CH1440 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 1440: Respective Responsibilities

The moment the Deity of Gods began to fall, the ground erupted into chaos.

Hackzord tore open a Distortion Door without warning and transported both himself and Silent Disaster directly to Roland’s position — the intent ambiguous enough that the God’s Punishment Witches read it as a threat and locked formation around the king, their anti-magic field snapping into place before the two senior lords had fully landed. Both sides went rigid. Neither moved. It was Lightning’s relayed report — the descent rate had decreased, the floating island was slowing — that kept Serakkas from drawing her sword.

Roland registered it: temporary alliance did not mean shared stakes. Whatever the two senior lords were acting on, it was not the same concern he was. Excepting Valkries, they had not genuinely grasped the nature of the threat posed by God. Everything they had done here was for the Nightmare Lord trapped inside the Dream World. Nothing more.

But a stabilized descent meant Celine had succeeded. The core was under control. The disaster had been averted.

Further reports came in over the following hours. No losses in the First Army. Three injuries during the fall, none severe. The Spider Demons they had planned for had not appeared. The Mad Demons under control had not broken during the incident. A harrowing operation, by any measure — and they had come through it without a single death.

It was not until Celine arrived in front of him that Roland understood the situation was more complex than any of those reports suggested.

Any other day, she would have been gesturing before she’d finished speaking, tumbling through everything she’d experienced in the order the excitement presented it. This was not that.

The reality was — even by Roland’s standards — something close to incredible.

Mask had taken the race’s parent bodies and magic power cores and turned them into nodes of a network spanning two large continents, then used that network to trigger the Deity of Gods’s descent from a distance. A demon network. Built piece by piece, unknown to the King, unknown to any other senior lord. And the thing that had reversed it — the one element in the entire operation that had not been planned for — was an ancient witch who had been dormant in Neverwinter for over four centuries.

One of the Three Chiefs of the Union.

Eleanor.

“She wants to meet me?” Roland asked.

“More precisely — I hope you will meet her.” Celine’s voice carried something restrained in it, something she wasn’t quite saying. “She claims she isn’t qualified to be one of the Three Chiefs. But she made real sacrifices and real contributions. Everyone who knows anything about the Union knows what she did. It wasn’t easy for her to reach the light of day again. I don’t want her to simply disappear.”

Roland thought in silence. The Quest Society had confirmed the obelisk would not survive without a God’s Stone supply. The Mother of Soul was the foundation of the entire structure — when the mine ran dry, it would die. Avoiding that outcome required finding a new source of magic power before the collapse, and the window was narrow.

He had never attempted anything like this. His knowledge of the Mother of Soul was close to zero. A year or two might have made it plausible. But he also had Valkries’s assistance, and Hackzord’s — factors that shifted the calculus.

“Your Majesty—”

“Relax.” He looked at Celine. “She is the person who saved both Graycastle and the Kingdom of Dawn. You didn’t need to ask. I would have done everything possible to keep her here regardless.”

The technical path existed. What mattered now was Eleanor’s willingness to walk it — and that was a matter of persuasion, which shared its principles with something Roland understood very well. A person who had chosen to live had better odds than one who had decided their moment was past.

He was not, when it came to convincing people, particularly easy to defeat.


On top of the Deity of Gods, Roland stood before the magic power core and nodded to Celine.

The Realm of Mind could be entered by a carrier directly — he could not. Celine served as the connection, her main tentacle extended into the core, and then a voice arrived inside his head.

“Let me guess. You are the human king.”

“Roland Wimbledon.” He closed his eyes and let his voice settle into something easy. “First meeting. I’m glad you were able to free yourself from the central carrier — Eleanor of the Three Chiefs.”

“A pity you can’t see the real me. I’m a hideous demon now.”

“Only temporarily. Your consciousness is here. There will come a day when you can enter the Realm of Mind — and there, not only will you be able to regain your former self, you’ll be able to see the people you knew.”

“The Dream World.” A pause. “Celine has told me about it. A genuinely fascinating place.” Another pause, shorter. “But she should also have told you — the God’s Stone mine in this city is close to exhaustion. I can’t wait for that day.”

“You only need to change locations so that you can wait,” Roland said.

Silence.

“What?”

“Neverwinter has a God’s Stone mine. I can transfer you there. The technical difficulties are real — getting you out of the Red Mist Lake, moving you over a long distance without a Red Mist supply line — but with careful preparation, it can be done.”

“The price of doing that would be enormous.” She sounded as though she might be suppressing something light. “It brings you no benefit at all. Did Celine extract a promise from you?”

“Your Majesty, I did no such—” Celine began.

“What do you mean, no benefit?” Roland spoke over her. “Your existence is vital to humanity. You simply haven’t seen it yet.”

Eleanor went still. “Vital… extremely?”

“Mask used this network to seize control of the core instrument. That’s undeniable. The cores are critical tools for understanding magic power. And at present, you are the only one who can expel him from them. That alone is enormously important.” He held his pace deliberately. “But that’s not the most important thing.”

He slowed. Let each word carry its own weight.

“If humanity gains a floating island of its own — the entire course of this war changes.”

Even Celine went quiet.

“You want to build a Deity of Gods?”

“Why not? We aren’t starting from nothing. Mask has left us a precisely tuned core instrument. We have a capable controller. The only missing piece is an obelisk — and I don’t need one the size of a continent. An island one or two kilometers across would be sufficient. Enough runway for large-caliber bombers to take off and land. Enough to carry an army directly to the Bottomless Land.” He paused. “The prerequisite being that you can grasp the structure of the magic power cores and eventually direct them with a new God’s Stone mine. I know it won’t be simple. And if it fails — I won’t think less of you than I do of Mask, not even slightly. At minimum, you would have tried.”

You don’t believe you’re qualified to be one of the Three Chiefs? Fine. Then I’ll give you something else. Something forward-facing. Something only you can attempt. Try to turn that down.

The voice inside his head fell silent.

A long moment passed.

“I understand now,” Eleanor said finally, “what ‘the most unsuitable King’ means.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. I said nothing.” Something lighter moved through her voice, the sound of weight that had been carried somewhere and set down. “One thing, Mister Roland: your plan rests on a premise. Specifically — that you can successfully transfer the Mother of Soul. I understand it won’t be easy. If it fails, I won’t hold you responsible.”

“Lady Eleanor—!” Celine could not contain herself.

“Of course.” Roland let himself smile. “All of us have our respective responsibilities.”

“Then decide quickly on the landing point. This thing can’t hold much longer.”

“Already done.” He looked southeast. Whatever the Deity of Gods came down on would be permanently altered — only the open ocean could accommodate something of this mass without catastrophe. And if the spot was chosen well, the island’s settlement might even expand Graycastle’s coastline: a subsidiary island, new territory from the wreckage of the enemy’s greatest weapon.

“Drop it near Seawindshire.”

Discussion

Suggest a change