Chapter 658: It’s All Over
Heavy clouds hung low, torrential rain poured down, and the entire Baisha region was shrouded in an endless, impenetrable darkness. Beneath the swirling vortex of clouds, the rain fell like an inverted ocean stretching from the horizon to the earth, so dense it was almost suffocating. Amid this apocalyptic darkness and raging storm, countless strange limbs sprouted, and innumerable indescribable beings cheered as they took shape from the downpour. Every soldier, officer, and war technician aboard the Iron Throne would carry the mental scars of witnessing this scene for the rest of their lives.
The entire crew of the Iron Throne had just passed a sanity check, and now the whole train was filled with a positive, uplifting, and optimistic atmosphere.
“Deactivate the mental defense system,” Commander Mariland ordered, feeling his mind clearer than ever before and realizing the onboard psychic shield was no longer effective.
That indescribable structure still writhed and moved, hanging down from the vortex like a colossal deep-sea creature licking the earth with countless tentacles. But it wasn’t alone—when lightning cracked and illuminated the scene, Mariland could see many smaller humanoid figures darting between the tentacles. They seemed to be wielding various tools, busily working amid the chaotic feast. Thanks to his enhanced vision, Mariland recognized that some of these beings resembled Miss Tyr from their territory.
Others, however, were far harder to describe. Beyond their humanoid forms, they had bizarre, mismatched limbs—some so strange it was unclear if they could even be called limbs, as if they just grew randomly.
These were Cecil’s allies: the deep-sea sirens.
Thank heavens this powerful faction was on Cecil’s side.
The adjutant approached, a young officer with a puzzled look. “General, what are our orders now?”
“Do nothing,” Mariland replied. “Just wait for the rain to stop.”
“Yes, General.”
They both looked up through the train’s reinforced shielded windows toward the distant feast.
At the heart of the storm, in the center of the warp field that was nearly fully transformed into a water-element domain, the tentacle “forest” had completely isolated the artificial god from the outside world. The colossal “Sea Emperor” beast, formed by three thousand two hundred tide sirens in perfect mimicry, covered the area with its unprecedentedly massive body. Between its thousands of hanging tentacles, runic lights flickered, and layers of illusory force fields wove an impenetrable barrier. All of the giant stag’s desperate struggles were futile against this overwhelming shield.
Inside the Sea Emperor’s domain, within the barrier, Vanessa—the deep-sea siren general and lord of the abyss—commanded her warriors as they finished processing their “meal.”
The torrential rain was actually a “simulated ocean” created by the elemental warp field, allowing the sirens to move freely as if swimming. They glided through the downpour, wielding long-handled charged blades to slice the still-struggling giant stag’s massive body.
It was a dangerous task. Though the stag was dead, its immense residual vitality and magic still sustained its flesh, allowing severed parts to survive independently for a time. Even with home-field and ambush advantages, the sirens suffered casualties.
Near the stag’s shoulder and neck, a reckless deep-sea warrior swung her blade, cutting into writhing flesh. Suddenly, a blinding arc of electricity erupted from the wound, striking the unfortunate siren directly. She barely screamed before exploding into fragments of water, dissipating into the air.
Nearby sirens witnessed this and shouted mockingly, “Ah—fish sashimi fail! Zero points, out!”
This was a popular taunt among sirens, used to mock those who died due to carelessness.
Vanessa, swimming past, flicked her serpentine tail, picked up the fallen blade, and waved it at the distracted soldiers. “Maintain order! Unless none of you have ever died before!”
The warriors quickly scattered and resumed their work—cutting the stag’s corpse or dealing with “troublesome byproducts” spawned from its blood. Vanessa casually tossed the recovered blades to a nearby siren who had transformed into a sea demon with numerous tentacles, each wrapped with several blades.
“Take these weapons back. Don’t leave a single one behind. They can collect them again once they revive.”
A tide siren with a pale purple tail swam over, holding a short staff etched with intricate patterns. Floating bubbles around her contained many samples of the cut flesh. “General, the initial analysis of the meat samples is complete.”
“And the results?”
“Tasty!” The purple-tailed siren nodded vigorously, then frowned slightly. “But the texture isn’t great, and the energy is somewhat mixed. This seems like a patchwork creation, and the technology is immature. Also, its regeneration is limited—probably past the threshold now, and its healing ability is rapidly declining. It can’t compare to the giant squid…”
“Hm… not surprising, since this is a human-made ‘replica,’” Vanessa said casually. “Poor quality is expected, but at least it’s plentiful, right? Can this stuff power the reactors?”
“Should be fine, but it requires an extra extraction step; otherwise, it might strain the reactors,” the purple-tailed siren replied seriously. “If Tyr’s iridescent light technology can be applied smoothly, our energy conversion efficiency will improve by over thirty percent, making this new fuel very cost-effective.”
“Good. Collect everything—some for consumption, some for reactor fuel. The queen will decide the exact allocation.”
“Yes, General.” The purple-tailed siren nodded, then glanced at the giant stag being cut apart. “It’s incredible… this season’s land civilization actually managed to create something like this. I always thought their tech was primitive, but they made iridescent devices and this… I wonder if the tech is public. If so, maybe it could solve the giant squid’s supply issues.”
“Probably not,” Vanessa sighed. “I heard the tech to make this ‘god’ is cruel and dark—beyond human morality, and the queen won’t accept it. We’re only here to dispose of these ‘products.’ As for the technology itself… let it die with them.”
The purple-tailed siren blinked and muttered, “They made something they themselves can’t accept. Humans are strange.”
“They’re a fractured species—that’s part of their nature,” Vanessa said. “The humans we work with are just one faction among many. Understanding their differences is complicated.”
The purple-tailed siren sighed regretfully. “Ah… such good cooking, wasted.”
“Indeed. Such good cooking.”
…
It was all over.
In the velvet study of Silverkeep, the holographic projector displayed the latest information transmitted from the Iron Throne.
Darkness cloaked the land, fierce storms lashed Baisha, and massive deep-sea creatures descended in the rain. The grand feast marked the final fate of the artificial god.
To Gawain, this was a hopeful image, but the scene was too shocking to be publicly broadcast given the current social climate.
“We should consider how to handle the publicity next,” Gawain tapped the table lightly, drawing the attention of the two guardian dukes (the High Regents). “The disaster wrought by the End of All Things is only just beginning to subside. To ensure a smooth resolution, there’s still much to be done.”
Duke Bertram inhaled softly but couldn’t help asking, “You mean the ‘sirens’ you mentioned?”
“Exactly. The sirens—deep-sea folk from many legends. Unlike most mythical races, they truly exist and have established some contact with us.”
Bertram seemed about to speak but hesitated. Victoria, however, was more direct: “Is this risky?”
“Any contact with alien races carries risk, but sometimes we have no choice. Personally, I believe these sirens are trustworthy. Two years ago, the southern territories established relations with them. We’ve had some technical exchanges—small scale, but at least equal dialogue.”
Bertram and Victoria exchanged glances, visibly relieved but still tense.
Gawain knew why.
He leaned back in his high-backed chair, hands spread wide. “I know what you’re worried about. Frankly, they’re a very powerful race. Though their domain is the deep sea, if they wished, they could stir storms on land—in every sense. But we must face a fact:
“Whether we like it or not, such powerful races exist. Sirens exist. Dragons exist. Some legendary races may also be real. They may live far away, but if they choose, they can come to this continent of Loren. Meanwhile, we… can’t even leave our own coastline.
“These races are real. The only thing we can be grateful for is that, so far, they bear us no ill will.
“But that ‘no ill will’ isn’t something we earned—it’s a mercy of fate.
“We have only two options: first, face this reality, because denial and silence solve nothing; second, develop ourselves. Don’t be content with this fleeting peace or be blinded by temporary prosperity. Beyond our sight, the world is vast. To survive long-term in this vast world, development is the only way.”
Gawain spoke plainly, and to the two High Regents, his bluntness might even have shaken their confidence as humans.
Admitting weakness is hard—especially for people like them.
But some truths must be faced. Often, the drive to develop comes from recognizing one’s shortcomings. This was precisely what humans on this land lacked after being locked inland for seven centuries and living under heavy protection for seven centuries of peace. In some ways, it was a cause of the old Ansu Kingdom’s decline.
The sirens were a peace-loving race—these deep-sea, imaginative, lively, and friendly beings were precious allies of the Duchy of Cecil (now the Cecil Empire). But as Gawain said, this “friendliness” wasn’t earned by humans—it was just luck.
This was why Gawain valued the “technical cooperation” between Cecil and the sea demons so highly. Even if the collaboration involved only one or two key technologies, it meant that humans were at least qualified to “communicate” with these deep-sea creatures.
If the Cecilians hadn’t possessed even the iridescent light technology back then, would those deep-sea beings—no matter how friendly—have cared about a tiny, distant duchy on land?
They’d probably consider even glancing at the backward humans on land a waste of time that would only delay their squid-hunting.
Development is the hard truth. The Cecilians knew this and had already tasted the sweet fruits of progress. But half the country remained unaware. The two grand magistrates before Gawain were likely among the wiser half—they had begun to sense the urgency of “social advancement.” To deepen their understanding and broaden their horizons, Gawain felt it necessary to show them something more tangible.
Bertram beside him wore a thoughtful expression, and Victoria understood Gawain’s intention.
At that moment, the two dukes suddenly felt something—a sense that the resurrected Duke Gawain Cecil was like a family elder, tirelessly working every moment to keep this “household” intact. He was constantly trying to discipline and guide the unruly children, carefully steering them, warning them, preaching without end: “Don’t touch this; don’t touch that; don’t neglect your studies; be careful of danger; exercise more; eat your vegetables; get along with your siblings…”
Yet no one listened. Those unruly kids tore the house apart in a civil war, burning down the kitchen and warehouse—the grain-producing region of the Eastern Holy Spirit Plains—forcing the old ancestor, at over seven hundred years old, to drag himself out of bed to put out the fires…
The two dukes instinctively glanced at Gawain, simultaneously feeling that this founding hero truly had it rough.
Gawain noticed the change in their eyes and felt gratified that his efforts to guide and reform these old nobles were bearing fruit. But soon, he sensed something was off about their expressions…
…
At the same time, deep within the Shadow Realm, in the heart of the Defiant Fortress.
In the dark, chaotic void, massive floating boulders and islands formed a shattered land. Ancient warship wreckage, faintly glowing, surrounded the luminous corpse of a giant stag. In this seemingly eternal silence, the giant stag Amorn’s crystal-clear eyes slowly opened. Reflected within were a series of fleeting scenes:
Steel-armored trains sped along iron tracks, pursued relentlessly by a furious artificial god.
Mortal artillery positions unleashed full firepower, bombarding the advancing lines of divine abominations and calamities.
Torrential rain poured down as spatial rifts tore open in the thick clouds. Unspeakable alien limbs dangled from above, tearing into the stag’s corpse, feasting ravenously.
Deep underground, in a cracked and collapsed ancient palace within a chasm, a bizarre yet vibrant plant grew along the rocky walls. Countless vines spread outward from it, covering nearly half the chasm. A shocking scar of tearing and burning stretched from its base to its top.
One scene after another flashed by, then gradually faded into nothingness.
After a long silence, the crystal eyes dimmed, and Amorn the giant stag closed them once more. The white glow surrounding him also faded slightly.
(End of chapter)