Chapter 926: It Has Already Begun

The “success” of the goddess of magic, Mylmina, seemed almost impossible to replicate—at least from Amon’s perspective.

But for Gawain, this incident still sparked an idea. The “ideology without bias” created by neural networks might serve as an unprecedentedly effective “purification method” for gods born from collective thought.

Of course, neural networks were still weak now. A mere few tens of thousands of nodes couldn’t compare to any established religion in the world. Yet in Cecile, these “magitech industrial products” had one defining trait: rapid development. Even if their scale was insufficient now, in a year, two years… someday, their reach would be enough to shake any divine authority.

Gawain didn’t bother explaining these details to the former god before him; he felt it unnecessary.

Amon, however, was still pondering Mylmina’s escape. Breaking the silence with a hint of melancholy, he said, “I suspect more than one god has contemplated a similar ‘escape plan.’ In fact, my own ‘attempt’ three thousand years ago likely inspired some deities. But in the end, only the goddess of magic succeeded. That’s because of her ‘inclination.’ She was born from the shallow faith of mages. From the very beginning, mages regarded her merely as an explanation, a symbol. They always prided themselves on solving problems through their own wisdom and power, not by praying for divine blessings or salvation. This gave Mylmina the chance to ‘ignore’ her followers’ prayers.”

“For most gods, it’s nearly impossible to completely disregard their worshippers’ prayers. They must respond, at least to some degree…”

Gawain quickly grasped the implication behind Amon’s words.

All gods in this world were born from mortal hopes and fears. Mortals “created” these deities to ease their anxieties, to find a transcendent being who would answer their pleas. For gods born from such collective thought, “response” was an innate attribute—they simply couldn’t refuse prayers and supplications from the living world.

But the goddess of magic was different. Mages conceived her not to gain power or guidance, but because in their academic research, they found certain principles or formulas missing a crucial “element.” Unable to solve these problems scientifically, they decided to assign a source to these unexplained phenomena. Over time, as collective beliefs shifted, this source gradually diverged from its original concept, becoming a god who explained all the unknowns. Yet Mylmina’s essence remained unchanged:

She was the “X factor” in a pile of unsolved formulas and flawed theories. The mages’ attitude toward her could be summed up as: “You just stay here and don’t move; I’ll figure out the rest of the equation.”

Such a weak constraint naturally gave Mylmina room to maneuver. Through long self-isolation and a bold escape plan, she gave her followers a blunt reply: “Screw your prayers. Whoever wants to stay, stay. I’m outta here!”

Gawain shook his head, both marveling at how even seemingly lofty gods were shackled like mortals, and pondering how much chaos Mylmina’s willful, decisive escape might unleash.

He reined in his wandering thoughts and suddenly looked at Amon.

“Now… you should be able to tell us more ‘knowledge,’ right?”

“Not everything,” Amon replied slowly. “You must understand, I’m not fully free from my bonds yet. The taint of divinity remains. So if your questions delve into realms humanity hasn’t touched, or directly concern gods, I still can’t answer.”

“That’s enough for me,” Gawain nodded. He gathered his thoughts and asked the question he’d wanted to pose since their last conversation. “I want to know the root of the magical tides… You said before that the magical tides have nothing to do with gods—that they’re essentially a natural phenomenon. So what exactly is the principle behind this natural phenomenon?”

Amon was silent for a moment, then a pleasant voice echoed in Gawain and Veronica’s minds: “You are not yet capable of resolving its source, because its origin… lies in the sun above your heads.”

“The sun?” Veronica suddenly broke the silence, her tone urgent.

“Ah, it seems you’ve already noticed some evidence.”

“Seven hundred years ago, when the magical tide erupted, there were records of anomalies in the sun. When the magical tide’s aftershocks stirred in the ruins of Gondor, the sun also exhibited corresponding phenomena,” Veronica said gravely. “We always suspected some connection between the magical tide and the sun’s cycles, but never imagined… its source actually comes directly from the sun!”

Gawain immediately thought of another question—the “sun” in this world wasn’t a star in the galaxy, but a gas giant!

If this gas giant could trigger the magical tide, then what about the true star of the system, “Ao”?

Could there be some similarity or material connection between the gas giant and the star? If both celestial bodies could cause magical tides, might this explain the source of magic itself?

“Do magical tides occur on planets orbiting ‘Ao’ directly?” Gawain asked bluntly, lost in thought.

“No mortal has ever considered the connection between celestial bodies and magical tides from that perspective. Your insight surpasses ordinary mortal knowledge,” Amon’s gaze fixed on Gawain, then he chuckled softly. “But that question I can answer…

“Yes. ‘Ao’ also causes magical tides. Any world illuminated by a star or a ‘pseudo-star’ will experience magical tides.”

“Pseudo-star?” Gawain seized on the unfamiliar term without hesitation.

“They have structures similar to stars, with largely the same material composition, but unlike stars, they fail to ignite into ‘fire.’ Their light and heat are faint, like candlelight in the night sky. Yet if a satellite orbits close enough, it can still foster life under this dim glow. What you know as the ‘sun’ is actually a pseudo-star.”

Gawain’s expression brightened with understanding. So “pseudo-star” was the divine term for “gas giant.” Clearly, the concept of “gas giant” didn’t exist in this world.

Moreover, Amon’s answer revealed a crucial fact: any planet illuminated by a star or pseudo-star experiences periodic magical tides.

This aligned with Gawain’s previous assumption that magical tides also occur on other worlds, and further explained their origin. It also sparked a sudden thought—if the sun causes the magical tide, would blocking sunlight during the tide’s cycle help?

But he quickly dismissed the idea. The reason was simple—seven hundred years ago, when the magical tide suddenly erupted, it was the dead of night in the Gondor Empire…

The sun triggered the magical tide, but the medium was not sunlight.

“Do you know about the ‘Black Trap’?” Gawain refocused and asked. “It refers to the phenomenon where civilizations on this planet suddenly collapse after reaching a certain level of development…”

This time, Amon was silent even longer, then sighed. “I don’t know the term ‘Black Trap,’ but I know the phenomenon you describe. I can’t tell you much… because this question directly concerns the gods.”

“So the ‘Black Trap’ really is caused by the gods,” Gawain deduced from Amon’s tone. His suspicions quickly connected. “Is it because mortal civilizations reaching a certain stage drive all gods mad? Or is it a backlash from gods and humans trying—and failing—to break free from their ‘chains’?”

“I can’t answer either,” Amon said slowly. Then his tone grew serious. “But I can give you a piece of advice.”

“What advice?” Veronica asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

“If you want to avoid falling into that ‘Black Trap’… rebel early.”

Gawain and Veronica exchanged glances.

Hearing “rebel early” from a former god was… strange, to say the least.

Veronica instinctively asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“As time passes and mortals develop, gods grow stronger—stronger than you can imagine,” Amon said. “For you now, fighting a god requires the full might of a nation, clever tactics, and some luck. But do you know how easy it was to kill a ‘nature god’ like me in ancient times, when humans had just learned to use fire to drive away beasts?”

Veronica opened her mouth but found no words. Amon answered himself:

“Back then, all it took was a few big sticks and sharp spears—at most, some burning oil-soaked stones.”

Gawain and Veronica fell silent, stunned, their thoughts churning like a storm.

He thought of the war god, who seemed to be slipping into madness, and the other gods who still appeared sane but might lose control at any moment.

“…Looks like we need to rethink a lot of things,” he muttered.

Veronica gave Amon a complicated, strange look. “As a former god, you really support mortals’ rebellion plans…”

“That’s part of the natural order,” Amon said gently. “Not everything ends perfectly. When survival becomes a challenge, sometimes all options must be considered. Nature’s law is like that—it’s neither kind nor cruel, neither good nor evil. It just runs its course, indifferent to your wishes.”

“But we can still hope for a better way out,” Gawain said. “You succeeded, and so did the goddess of magic. Though you say it can’t be replicated, what we’re doing now is technically recreating what was once considered a miracle. I’ve always believed development can solve most problems.”

“Then I wish you success,” Amon said with a smile in his voice. “But you must hurry. All of us—gods and mortals alike—are running out of time.”

“Of course,” Gawain nodded. “Once I decided to restart the rebellion, it had already begun. It can’t be stopped, so we have no choice but to move forward.”

With that, he and Veronica took their leave—not because they had no more questions, but because they’d stayed too long. Amon’s divinity was not yet fully purified, and prolonged conversation here still carried risks.

Besides, the outside world awaited their attention.

The dark, chaotic courtyard fell silent once more. On the shattered earth lay the massive giant stag, still and quiet.

“Has it begun…” Amon murmured softly to himself in the silence. “Too bad your words aren’t quite right… In truth, it all began the moment mortals first decided to leave their caves.”

Then he sank into a long silence, only sighing faintly after several minutes.

“…What exactly did Mylmina say to me when she left?”

After returning to Cecil City, Gawain didn’t take a moment to rest. Instead, he headed straight to the Empire’s Computing Center main control room—where Kamail and Jenny were already stationed.

The spacious control room was brightly lit, filled with technicians busily inspecting the neural network that had just weathered a fierce storm. In one corner, several immersion pods were set up, all activated. Inside lay former Sleepers’ bishops, now holding specialized roles known as “Node Scholars.”

Kamail, working at a large terminal, was the first to notice Gawain and Veronica’s arrival. He immediately stepped forward and saluted. “Your Majesty, Princess Veronica.”

Though Ansu no longer existed, Veronica Morn still retained her traditional title of princess, and thus was addressed as “Your Highness.” Of course, from the perspective of the Holy Light Church, she could also be called “Saintess,” but that wasn’t Kamail’s usual practice.

“We’ve learned a great deal from Amorn—but we’ll discuss that later,” Gawain nodded to Kamail, returning the greeting from Jenny beside him. “For now, let’s check on the network’s status.”

“Everything has stabilized,” Kamail replied promptly. “We just successfully activated a remote substation in Saint Suniel. The neural network and the magic web are running at expected efficiency. Miss Jenny and I are currently transmitting the standard templates for the Mind Protection Runes to all nodes. On that note, we have some updates to report.”

(End of chapter)