CH1444 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 1444: The Riddles of the Consciousness

So the descriptions of Eleanor as amiable and approachable were accurate.

Roland thought of Alice — the cold, imposing weight of her presence — and tried to square that with the creature who had just offered to fly a mountain into the air on a whim. He couldn’t quite manage it.

“No — I believe you.” He raised a hand. North Slope Mountain was the center of an enormous industrial district; a sudden lift-off would be catastrophic. “Though I’d rather you not demonstrate right now.”

“You really should wait until I’ve activated the core instruments before believing me,” Eleanor replied, and something in her tone suggested she was genuinely regretful about this constraint. She wanted to show him. He could hear it.

He was beginning to understand her. Not being a qualified leader, as she’d said of herself — that was honest. But it didn’t mean ordinary. She had things she was proud of. Every Transcendent did.

“When exactly did you wake up?”

“About a quarter of an hour ago.”

She’s been listening this entire time. Roland swallowed the curse that rose instinctively. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Is there a rule that one must announce one’s awakening to the world?” Matter-of-fact. Serene.

“Then why speak up at all?”

“What other reason could there be? Did you want me to watch my junior embarrass herself?” The rows of compound eyes at the top of her form rolled upward in unison — a synchronized movement of alien scale that was, somehow, unmistakably the gesture of an eye-roll.

It’s your ‘awakening’ that made it more embarrassing! Roland thought, and said nothing.

Eleanor changed the subject without ceremony. “In all honesty, I am rather satisfied with you.”

He blinked. “For what reason?”

“There are no traces of exploitation here.” Her voice was calm and precise. “From the moment I bonded with this region, I could feel that the foundation of the God’s Stone pillar is fully preserved. You never touched it.”

She means the mine — proof I never had designs on the witches’ power. “Celine should have told you about the Witch Union. Did you not believe her?”

“Of course I did. But people are easily deceived by appearances — especially by the words of an omnipotent King. It would not be difficult for you to fake it. Even if you adhere to a position now, that says nothing about the future. Every leader has to plan ahead for contingencies. If you harbored any wariness toward the witches, you would inevitably be tempted by this mine — secretly arranging extraction, stockpiling, taking precautions against power that might grow too great to contain, all while maintaining a friendly front. Isn’t that what usually happens?”

Roland exhaled. “That is because too many people treat witches as a different species. In my eyes, they are humans with certain advantages.”

“You would be fine even if witches occupied all the important positions in the kingdom?”

“What you’re asking sounds like Alice’s assertions.” He met her gaze directly. “As long as humanity continues to exist, witches will return to prominence. That seems inevitable.”

“They told you that as well?” He heard something he had not heard from Eleanor yet — surprise.

“No. That was what I saw in the Sigil of Recording.” He paused. “Actually, Alice was only partially right. Switch the word ‘witch’ to ‘human’ and the statement becomes something entirely ordinary and expected: if outstanding individuals are prevented from leading a civilization, that civilization has no future. And if whoever stands at the peak stops striving for the good of everyone below them, it won’t last regardless.” He considered it. “Random awakenings, the inability to pass power through bloodlines, magic itself — these could all be understood as distinctive abilities, not as barriers between the talented and the ordinary. The artificial construction of those barriers — designated inheritance, exclusion — that’s what’s dangerous. It’s what perpetuates the divide.”

Eleanor looked at him for a long moment, as though searching for the seam between what he said and what he meant. Then, quietly, she gave up.

“I shall wait and see. What are your plans going forward?”

“A large-scale remodeling of North Slope Mountain — making it suitable as a flying stronghold.” Another reason he had not let her lift the island immediately: before they moved against the new Deity of Gods or traveled to the Bottomless Land, they would need substantial supplies. Once the island left Neverwinter, resupply would be difficult. “Can you estimate the island’s volume?”

“That should not be a problem.” She blinked her eyes — the closest thing she had to a nod. “Apart from the remaining veins, the Red Mist tower adjusts for range and grows accordingly, so it will never be as large as the Deity of Gods. But the scope can be controlled.”

“How exactly do Red Mist towers grow?”

“I was equally curious, so I spent time examining this body.” A pause that felt reflective. “What I found is that it can assimilate the God’s Stone pillar into itself. In ordinary circumstances the God’s Stone shows no signs of life — but bonded to a Mother of Soul, it begins to self-replicate. The rate depends on the quality of the stone; overuse depletes the magic power within it.”

“Then—” Roland hesitated. “Are you able to create Red Mist?”

Eleanor sighed. “Yes. And more than that — I now have control over the various unique abilities of the Mother of Soul, and a deeper understanding of their mechanics than I expected. The Red Mist lake, for instance, is a form of demon in its own right. They are all produced the same way.”

“You mean—”

“That’s right. Mad Demons, Fearsome Demons, Lords of Hell — all of them. The information is encoded within the Mother of Soul. But to incubate demons, certain crucial factors are required — and the one who supplies those factors to the Mother of Soul is what the demons call the King.”

Roland stood silent for a moment. He had known the demons did not need to mate, but he had not thought the process through. In other words, I could become the King of Demons. He turned the irony over once, then let it settle. One of the Three Chiefs — a demon producer. Strange, this.

Eleanor fixed her compound eyes on him. “Remember everything you said. And do not keep me here too long.”

That depends on our advancement in magic power, not on me, he thought, slightly helpless. But the thought that rose behind it went deeper.

Through the shift of consciousness, Eleanor had absorbed all the information stored within the Mother of Soul — acquired knowledge the way one acquired a language, through direct contact rather than instruction. The legacies of different races would eventually mix and evolve through exactly this kind of transfer. That was, he supposed, inevitable.

But then why had God gone to the trouble of the Battle of Divine Will? Why the legacy shards, the racial bloodshed, the long machinery of mutual destruction — when the same transfer could apparently happen like this, directly, without any of it?

And then there was the second question, the one that nagged more insistently.

Consciousness itself.

In a world where the technology was still primitive, the shift of consciousness appeared almost casual — no elaborate technique, no apparent method, no obvious boundary. If only God possessed the ability, Roland might have left it alone. But the underground civilization could do it. The demons could do it. Humans could do it.

In his previous world, simulating perception had been a theoretical concept, the premise of science fiction.

He had a feeling — imprecise, persistent — that the two things were connected.

Discussion

Suggest a change