Chapter 415: 32. Huiguo (6k)
At that very moment, on the Fifth Day, suspended in the dim depths of space within the Sixth Day, the red-haired archangel Michael, adorned with three pairs of illusory wings, swiftly broke through layer upon layer of ether, quickly descending before the enormous Huiguo gate. He swept a gaze over the deathly silence of the Huiguo, seeming to sigh with a sense of nostalgia long absent.
Back then, before Archangel Gabriel was tormented to madness by the pain of losing her child, angels from other realms often came here, filled with curiosity and a thirst for knowledge, either to consult information or to converse with the kind and wise being who resided in the Sixth Day. Even the warfare and forging-mastering Archangel Michael found himself inspired by Gabriel countless times in various matters, great and small, breaking free from the shackles of his own thoughts to discover new paths.
The kindness and wisdom of Archangel Gabriel were quite famous in the Holy Realm, even the distant elves across the Tree Continent had heard of her. Over the years, some elven nobles even journeyed thousands of miles to pay their respects to the acclaimed Gabriel.
However, all of that was now overshadowed by her madness and silence; the wonderful scenes of the past were no longer present, leaving Michael somewhat melancholy.
After hesitating for a moment, Michael pushed open the Huiguo door. Inside, the spacious area was devoid of light, illuminated only by the ethereal eye hovering behind Gabriel. The entire Huiguo was dim, mirroring the inner turmoil that confined her.
The low temperature of the universe outside blew ether into the Huiguo, stirring up papers scattered on the ground. The golden letters of Gabriel remained clear, but since her descent into madness, the Huiguo had been left unattended, creating a rather chaotic atmosphere.
“Gabriel, I’m here.”
Even knowing there would be no response, Michael still greeted her as he had in the past. He turned to look at Gabriel, who lay in the center of the Huiguo, cradling a crystal, and softly spoke.
“Be good. Sleep quickly.”
Naturally, Gabriel only smiled as she gazed at the crystal in her arms, foolishly repeating words to lull a child to sleep, showing no sign of acknowledging Michael.
Her child had lost its life in a dream, and thus, Gabriel’s memories seemed to remain in the night before her child passed.
Michael recalled that night vividly when the little angel had been restless and wouldn’t sleep no matter what. It had taken a long time to finally coax the child to slumber.
Narrowing his eyes, Michael turned and followed the angelic script-search column on the bookshelf toward the shelf containing books about the Tree Continent. On the ground before that shelf lay two open books, as if someone had just been reading them, but now their presence was absent.
Michael paused slightly, lightly waved his hand, and all the books on the shelf floated out one by one, automatically flipping their pages in mid-air. After a minute, he locked onto several books that might contain information about the World Tree’s tears, taking them into his hands while the others returned to their place on the shelf.
He picked one of the books up, bending down to read the contents previously recorded by Archangel Gabriel.
“The Beginning of the Tree Continent”
“In ancient times, when the world was initiated, the Lord God Ramastia, with authority surpassing all, created three children whom He cherished and bestowed upon them the innate duty of resisting chaos. Having reached the limits of life itself, they stood on the edge of power, being mere demigods, the most direct and effective representatives of the true gods who could not interfere with the world.”
“Regrettably, as time passed, the three demigods grew increasingly weary of this nebulous mission, their dissatisfaction with each other and with Lord Ramastia deepening, gradually manifesting in actions that had concrete and far-reaching effects.”
“The Feima Baharon has repeatedly absconded from the crevice, neglecting the duty of guarding there; though the World Tree seemingly continues to adhere to the edicts left by the Lord God and reproaches the Dragon God for its negligence, it has secretly abandoned its original name and now calls itself Jianmu, to the extent that the elves and all beings of the Tree Continent are unaware of its true name.”
“As the offspring of the demigods, we are more or less continuations of their emotions; to my knowledge, there are quite a few angels in the Holy Realm who are at odds with the elves, but due to the paper the demigods have yet to tear, the world maintains its peace in this fragile balance.”
Gabriel did not write about the situation with the Heavenly Lock here, but Michael knew very well that the Lord of the Heavenly Lock was undoubtedly not doing well, or else he wouldn’t have returned from outside the realm to build the Holy Realm ten thousand years ago.
Skipping over these contents that Gabriel recorded and which he was also well aware of, Michael purposefully flipped through the pages, looking for the later sections.
“The Lord of the World Tree, being the eldest sister, possesses a divine item granted by the true god, known as the ‘Loom of Fate’. However, even I have never seen the true form of that loom, nor do I know its specific effects; the loom has only been operated once by the World Tree in thousands of years, producing a byproduct infused with the powers of the World Tree and destiny, known as the World Tree’s Tears, which the World Tree grants to the elves for worship.”
“I once heard the Elf King mention that gazing prolonged at the World Tree’s Tears can cause elves to break into tears uncontrollably, and when asked about it, they claim to have seen a vague scene of themselves before they were born.”
“But the elves were beings crafted by the World Tree using authority, how could this be? Or do they see their souls before the powers took them from the Spirit Realm? This leads me to ponder, if the souls in the Spirit Realm are the ones with consciousness, then what is the essence of consciousness?”
Gabriel’s records end here, but Michael clutched the book in silence for a long time.
His rank was extremely high, a full Nineteen Rank, and he had a comprehensive understanding of the invisible rules imposed by the gods around him. Except for the few Trans who came from outside the world, most are bound by these rules and act according to them, instinctively resisting chaos without order.
Michael and many angels had attempted to forge creations with clear consciousness, yet this was not an easy task; they could not replicate the consciousness within the soul, and without the power of life, they could not even recreate the vessel of the soul, nor produce a container for consciousness.
Everything seemed impossible, but that book…
In this extraordinarily quiet contemplation, Michael’s thoughts came to a complete halt. His curiosity about the forging methods spoken by Fisher grew, as if countless strands of cat hair gently brushed against him, or as if a toy on high magnification slid over his body, causing him unbearable itchiness.
“Rustle, rustle.”
At that moment, a faint sound from the bookshelf behind him broke Michael’s train of thought.
He turned his gaze back with an overwhelming sense of terror but only saw a peaceful bookshelf full of books, as if the ether outside had simply blown into the library, stirring a bit of falling gauze.
Gabriel, nearly entirely lost in her wits, of course would not do such a thing, and it seemed she did not even see the conscious object she had been keeping.
Michael curled his fingers, and the ether in front of him instantly surged with terrifying heat, flashing towards the nearby bookshelf. Gabriel’s books, protected by her golden letters, would naturally be unharmed, and presumably that conscious item wouldn’t get hurt either, provided it could withstand the intense heat.
“Ah, ah, ah, so hot, so hot, so hot.”
In less than a second, the object that had pretended to be a book, sandwiched between two real books—Emhart—could no longer endure and jumped up. The cover flipped open, aiming at the last page, with its mouth puffing out, blowing air towards that page, not knowing how it managed to do that without any organs.
Michael, expressionless, extended his fingers, and Emhart spun like a top into his hand, causing it to scream with a quacking voice,
“Let me go! Let me go! Help! Fisher!! Stop the books!!”
Michael watched as Emhart struggled in his grip, feeling its fear that was just like any normal being, completely unable to comprehend how this little book without a soul could carry consciousness.
After several seconds, Michael cut off his appraisal and commented,
“Ugly exterior, hollow interior. How did your consciousness come to be?”
“Your mom!”
Emhart, caught by Michael, retaliated with a curse. But Michael didn’t show any signs of anger; instead, he said to Emhart,
“Will you still be angry? Interesting. Answer me a few questions truthfully, and I’ll let you go. What do you say?”
“Pfft, I won’t say anything.”
“Oh? It seems you have a good relationship with that human man. What’s his name? Fisher? How is he now? Do you want to know?”
Emhart, held by Michael, fell silent for a moment, then turned its head in mid-air, watching Michael warily, hesitating,
“.What do you want to ask me?”
“Do you have a name?”
“Sir Book Emhart, or the Great Emhart.”
“Do you remember how long you have existed?”
“Thousands of years or more?”
“Do you recall things from the past?”
“Of course! I’m not an idiot; I remember everything!”
Michael raised an eyebrow and continued to ask,
“Do you know where you are? Can you see things and recognize them?”
“Of course I can. Can you stop asking these obvious questions? I…”
Michael quickly realized that this object before him possessed a clear capacity to feel the world, think on its own, and provide feedback, a capability that the conscious artifacts they had previously attempted to forge did not have.
The tears of the World Tree were indeed so marvelous, capable of breaking the shackles of the soul and bestowing the power of thought?
“Have you finished questioning? Can you tell me about Fisher now?”
Michael’s contemplation was interrupted. He lowered his head and said,
“I have one last thing I need your help with.”
“Wuwuwuwu!”
Emhart’s words were abruptly cut off as Michael’s finger, pinching Emhart’s cover, slowly sank into it. That strange force distorted the very laws, twisting all surrounding rules into their most rigid forms. Simultaneously, everything surrounding Emhart gradually became clearer.
Amidst Emhart’s painful cries, faint golden cracks appeared on its cover. Within those cracks, Michael saw countless illusory threads intertwining, a golden sea devoid of space and time. He was about to glimpse the essence of Emhart’s consciousness.
“Wuwuwuwu!”
Emhart’s screams did not deter Michael’s exploration into the mysteries of consciousness. His fingers slowly sunk into the golden sea beneath the book cover, attempting to delve deeper.
“Buzz, buzz, buzz.”
But at that moment, Michael suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, a surge of extreme danger flooding his heart, causing the six wings on his back to tremble slightly, flickering like a candle flame in the wind.
All the heavy bookshelves around him shook violently, and the entire Huiguo began to emit a mournful tremor. The rotating sun ring below gradually stopped, emitting a piercing “crack, crack” sound along the ether, solidifying the flowing artificial medium around.
Michael abruptly withdrew his fingers from Emhart’s book cover, and the barely conscious Emhart tumbled onto the floor, struggling to rise again. It opened its mouth and raised its head, only to find that the terrifying angel, who had been floating silently in the center of the library, was now standing before him.
She still cradled the crystal in her arms, but her gaze was no longer on the crystal; rather, it fixated on Michael, expressionless.
Michael’s pupils dilated, gazing in astonishment at Gabriel, who had once again touched down to the ground and begun to walk. After a silence of a second or two, he took the initiative to speak,
“Gabriel?”
“.”
But Gabriel didn’t say anything. She merely stared blankly at Michael, resembling a harmless and pitiful patient, until the surrounding terrifying pressure gradually receded back into her body, and the vast number of illusory eyes behind her, which had turned a deep red and were filled with wrath, returned to their previous aimless wandering state.
She floated upward slowly again, blankly gazing at the crystal in her embrace, murmuring,
“Be good; don’t be scared.”
Michael watched as Gabriel drifted back to the center of the Huiguo, contemplating for several seconds before looking at his still cold fingers. Then, he waved his hand, tossing back the books he had just read to the shelf.
Meanwhile, Emhart, who had been suffering on the ground a moment ago, gradually recovered its vigor. It turned its head angrily towards Michael and shouted,
“Your mom! You liar! I declare that guy is no longer the angel I respect!!”
Emhart, cursing, almost seemed to burst into flames as it flew up. Once Michael left, its voice grew louder, as if really venting to him.
But of course, this was not real. After cursing a few times, Emhart, panting heavily, shook its head and murmured,
“Can’t the holy spawn create me? But I clearly should be one created by a holy spawn. But I can’t remember which holy spawn created me. How annoying, how long will I still be locked up here? Fisher, hurry up and save me!”
As soon as Emhart thought that Fisher might not come to save it, its mood dipped. It instinctively picked up a book and moved closer to Gabriel, preparing to read to alleviate its sadness. Ever since Emhart discovered that although Gabriel was terrifyingly powerful, she lacked clear consciousness entirely, its choice of reading spots had become quite arbitrary.
Only when it was time to sleep needed it to stay far away from her, as listening to her hollow murmurs kept even the great holy object, Sir Book, from falling asleep. During the rest of the time, it simply wandered everywhere, but read very few books, getting lost in thought about when Fisher might come to pick it up.
With a book held in its mouth, Emhart lay on the ground, sighing as it opened the pages to read. Before it could read a few lines, a thought crossed its mind. It turned to look at Gabriel floating behind it, watching her pitiful appearance due to her loss of a child, and spoke up,
“Thanks for earlier, holy spawn. I didn’t expect you to be so saddened yet still willing to help me, thank you.”
Gabriel, holding the crystal, looked at him, quietly observing him for a moment. Just as Emhart thought she might say something, Gabriel suddenly turned her head away,
“Don’t be scared, baby. We won’t look at ugly things. Don’t be scared.”
“Your mom!!”
Emhart was thoroughly provoked, jumping up and shouting angrily.
It couldn’t stay there for even a second longer, believing that Fisher must be just as worried about him as he was about her. He had to hold on!
“Does this look good?”
At that moment, Fisher, lost in thought about Emhart, was resting his chin in his hands while watching Hela, who was smiling and holding up a set of clothes in front of him, asking.
“.Wasn’t I the one looking for clothes? Why are you the one asking me?”
“Isn’t it because you don’t wear our standard robes? Otherwise, only beautiful angels would like to wear these clothes. You probably wouldn’t like them, right? The clothes you want will have to be fetched from other realms by me personally. But you know, angels in the Holy Realm are few, and work slowly, me included, especially when good-looking clothes are involved.”
“.”
Fisher had no retort and glanced at the clothes next to him. There were two types of clothing from the Fifth Day. One was a slightly loose unisex white robe but lacked internal pockets for storage. Thus, Fisher wanted to change to other clothes. The other was an elegant dress directed toward females, frilly and beautiful but not quite suitable for him.
“Aren’t angels usually not very certain about their genders? Isn’t this for feminine angels to wear?”
“Exactly. Even Michael likes to wear them when he’s not forging.”
“Wait a moment, he’s a feminine angel?”
“He also likes to wear the kind you like, especially in times of war. Most of the time, Michael gives me the impression of someone who has ‘a fierce heart yet delicately smells roses’. A being governing war and forging contrasts with playing with such toys. I suppose you’d find it hard to understand from your human perspective?”
“.Indeed, a bit.”
“That… Mr. Fisher.”
Just as Hela was putting down the clothes in her hands, Tang Zeming Asuka emerged from another room, wearing a neat and elegant short white robe for what seemed like the first time. It appeared to be her first time wearing such clothing, as she usually donned a monk’s robe in the temple or wore school uniforms, rarely going out. So, even now wearing this outfit caused her to feel self-conscious and shy.
It felt frighteningly breezy everywhere.
Upon hearing this, Fisher looked over and saw Tang Zeming’s small face flushed red. Although the short robe covered most of her body, her exposed arm blushed pink from shyness, making her quite adorable.
For some reason, Fisher suddenly thought of Jasmine.
“This outfit seems a bit… too loose. Perhaps it would be better to change to another one?”
“Sure, little cutie. You can try on several, and maybe both Fisher and I will have a feast for the eyes~”
“Eh, eh, eh?!”
Fisher stared, supporting his chin and watching Tang Zeming Asuka shyly run away, while he paused, not just caught off guard by Hela’s teasing but also lost in thought about other matters.
However, he likely missed Emhart, who had been away for so long, just as much.
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(Page end)
