Chapter 210: A Way Out Amid the Magical Tide

The sea sirens were a race shrouded in mystery—not just because they dwelled in the deep ocean far from land, separated physically from surface-dwellers, but also because their way of thinking and worldview seemed fundamentally different. This made their descriptions of things wildly divergent from human understanding. For example, while humans classified deep-sea monsters by magical power levels or attack attributes, the sirens presented a “chewiness ranking” for these creatures. That kind of comparison made meaningful communication nearly impossible.

So Gawain couldn’t be certain what exactly the “giant squid” the sirens had been digging up in the depths really was. Based on the traits Tyr had described, he could only hazard a bold guess that it was some kind of divine relic—but whether that was true, he’d have to see it with his own eyes to know for sure.

Unfortunately, there was no chance to venture into the deep sea anytime soon.

After dinner, Tyr stretched lazily. This deep-water creature, preparing for hibernation, seemed to have no concept of a post-meal stroll. Having answered a barrage of Gawain’s questions, she was yawning nonstop. The siren lady uncoiled her tail, waved goodbye, and announced she was going back to lounge around. Then she awkwardly crawled out of the dining hall.

That crawling posture was still embarrassingly clumsy…

Betty got up to clear the dishes, Rebecca carried a pile of rune boards and scrolls back to her room to continue calculations, and Amber, having just eaten her fill, rolled off into the shadows for some unknown purpose. Soon, only Gawain and Hetty remained in the dining hall.

Gawain noticed Hetty was preoccupied and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Ancestor, do you believe what the siren said?”

Gawain countered, “What do you think?”

“In legends, creatures from the deep sea are said to have the power to bewitch and drive people mad. Sailors tell tales that once a ship leaves coastal waters, on windless nights, they hear the sirens’ songs,” Hetty recited from her readings. “Those songs lure ships into whirlpools and reefs, even drag people into nightmares, leaving only hollow, tattered ghost ships drifting on the waves.”

“But you clearly don’t believe those legends,” Gawain smiled at her. “And those sailors’ superstitions are laughable—how many ships have actually returned alive from the far seas in seven hundred years? Where would they get all those ‘eyewitness accounts’?”

Hetty shook her head gently. “The legends are absurd, but what Tyr said was truly alarming, unsettling.”

“You mean the part about the ‘real magical tide,’” Gawain understood her meaning. “Honestly, I’d rather believe it’s true.”

Hetty frowned. “Because of those minerals recently found in the Dark Mountains?”

“Hom ore forms during the magical tide—and what we can’t be sure of is what substances might vanish during the process,” Gawain said quietly. “The mutations in the Dark Mountains are visible to all, and back in the ruins of Gondor… we saw countless things altered by the magical tide. A wealth of new magical materials might be a boon, but if this phenomenon spreads worldwide, it would be a disaster for mortal civilization. Can you imagine what would happen if all the common magical materials humans rely on suddenly changed properties overnight—or vanished entirely?”

“Even the Elven Star Temples would fall,” Hetty said with a bitter smile, then added, “But there’s still iron ore in the Dark Mountains, still building stone, giant wood remains giant wood, quartz sand is still quartz sand…”

“That’s the last kindness the world offers mortals. Not all materials change during the magical tide. It seems the most basic, least magic-sensitive substances are the least affected. Even for magical conductors that do change, the conversion isn’t total. But no one can say if that will hold true when the ‘real magical tide’ erupts. And even if only ten percent of materials are affected, that’s enough to shatter the foundations of mortal civilization: the magical arrays in operation, mana wells worldwide, mage towers, magical devices—all relying on those materials. If they’re disrupted during operation…”

Gawain left the last thought unspoken, but both he and Hetty understood the grim picture: mortal civilization would literally explode and spiral into oblivion.

The mighty Gondor Empire lasted only a month during the magical tide before vanishing into dust—and that was no coincidence.

It was a hopeless future. If the magical tide’s true power was as Tyr described and Gawain imagined, then mortal civilization had no way to save itself. Even with Gawain’s experience spanning two lifetimes and a million years of satellite reconnaissance, he couldn’t envision how humanity could resist the magical tide with its current level of development. The very fabric of the material world would be shaken—who could have imagined such volatility?

But… was there truly no way out?

Suddenly, Gawain recalled a phrase he’d seen in a mountain ruin laboratory:

“Humanity shall endure, even if it defies the gods.”

Could it be that the ancient Gondorian mages weren’t searching for immortality, but rather trying to harness divine power to combat the magical tide? Had they known a thousand years ago during the Age of Sparks that the magical tide was coming?

That would explain why they said “Humanity shall endure,” not “So-and-so shall live forever”—the latter referring to individual immortality, the former possibly meaning the survival of the entire race, the whole civilization.

Yet seven hundred years ago, during the “lesser magical tide” Tyr mentioned, Gondor fell in just a month.

Had their research failed? Had they given up? Taken a wrong path? Or… was the mountain ruin’s project unrelated to the magical tide at all?

Gawain’s mind raced. He thought again of the “giant squid” the sirens had found on the ocean floor.

According to Tyr, the giant squid had died long before the siren civilization arose—meaning this suspected divine relic had survived multiple magical tides in the deep sea, seemingly unaffected.

The sirens themselves were also immune or only mildly affected by the magical tide—their civilization had suffered some blows but had endured.

“Ancestor?” Hetty broke the silence, noticing Gawain’s long pause. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m wondering if mortals truly have a way to survive the magical tide,” Gawain said slowly. “Though there’s no clear evidence, I believe a way out exists—either through the gods or through the elemental forces.”

“You mean clerics and elemental mages?”

“No, those are just two types of spellcasters—users of power. I think the solution lies in the essence of power itself, or rather… the essence of our material world.”

Seeing Hetty fall into deep thought, Gawain chuckled. “It’s too early to ponder this now. With our current strength, or even the entire mortal world’s level, we’re not qualified to tackle these questions. Instead of dwelling on this, let’s rest and focus on organizing the personnel selection in a couple of days.”

Yes, now was not the time to think about such things—at least, not for Hetty.

Gawain comforted her and sent her back to her room to rest. Meanwhile, he concentrated, calling up the orbital surveillance satellites.

A “magical energy thermal imaging map” appeared in his mind’s eye—a top-down view centered on his current location, overlaying terrain with magical energy distribution across hundreds of kilometers. Wisps of magical aura shifted and flowed on the map. The latest reports from the giant planet monitoring systems flashed into his mind:

“Giant planet energy levels decreasing, entering low alert status.

“Giant planet energy levels at low point, confirmed entering calm period, alert lifted.

“All systems entering low-power self-check mode.”

At least, there was no sign of a magical tide erupting anytime soon.

Meanwhile, on the western border of the Ansu Kingdom, at the frontier of Duke Franklin’s domain, near the edge of the Taimu Forest…

The neighboring Ogure tribal kingdom was a loosely structured alliance. Seven hundred years ago, when human pioneers pushed west into this mountainous, forested land, they chose peaceful coexistence with local powers, forging treaties and alliances to establish a foothold in the western continent. Over centuries of integration, many races had come together to form a new power here. More than a dozen intelligent species lived permanently in the region, with the spirit folk, gray elves, fae, orcs, and humans being the strongest and most influential. Each race’s hereditary homelands were their main cities, and through a governing body called the “Council of Five Kings,” they jointly ruled this vast territory.

Unlike the now-hostile Typhon, the Ogure kingdom had maintained good diplomatic relations with Ansu for seven centuries. The Franklin family, skilled in calculation and commerce, played a key role. They had long traded with the gray elves and established a large trading town and several settlements on the border of the Taimu Forest, the gray elves’ main habitat, to facilitate commerce. Though the Franklins amassed wealth through various means—including a decree forcing merchants to convert a third of their goods into Franklin silver coins and requiring all transactions within their territory to be settled in those coins—they were still considered wise compared to other nobles who robbed merchants by digging pits on roads or hiring bandits to raid markets.

But today, the wise Duke Franklin faced a troubling problem.

At Jinlin Town, the trading hub on the edge of Taimu Forest.

Torches blazed, illuminating the night as a large force of soldiers sealed off all roads leading into the town, surrounding the largest merchant guild hall so tightly that not even a pin could slip through.

(End of chapter)