Chapter 770: Gawain’s Train of Thought

At the Supreme Administrative Office of the Cecil Empire, Gawain sat quietly in his high-backed chair, bathed in the bright morning sunlight, deep in thought over the latest intelligence Daniel had sent him.

Since their last exploration of the Phantom Town, the upper echelons of the Sleepless Sect had indeed grown increasingly anxious about potential upheavals within Sandbox One. They not only convened a new archbishop council but also reinforced and “cleansed” their network systems. According to Daniel’s assessment, the sect was also intensifying efforts in the real world to control the changes occurring inside Sandbox One.

Phantom Town had been designated a high-priority monitoring target. Because it might hold key information about Sandbox One, the Sleepless had refrained from resetting it. Instead, they used technical means to isolate and seal it off, preparing for further exploration.

Investigations into the “Upper Narrator” cult had begun. Apparently, traces of nascent faith had been found in past sandbox monitoring records, though these clues were sparse. It was now almost certain that Sandbox One had collapsed first, and only afterward did the Upper Narrator cult formally take shape. This gave Gawain new insights into the formation process of that “suspected deity.”

So far, there was no evidence that the “suspected deity” inside Sandbox One had extended its power beyond the sandbox itself. This made it unclear whether a “god born from a dream” could truly be called a god. Yet, from the attitude of Sleepless Pope Megor III, Daniel sensed something significant: the pope treated the “suspected deity” inside Sandbox One with the utmost wariness, as if it were a genuine god.

Gawain tapped his fingers lightly on the edge of the desk, his thoughts drifting.

Sleepless Pope Megor III… the same name as the Dream Church pope from seven centuries ago—the one who donned a magical “spacesuit” and set off for the Divine Realm.

There was a high probability they were the same person. If so… that pope had lived for seven hundred years.

And according to intelligence from Beltira, the Grant Priest Franken of the End of All Things cult was also the same grand prelate from seven centuries ago.

The leaders of the three great dark cults had all lived for seven centuries? Even the Stormborn’s pope was that same pope who had once faced a god directly?

If that was true… they were quite the “old friends.”

Aside from these revelations, the Sleepless seemed to have no immediate solution for the crisis in Sandbox One.

Snapping back from his wandering thoughts, Gawain stopped tapping the desk and looked up to see Amber standing nearby, somewhat distracted.

The “slacking off” goose soon noticed his gaze and turned her head. “Hey, what did Daniel say? Have the Sleepless come up with a plan?”

Gawain shook his head. “For now, they’re just maintaining the status quo. No further breakthroughs yet. Maybe after a second exploration of Phantom Town, their technicians can devise a more proactive ‘repair plan’ based on Sandbox One’s specific conditions.”

Amber grimaced. “Ugh… cultists really are experts at self-destruction. Every crisis they stir up is worse than the last!”

“But luckily, this isn’t a crisis that will erupt overnight,” Gawain said calmly. “As long as the situation holds steady, it’s not too bad.”

The “suspected deity” the Sleepless had created inside Sandbox One was indeed a terrifying threat. In terms of destructive potential, it could rival the former False God’s body, maybe even surpass it. But on the other hand, the Sleepless had detected the crisis before it broke out of the “laboratory” and had frozen its development in time. That was far luckier than the False God incident with the End of All Things cult.

So, by Gawain’s judgment, this was a dangerous but not urgent matter—he still had some time to prepare.

Of course, since time still flowed inside Sandbox One, the crisis would eventually become urgent. But until then, life went on, and Gawain refused to let himself fall into a state of constant panic.

Amber, however, couldn’t understand his relaxed attitude. Naturally timid, she had been on edge for days knowing a “false god” was slowly gestating. Now she couldn’t help but say, “You’re not worried at all? There could be a new god born!”

Gawain glanced at the half-elf with a leisurely tone. “Does our world really need another god?”

Amber was momentarily stunned. She watched as Gawain slowly stood and strolled to the window, speaking at a measured pace: “The God of the Holy Light, the God of War, the Blood God, the Triad of Fertility, the Goddess of Magic… Our world is already full of gods. The Upper Narrator? Adding one more or losing one wouldn’t make much difference. Even if the Sleepless lose control over Sandbox One, maybe… it would just mean a revamped Dream Church appearing in this world—a kind of renaissance.”

“If my theory about godly birth is correct, the ‘Upper Narrator’ in Sandbox One should be different from the old False God’s body. There’s a good chance it’s rational.”

Amber frowned. “Wait… are you saying you’ve given up on stopping this crisis? Planning to just watch the ‘Upper Narrator’ take form?”

“Of course not. If there’s a chance, I’ll try to stop it,” Gawain shook his head. “I just want you to relax. You’ve been way too tense these past couple of days.”

Amber scratched her head, muttering, “I’m nowhere near as calm as you. You’re like a walking corpse who just rose from the grave…”

Gawain smiled and ignored her muttering, his gaze drifting back out the window to the street below.

His extraordinary vision allowed him to see clearly the bustling street scenes, large posters advertising the upcoming Shadowplay, hanging from walls and street lamps, and holographic projections of Shadowplay scenes floating at every corner.

“The Shadowplay in Philm is about to premiere. With illusions and various auxiliary spells involved, their production cycle is much shorter than I expected,” Gawain said suddenly. “Why don’t we go watch one of these ‘new-style plays’ to relax?”

Even Amber, who was open-minded, couldn’t immediately follow Gawain’s leap in thought. She blinked in surprise. “You were just talking about gods being born, and now you want to go watch a play? Are you joking?”

“Not at all. I just thought of something interesting…” Gawain smiled faintly, withdrawing his gaze from the window. “If a god is born from the collective, long-term, synchronized thoughts of many humans, then… what effect would something like Shadowplay—which can rapidly sway the emotions of a crowd—have on a god?”

Amber’s eyes widened slowly as the idea sank in.

Gawain kept smiling. What had been a vague notion before was now becoming clearer.

Shadowplay… if handled properly, might not only serve for internal propaganda or external outreach.

Who knew? It might even be used to poison the gods.

Of course, this was just a fanciful hypothesis for now. Whether it was feasible depended on the progress of the Sleepless’ exploration and how much more knowledge Sandbox One could reveal about the birth and nature of gods.

…

News about the new-style Shadowplay was spreading rapidly throughout Cecil City and several surrounding towns.

It was another product born of the “Mage Era,” but compared to the endless machines, this new thing felt far more abstract.

Rumor had it that it was a play “produced” using mage technology, though some said its form had long since transcended the traditional concept of “theater.”

People were, of course, familiar with theater—whether former nobles or commoners, everyone knew what a play was. That made it hard to imagine how a centuries-old stage art could have any “mage” component. Was it a mechanically controlled stage? Or were the actors magically animated puppets?

For most, it was simply beyond imagination.

The clips broadcast over the magic network only added to the confusion—because visually, it still looked like human actors performing a play.

Though the storylines seemed somewhat different from traditional plays, it was still a “play.”

This confusion sparked extra curiosity and attention.

Within days of promotion, citizens of Cecil City and nearby towns began discussing the mysterious “Shadowplay” everywhere. And today was the day the new-style play finally premiered.

The Shadowplay was being shown in two large buildings in Cecil City—originally warehouses temporarily converted into theaters—as well as several theaters in nearby towns like Tansan, Kant, and Mining Town.

—Originally, Gawain had thought the best way to introduce Shadowplay to the public was through open-air screenings, which were cheaper and reached a wider audience. After all, major southern cities and towns already had public magic network terminals, and public squares could serve as screening venues, allowing as many people as possible to experience this new art form immediately. But in the end, this idea was scrapped.

The reason was simple: Amber, who had scouted potential open-air venues, returned with a runny nose and reminded Gawain, “It’s XXX (Cecil’s curse word) winter right now…”

So the first Shadowplay was settled for indoor screenings.

In the southwest of Cecil City, dressed in relatively low-key clothes, Duchess Victoria Wilde walked the streets with several attendants, listening to a report from one of her aides.

“Your Grace, Marquis Findel has not returned. His servants say he’s been very busy lately and usually isn’t home during the day.”

Count Barin, walking beside Victoria, couldn’t help but smile. “Looks like Marquis Findel is very diligent. Your Highness, you needn’t worry about him neglecting his studies in this bustling city—your ‘surprise visit’ seems doomed to fail.”

By custom, a duke could be addressed as “Your Highness,” though it wasn’t mandatory. Count Barin, a stickler for noble etiquette, preferred to use it in this relatively public setting.

Victoria maintained her usual cool expression and replied casually, “Just came to check on things. Not really a surprise visit.”

“Of course, of course,” Barin nodded repeatedly, then glanced curiously at the passersby. “By the way, everyone here seems to be talking about the same thing… something called ‘Shadowplay.’ Could someone go find out more?”

One of the attendants, dressed in local clothes, volunteered and, with permission, ran off to ask passersby about the Shadowplay.

The attendant soon returned, reporting what he’d learned: “Your Grace, it seems to be a new kind of play. Since today is its first performance, many people are talking about it.”

“A play?” Victoria frowned slightly, a hint of indifference flickering in her eyes and voice. “What’s so special about a play that it’s worth all this talk?”

As a noblewoman whose only interests beyond managing her estate and studying magical secrets were few and far between, Victoria wasn’t particularly fond of theater. Once she realized the townsfolk were just excitedly discussing some trivial stage story, her interest quickly waned.

She was about to return to the Autumn Palace to rest and recover from the long journey, wanting to be refreshed for her meeting with King Gawain the next day. There was little time to waste.

But then the attendant who had been gathering information added, “They say the play was produced using magical technology…”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed slightly.

If it involved magical technology… well, that piqued her interest.

(End of chapter)