Chapter 822: Three Stages

Heddy, Kamail, and the others received their upcoming assignments and soon left the study. The large room fell quiet, leaving only Gawain seated behind the desk and Veronica—also known as Ophelia—standing before him.

Of course, Amber was present too, though she was so seamlessly blended into the air that she was practically invisible.

Gawain glanced up at Veronica, who held a platinum scepter, and nodded calmly. “There are some questions about this ‘Upper Narrator’ we can discuss. Please, have a seat.”

Veronica nodded and settled into a high-backed chair beside the desk, speaking softly. “Your recent operation has given us a valuable case study—this should be the first time we’ve had such an intuitive, close-range contact with a god, and one who was still in a rational state.”

Gawain’s voice grew serious. “Strictly speaking, it’s still different from the gods in the real world. We can’t yet confirm whether the Upper Narrator, born within the sandbox world, is ‘complete’ enough. It went through madness, death, and fragmentation—complex processes that make it hard to say exactly how it changed along the way.”

“But it’s enough as a reference,” Veronica said. “At least we can analyze many divine ‘traits’ from it.”

“For example… the purity of divinity and its response to mortal thought,” Gawain said slowly. “The Upper Narrator is made up of two parts: divinity and humanity. The human side is radical, chaotic, emotional, and less rational, but also clever and cunning. The divine side is much purer. I can sense it has unconditional protection and care for its followers and acts to satisfy their collective beliefs. In fact, from one perspective, its human side also acts to fulfill the believers’ thoughts—just in a different way.”

As he spoke, Gawain’s brow furrowed. “This confirms a theory I had before: all gods, regardless of whether they eventually go mad and become harmful, initially act out of a desire to protect mortals…”

“The Renegades never denied this possibility,” Veronica said calmly. “We even believe that until the very last moment of madness, gods retain some instinct to protect mortals. There’s too much evidence showing gods sheltering the mortal world. In humanity’s primitive era, gods’ existence helped fragile mortals survive countless catastrophes. The descent into madness is a gradual process—and after this operation against the Upper Narrator, I’m even more certain of that.”

Veronica lowered her head slightly, fingers lightly touching her chin as if pondering and organizing her thoughts. “We can consider the Upper Narrator as a god in an earlier stage—born recently, with purer thoughts that give it a more pristine divinity. This is the stage closest to a god’s ‘essence.’ The gods in the real world are in a later stage. According to our old observations, the real-world gods are already in a very chaotic, paranoid state—and this condition will only worsen…”

“Perhaps we can divide gods into several stages,” Gawain mused. “At first, gods are born from mortal thoughts—pure entities formed by strong spiritual reflections. They usually arise from singular emotions or desires, like fear of death or reverence for nature. These are the ‘Primordial Gods.’ The Upper Narrator fits this stage.

“After birth, gods are continuously influenced by mortal thoughts. Over time, they accumulate ‘impurities,’ becoming more chaotic and prone to madness. This is likely the longest phase in a god’s ‘life cycle’—the ‘Corrupted Gods’ stage.

“In the final stage, corruption peaks, and the god becomes a chaotic, mad being. When all reason is consumed by these chaotic thoughts, the god enters its ultimate phase—the ‘Mad God’—which the Renegades desperately seek to oppose.”

Gawain finished, and Veronica nodded gently. “Based on the Upper Narrator’s traits, your classification seems accurate.”

“So, it’s not just divinity corrupting humanity, but humanity corrupting divinity as well,” Gawain sighed softly. “We always thought spiritual corruption came first and was the strongest, but we overlooked the massive influence mortals have on gods…

“The complexity and division among mortals cause gods to slide toward madness from the moment of their birth. The gods who protect all things were ‘created’ by mortals themselves, and the ‘Mad Gods’ who destroy the world are also mortals’ own making.”

“That’s the nature of this world,” Veronica said quietly. Having lived over a thousand years as a Renegade, her tone was calm, her crystal-like eyes reflecting only mechanical serenity. “It’s neither just nor unjust. It simply has a set of rules, and all of us—including gods—must operate within them. The only irony is people like us Renegades: mortals who refuse to die according to the rules. Refusing to die—that’s probably the greatest rebellion against this world.”

Gawain was silent for a few seconds, then shook his head with a sigh. “Survival is the instinct of all beings. Morality is limited to groups. In a way, both humans and gods are pitiful creatures.”

At that moment, Amber’s voice came from nearby. “But why must humanity always corrupt divinity? If mortals are complex and chaotic, weren’t the mortals at the birth of gods just as complicated?”

Gawain glanced sideways and casually plucked Amber out of the air. Veronica spoke up beside them: “Because we keep evolving. Our populations grow larger and more complex—not just materially, but intellectually as well.

“The ancient people who first conceived ‘gods’ probably simply revered natural phenomena. Their greatest wish might have been just to have enough food and clothes, to survive another day. But what about us today? How many desires do mortals have? How many hopes and impulses about the future? And all of these point back to the god who was originally created just to protect mortals’ basic needs…”

Amber listened, her brow slowly furrowing.

“That sounds like a dead end… Unless we never develop, never change our population, and keep our thoughts unchanged for thousands of years, we can’t avoid creating ‘Mad Gods’… But how is that even possible?”

“That’s indeed a vicious cycle,” Gawain said lightly. “Which is why we have to find a way to break it. Whether it’s the End of All Things trying to create a god ruled entirely by humanity, or the Sleeper attempting to sever the ‘pollution link’ between mortals and gods by breaking the mental seals—they’re all trying to break this cycle. But… so far, none have succeeded.”

Amber suddenly looked up at Gawain. “Is there any other way?”

Gawain met her bright eyes and slowly smiled. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“Hopefully we find that way soon,” Amber muttered, pouting. “For the sake of both mortals and gods…”

Veronica heard Amber’s words but, as a Renegade, offered no rebuttal or warning. She simply listened quietly, her gaze deep in thought.

Gawain narrowed his eyes slightly, his mind swirling.

The development of mortals… in a way, it brewed the poison that corrupts gods, planting the seeds of humanity’s own destruction. Yet development itself is the only form of resistance mortals have against this cold, hard world.

This icy rule is hardly friendly, but neither humans nor gods have any other choice.

…

At the Arcane Technology Research Institute, Druid Research Center.

Byron, his hair streaked with gray, stood nervously in a clear space, watching technicians bustling around the platform nearby, adjusting equipment. He tried to appear calm, standing straight, but those who knew him well could tell from his rigid posture just how tense the imperial general truly was.

Byron rarely stood so stiffly.

Pea sat quietly in a chair beside him, glancing up at her foster father with a hint of exasperation. She picked up her ever-present writing pad and quickly scribbled a line, then poked Byron’s elbow and handed it over.

“Dad, relax. You’re making everyone nervous.”

Byron looked down at the note and forced a stiff smile. “I… I’m pretty relaxed.”

Pea sighed helplessly and turned her gaze toward the cluster of machines and technicians nearby.

Pittman stood among a group of assistants and researchers, his wrinkled face unusually serious.

The crystal resonance device embedded beneath the experimental table emitted a pleasant hum. Above the table, a projection crystal displayed a complex, clear 3D image. Pittman’s eyes scanned the structure, which resembled a spine, checking every detail and monitoring its changes.

“There shouldn’t be any problems. The reaction matches the last test. The artificial nerve bundle is surviving well, and signal transmission is clear,” an assistant reported. “Next, we’ll see if the new cranial base contact points function as expected…”

“Finally, it’s time for acceptance testing…” Pittman murmured, then carefully, as if holding a treasure, picked up the oddly shaped silver-white device resting at the platform’s center.

It was a serpentine device less than half a meter long, made of linked silver-white metal segments. The whole thing looked like a flattened spine. One end had a triangular structure designed to fit the back of the neck, while the other extended into several tendril-like terminals. The device was intricate and eerie.

This was the improved “Neural Thorn.”

Pittman held the triangular end with one hand and supported the terminal cluster with the other, then approached Byron and Pea.

“Is it ready to use?” Byron asked immediately.

“It was ready before,” Pittman rolled his eyes. “We just double-checked for safety.”

But Byron didn’t relax. He frowned again and asked, “What if something goes wrong…?”

“First, this is a non-implant nerve bundle. It connects to the brain via cranial base contact points, which have a built-in fuse mechanism. If the user’s brainwaves exceed safe levels, the contacts disconnect automatically. Second, there are plenty of experts watching, and the lab has the best emergency equipment ready. You can put your worries aside and let it do its job for decades where it belongs. No need to stress here.”

Byron opened his mouth as if to say more, but Pea quietly stood and gently nudged him aside.

Pittman glanced at Byron. “Pea’s braver than you.”

Byron’s lips moved a couple of times, as if he had more to say, but in the end, he closed his mouth.

In situations like this, it’s best not to question the professionals or interfere with the experiment—this simple truth was understood even by a mercenary-turned-knight like him.

“Pea, have a seat on this chair,” Pittman said, guiding the girl to a nearby seat. She had tied her hair up before leaving that morning, revealing the smooth curve of her neck. In his hand, Pittman held the world’s first set of “Neural Thorns,” carefully bringing it closer to the nape of Pea’s neck. “It’ll feel a little cool at first, then a tingling sensation, but that’ll pass quickly. After that, the tray will stick to your skin to ensure a solid connection with the base of your skull—the ‘adhesion technique’ is very secure. So if you want to take it off later, remember to press the buttons on the back in the right order, or it’ll hurt…”

Pittman explained the precautions seriously before finally attaching the silver-white device to the back of Pea’s neck.

A faint “click-click” came from the metallic joints of the device. Made from magical materials, lightweight metals, and biomimetic substances, the equipment sensed her brainwaves and seemed to come alive. The triangular tray latched onto the back of Pea’s head, while a dark red light pulsed swiftly through the neatly arranged metal “segments.” The internal runes activated one by one, causing the entire Neural Thorn to contract briefly before relaxing.

Pea’s neck twitched sharply, but her face showed no sign of discomfort.

Pittman stood up, glanced at Byron who had stepped forward nervously, then looked back at Pea.

“We’ve installed a small speaker inside your Neural Thorn—you can try ‘speaking’ now. Focus your attention and clearly form the words you want to say. It might be difficult at first, but I believe you’ll get the hang of it quickly…”

Pea hesitated, turning her head as if still adjusting to the strange sensation at the back of her neck. Then, frowning, she concentrated hard, shaping the words she wanted to say in her mind.

A strange, indistinct noise came from the Neural Thorn behind her head.

Then a second burst of noise, this time mixed with broken, jumbled syllables.

Pea tried several more times. Finally, the syllables began to form into a rough sequence, and the noise gradually settled.

She took a deep breath, focused once more, and fixed her gaze on Byron beside her.

A faint but clear voice reached the ears of the nearly fifty-year-old knight: “…Dad… thank you…”

(End of chapter)