“I don’t understand… this sounds like an apocalypse prophecy? But what exactly does ‘the Ark’ mean? Who spoke those words? And where is this place?” Salyan’s questions came one after another, full of confusion and unease.
The two of them continued forward and finally stopped before a “wooden wall” that vanished into boundless darkness both above and below, as if it had no end.
Iros placed his palm lightly on the wall and said, “This is a small portion of the ‘Abyss’. Ordinarily it should be an absolute taboo for life. But the Divine Tree has rooted here, and that has altered the state of this area.”
“Divine Tree?” Salyan started, looking up to reexamine the immense “wooden wall.” Only then did he realize this was not a wall at all but a tiny part of a tree so gigantic it defied imagination!
It wasn’t Salyan’s fault for reacting slowly; without the panel, even Lin Jun would have had trouble linking this majestic colossus with the sapling that earlier looked like it would topple in a breeze.
Iros continued to explain to his disciple: “And the Ark is the dungeon! They possess independent spaces and ecologies. With proper adjustments, they can completely isolate external disasters and become self-contained.”
“Independent spaces? I know some dungeons do have that trait, but the Divine Tree dungeon seems—”
Iros shook his head, his tone the same as when instructing a student: “Don’t be satisfied with surface knowledge! Salyan, do you know what remains after a dungeon is utterly destroyed?”
Salyan shook his head blankly.
He had never witnessed a dungeon’s total destruction firsthand; even the great royal library held no detailed records of such an event.
Iros did not expect an answer. He spoke in a low voice: “Nothing remains. No ruins, no great pits—just a blank stretch of land, as if nothing had ever existed there. That is the world’s original substrate; a dungeon’s existence actually overlays the original region in space.”
“Salyan, you are talented, but staying in Ishildolin all this time has limited your horizons.”
“I… haven’t had many chances to go out and see the world…” Salyan murmured.
Iros sighed softly, his voice almost a mutter: “That is precisely the problem… yes, exactly…”
“As for who spoke those words…” By now they had come to three smaller information cubes.
At Iros’s gesture, Salyan touched them in turn. Inside each was content:
[Time: 77635.223.74]
[Today is another idle, leisurely day.]
[I’ve gotten so used to waiting to die that it’s oddly pleasant.]
[Anyway, it’s not my fault.]
“Some kind of… diary?” Salyan felt astonished.
And what was with that timestamp?
Salyan looked at his teacher in puzzlement; Iros only signaled for him to continue.
[Speaking of wasted effort, Nefrila and Iksion are the same—helpless yet still fussing about.]
Reading the first part, Salyan tried to recall any historical ruler named Arthur.
But when the names of the Light God Iksion and the Death God Nefrila were mentioned in such casual, even mocking tones, Salyan’s face changed instantly.
He took a deep breath and reached for the last small cube; its entries continued in the same style:
[Time: 77635.226.2]
[Nefrila invited me over, said she wanted to show me a way to turn the tide.]
[I want to see what she’s been tinkering with all this time.]
“This… is a god’s diary?” Salyan’s voice was dry with shock.
“Or at least someone close to a god,” Iros answered, keeping his tone measured.
Although they couldn’t be certain who left these records, the recorder’s manner was almost conversational, even flippant; their attitude toward the gods was one of equals.
The possibility that these were the ramblings of a madman existed… but it was slim.
It was hard to imagine an ordinary person leaving such records in this strange form.
From the fragments, it appeared the Light God and Death God were attempting to save the world, but this mysterious recorder held no hope for their efforts.
What truly upset Salyan was where the records cut off.
“Teacher, could that so-called ‘method’ be the dungeons?” he asked.
“I think so.” Iros cast a Light spell that revealed an immense black cube not far away, and warned, “Don’t touch it. You’ll die.”
“There are many more such record-cubes scattered here, but I don’t have time to sort and interpret them all.” Iros’s gaze swept over the black cubes before returning to Salyan. “But one thing is certain: the Fog will swallow everything. Before that happens, we must study it thoroughly. And that cannot be done while cowering in a corner of the continent.”
“Then why not tell the king—”
“I know Aurel too well,” Iros interrupted him directly, a trace of weariness faint in his voice. “He would never agree. Long years have blunted all his edges. He will not consent to any choice that might bring risk to the elves, even if it is for their long-term survival.”
“Teacher, are you saying… you intend to seize the throne?”
Iros looked at his best student: “Salyan, I am not doing this for myself. Like Aurel, my remaining years are fewer than a hundred; I’m unlikely to live to see the day this land is swallowed by the Fog. But you? And the younger elves? The elven people must not go extinct because of our shortsightedness and conservatism… at least we should struggle for it once.”
“Salyan, you are young and gifted; your future will mark you as one of the elves’ leaders. Come with me—your strength is needed for the future of the elven people.” Iros reached out his hand toward Salyan.
Salyan instinctively wanted to grasp that hand—the teacher he had always admired and followed. But at the last moment he couldn’t help asking, “This will kill many people, won’t it?”
“Sacrifices are unavoidable,” Iros replied calmly and resolutely, “but for the sake of the entire race, a certain price is worth paying.”
Salyan hesitated for a moment, then pulled his hand back: “I can’t do it… Teacher, am I supposed to be sacrificed too?”
Iros sighed, as if he had expected this. “Sacrificing you is not worth it,” he said with a hint of regret. “Since you cannot decide now, remain here for the time being until everything concludes. Time… will not be long.”
“By the way—” Iros suddenly turned, the butt of his staff tracing an arc through the air.
The scouting Pujis that had been watching from behind Salyan immediately froze in all its movements.
The next moment, several of its mycelial tendrils snapped clean off and fell to the ground.
Then its round cap slid off.
Iros’s figure vanished from Salyan’s sight the instant after.
…
Even being this low-key, he still didn’t spare the Pujis?!