spin up here, he’d probably throw up all over me.”

Cassandra thought for a moment. “All the more reason to bring him. It’s called exposure therapy. And the station isn’t like ordinary heights—maybe he won’t be scared here.”

“You have a point,” Ashelena smiled faintly. “I’ll have to try that.”

Nicholas’s voice echoed again through the compartments: “All units, surface signals have reached the station. Broadcast-relay arrays will activate in fifteen seconds. Please check the status of nodes within visual range.”

…

Gawain watched the sky quietly, now completely bathed in a beautiful pale purple glow. The sun, its surface covered in blood-red patterns, slowly rose within the haze, shining down on the world as it had for billions of years.

Beneath this sunlight, the strange phenomena over the church district continued—beyond mortal sight, the battlefield of the gods’ twilight remained unclear.

“The planetary shield is active,” Amber said, holding a freshly printed report and reading aloud. “Non-directional thought streams have been injected into the broadcast system. Monitoring signals from the Talash Plains are normal. Judging from all feedback, our homeworld’s barrier has activated as designed.”

“The homeworld shield is up, but this is only the first step,” Gawain’s gaze never left the sky, his mind clearer than ever. “The true test will come when the magical tide’s spearhead strikes the barrier. Whether this fortress we built can secure our civilization’s survival will be decided in that moment.”

“Fortunately, we won’t have to wait long,” Amber said softly. “To ensure accuracy, the shield was activated right after the last magical surge was detected in the Observer’s chamber—that surge was proof of the magical tide’s core contacting ‘the Origin.’ So theoretically, soon we’ll receive the ‘final verdict.’”

Waiting was the hardest part, even if the wait wasn’t long.

Amber fetched two chairs and placed one behind Gawain. “Sit and wait.”

Gawain waved her off. “I’m not tired.”

“Just say you’re tired,” Amber glanced at him, then stood on tiptoe and firmly tugged his arm toward the chair. “You’ve been standing too long. For this last stretch, you should sit.”

Gawain looked at the short, shadowy assault goose who still couldn’t reach his shoulder even on tiptoe, and suddenly laughed. He ruffled Amber’s hair and finally sat down. “Alright, I’ll sit and wait.”

Amber sat beside him but soon grew restless, shifting her chair closer.

Gawain glanced at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m nervous.”

“Honestly, I’m a little nervous too.”

“The iron king without blood or tears gets nervous?”

“You’ve published sixteen issues of the ‘Holy Scriptures’ and you’re telling me this?”

“…Fair enough,” Amber smiled. “You’re human after all.”

Gawain just smirked but said nothing more. This time, he didn’t tease her. He simply sat quietly by the window, bathed in the blood-red dawn, watching the world count down to its end.

Then, the countdown hit zero.

Exactly eight o’clock.

The clouds on the horizon trembled slightly—that was the magical tide’s spearhead finally touching the homeworld shield.

Suddenly, Gawain felt a momentary dizziness. Then, all the light and shadow in his vision shattered.

Endless fragments of light spun wildly in the chaos, then reassembled in a way beyond comprehension. Gawain felt as if his soul was ripped from his body and sent to a distant, unfamiliar place. The disorientation passed quickly, and he soon stabilized, taking in the scene before him.

All around was pure white. At the center stood a vague figure, faceless but shaped like a human.

Gawain’s heart stirred. Tentatively, he approached and greeted, “Hello, who are you…”

The figure seemed unaware of Gawain’s presence or words, speaking instead to itself. Gawain quickly realized this was an ancient recorded message.

The figure continued:

“This is the Voyager Fleet. In the name of the First Pioneers, we salute the new voyagers.

“To our successors: when you or one of you discovers this recording, it means you have met the final conditions—you have understood the meaning of ‘coming of age’ and endured the ultimate trials of your current stage. You stand independently and proudly on this planet, ready to take your first steps outward.

“We offer you our congratulations and blessings.”

“When the Pioneer Fleet first set sail, we already foresaw the long and lonely journey ahead. We understood the unique laws that govern this universe. We knew it to be as lush and vibrant as midsummer, capable of nurturing countless magnificent civilizations. Yet it is also as fierce as a storm, where countless brilliant cultures rise and fall within brief cycles. We hoped to find companions along this long, solitary voyage, but we also knew that on the cosmic scale, traveling alongside other civilizations is a luxury few can afford.

“Even so, we firmly believe that you will appear—perhaps tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of years after we’ve departed, or maybe after the fleet has drifted millions of light-years away. You might learn something from the relics we leave behind, or perhaps you will develop civilizations beyond anything we could have imagined, unprecedented and extraordinary. But no matter what, we are certain of your existence.

“You must exist. And if possible… we hope you will also embark on this endless journey through the stars, because this starry sky… is truly worth seeing.”

Beside Gawain, against the endless pure white backdrop, countless magnificent scenes suddenly unfolded—

He saw blazing stars, massive columns of flame erupting from their surfaces, arcing tens of thousands of kilometers through space, their light and heat dazzlingly bright even billions of kilometers away.

He saw cold, dark worlds drifting alone in the vast cosmos, their rocky surfaces scarred with chasms and peaks, ancient frozen landscapes faintly bearing the remnants of lost civilizations.

He saw distant star rivers tearing open, colossal spatial rifts stretching across the void, from which high-energy gas clouds poured forth, bathing countless stars. Enormous fleets sailed deep within those clouds, harvesting untold resources, constructing grand space megastructures.

Storms roiled across the surfaces of gas giants; alien mountains and rivers basked in sunlight; endless torrential rains fell upside down in strange lands; glorious, ancient alien kingdoms thrived on unfamiliar soil.

And at the end of these scenes, countless intelligent beings gazed up at the sky.

“Not all creatures have the chance to evolve intelligence. Not all intelligent beings have the chance to look up at the stars. Not all who look up at the stars have the chance to reach for them. And not all who reach for the stars are lucky enough to take that first step.”

All the light and shadow froze, and that hazy figure appeared again before Gawain’s eyes. Slowly, they raised a hand, pointing toward a distant direction.

“You have taken that step, grasping that incredibly slim chance after countless zeros beyond the decimal point.

“Don’t waste this chance.

“Set forth. Our fleet may no longer appear in your sight, but you can be certain—we are ahead on this route, just as we are certain of your existence.

“May your journey be smooth.”

Gawain gasped sharply. Then all the light and shadow shattered, and everything before his eyes instantly returned to how it was at the start.

He steadied himself and noticed the giant sun had risen high in the sky. Yet beneath its blazing light, an endless veil of pale violet glow covered the world. Slowly drifting auroras undulated between sunlight and violet haze, like a grand curtain descending from the heavens.

He heard Amber’s soft voice beside him: “It’s so beautiful…”

Gawain blinked, the chaos in his mind gradually settling. Amber finally noticed his odd expression and asked with concern, “Are you okay?”

“…I’m fine,” Gawain said, rubbing his forehead. Then realization dawned. “The magical tide has arrived?”

“Yes,” Amber nodded gently, pointing to the auroral curtain visible even in daylight. “Just as Kamiel predicted, it’s a beautiful sight.”

Faint cheers began to rise from afar, though it was unclear whether they came from the plaza, the city center, or perhaps… the entire world was celebrating?

“No gods have descended?” Gawain asked.

“No. The Dawn of the Mortal World is watching the induction point closely, but all divine relics have shattered. The gods have not come to this world.”

Gawain opened his mouth again: “Then…”

“We succeeded,” Amber finally broke into a radiant smile, just as bright as when she and Gawain had escaped that ruined old territory years ago. “We did it! Old Zongzi, we did it! And we’re using the same system as the Noyans—they seem to have succeeded too!!”

She jumped up, shouting so loudly it nearly hurt Gawain’s ears. But this time, he didn’t mind her exuberance, because a surge of joy was swelling inside him too—he smiled. Just as he was about to cheer, the magic network terminal on the desk suddenly activated, and Amorn’s voice abruptly cut in, interrupting him: “Don’t celebrate yet! Do you have medics over there? Send a few squads to help.”

Gawain was stunned and hurried to the terminal. “What’s going on?”

“Faul was nearly killed and came back half-dead. When Danmo went back to check the site, he didn’t notice there were still bombs left unexploded. Nefari and Jizna were slow to detonate them…”

Gawain: “…”

He stared blankly at the chaotic scene displayed in the hologram—the gathering place near the Golden Oak was filled with a group of grimy, bloodied ‘gods.’

The Winter and Forest gods sat on a large central stone, boasting of their bravery. The blood god Danmo held his head in frustration as Faul bragged. The Curse Goddess and Wind Goddess sat awkwardly at a distance, receiving emergency treatment from the Three Sisters of Abundance…

But Gawain counted carefully—no one was missing.

And they all looked fairly lively—just back to the battered state they’d been in after the Night Lady’s attack.

He smiled, then leaned back comfortably in the high-backed chair behind his desk.

“Mortal doctors probably can’t fix this, at least not with our current technology,” he said cheerfully. “Anyway, you’re in charge of the domain of nature and healing—you’ll just have to work a little harder.”

Amorn immediately protested: “Do you know how many they have—”

But Gawain muted the protest.

He narrowed his eyes, and for the first time in years, allowed himself to fully relax—body and mind.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, bright sunlight bathed the land in a warm, incredible glow.

On the wall opposite the desk, the mechanical clock ticked steadily—8:05. After crossing the countdown of the apocalypse, the time of the Loren civilization cheerfully leapt into the next second.

(The End)

(PS: This marks the conclusion of the main storyline of The Sword of Dawn. There might be some side stories later, but for now, it’s time to rest…)

(PS2: Although the story is complete, there will be double monthly votes at the end of this month. If you want to support, save your votes until then.)

(This chapter ends.)