Chapter 317: The Enigma of the Gods

Tyr’s casual words stirred a tempest in Gawain’s mind. From those few brief sentences, he sensed an immense depth of information.

The sea sirens were an ancient and mysterious civilization—this deep-sea race, living beyond his “satellite surveillance zone,” had been remarkably advanced for tens of thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands of years. Although the magical cataclysms had seemingly stalled their technological progress, they had endured through the ages, leaving behind extensive records observing land civilizations.

Compared to Gawain’s own era, where historical records were like “one frame per millennium,” the sirens’ observations were far more continuous, detailed, and reliable.

That meant Tyr’s words were trustworthy.

In other words… every time civilization on this world collapsed and restarted, every time the world was reshaped, mortal races always built similar religions, always worshipped similar gods?

Even when the transmission of civilization was completely broken, even when the world itself was remade, the faith in those gods somehow persisted?!

Gawain had long suspected that the gods could transcend the magical cataclysms, but how did their worship keep reappearing in mortal realms? This “season” of mortal civilization had learned about the gods through the “Eternal Tablets”—did every previous season have such tablets as well?

Gawain speculated that the so-called Eternal Tablets might be some kind of storage medium left behind by that ancient “Godslayer Fleet.” Could this medium have become the vessel through which the gods continually resurrected themselves and spread their messages? Or… was this all a deliberate scheme by that ancient fleet?

He felt a faint scent of conspiracy.

Noticing Gawain’s shifting expressions, Tyr grew curious. “What are you thinking? Are you upset just because I mentioned those ‘gods’? I thought you didn’t believe in gods?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Gawain quickly waved his hand. “I’m just making some connections… By the way, in your sirens’ records, every season of land civilization has a similar pantheon, right? So, who exactly are they—”

“Wait, you’ve got it wrong,” Tyr interrupted, wagging her tail tip seriously. “I said you land people worship ‘similar’ gods each season, not the exact same ones. That’s a big difference.”

“A big difference?” Gawain frowned. “What kind of difference?”

“It’s like this: the objects of worship across generations share some common traits, but they don’t actually feel like the same god,” Tyr pondered, searching for the most precise words to describe the history she knew. “For example, on your land, several ancient civilizations all revered concepts like ‘light, protection, and justice,’ which gave rise to the faith in the Holy Light. But each generation’s ‘God of the Holy Light’ was different. I remember the oldest one recorded by the sirens was a mighty male giant, but the next civilization worshipped a dragon—a crystal dragon, actually… Hmm, in your last or penultimate civilization, the Holy Light deity was apparently female, called the Goddess of Light.”

Gawain listened, stunned, then hurriedly stopped Tyr. “Hey, be careful! Don’t tell anyone this outside here, especially not to those faithful. This topic is blasphemous—if they hear you, you might end up tied to a pyre and roasted like a fish!”

“Don’t worry, I know,” Tyr rolled her eyes. “Besides, sirens aren’t afraid of fire. At worst, we’d just turn into steam. Then a cold front comes, and we’d just rain back down.”

Gawain felt like he’d just glimpsed an incredible racial trait, but he was more concerned about the ever-changing images of the gods. “So, based on what you said, the gods worshipped by other sects also keep changing their forms?”

“Exactly. Your current season’s goddess of magic was a god of magic in the last season, and the one before that was called ‘Karmandor, the Dragon of All Magic.’ Your war god this season was a four-headed horned lion last season, but the season before that was actually a busty woman,” Tyr said, shaking her head. “And it’s not just appearances—sometimes gods merge or disappear. For example, in ancient times, the blood god and war god were actually the same deity, called the ‘God of Slaughter.’ And the god of commerce you worship now was once split into the god of trade and the god of contracts in some civilization.”

Gawain was utterly baffled by this flood of ancient secrets. After wrestling with the tangled web of gods and their transformations, he realized he couldn’t untangle it all anytime soon. So he abandoned the details and drew a simple conclusion:

Though each season of mortal civilization worships distinct deities, overall, mortals don’t worship fixed, unchanging gods. Instead, they worship conceptual archetypes that inevitably arise during civilization’s development.

Mortals fear fire, so they create fire worship. They yearn for light and justice, so they create faith in the Holy Light. They need trade and fairness, so they create commerce gods. Their reverence for war and bloodshed births war and blood gods. Their awe of darkness births shadow and night gods…

Their faith initially points to abstract concepts, and the specific godly images come later.

So when Tyr said land civilizations worship “similar gods” across generations, she meant the concepts are similar, but the gods’ images differ wildly each time.

Gawain couldn’t help but think of Earth’s primitive deity worship—ancient humans first revered natural phenomena, then gradually formed clearer gods from those vague feelings. But unlike Earth…

Here, gods and their powers truly exist.

Those ever-changing gods… if they have existed since time immemorial and possess the humanlike traits religions claim, would they allow mortal civilizations to reshape their images at will?

Obviously not. After all, in the Holy Light sect, even mispronouncing a prayer could bring divine punishment. Those gods are hardly tolerant of mortals.

So there was only one conclusion: in each season’s religion, the gods really do change… at least, their images do.

A bold question sprang to Gawain’s mind: did gods create humans, or did humans create gods?

Following this daring thought, new problems arose. If humans created gods, then how to explain the storm god who died in the deep sea, or the nature god who perished in the Shadow Realm—these gods with tangible flesh and blood?

Another question: the sirens began harvesting “giant squids” in ancient times, and surely multiple waves of storm god worship arose on land during that process. So who held the storm god’s “seat” then?

Remember, the storm god’s power always existed. Before the Stormborn fell into darkness, their priests could pray to the storm god for the “sea’s response,” guiding sailors safely through the chaotic endless ocean. Such immense power couldn’t come from nowhere. Could the storm god, constantly being gnawed and excavated by the sirens, still find time to answer their followers’ prayers?

If so, Gawain had to admire the storm god’s dedication.

His expression flickered as he finally murmured, “The relationship between gods and mortals… what exactly is it?”

Tyr shrugged (tail tip wagging). “That’s beyond my knowledge. We sirens don’t believe in gods. Even if we try your land rituals out of curiosity, we get no response. Your ‘divine arts’ are utterly incomprehensible to us, just like you can’t understand siren elemental technology.”

“You’d have to be joking if you think your gods answer you,” Gawain shot a sideways glance at the salty fish. “Look at your menu—do you really think those gods are rushing to be your sashimi?”

Tyr licked her upper lip. “Speaking of which, I’m kinda craving some… Hey, can I nibble on that great white stag?”

Without hesitation, Gawain said, “No.”

“Why not…” The siren lady looked crushed. “You don’t even use the great white stag. You don’t burn it or eat it. Leaving such a big chunk of meat there is wasteful…”

“The giant stag Amorn and the ‘giant squid’ are different,” Gawain said, eyeing the tail-wagging creature. “Amorn is sealed by the force field generated from all those ancient weapon remnants. Kamail told you that, right? It’s a very delicate balance now. Who knows what would happen if you took a bite? Also, the gate to the Shadow Realm is built on ancient Gondorian tech, which could fail anytime. What if the gate closes while you’re inside nibbling? How would you get out? You gonna wiggle your way out like a sea caterpillar?”

Tyr was speechless.

Seeing her at a loss for words, Gawain sighed and turned to look at the bustling city of Cesil basking in the bright winter sun.

“Better just keep soaking up the sun.”

Tyr pouted helplessly. Her long serpentine tail slowly melted and reshaped into a snake tail. Then she twisted her body and flopped down like a lazy fish. “I’m so hungry…”

Meanwhile, in Saint Suniel City, Santis finally set foot once more on the ancient royal capital.

He looked up at the sunlight shining on the tightly packed rooftops, the colorful stained-glass windows of the cathedral, and the weathered old walls and towers.

After nearly a year, he had finally returned.

(End of chapter)