Chapter 776: Shattered Memories

Those scattered, fragmented memories burst forth like a sudden flash of light in the darkness, illuminating countless vague, hidden things. Though broken and incomplete, a deep intuition surged within Gawain, instantly revealing what they were—

They were records of that mysterious sea voyage, or rather, fragments of it!

Victoria’s voice faded away like a distant echo, but Gawain’s consciousness had already sunk deep into the dissipating images.

He “saw” an unknown beach—rugged and desolate, jagged rocks scattered about. Twisting cliffs and steep slopes strewn with rubble stretched from afar. On the other side, the sea gently rippled, small waves lapping against nearby reefs. The first light of dawn rose from the horizon, casting a faintly magnificent glow that bathed the cliffs and slopes in golden light.

A massive three-masted ship floated on the distant sea. Its broad hull was covered in runes and mysterious lines. Symbols of storms and the ocean marked it as belonging to the Storm Church. It rested steadily on the gentle waves, undisturbed even by the smallest ripple.

Gawain “stepped” into the memory and found himself standing on the beach, surrounded by many shadowy figures—each shrouded in a hazy black mist, their faces indistinct. They spoke of the voyage, the weather. Every voice stirred a faint sense of familiarity in Gawain, yet he couldn’t recall a single name.

It was as if those names had been completely erased from his subconscious. Even recalling fragments of memory couldn’t bring them back.

The memories couldn’t be altered or influenced. Gawain didn’t know how to turn those shadowy figures into clear forms. He could only follow the memory’s guidance and move deeper.

The time to depart seemed to have come.

A small boat for boarding appeared on the beach. Gawain and the mist-covered figures boarded it together, heading toward the large ship in the distance.

The sunlight was gradually rising, the night nearly gone. The sea scene grew clearer, yet the small boat’s bow still carried a faint, blurry lantern. The seemingly unnecessary lantern swayed at the prow, as if warding off some invisible darkness—Gawain’s gaze was irresistibly drawn to that dim light. Around him, the voices of the others drifted into his ears:

“…This is probably the last voyage of the Storm’s Child… Let’s hope all goes well…”

“It will. It has the best navigators—many of them—and the final blessing…”

“But the navigators might get lost in the depths of the ocean… Now everyone has lost their protection, including the children of the sea.”

“It’s okay. There’s… something guarding the navigators’ minds. Even if one goes mad… there’s always another to take their place.”

“What if they all go mad?”

“…Then all we have left is courage…”

“Ha, sounds like things aren’t so bad after all.”

A hearty laugh broke out, broad and deep like the ocean waves. Gawain “saw” his memory-self laugh along. These laughing men boarded the small boat, facing the dawn’s first light, as if heading toward a grand feast to look forward to. Yet a single word flashed through Gawain’s mind: marching to their deaths.

Startled, he realized the word wasn’t his own thought. It came from the deepest layers of Gawain Cecil’s memory—the pioneer from seven centuries ago—his strongest impression before boarding that great ship.

Then the scene shattered, replaced by a long stretch of darkness and tangled, chaotic light.

Gawain thought that was all he would see, but after some time in the dark, the memory continued—

The three-masted ship was now near the shoreline. Gawain recognized it as the same vessel from the earlier memory.

But compared to its once magnificent appearance, the ship was now battered and broken—most of the protective runes on its hull were extinguished. One mast was snapped in half. The tattered sails hung like burial shrouds over the sides. The magically blessed wooden deck and hull were riddled with terrifying cracks and holes, as if the entire ship was on the verge of collapse.

It seemed to have weathered more than one terrible storm, leaving it teetering on the edge. If not for a faint, thin veil of light still cloaking the hull—holding back the raging sea and barely maintaining the ship’s structure—it would have surely broken apart and sunk before reaching the shore.

In a flash, Gawain found himself back in the small boat, but this time it was leaving the big ship, heading toward the coast.

The sun had already sunk low, its glaring red light spilling from the cliffs onto the shimmering sea, turning the vast waves blood-red, sinking deep into the heart.

The faint, blurry lantern still hung at the bow, swaying in the sunset breeze, as if dispelling some unseen darkness.

Besides Gawain, only three other figures remained on the boat. All other seats were empty.

No one spoke. The atmosphere was oppressively heavy. As a mere visitor in the memory, Gawain couldn’t break the silence.

Only when the boat neared the shore did one figure finally speak: “Almost there.”

Another replied: “Yeah, almost there.”

“There’s always a time to part,” said a third figure. Though shrouded in mist, his gaze seemed fixed on Gawain. “Things aren’t too bad. At least you came back alive.”

Gawain felt his throat move. Overlapping with his memory-self, he heard a familiar yet strange voice from “himself”: “You all made great sacrifices.”

“…It was expected. Just didn’t think the ocean would be so dangerous without protection…” one figure said. “As for our sacrifices… don’t dwell on them. Compared to us, your sacrifice was just as great.”

Gawain Cecil’s voice was low and solemn: “I hope it was all worth it.”

The first speaker shook his head: “It’s not about worthiness, only about doing or not doing. We are small beings, so maybe we can only do small things. But it’s better to act than to sit and wait for death.”

Someone nearby teased him: “Ha, ‘Philosopher,’ always forcing these deep words!”

But the shadow nicknamed “Philosopher” said no more, seeming lost in thought.

A long silence followed. Finally, the boat reached shore. The four disembarked, standing in silence.

Gawain Cecil was the first to break the quiet: “Have you thought about what will happen next?”

“Not yet,” one figure shook his head. “…We’re scattered now. At least we have to… find… our kin…”

The voices and images in the memory suddenly became fragmented, the light flickering. Gawain knew this shattered memory was truly ending. He focused hard, catching every syllable he could.

Amid the faint sound of waves, a vague voice came through:

“That wall will still hold for hundreds, maybe thousands of years… Perhaps by then, our descendants will have grown, and the troubles that plague us today won’t trouble them.”

It was Gawain Cecil’s voice.

Then came those strangely familiar voices whose names he couldn’t recall:

“Let’s hope so…”

“It’s time to say goodbye. I feel like I should say something, but can’t think of what.”

“Then don’t say anything. Soon… everyone will forget.”

“True. Then let’s wish each other safe journeys…”

All voices faded away, the faint speech, the gentle waves, the wind in his ears—all gradually fell silent. In the rapidly darkening vision, Gawain saw only a few blurred, disconnected images:

The small boat with the lantern returned to the sea, heading toward the distant ship.

The ship, with only two masts left, raised its sails and slowly turned, sailing into the blood-red sea, fading into darkness.

Gawain Cecil turned and walked heavily and slowly toward the land.

In that direction, someone seemed to be coming to meet him.

The memory that had surfaced ended there.

…

Gawain took a slow breath, his consciousness returning to the present. He was still sitting in the magecraft vehicle, now near the Cecil central district. Across from him sat Victoria, who looked faintly worried.

Frowning, Gawain felt the images and voices still vivid in his mind. Just moments ago, he had entered a strange, wondrous state. The memories had engulfed his consciousness like a half-awake dream, immersing him in an immersive scene without fully losing touch with reality. He knew he had only been dazed for less than a minute in the real world, but that was enough to catch Victoria’s attention.

Noticing Gawain’s return to awareness, Victoria couldn’t help but ask, “Your Majesty, are you alright?”

Amber’s figure appeared beside Gawain’s seat. “Don’t worry, he does this sometimes.”

Then she looked at Gawain and asked, “Are you okay?”

“I just suddenly remembered something…” Gawain waved his hand, signaling he was fine, then slowly said, “Amber, do you remember I once told you about a sea voyage I took, but I forgot all the details?”

“Ah, yes,” Amber blinked. “I even helped you investigate the case files on that—unfortunately, we found nothing. It was seven hundred years ago, and probably a secret mission. No traces left.”

“I just suddenly recalled some things,” Gawain said, glancing at Victoria.

“You mentioned that sea entrance just now—the one where the Holy Dragon Principality borders northeastern Cecil… called the Shout Dragon Bay, right?”

“That’s its name—given by the Holy Dragon Principality.”

“I… set sail from there back then,” Gawain exhaled, frowning deeply. “And those who sailed with me were the Storm’s Children.”

Even Victoria, usually so composed, couldn’t hide her shock. “What?! The Storm’s Children?!”

“Strictly speaking, they were the Storm’s Children who hadn’t yet fallen into darkness,” Gawain said slowly. “And I suspect they were the last group… In my memory, they were already fighting madness when we set sail.”

According to current intelligence, the three major dark cults go through three mental states as they confront the gods and fall into darkness:

Before the ceremony at the Ancestral Peak—before the three sect leaders touched the divine knowledge and brought madness back into the world—they were still sane.

But once the ritual was complete, the three great sects became tainted by that godly knowledge. Their members either stormed into the ruins of Gondor or fled, scattering and disappearing. During this time, they were consumed by madness—a process that lasted years, perhaps even longer.

After a period of insanity, some members of the three sects seemed to regain their “sanity.” They regrouped, fully embracing the darkness, and transformed into extremist cults. From then on, they carried out their “plans” with fanatical zeal—a state that continues to this day.

According to Gawain’s judgment, the figures who traveled alongside him in his memories were likely the Children of the Storm—evidenced by the ship and subtle details in their conversations. Their condition… was probably in transition from the first stage to the second.

They were gradually being corrupted by divine knowledge, slowly slipping into madness.

This process was supposed to be swift—many cultists moved from the first to the second stage in an instant. But those who journeyed with Gawain seemed to hold on longer.

Something had sheltered their minds, helping them resist the madness, if only temporarily.

Suddenly, the lantern hanging at the ship’s prow—a dim, blurred light—flashed through Gawain’s mind.

(End of chapter)