Chapter 228: Beyond the Edge of Mortal Civilization

The stars had returned to their places, then drifted away again, serenely orbiting in the sky. They cast their cold light upon the world, utterly unaware that once, a great multitude of mortals had scrambled frantically beneath their guidance—only to end up empty-handed.

The ancient gods had not returned. The prophesied Day of Judgment had not come. Though every event leading up to this moment seemed to perfectly confirm the prophecies—the towering waves in the Endless Sea, the unique energy pulses “Ao” released under the stars’ influence, the frequent whispers of the gods—one crucial final step never occurred: the awakening of the Stormlord from the deep ocean.

The Stormlord was the only god still lingering in the mortal realm. Without its awakening, the Day of Judgment could not begin.

It all seemed like a cruel joke. Yet the true culprits behind this awkward outcome—the “God-Eaters” of the deep sea—remained completely unaware.

Deep beneath the Endless Sea, long sealed by relentless storms, the ancient sea monster city of Antavien stood quietly where it had crash-landed ages ago. Slightly tilted, it was embedded in a rocky seabed near the shore. Part of the city reached down into the great ocean trench, while the rest rose gradually along the seabed, with about a tenth of it breaking the surface and resting on the edge of the landmass the sea monsters called the “Continent of Eo.” Along the coastline, this formed a spectacular wall of steel.

Though sea monsters were accustomed to dwelling in the deep ocean, on this planet with vast landmasses, they had gradually learned to survive on land as well. They never built sprawling cities like humans, but to extract resources and monitor the “jump engines,” they constructed a series of outposts and watchpoints along the western coast of Eo. The largest of these was the “Seaside Watchpoint,” directly opposite the Steel Wall. From its lookout tower, one could see two-thirds of the wall—a vital monitoring post.

The Steel Wall was actually the stern bulkhead of Antavien’s starship. During the cataclysmic crash landing millennia ago, the ship had plummeted from the atmosphere, its engines nearly dead. The engineers had barely managed to adjust its descent angle, and the ship grazed the edge of the continent at a perilous angle, dragging about a quarter of the landmass into the deep sea. The heavily damaged ship then slid along the continental shelf, ending up with one end near the ocean trench and the other resting on the continent’s edge.

The bow was almost completely destroyed, but the stern remained intact—an incredible stroke of luck, as it housed the most complex and hardest-to-repair jump engines.

However, the sea monsters soon discovered that even with the engines intact, they could not relaunch the ship. Not only was flight impossible, but even the simplest machinery aboard had ceased functioning after the disaster. It took them a long time to realize this was due to a fundamental difference in the physical laws of this world.

From that day on, the sea monsters began to study and adapt to the rules of this world. It was as if they had returned to the dawn of civilization, forced to reshape their very lifeforms to survive here. But they soon realized this “starting over” would have to happen more than once.

This world was constantly reshuffling itself…

But that was all right. Civilization’s progress was never smooth sailing, and the sea monsters had grown accustomed to hardship.

Queen Petia of the sea monsters arrived at the Seaside Watchpoint. Standing atop the high lookout tower, she gazed at the Steel Wall along the coast. The energy conduits lining the wall began to glow one by one—the core fusion tower was powering up.

Thanks to a recent surge in giant squid populations, the sea monsters had gathered enough fuel to attempt reigniting the core engine. The engineers were cautious, knowing several key issues in the magical energy conversion process remained unresolved. But Petia was unfazed.

Failures had become routine. She understood that even a failed ignition yielded valuable technical data—experience and the natural laws deduced from it were their greatest treasures.

Sea monsters were not a particularly clever species; at times, they could even be called slow-witted. But patience and optimism were their strongest assets.

As the core fusion tower powered up, a sea monster attendant slithered gracefully up the tower’s spiral staircase, her serpentine tail trailing behind. She approached the queen from behind.

“Your Majesty,” she said softly, “General Vanessa just reported that a tide master named Tyr has gone missing.”

“Tyr?” Petia frowned. “That name sounds familiar…”

“She’s the one who walks oddly,” the attendant explained. “Like a sea caterpillar.”

“Oh, I remember now. She’s always so lazy,” Petia turned, surprise flickering across her face. “Is she not at home?”

“No, she’s missing,” the attendant said gravely. “She hasn’t been seen since the last clash with those crazy humans.”

Petia shook her head. “Maybe she died and resurrected at the wrong coordinates. That battle was chaotic—several sisters who fell ended up resurrecting in the Southern Ocean and took over a month to return.”

The attendant sighed. “Even if she swam back from the Southern Ocean, she should have arrived by now—unless she’s crawling along the seabed in that strange way. Then she’d still be halfway.”

“Send out a search party centered on the last battlefield. Also, dispatch teams to scout the human outposts along the sea’s edge. Maybe our tide master was captured by those lunatics… though unlikely, with Tyr, you never know.”

The attendant bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Petia nodded. After the attendant left, she turned back to gaze at the winding steel wall along the distant shore.

Meanwhile, within the secret sanctum of the Sleeper’s Cult in the Typhon Empire, nightmare bishops clad in black and white robes gathered in the central hall. A heavy, solemn atmosphere hung over them.

“The Stormborn and the End of All Things factions have sent word. Our allies suffered varying degrees of loss after prematurely activating the ‘Ultimate Plan,’” one bishop spoke in a low, chilling voice. “By comparison, our losses were minimal.”

Another added, “Furthermore, the Stormborn’s ocean observation post reported unexplained phenomena—the tides rose, and divine power surged in the deep sea, but then everything abruptly returned to calm.”

“So we cannot dismiss the prophecy outright,” a third bishop said. “All signs align with the prophecy’s first half. Only the final outcome deviated—perhaps some unknown force interfered with its fulfillment…”

The first bishop sneered, “Who could possibly interfere with a god’s resurrection?”

“The anomalous sea lies in the Far Eastern Ocean,” the second bishop said quickly. “Near the sea monsters’ territory.”

“The sea monsters… those ghosts of the deep…” a black-robed bishop who had remained silent until now finally spoke. “They supposedly destroyed one of the Stormborn’s outposts last time…”

“In my view, the Stormborn are not to be trusted,” another bishop said. “Maybe their star observations were flawed, causing our setbacks…”

Before he finished, a deep, calm voice with an irresistible authority cut through the hall: “Enough.”

The bishops immediately fell silent, turning respectfully toward the source. “Your Holiness.”

A shadowy figure materialized at the hall’s far end. Though its face was obscured, and no eyes were visible, everyone felt a piercing gaze sweep through their bodies and souls, deepening their reverence.

The shadow spoke softly: “Do not forget our cause. This is no setback.

“Each of us anticipated this. The prophecy exists, but it is not our sole guide. It is but one factor, and whether it comes to pass will not alter our plans.

“The early activation of the Eternal Dream was merely a precaution against unpreparedness. And we gained much from it.”

The Sleeper Pope paused deliberately before continuing: “The first run of the Eternal Dream generated vast empirical data, helping us refine this grand plan. And I discovered its potential far exceeds our expectations.”

The bishops stirred, exchanging curious glances.

The Pope wasted no time announcing his decision, stunning everyone: “We will rest for three days. After that, the Eternal Dream will be restarted.”

Murmurs rose. One bishop cautioned, “Your Holiness, the Eternal Dream still has many flaws…”

“It can only improve and evolve while running,” the Pope interrupted. “Through careful observation, I have realized this—and more.”

The hall fell silent as the Pope’s voice rang out:

“The immense computational power of the Eternal Dream is the key to deciphering the memory fragments of Gawain Cecil. During the last run, those fragments showed signs of loosening—they may now be analyzable.

“Nightmare bishops, rally yourselves. We have much work ahead—summon your subordinate nodes and prepare to decode Gawain Cecil’s memory fragments. We must uncover the truth: who—or what—he truly is.”

(End of chapter)