Chapter 716: Across Seven Hundred Years

Seven hundred years ago, Beltira Augustus actually attended Gawain Cecil’s funeral…

This revelation caught Gawain completely off guard. He had no memory of it whatsoever—though that was understandable. After all, at that time, his body’s main role was to lie in the coffin for people to pay their respects. But the funeral had been attended by a group of heavyweights—the founding elders of the first generation, all notoriously hot-tempered. They were the kind who, during court meetings, would argue so fiercely they’d throw stools and brawl all the way from Silverkeep to Iron Cross Street. And yet, Beltira, who had already become a dark druid by then, still dared to approach…

It could only mean one thing: she was deeply invested in Gawain Cecil’s death.

“It wasn’t actually that difficult,” Beltira said, as if reading Gawain’s surprise. She shook her head with a faint, resigned smile. “Back then, the End of All Things cult wasn’t nearly as ‘infamous’ as it became later. You should know that—we were just getting started. And besides… as a high-ranking druid, I always had my ways.”

Gawain gave a thoughtful hum but didn’t press further. “As you said, Gawain Cecil made a deal with his soul, which left his spirit drained after death, his body nothing but an empty shell. So resurrection was impossible. But…”

A thought began to take shape in his mind. Strange as it was, it refused to fade.

He exhaled slowly and said in a low voice, “This empty shell… it really does seem like it was prepared for me, doesn’t it?”

Beltira’s eyes widened. Clearly, she had never considered this possibility before today.

Her personal feelings and natural wariness of the Outer Wanderers had clouded her usually sharp mind and judgment.

“Don’t look at me like that. I know what you’re thinking,” Gawain glanced at her and shook his head helplessly. “I’m only speculating. I don’t know the details—this part is missing from my memories, maybe erased by someone else, or even by myself. But we can keep this possibility open—that the body Gawain Cecil left behind was meant for me from the start.”

Gawain Cecil had made a deal with some mysterious entity in the Eternal Dark Sea, wagering his soul.

When Gawain first heard this, a wave of turmoil stirred within him. He had been pondering the secret of his “resurrection,” the purpose of Cecil’s mysterious voyage all those years ago. But the key pieces were missing; the clues were isolated fragments, never forming a complete picture.

Now, with Beltira’s revelation, he could make a bold guess—though the evidence was still incomplete, at least it was a plausible theory:

The “deal” Cecil mentioned to those around him after returning was actually this resurrection seven centuries later.

But the resurrection wasn’t meant for him—it was for an alien visitor stranded in the cosmos.

Yet how had an ordinary human like Cecil contacted a satellite so far out in space?

Those crystals… the mysterious crystals he had entrusted to the Mithril Treasury might hold the answer.

When Gawain came into contact with those crystals, he successfully reestablished communication with the satellite in space. This suggested the crystals functioned as some kind of “communication medium.”

Seven hundred years ago, Cecil must have found those crystals during his voyage—perhaps in the so-called Eternal Dark Sea—and through them, he connected with the Gawain in space. In a carefully erased exchange, the souls of two worlds struck a deal.

What that deal entailed, and what motivated Cecil at the time, remained unknown.

But Gawain had a vague suspicion: if his assumptions were correct, then what he was doing now might be the fulfillment of that ancient agreement.

He exhaled slowly.

A series of emotionally charged hypotheses—but hypotheses nonetheless. Without solid proof, he couldn’t fully accept his own conjecture. These were merely possibilities.

“Even Outer Wanderers suffer from memory issues… that surprises me,” Beltira snorted. “Looks like your kind isn’t without mental flaws either.”

Judging by her expression, who knew how many imaginary traits the Sleepless had projected onto the Outer Wanderers? Maybe there was even a “Sleepless Research Department for Outer Wanderer Behavioral Traits (Speculative).”

If so, Gawain thought, he should have Daniel investigate—maybe they could slip in some “artistic enhancements” of their own…

The best way to deal with cultists was to out-hype them—that was Gawain’s biggest takeaway from successfully bluffing the Sleepless the first time.

“Of course we have flaws. Mortals all do,” Gawain said calmly. “And I want to remind you—at least for now, you can consider me the real Gawain Cecil, whether because of the memories I’ve inherited or his reputation.”

Beltira stared at him for a long moment, as if wrestling with a difficult choice. Then she suddenly smiled. “The real Gawain Cecil… do you know what the real Gawain would do if he were standing here?”

“My first reaction would be to cut you down,” Gawain replied flatly.

Beltira’s expression froze.

“Remember what you said in the dream? You caused trouble—a huge disaster,” Gawain continued without emotion. “You took a wrong path but wanted the people of the Holy Spirit Plains, even all of Ansu, to pay the price. Of course, the End of All Things cult has already paid its due, and you’ve become what you are now. But Gawain Cecil would still draw his sword.”

Beltira lowered her eyelids slightly. “…Looks like you really did inherit almost all of his memories…”

“But I’m not done—his second reaction would be to slam the sword into the ground beside him.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re Beltira. And more importantly, because in your current state… there’s no need to strike again,” Gawain said quietly. “Do you even consider yourself alive anymore?”

Beltira was stunned.

Her senses spread outward, her spirit flowing through this twisted body.

She could feel the dark, deep earth beneath her, the chill of autumn air. She sensed water rushing past her roots, birds landing on branches. Bold little creatures were already settling among the limbs, bushes, and grassy hollows, preparing a new home.

A wind swept across the sky above Thalrin Keep. The leaves on the giant trees rustled loudly, their massive canopies stretching in the sunlight high above the scorched earth.

She was rooted here. This was her new home—and her eternal prison.

In the council chamber of the dark dungeon, Beltira—or rather, the semblance of her communicating with Gawain—bowed her head. “So, as an Outer Wanderer, what do you think of me?”

“I want to confirm something first,” Gawain said thoughtfully, looking down at the Pioneer’s Longsword in his hand. “If I struck you with this sword here, would you die?”

“…I’m afraid not,” Beltira shook her head. “You’d only sever one of my roots. The proper way is to destroy the entire tree… this whole tree is my body. You’d need your powerful explosives, your magical flames that burn everything, to completely incinerate the tree and its underground structure to kill me.

“That’s not easy. In terms of pure survivability, my life has undergone a ‘great evolution.’ But I know your army could do it. And besides, burning at the stake… is fitting for cultists.”

Gawain glanced at his sword and sighed softly.

“We’ve already burned enough here. This land doesn’t need a second fire,” he muttered to himself. “And you… just quietly root yourself here. Your rooting might even benefit the people of the Holy Spirit Plains.”

Beltira lowered her head, lost in thought. After a few seconds, Gawain heard her voice again: “I understand, Gawain… brother.”

Gawain raised an eyebrow.

That counted as a deal struck.

He nodded and steered the conversation back on track. “Is there anything else in this palace? What lies deeper down?”

“The lower levels hold nothing worth exploring,” Beltira said, shaking her head. “When the false god’s body broke free, it destroyed the support structures at the bottom. To temporarily imprison it, the last surviving priests blew up the main passage and the rock-bottom area. If you don’t believe me, you can check the corridor on the east side. I sense a breach there—you should see collapsed tunnels and piled-up rock layers. In fact, if it weren’t for the rock layers on both sides of the underground rift pressing inward to form new supports, plus my roots holding the dungeon’s structure, this place would have collapsed along with the lower levels.”

Gawain frowned. It was a regrettable situation—he had hoped to uncover more secrets or lost technologies from this ancient underground ruin. But it seemed that after the rampage of that artificial god and the priests’ all-or-nothing resistance, all the ancient secrets had been buried beneath the great collapse…

“No need to be too disappointed,” Beltira added quickly. “The lowest level never held much. This ancient palace wasn’t built by us—it came from a long-lost civilization, whose depths harbor powers even we struggle to oppose. So for centuries, our main activities were in the middle and upper levels. Most rooms and corridors in the lower levels are sealed off, containing nothing but stale air and hollow echoes.

“The only two valuable areas down there are the High Priest’s chamber and the rift zone where the false god’s body was made. But the false god no longer exists, and the most valuable thing in the High Priest’s chamber…”

Beltira raised her hand, offering forward the large tome she had been holding close to her chest.

“This.”

Gawain’s attention shifted to the book.

The moment he saw it, an indescribable feeling stirred within him—

He vaguely sensed something familiar from the book. The sensation was somewhat like the “spiritual resonance” he experienced when connecting with the satellite, but with a marked difference. It was as if… a counterfeit. Though it tried to imitate, it was not the genuine article.

Or put another way, when resonating with the satellite, he felt a clear mental vibration. Facing this book, he felt a similar resonance, but it was blurred and confused.

“What is this?” Gawain asked curiously.

“The Ultimate Book. The only safe and mortal-controllable artifact we found in the lowest level of this dungeon,” Beltira said. “For the past several centuries, it has belonged to our High Priest.”

“The Book of the Ultimate… sounds pretty extraordinary,” Gawain said cautiously, his eyes fixed on the large black leather tome. He knew curiosity was one of humanity’s greatest drivers, but too much of it could be dangerous. Though the book didn’t feel threatening, its mysterious origin and the strange aura it emitted made him uneasy.

Should he touch it or not?

“The High Priest entrusted it to me before merging with the False God’s body,” Beltira continued, “hoping I would lead the Cult of the End of All Things. But as you can see—the cult has vanished, and I’ve become like this. This book is useless to me now. If you want it, Outsider, take it.”

Gawain hesitated for a moment, then finally took the book and carefully opened its cover.

The next instant, a voice echoed in his mind:

“Unauthorized medium detected logging into the system.”

(End of chapter)