Chapter 243: The Returnee

Gawain had brought Tyr here for exactly this purpose.

Although the actual process of “identifying” the seafood didn’t go quite as he had originally imagined, the results were still very satisfying.

“This creature belongs to the same category as the giant squid, even though their appearances differ greatly,” the siren sister managed to keep a shred of rationality in the face of such a delicacy. She still remembered the task Gawain had given her, so after completing the “identification,” she quickly pulled back, drooling as she reported, “They exhibit the same high-energy reactions. Even after death, their tissues remain active… slurp… and they have a natural attraction to elemental beings like us sirens… slurp… plus, they’re especially chewy… slurp…”

Gawain couldn’t take it anymore. “Why don’t you just have a taste yourself?”

“No, no,” Tyr wiped her mouth vigorously. “I’m very restrained.”

With that, the salty fish spirit lifted her head and tried hard to focus on anything but the “snack” before her.

She stared blankly at the twisted, distorted metal debris floating around the corpse of the “Great Stag Amorn.” As an individual from a highly advanced civilization, she naturally had a different understanding of these strange remnants.

“This looks like a mutual destruction attack,” the siren guessed. “I found large tears near the white stag’s spine, and inside those wounds were fragments of metal debris. It seems there was a severe collision between the two…”

“A suicide attack…” Gawain frowned as he looked at the metal and crystal fragments drifting around the divine corpse, pondering what benefits these relics might bring to his domain.

This was technology far beyond anything contemporary humans could imagine—there was no doubt about that. Yet when the technological gap reaches a certain point, relics of a high civilization lose their research and reference value for a lower one. Even the mighty Gondor Empire, with all its elite minds, only managed to roughly mimic the energy reactions on these fragments to create a protective barrier against “divine will.” They never truly understood any of the technical details within these remnants. So what could the Cecil Domain possibly learn from them now?

They probably couldn’t even cut through the metal—just like the fragments of the Eternal Stone Tablet, which all contemporary races believed to be divine creations, impossible for mortals to cleave except by self-disintegration.

To stand before a treasure trove and leave empty-handed—that was exactly how Gawain felt.

“If only I were a deep-sea technician,” Tyr wagged the tip of her tail, a hint of regret in her voice. “Maybe then I could learn something from these remains… We sirens have observed every civilization on the continent, but we’ve never seen anything like this. These relics are truly… incredible.”

Tyr seemed carefree and guileless, but deep down she was cautious and perceptive. She knew she was in an unfamiliar civilization, and as a special individual in this environment, she had carefully controlled her words, actions, and curiosity. Even here, in this ancient fortress, standing before the so-called divine corpse and suspected god-slaying weapons, she hadn’t acted out of line. Yet now, she couldn’t help but show some interest in these relics.

“Can your so-called deep-sea technicians analyze these remains?” Gawain took her words seriously and immediately asked, “Is your technology capable of deciphering this stuff?”

“I’m just speculating,” Tyr thought carefully before shaking her head regretfully. “Our technology is stuck at a very delicate… bottleneck. Even deep-sea technicians probably can’t analyze things so completely different from our own tech path.”

“Is that so… what a pity.”

After a moment of silence, Tyr whispered, “By the way… this thing—is it what you call a ‘god’?”

“Yes, you just heard it—it’s a nature god.”

Having spent a fair amount of time in human society, Tyr was no longer as confused about human religious systems and worldviews as she had been at first. She now roughly understood what humans meant by the gods they worshipped. Having recently seen the divine flesh and blood in Gawain’s collection, she finally realized what the “giant squid” her sisters usually dug up in the deep sea really were. But as a siren who didn’t believe in gods, the supernatural idols humans revered failed to resonate with her. Hearing Gawain’s confirmation, she wanted to express surprise but could only sigh, “Oh, it’s quite chewy.”

“I’m not sure how many believers would be horrified by that comment,” Gawain smiled helplessly. “But speaking of which… there probably aren’t many left who still worship the nature god.”

Since the fall of the White Star, the death of the nature god had become an unspoken but well-known fact. Three thousand years had thoroughly destroyed the original Druidic faith. The only “ritual” Druidic “Holy Spirit Sect” had degenerated into the Cult of the End of All Things. There were no longer any open followers of the nature god in the world.

Still, Gawain was certain that if the secret of this pocket dimension were revealed, it would cause a massive upheaval worldwide.

And the Cecil Domain would be right in the eye of the storm.

So he absolutely could not let this information leak out—at least not while his domain was still in its infancy. He couldn’t afford to let such news slip.

But Gawain hoped to extract as much as possible from this “treasure mountain” before leaving. He turned to Kamail. “Kamail, are the tools you used back then to cut samples from the divine corpse and its surrounding debris still usable?”

Kamail’s voice came from the armor plating. “Definitely not. And even if they were, I strongly advise against disturbing anything here.”

Gawain frowned. “Why not?”

“The Great Stag Amorn isn’t as ‘peaceful’ as you think,” Kamail warned seriously. “The god is dead, but its flesh is not. It has a life pattern beyond human understanding. This corpse before you has never stopped regenerating in the past three thousand years. Some unknown force has been repairing it continuously. But the steel debris entangled with the divine corpse suppresses this regeneration. The two form a delicate balance that has lasted until today. When we collected samples back then—whether from the corpse or the debris—each time came at a great cost and enormous risk. Now… we can’t afford that risk.”

“Regeneration…”

Gawain murmured, glancing at Tyr, who was still smacking her lips.

It seemed gods could not truly be killed. Though long ago, a powerful Zenith Star fleet had wiped out many gods, after they left, those dead gods gradually returned to their thrones (whether or not they actually did, someone was still answering calls from those seats). The Storm Lord of the Deep Sea and the Nature God of the Shadow Realm were delayed in their return due to accidents—one was so badly gnawed it couldn’t care for itself, the other crippled by an interstellar crash.

But apparently, once these external suppressions were removed, they would come back to life?

Gawain didn’t know if the gods praised by devout believers were truly as benevolent, great, and selfless as claimed. But judging from this crash site before him, if the Great Stag Amorn ever woke up, it probably wouldn’t be very happy…

He decided to follow his instincts (and Kamail’s warning) and not recklessly disturb Amorn or the surrounding debris without sufficient technology and production capacity. Let this nature god continue to sleep quietly in the Shadow Realm.

Still, they should pack up any other usable samples from the fortress—who knew when the magical gates might close again? Those samples, passed down from the Age of Starfire, would then become irreplaceable treasures.

“Let’s go. We’ve stayed here long enough,” Gawain said, glancing once more at the Great Stag Amorn’s corpse and the seemingly eternal twisted debris floating around it. He exhaled softly, then looked toward the ancient mage hovering nearby. “Kamail, are you ready to return to the human world?”

The ancient mage remained silent.

When the day finally came, Kamail realized he was utterly unprepared.

Over the past centuries, he had imagined countless times what it would be like to leave this place and return to human society. But he never thought the day would truly arrive, nor that before it did, he would lose the most fundamental attribute of being human.

Hearing Gawain’s question, he lowered his head, looking at his completely alien form, feeling the ceaseless flow of arcane energy within him, and suddenly felt a flicker of hesitation and fear.

“Can I still return to humanity like this?”

“The outside world has changed a lot. You will face challenges no matter what form you take. But on my land, I can at least guarantee you acceptance,” Gawain said slowly. “My domain already hosts many… unconventional beings. My people are used to accepting things beyond their worldview. A powerful ancient mage like you will earn their respect. Of course, all this depends on you learning to abide by the rules of this era and respecting… my rule over this land.”

After a long silence, the arcane energy within Kamail brightened gradually. He finally broke the silence: “Before accepting this long mission, we all knew the path would be fraught with peril. But for the survival of our race, we were willing to give up everything that made us human… Now, perhaps it is time to fulfill the oath made a thousand years ago.

“High Advisor of the Gondor Mages’ Council, Watcher of the ‘Rebellion’ Fortress, Kamail Slane, hereby swears allegiance to you, my lord, in the name of humanity.”

(End of chapter)