Chapter 891: Face to Face

Hearing Gawain’s words, Hetty immediately showed a worried, tense expression. “Ancestor, this could be dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, I know my limits—and besides, this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like this,” Gawain nodded reassuringly at Hetty. “There are some things I need to confirm.”

Seeing their ancestor’s calm yet resolute demeanor, Hetty swallowed her concerns and took a step back.

Kamail nodded to Gawain, then floated over to a control panel beside the containment barrier, beginning to channel magic into the ancient runes inscribed there.

Veronica, holding her platinum staff, fixed Gawain with a steady, deep gaze. “Can you tell us exactly what you want to confirm?”

“Three thousand years ago, the White Star fell, and the God of Nature vanished from the divine realm. Around the same time, the northern region of the Gondor Empire was struck by the Vipland meteor shower—countless ‘fragments from beyond the heavens’ rained down on the land,” Gawain said slowly, looking beyond the barrier. “Yet for all these years, no one connected these two events. Scholars lacked the crucial evidence and didn’t understand the secret link between the gods and the stars. Seven hundred years ago, I obtained one of those Vipland ‘meteorites.’ It later became widely known as the Shield of the Guardians. While communicating with this ‘legacy of the stars,’ I glimpsed some ancient memories.

“The fall of the God of Nature was tied to an impact beyond this world. The Vipland meteor shower and the debris surrounding the Great Stag Amon are all products of that collision. But the most suspicious part… is that the entire impact was intentional. Amon—the god himself—committed suicide.”

At Gawain’s words, even the usually composed Veronica’s eyes widened in shock. Amber and Hetty gasped softly. Then, from beyond the barrier, Kamail’s voice came through: “The shield is stable, Your Majesty. You may pass.”

“Wait here,” Gawain said casually, then stepped toward the slowly shimmering energy barrier.

Passing through the nearly transparent shield, the unique chaos, oppression, and eerie atmosphere of the Shadow Realm surged from all directions. Gawain left the sturdy, ancient corridors of the Rebellion Fortress and stepped onto the shattered land—a vast expanse of floating boulders connected by alloy frames, chains, and jump pads. A thousand years ago, the builders had constructed a path across these stones leading to the corpse of the Great Stag Amon. Gawain walked steadily along this path.

The corpse of the God of Nature hovered ahead like a small mountain bathed in white light.

A roiling “cloud” of chaos covered this gloomy world. Dark, lightning-like shadows flickered between the clouds. Massive boulders, freed from gravity, tumbled at the edges of this broken land and far into the sky. Only the space around the Great Stag Amon—perhaps influenced by residual divine power or the ancient systems still active within the Rebellion Fortress—remained relatively stable, with the floating stones and the “courtyard” environment holding together.

Gawain approached to within a few meters of the God of Nature. Given Amon’s immense size, the glowing white body before him was like a wall. He tilted his head back to look up at the stag’s drooping head, which was bound by countless chains. Unknown metals were embedded and pierced through the flesh. The chains were left by the people of Gondor, but the strange metals… likely fragments of the firmament and pieces of some kind of space warship.

“I’m curious now…” Gawain murmured to himself, scrutinizing the stag’s head. “Are you really dead?”

As expected, the Great Stag Amon gave no response.

Gawain smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know your purpose or what plans you had back then, but if the time is right, we can talk now—if you have anything to say.”

The divine corpse remained still, but Gawain didn’t mind. Smiling faintly, he recalled and spoke slowly, “I remember hearing a mysterious voice in the Rebellion Fortress once. It asked if I was ready… I thought it was a hallucination at the time, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Quiet now?” After a brief silence, Gawain looked up at Amon’s closed eyes and said casually, “But your impact back then made quite a noise. The space station above the equator exploded, and its debris even fell into the northern temperate zone.”

The white light flowing over Amon’s body suddenly stilled for a barely perceptible moment. Then, without warning, the god’s long-closed eyes slowly opened.

Two enormous eyes, as if forged from pure light itself, quietly fixed on Gawain. They were so huge that even Hetty and the others behind the safety barrier could clearly see them. Amber nearly jumped in surprise, and Veronica immediately raised her platinum staff. But just as they were about to sound the alarm, Gawain, facing away from them, raised a hand and waved, signaling them to stay calm.

Though he couldn’t see their reactions, Gawain guessed everyone was startled. His gesture was meant to reassure them.

He then met the gaze of the Great Stag Amon and shrugged. “You scared me.”

“You scared me,” a pure, ethereal voice echoed directly in Gawain’s mind.

The voice was so perfectly synchronized with his words that Gawain almost wondered if the God of Nature was simply repeating him—or reflecting his own thoughts. The next moment, he admired himself for managing to crack a joke in such a tense moment. That was impressive.

Using that mental quip to ease the tension and maintain a calm exterior, Gawain nodded. “So you really faked your death—the fall of the God of Nature was a ruse.”

“No, the fall of the God of Nature was not a ruse,” the ethereal voice echoed in his mind. The scene was strange—though Amon’s entire body remained firmly bound, and he only quietly watched Gawain, his voice continued. It felt like talking to a ghost inhabiting a corpse. “The God of Nature is truly dead. What lies here is only Amon.”

Gawain frowned immediately. “What do you mean by that?”

Amon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he quietly studied Gawain and asked, “How do you know about the space station and that impact?”

“We all have our secrets—and my source is probably the least important of them all,” Gawain said. “What matters is that I know now, and I’m standing here.”

“…You can’t be an ordinary human.” After a few seconds of silence, Amon said suddenly.

Gawain raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“An ordinary human couldn’t stand before me like you do—even in my current state, no unprotected mortal could safely approach this close,” Amon said. “And ordinary humans don’t have your willpower. They neither worship nor fear gods the way you do.”

“…I admit, I might be a little special,” Gawain said frankly. “But does that really matter?”

“It matters,” Amon replied. “Because I sense something unique about you… something that repels and oppresses me, making me instinctively want to keep my distance. If not for these bindings, I would have left the moment you first arrived.”

Gawain caught every word carefully, weighing Amon’s answers while calculating in his mind:

This “God of Nature” can sense a special aura from him—the “Satellite Spirit”—and instinctively feels repelled. This must be a legacy left by the Godslayer Fleet, an inherent suppressive effect against gods that extends invisibly to Gawain himself. But beyond sensing this aura, Amon doesn’t seem able to identify the connection between Gawain and the satellite precisely…

Of course, all this assumes the God of Nature isn’t lying or putting on an act. Out of caution, Gawain decided to trust only half of what Amon said.

On that basis, he would guard his secrets carefully and never reveal a single detail to this god who had faked death for three thousand years—unless absolutely necessary.

“I once possessed a fragment from the stars,” Gawain said slowly, choosing his words carefully, revealing truths that had nothing to do with himself. “That fragment affected me and gave me some… special qualities. I think you’ve guessed—the fragment came from the impact you caused on the space station. I don’t know if you can accept that. But by touching it, I gained knowledge beyond human understanding…”

“Ah… that’s not hard to imagine,” Amon’s voice echoed in Gawain’s mind. “Those legacies… they hold such power. They record their own history and imprint information onto mortal minds. The so-called ‘Eternal Tablets’ work this way. But few mortals can withstand this ‘imprint inheritance’ successfully. And someone changed as deeply as you? Even I have never seen that before.

“It’s not a perfect answer. I believe you’re still hiding many details. But it’s enough.”

“Then let’s return to where we started,” Gawain said immediately. “‘The God of Nature is dead. What lies here is only Amon’—what does that mean?”

Amon gazed quietly at Gawain. “Before I answer, I must ask you—are you truly ready?”

“Ready for what?” Gawain frowned. “Do gods like you always speak in riddles?”

“This isn’t a riddle, but a protection for your fragile minds,” Amon said calmly. “Since you stand here, I assume you already have a basic understanding of certain secrets. Then you should know… the more you learn about gods, the more you drift away from humanity. The more you understand, the closer you become to the divine.

“Some answers are not just answers. They are tests and shocks in themselves.

“So before you ask any question, before you seek any secret, ask yourself: are you truly ready? Ready… to draw ever closer to the gods?”

Gawain furrowed his brow, seriously considering Amon’s words. After weighing them carefully, he said slowly, “I think we’ve already ventured deep enough into this realm. At least, I am ready to talk with you.”

“Then so be it,” Amon said, and though it was hard to tell if it was just a trick of the mind, there seemed to be a faint smile in his tone. “The answer is simple: I destroyed my own divine seat. It was a risky move, but in hindsight, it was worth it. The mortals who once worshipped the natural order went through chaos—perhaps even despair—but they emerged on the other side, accepting the fact that their god had fallen. The god of nature is dead; the followers mourned, then divided the church’s inheritance. I’m quite pleased with how that turned out.

“They didn’t try to create a new god out of their grief. And since most of the faithful eventually mastered the forces of nature themselves through long, arduous study, the chance of a new deity arising dropped to nearly zero. This outcome was exactly what I had calculated from the start.

“That’s all I have to say.”

Gawain listened carefully to every word Amon spoke, a flicker of astonishment crossing his face. He couldn’t help but draw a sharp breath. “You mean… you deliberately crashed into the space station to destroy your own divine seat? To create an undeniable fact for your followers—that their god had fallen?”

“Creating that undeniable fact was only part of it,” Amon replied. “I also had to ‘die’—at least once. Only by doing so could I sever the transmission of divine power.”

“Sever the transmission of divine power?” Gawain immediately caught the key phrase. “You mean the flow of divine power isn’t controlled by the god’s own ‘self’?”

“Exactly,” Amon said, his voice carrying an even clearer smile than before. “It seems you already understand quite a lot about this, which makes our conversation easier. There’s much I don’t need to explain.”

“But I have a question,” Gawain couldn’t help but ask. “Why? Why go through all this—destroy your seat, fake your death, even be trapped here for three thousand years? Why would a god willingly do all that?”

Amon fell silent. After a full thirty seconds of quiet, his voice finally echoed in Gawain’s mind:

“…To break the cycle.”

(End of chapter)