Chapter 713: Speaking the Truth

More than a month had passed since that terrifying artificial god was devoured by sea monsters at the end of the Baishui River. By now, the graveyard grass of the All-Things-Perish Cult had grown to nearly a hundred meters tall…

In many ways, it was a fitting reflection of reality.

Beltira appeared to have awakened, but there was no doubt she was no longer a normal human. Her body had fused with the colossal tree that had grown there, mutated from the inside out. This transformation affected her thoughts and speech: when she spoke, a deep, hoarse undertone mixed with her voice, her words came slowly, and her expression was vacant—uncannily plant-like.

Gawain looked at her. Though the situation was far beyond what he had initially imagined, at least he now had the chance to speak face-to-face with this “old acquaintance.” “This is unfortunate, Beltira. Is there something you want to say to me?”

Beltira stared quietly at Gawain. After a two-second silence, she spoke slowly: “The Outer… Wanderer. I want to speak with you privately.”

Gawain frowned, thinking briefly before instructing those nearby, “You all stay on guard outside the hall. Amber, you come with them.”

“Are you sure?” Amber’s eyes widened immediately. “This woman looks really strange now. Who knows what tricks she might have up her sleeve…”

“Whatever schemes she might have, I doubt she can pull them off in her current state,” Gawain waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I’m just curious what she wants to say.”

Amber thought it over, then reluctantly agreed, leading the soldiers outside. Bard left with them. Once only Gawain and the half-plant Beltira remained, Gawain cleared his throat twice. “Ahem. You can speak now.”

Though he appeared calm, Gawain was a little tense inside. Every time he met an “old acquaintance” from seven centuries ago, he grew cautious—after all, he was inhabiting a body that wasn’t originally his, and these old acquaintances had known the real Gawain Cecil.

His first such moment of tension had been with Solderin, then with Sonia. Neither had been too stressful—Solderin’s personality wasn’t very meticulous, and Sonia was mostly focused on pushing Solderin to marry. But Beltira was different. Who knew what ideas this secret-laden woman might hatch once she realized there was another soul inside Gawain Cecil’s body?

He quickly ran through possibilities in his mind, but the moment Beltira spoke, all his calculations stopped.

“Who exactly are you?”

Beltira fixed him with an unprecedentedly serious gaze, her tone cautious and cold.

Gawain instantly raised his guard but kept his expression unchanged. “What do you mean by that? You don’t recognize me?”

“No need for games. I know you’re not Gawain Cecil,” Beltira said, still staring intently. “Outer Wanderer… what are you? Why have you taken over this body?”

She no longer asked “who,” but rather “what.”

Upon hearing the words “Outer Wanderer,” Gawain gave up trying to maintain the pretense of being Gawain Cecil. The Beltira before him was no longer the simple subconscious fragment from his dreams, lacking memory and wisdom. This one was far more cunning. But that was fine—speaking openly meant he didn’t have to worry about playing a role, which was a relief.

“Where did you hear the term ‘Outer Wanderer’?” he asked casually. “From the Sleepless Ones?”

“You seem well acquainted with the name the Sleepless Ones gave you,” Beltira said in a low voice. “I learned your true nature from them. But even before that, I knew you couldn’t be Gawain Cecil—just an alien soul who stole his body.”

Gawain raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

A faint sneer appeared at the corner of Beltira’s mouth. “Gawain Cecil can’t be resurrected. I know that better than anyone. His soul has long since withered away. The iron coffin in the southern lands holds only a soulless shell. Maybe the elemental blessings keep the body from decaying, but resurrection? Impossible.”

Gawain’s eyes widened involuntarily.

Since rising from the coffin, this was the first time he’d heard anyone mention the secret of his resurrection—even if only in fragments. One thing was certain: this Beltira knew part of the truth.

“Gawain Cecil’s soul has withered? Why do you say that? What do you know? Do you know about the arrangements behind his resurrection?”

Beltira didn’t answer. “Ah, Outer Wanderer… you’re curious too. But why should I tell you everything?”

Gawain studied her calmly, noting her fearless—or perhaps death-defying—attitude. Even if he swung a sword at her, it probably wouldn’t matter.

After a moment’s thought, he broke the silence. “Then let’s make a fair trade. What do you want to know from me?”

“Outer Wanderer, the same question,” Beltira said slowly. “Why have you taken over this body?”

Gawain considered carefully.

She clearly knew some of the information about the Outer Wanderers—the persona he had crafted, later embellished by the Sleepless Ones’ experts and amplified by online rumors, had likely reached Beltira as an even more bizarre and dangerous version.

The best approach now was to use that identity as a foothold to keep the conversation going.

He lowered his head, pondering what kind of “persona” to adopt—one that might shake this druid whose faith had been twisted. His thoughts raced.

It wasn’t difficult. The “Outer Wanderer” identity was intimidating, but not entirely false.

He was indeed a soul wandering from another world, inhabiting someone else’s body. He had truly “descended” from the stars and caused massive upheaval here.

He just hadn’t piloted giant robots to save the world or led a ragtag band of cheap comrades on interstellar bug hunts, as some CG shorts claimed. But those details didn’t matter now.

His plan was ready.

“Looks like we ‘travelers’ have put a lot of pressure on you,” he said, lifting his head with a relaxed smile. “I don’t know how the Sleepless Ones described me and my kind to you, but I can assure you, I mean no harm to this world.”

Beltira frowned, clearly listening carefully but still full of suspicion.

“We’re a curious and proactive people, with all kinds of styles and tastes. But personally…” Gawain continued, watching her expression closely as he smiled faintly, “I’m just a little interested in your civilization. Or more precisely, this particular era of your civilization.”

Beltira couldn’t help but ask, “This era of our civilization—what do you mean by that?”

Perhaps still unaccustomed to her half-plant body, Beltira’s control over her expressions was imperfect. Gawain noticed the subtle changes and gently steered the conversation toward a topic that required some acting.

“Looks like you know your world has undergone cycles of civilization change?”

Beltira was silent for a few seconds, then whispered, “…We have found some clues.”

Just as Gawain expected, the All-Things-Perish Cult—aware of some truths about the gods, aware of parts of the Rebellion Plan, and even continuing that plan themselves—had some understanding of the cycles of civilization and destruction that had shaped this world.

“Civilizational cycles… it’s a long process of observation,” Gawain said calmly. “For a long time, I merely watched—from a very high vantage point you probably can’t comprehend. I saw kingdom after kingdom rise on this land, heroes emerging one after another, legends born and fading, wars, prosperity, glory, and then swift extinction… For millions of years, nothing new happened here. Even when dragons occasionally flew over, it was just a trivial distraction in my boredom.

“But what surprised me was that among all these rises and falls, a spark of interest suddenly appeared—your era.

“Not very powerful, even flawed in many ways, but with an astonishing courage and resilience to survive. When the magical tide came, I thought you’d perish quickly, like many previous eras—quietly accepting your fate. But you survived.

“Not only that, I was amazed to see you actually try to resist gods far stronger than you—and take action.

“In millions of years, that’s the most incredible thing I’ve seen. It’s truly surprising. But despite that, your era is still precarious… bold, yet struggling to face the challenges ahead.

“To be honest, I find that regrettable. So I came down.”

Gawain finished speaking slowly, smiling openly as he met Beltira’s eyes.

After all, almost everything he said was true—just lightly polished.

And for someone whose faith had been twisted, these words should be very effective.

Beltira’s expression shifted several times. She opened her mouth several times but stopped. After a long silence, she finally spoke: “So everything happening on this land is just a sideshow in your long life? Then what exactly are you ‘Outer Wanderers’? Another kind of god?”

“Don’t misunderstand. ‘Outer Wanderer’ is a name you gave us. I prefer to call myself a traveler, and every journey I take, I take seriously,” Gawain continued honestly. “As for gods… honestly, I’m quite curious about what your gods really are. Studying them has become my greatest interest lately.”

Beltira’s expression didn’t change much, but Gawain knew every word was hitting home.

At the same time, he felt an indescribable relief—some secrets had been buried in his heart for so long, and now, unexpectedly, he had the chance to speak them aloud. The ease that followed was something he hadn’t anticipated.

Beltira had known from the start that Gawain Cecil could never truly be resurrected. Before her, Gawain could openly admit he was an alien soul inhabiting another’s body. Though he had fully accepted Gawain Cecil’s identity and, after inheriting memories, had in some sense become the real Gawain Cecil, having this opportunity to speak without that identity felt surprisingly good.

Beltira spoke again. It seemed that at last, she had been swayed by High Elf’s words and believed the motives of this so-called “Extradimensional Wanderer” before her. Riding that thought, she asked, “Why did you choose the Cecil family, a house so diminished it’s nearly extinct, instead of a stronger power that would better serve your ambitions?”

A stiff smile flickered at the corner of High Elf’s mouth for a moment.

Of course, he had no choice!

If only he’d been able to make some moves when he first arrived from the satellite, he’d have definitely picked a more manageable starting point—anything but crawling into an iron coffin, getting knocked on the head by some thick-headed fool when he emerged, and then waking up in a nightmare mode where “your base has been raided,” “you’re resurrected but weakened,” “your shields have been stripped,” and “your last run was all for nothing.”

But none of that was something a powerful, mysterious “Extradimensional Wanderer” could admit aloud.

So he kept a composed, inscrutable smile and calmly answered Beltira’s question:

“Because… it’s more rewarding that way.”

(End of chapter)