Chapter 820: The Story That Continues

Magnum’s expression stiffened.

After a few seconds, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “Isn’t this more than just a crude act now?”

“Yes,” Yuri nodded calmly. “And honestly, I’m starting to think it’s not so bad.”

Magnum: “…”

The first to react was Semler, standing nearby. The somber and serious archbishop looked at Magnum, who was clearly appearing in the hall as a mere illusion, and nodded. “So, you’re now ‘alive’ in a state similar to Archbishop Selina’s?”

“I don’t know,” Magnum said, confused, glancing down at himself and then at Selina beside him. “I went through a kind of dazed state, and when I came to, I found myself trapped in a softly glowing space. I still don’t know what happened…”

“You underwent a brain-servant transformation without proper preparation, which caused your soul to be completely extracted. I gathered the fragments,” Selina explained briefly, helping Magnum quickly grasp the situation. “Right now, you’re like me—a ghost in the network. There won’t be any issues for the next few years, but eventually, you’ll need to find a ‘mental calibration point’ in the real world.”

Magnum blinked, taking a moment to digest the truth, then sighed with a complicated mix of emotions. “This is definitely not what I imagined at first…”

Semler nodded and looked at Selina. “So, his body and soul are completely severed, and there’s no going back?”

“That’s right. This isn’t just a simple soul departure—it involves soul fragmentation, reassembly, and a kind of ‘death.’ As of now, no technology can restore him under these circumstances.”

Magnum suddenly sensed a hint of danger in Semler’s words and instinctively asked, “Archbishop Semler, why do you ask?”

Semler looked at Magnum seriously and calmly said, “Your body is useless to you now. I’ll arrange for someone to cremate it.”

“What?! Wait! Don’t burn it!” Magnum was shocked, then immediately shouted, “What if it can still be saved?!”

“We’re about to relocate the order’s headquarters, including all the brain-servants. Our manpower and time are limited. The fewer bodies we have to move, the more supplies we can bring,” Semler said matter-of-factly, with no hint of joking or malice. This only made Magnum’s expression more twisted. “Your soul is already surviving independently, so your body is no longer needed. As for saving it, didn’t you hear Archbishop Selina? It’s simply impossible with current technology.”

“It’s still useful! What if there’s a breakthrough in the future?” Magnum’s voice carried across the hall, loud even in his spectral form. “You’re moving so many bodies anyway—does it really matter if you bring mine along?”

“Archbishop Semler,” Wendy suddenly broke the silence, stepping forward, “we should respect Archbishop Magnum’s wishes. We can afford this ‘expense.’ Considering Magnum’s recent contributions, abandoning his body now isn’t a good choice.”

“I’m just being practical and efficient,” Semler said sternly. “But you make a good point. I agree.”

“Oh, Wendy, you’re truly righteous!” Magnum’s face lit up with gratitude. “Thank you so much for your support. Though, I should clarify—my body isn’t exactly a corpse yet. Even without a soul, it still breathes and has a heartbeat, right?”

No one cared about that detail, and no one responded. Magnum shrugged awkwardly, then suddenly seemed to remember something. “By the way, while wandering in that glowing space, I vaguely heard some voices mentioning canonization or sainthood… Were they talking about me?”

Semler and Yuri seemed not to hear. Wendy quietly averted her gaze, and Selina stared off into the distance, as if detached from the whole matter.

Magnum blinked, looked around, then shrugged with a mix of embarrassment and indifference, deciding to ask again in a few days.

…

Several hours later, in the Cecil Empire.

Dawn’s sunlight filtered into the bedroom, bringing a faint warmth of late winter. Gawain, lying in bed, suddenly opened his eyes. Seeing the familiar ceiling, he exhaled softly.

He knew only a single night had passed in the real world, but after confronting the “historical memories” of the higher narrators, it felt as if he had just emerged from thousands of years of history. A sense of temporal and even epochal detachment lingered in his mind, taking some time to fully recover. He should have woken earlier but had slept longer to sort through his memories and mental state.

For ordinary people, such detachment might cause severe psychological trauma, possibly irreversible. Fortunately, for Gawain, this was nothing new—he was accustomed to this immersion in the river of time. Experiencing it again felt like coming home.

As the storm of information in his mind gradually settled and memories returned to their proper places, Gawain sat up and looked around the room.

Amber had stayed by his side all night and was now fast asleep in a nearby armchair, drooling due to an awkward sleeping position.

Tyr still curled up in the corner, her tail twisted into a tangled mess, half of her upper body wrapped inside it. Her sleeping posture defied description.

Gawain couldn’t even figure out how the tip of Tyr’s tail poked out from that huge knot.

Amber, likely sensing Gawain’s awakening with her keen senses, suddenly opened her amber eyes. She glanced at Gawain sitting on the bed, still a bit groggy, then quickly wiped the drool from her cheek and stood up. “Ah, you’re back! Did everything get resolved over there?”

“Yes,” Gawain said, standing and taking a deep breath of the brightening morning air, as if exhaling all the lingering gloom. “No gods descended into the world. After today, everyone can sleep peacefully again.”

Amber’s eyes widened, then she smiled. “I knew you’d handle it.”

Gawain nodded. “We need to inform the others. There’s still a lot to take care of.”

He glanced at Tyr in the corner. “Also, we need to find a way to wake her up—time to tell the sea witches in the deep ocean not to wait any longer.”

“You handle that. I’ll go notify Hetty and Kamail!” Amber dashed toward the door without hesitation. “They’re waiting for your news and probably woke up early.”

Before Gawain could say more, Amber was already gone like the wind, leaving him alone with a deeply sleeping sea witch.

Clearly, Amber knew how difficult it was to wake Tyr. She’d rather run all over the city early in the morning than try to rouse her.

Gawain stared at the door, then turned back to the sea witch whose sleeping posture seemed even more abstract than before, shaking his head helplessly.

He’d already tried hot water, tossing it out the window, but that might not work. Salt was like a homecoming for her—probably just a sword strike away from reviving and returning to her room to continue sleeping.

After some thought, Gawain bent down and whispered into Tyr’s ear (assuming her hearing organs were ears), “Your little cookie is gone.”

Tyr jolted awake, her tangled tail rolling on the floor as she collapsed in a mess. She flailed and shouted, “What? Who said that? I haven’t—hey?”

Fully awake now, she twisted her upper body 180 degrees to look at Gawain and noticed the morning light. She recalled why she was sleeping here. “You… you’re back? How did it go?”

“Unfortunately,” Gawain said with a faint smile, shaking his head, “you waited for nothing.”

Tyr paused, then understood his meaning. But the sea witch who lost her little cookie suddenly laughed, delighted. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

She propped herself up, stretched her long serpentine tail, and slowly slithered toward the door, waving her hand. “I’ll go notify the sisters. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can get back to sleep…”

Tyr left, and Gawain was alone in the room. The dawn glow brightened into radiant sunlight, streaming through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Turning to face the sun, Gawain squinted slightly against the brilliant light.

It was dawn in Cecil, but morning in the Orlandel region. If all went according to plan, the transfer of the Sleeper faction had already begun.

From now on, Cecil’s vast machinery would operate covertly. The recently established intelligence agency in Typhon would activate alongside the railway investment company, the “Trajectory Project” informants, and the “Number Twenty-Five” unit. Together, under the cover of increased trade orders, they would transfer the core Sleeper technicians and technical data to Cecil before Rosetta Augustus noticed. Over the next year, they would continue moving lower-priority clergy more slowly and discreetly until the transfer was complete or forced to stop.

Everything was planned. Amber’s intelligence agency and Hetty’s overseas railway organization had prepared thoroughly. Now, it depended on the Sleepers’ flawless cooperation.

Hopefully, they would perform well during the upcoming assimilation and transformation… Selina and Megor III were both smart—they knew what to do.

“A good thing…” Gawain murmured, squinting at the dazzling sunlight flooding the world.

Some stories end, but others… must go on.

…

Rosetta Augustus ascended to the highest spire of the Obsidian Palace. He pushed open a grand door inscribed with countless runes and inlaid with gems and arcane metals, entering the magical laboratory at the tower’s peak.

The lab was spacious and bright. Alchemy benches and arcane workstations engraved with runes were neat and clean. Shelves lined the walls, meticulously organized with rare and profound books and scrolls. Two magical automata, assembled from rune-etched armor plates and bronze torsos, busily tidied up various items with light, silent movements.

Seeing Rosetta enter, the automata bowed deeply before returning to their tasks.

Rosetta’s gaze went straight to the back of the room, where a dignified woman in a pale purple robe approached. She was Windsor Mapel, current president of the Typhon Royal Mage Association and Rosetta’s chief magical advisor—a legendary mage.

This magical laboratory within the Obsidian Palace belonged to her. It was both her workplace and a symbol of her rare genius and special status within the empire.

“Your Majesty, I salute you,” Windsor Mapel bowed respectfully before Rosetta. “What are your orders?”

Rosetta nodded. “I feel the curse’s power has weakened. That force has calmed down.”

The “madness” curse afflicting the Typhon royal family was a semi-open secret. For generations, the heads of the Imperial Royal Mage Association—renowned experts in the arcane—had been the few who truly understood it. For two centuries, these exceptional spellcasters had been tasked with analyzing the curse and seeking ways to counter it. Though no significant breakthroughs had been made, the royal family continued to place their trust in these mages.

In private, members of the Typhon royal family often discussed the “madness curse” directly with Windsor Mapel.

“It’s weakened?” Windsor looked at Emperor Rosetta with surprise. “Did this just happen?”

“After waking this morning, I sensed it fading little by little. A few hours later, it returned to what I’d call a ‘normal’ state—no rebound, no further decline,” Rosetta explained the sensations he’d experienced. In front of Windsor Mapel, he presented himself as an ordinary patient, helping the legendary mage better assess the situation. “I believe there must be some arcane reason behind this change. I’d like you to examine it.”

“Of course… we can begin right away.”

(End of chapter)