VIP Chapter 542: Interlude: New World
“Oh, you look very curious. I’ll tell you a story about ‘creation’.”
“A legend called ‘creation’, and also the ‘basis’ for this world’s existence.”
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“Heavenly flowers bloom on the other shore, and the bells of hell shall never toll again.”
About a thousand years before this world was born—although the concept of time was later bestowed by “gods” over a long period.
Reviers was the only one left alive after a battle among gods.
She could no longer remember the names of other gods—or even their “existence.”
The gods’ slaughter was aimed at obliterating each other, from their names to their meanings, even everything they presided over.
With only her left, she was perhaps equivalent to the “first” god.
She didn’t even remember why she “won,” perhaps she hadn’t won the battle at all, but was merely the one who still remained in “existence.”
In any case…
Standing at the end point where everything had “perished,” a god should create a new beginning for the “world.”
For her at that time, this was like some kind of “mission engraved in her soul.”
It was a fundamental logic etched into the core of a god, a logic that could not be resisted.
And undoubtedly, what would be needed to create an entirely new world?
First, the definition of what “survival” for the world would be like.
Just as if there were humans, they would have heartbeats, they would breathe, they would have thoughts to indicate they were “alive.”
How would the world she created, standing at a new beginning, be considered “alive”?
It’s simple…
Just as blood circulates continuously through the heart, just as perfect systems always operate spontaneously, just as celestial bodies in the universe continue to rotate after a gentle push.
What the world needed was a “mechanism” that could operate, a “system” that could be continuously perfected and self-consistent, a set “logic.”
This is what gods had to do.
Set everything up, then give it a gentle nudge to make it spin, and keep it spinning.
“Ancient flutes sound melodiously like the dawn, and faraway paintings are as exquisite as the starry sky.”
But…
“A set of logic can only lead it in one future direction.”
“Boring, boring, boring.”
“Here… although it is filled with fragments of all sorts of ‘miracles,’ why can ‘miracles’ only be born so rarely?”
“There are so many possibilities—each possibility is a brand new ‘world,’ yet it has to be confined to this pathetic one by ‘time’…”
“Cannot all possibilities, all ‘futures’ that everyone pursues, appear in the same world simultaneously?”
For gods, time was once a meaningless thing.
In a world composed of time, she could see through all futures and all pasts with just a glance.
A long future and a long past.
Just as a story needs “foreshadowing,” and the establishment of a civilization needs “development.”
Therefore, within finite time, possibilities were always limited.
“Fall, fly, roar towards the earth, sing loudly towards the sky.”
For her, this was an inexpressible abstract matter, manifested through the most concrete actions at hand.
She squeezed the world with all her might, compressed it.
Then she put it into a thin “pocket.”
She then poked a few “holes” in the pocket, allowing the “miracles” from outside the pocket, which were “beyond the surface” to the pocket, to seep into it like “air.”
All history, all developmental trajectories, all magical ideas—anything that could be summarized as a possible “miracle”—thus permeated the pocket.
As long as gas continued to be injected, the small pocket would gradually fill with gas.
But besides gas…
It could not produce anything on its own.
It was not a truly standing “new world”; it was already broken from the beginning, unable to operate on its own.
But…
Its operating logic was to snatch a little bit of “air” from the “miracles” outside the “world” to represent its own “breathing” to survive.
A testing ground for a world that was never intended to be a permanently existing entity, existing between “death” and “survival” from the moment of its creation.
“A world rule constructed by a reliance on the ‘deepest part’ of non-existence and a yearning for ‘miracles’ is indeed interesting…”
“So, this is the new world I want?”
“Stumble, run, wave goodbye to winter, and color the spring breeze with outstretched hands.”
“With this different identity, I cannot see what they have actually done.”
“But… if I were to enter the game myself, I would also need to transform into one of its rules.”
“However, all of that is irrelevant. To be able to see a world that should not exist surviving in the cracks of ‘miracles,’ it is of no consequence even if I transform into one of its existences.”
“Since, for you all, this infinite possibility is something from ‘underground’…”
“Then let this system be called the Dungeon.”
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“How is it, Miss Shuna? This is what you wanted to hear. The story from the ‘god’s’ perspective, told directly by Reviers, about why this world created the Dungeon.”
Shuna looked at Daisianwei in front of her. After finishing this entire… “creation” story, Daisianwei crossed her legs and watched Shuna’s expression with great interest.
She had just returned from a funeral of her old friend and had changed back into the white dress that best represented her personality.
The dress with the blood-red lycoris pattern slowly unfurling on its hem.
Under the light of the final floor, her face appeared so “pale,” with little color.
She recounted this long story slowly, then tilted her head and smiled faintly, waiting for Shuna’s evaluation.
The moment she smiled, she felt like she was no longer “Daisianwei” but the true, sole goddess, Reviers.
“A beautiful new world where all possibilities can be obtained through the Dungeon… but one that is constantly enjoying ‘death.'”
But now, she had once again become Daisianwei, who savored the taste of “death.”
Because from her words, one could feel…
It was precisely this dying-yet-not-quite-dead aura of this world that fascinated her.
“…”
Shuna wanted to say something but fell silent.
She had never expected Daisianwei… no, perhaps the creation god “Reviers” would construct the world for such a reason.
No wonder the final outcome of the Death Hall was “the dead will not die again.”
Because…
This was the appearance that Reviers, and also Daisianwei, wanted for the “new world” they pursued.
