Chapter 278
Chapter 278
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 278
Chapter Title: Council (4)
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A mage cannot become a god.
To be precise, a being that has become a god can no longer remain a mage.
The "miracles" born from divinity operate on a mechanism fundamentally different from magic, regardless of whether they produce the same results.
Even if it manifests as fire conjured from empty air, a mage would weave mana to draw the concept into physical form. But gods do not create fire that way.
Divinity is an extremely condensed "force." A force without direction. A force that has become the concept itself. If beings possessing such a force wish to ignite a flame, they imagine the blaze and whisper to the world.
[Let there be fire.]
And so it shall be.
This phrase commonly appears in the scriptures of all churches under the Holy Pantheon of Good Gods, at the very least.
"You shall ask, and the Lord shall provide." In essence, a god does not weave phenomena. The god's power itself encompasses phenomena.
"Immortal Orkis."
Thus, those ascending the long staircase toward divinity—seekers walking the path somewhere between human and god—are no longer mages. From the moment they begin to harbor divinity within themselves, they can no longer remain mages.
Fernandez was the same. His divinity was the power of "reason." And faith belonged to the realm of "emotion." Because of this strange paradox, Fernandez's divinity could not express the conceptual power inherent to a god's might. A bitter side effect, one might say.
That was why he chose magic. Forsaking the convenient miracles brought by divinity.
To him, the power of divinity held no meaning beyond that of a tool. If a more rational tool existed, using it was simply more economical.
As a Religiosa Demonica and a quasi-deity harboring divinity, Fernandez's method of using magic was "death." Only after driving his own body to the brink of collapse and forcibly scattering his divinity could he grasp even a fragment of magic.
"Impressive, Feizashi. Truly astonishing. Perhaps your greatest strength is... heh, absurd as it sounds... wisdom itself."
"Let's spare each other the flattery."
The old mage. The Grand Master. No, Immortal Orkis. Even in this era, the previous one, and even during the era when the world perished—he was one of the few immortals who endured.
Among mortals, immortals emerge. Giants who stride across eras. The Lacun of the southern jungles. Delphia of the Iron Fortress. Paul of Beitasser. And the wanderer Orkis.
Quasi-deities harboring divinity. Seekers walking toward godhood. Priests sworn to a god's mission. Or corpses stripped of rest by a god's curse.
Regardless of origin, all clutched fragments of divinity—
"Do you know of the Prime World?"
They were the mad ones who resisted Hell's forces to the end during the Prime World's Great Apocalypse and ultimately sealed it away.
"Hah. Just lucky."
"Lucky?"
"That Feizashi crossed into this world back then, and that the great mage had a change of heart and fought."
The old man's voice echoed through the darkness. Voices overlapping and resounding, making it sound like many.
The senses of a Religiosa Demonica gleamed sharp as a blade even then. Pinpointing the voice's echoes to gauge distance and position.
"The High Council itself... no, the name Asias itself was an illusion."
"Right. Isn't that how immortality usually works? Sloughing off masks and blending into the surroundings."
"The others didn't do that."
"Well, they're lazy. Or arrogant. Or... stupid. To walk among people, you have to become one. Tsk."
Sound traced waveforms. The difference between knowing this intellectually and perceiving it with transcendent senses was more dramatic than expected.
If one could read the texture of sounds colliding, shattering, and mashing together, the space itself could be inferred.
For most—even Demonica—this was an impossible feat. Fernandez was reverse-tracing the voice's echoes to analyze the room's size and shape.
Not a parlor.
From the moment he passed the tower's gateway, nothing but non-magic existed.
The Twelve Sages.
Twelve. Shaysh. The path toward truth.
Asias's incantation script. Not a school, but personal.
"Wildcast. Unable to use magic, you experimented. Caught in the paradox of divinity."
"Hahaha! That's why I love mages. Figure out one thing, and you get it all—no explanations needed! You're right, Feizashi. I couldn't use magic, so I couldn't see the magic I created myself!"
So he built a school. Took disciples, taught magic. And those disciples... never left this tower until death.
This was a trap. The kind no mage could escape, an utterly alluring one.
A trap for mages who volunteered as test subjects, craving fragments of truth and marching to the slaughterhouse. Not a school, but a vast workshop.
"The Twelve Sages are..."
"Yes. My other faces. I am we, and we are I. Orkis. Alejandro. Ascania. Alexandre. All my other names, each with their roles."
-Snap!
The sound of fingers clicking. Light returned. Between a floor like an unfolded night sky carpet and the vast ocean surface reflecting it, flowing grandly across the ceiling.
An old man grinned slyly from afar, lounging on a worn sofa, gazing at him.
"Care for some refreshments, Feizashi? Let's share some aged tales between aged ghosts."
"One thing I don't understand."
"What?"
"The Prime World perished, and the moment I drew my last breath, Beitasser created this world. The Holy Pantheon sealed their gates to pour everything into that effort and hide the plan. How did you escape the end and cross into this world?"
"Does time flow the same between dimensions?"
The old man extended his fingers and snapped again. Whoosh—a breeze brushed his ear. The old man, once seated far away, now sat right before Fernandez. And between them spread the same refreshments as in the parlor.
"And could the me from back then be the same as the me now?"
"Information Reflection."
"Correct. That was the result of the Asias incantation experiments."
Fernandez chuckled softly. It had been ages since he felt this. Like returning to his days as a mage immersed in academia.
Wandering between concepts and sophistry, straining to grasp a thread of truth that seemed about to snap.
"The High Council of Asias in the Prime World fell because... I no longer needed to masquerade as the council or continue experiments. No matter how I scryed the future, it was only apocalypse."
"That's why the Information Reflection independents suicided."
"Yes. But far worse was that I was an immortal. Other 'prophets' might die before the end, but not me. What could I do? Just sit and wait for doom?"
"Why not aid the other heroes?"
"Hah! Heroes? You seriously call them heroes, Feizashi? Those bastards?"
Mockery crossed the old man's face for the first time.
The playful, affable expression turned icy cold.
"From Hell's view, you were a hero too. From some humans' perspective, they might qualify. But it wasn't good versus evil, justice versus corruption. An extension of the War in Heaven. A power struggle between the Pantheon and Hell. Or..."
"Survival of the fittest."
"Right. The only rule was natural law, the only truth was might makes right. So-called heroes were just warlords who wielded greater power as stronger deterrents."
"Better hypocrisy than world-ending doom, no?"
"Hmm. Neither sat well with me."
-Clink.
The old man lifted his teacup for a sip and shrugged. Seeing Fernandez ignore his tea, he chuckled.
"Just like back then. All huddled up, wary as a cub."
"I get the Information Reflection independent bit. Saw the future, gave up. So what did you do?"
"Tried everything. To avert doom, even supported your so-called heroes, as you said. But get this? Things improve, hope glimmers—then those heroes stab each other in the back."
"Ah, that was the era for it."
A vicious paradox. Hell, Heaven. In collapsed societal structures, jockeying to check the next powerholder.
If civilization's failure to topple fractured demon lords stemmed from rifts between greater demons, then its downfall in clinging to hard-won hope was self-inflicted fractures too.
Just like the empire's electors now. The strong resent any overwhelming force that upends the paradigm. Heroes. Leaders of mighty warbands showed it most—they bore the weight of countless lives beyond their own.
When greater demons squabbled, the Pantheon side surely had hope.
Some hellgates crumbled; others fell to counterattacks, yielding paths into Hell; some greater demons even sold intel on rivals to the Pantheon.
Yet inevitably, power struggles ensued. Absurd. Tragic. Humanity's end, as Feizashi often quipped, was punctuated by humanity itself. All he did was dot the i.
"That soured me. 'Will this one be better?'—future shows doom. 'That one looks decent'—doom again. No future ended but in ruin, so I prepared differently."
"What?"
"You."
The old man gazed at Fernandez with faded white eyes.
"Your regrets. Your laments. Amid the Prime World's fall, one thing unchanged across every future: your regrets, Feizashi. In every future, every possibility's outcome, you regretted the past."
"Amusing, huh? Knowing a bastard like me could feel regret."
"No. Profoundly moving."
The old man smiled gently.
"Deeply touching. A guy who betrayed sometimes, was betrayed others, bloodied his hands most times—he regretted himself across every future, possibility, condition."
Then perhaps it's innate? the old man whispered.
Fernandez said nothing, just pondered silently. Not innate. A curse he must bear. But the old man pressed on.
"Beitasser saw hope in such profoundly human you. The most human act. And I did too. The instant I saw that future, saw Beitasser's plan, I prepared the same way."
"Defying Heaven?"
"No. Even the Holy Pantheon's full might gives it one-in-ten-thousand odds. If staking life, bet on surer things."
"...What?"
A prophet facing doom. Even an immortal with divinity, facing inevitable end. The old man grinned slyly.
"I reflected information."
"...What?"
"Even if another world forms far in the future, the 'me' there remains an Information Reflection independent. You know why we don't just call that trait 'prophet.'"
"Because it's utterly unlike prophecy."
"Right. Echoes of futures and pasts clashing, reflecting. Beings who read them. I focused on 'reflection.' Experiments yielded results. If I can reflect and read future info, why not reflect info into the future?"
And perhaps not along timelines, but across dimensional boundaries?
"The tower..."
"Yes. Asias High Council's mage tower. A transmitter and receiver of sorts. Not just future info, but catching echoes reflected from beyond dimensions—wandering the world for sites, relay stations. Succeeded in transmission, destroyed the tower. Bided time till doom's moment, awaiting the future."
The old man laughed. Most was explained. But questions lingered. Why? What need?
"Reflecting info across dimensions. Romantic words, but meaningless, no? Not escaping doom or ensuring survival. Just telling this world's 'Orkis' what happened in the Prime World. So you're not Prime Orkis—just his ghost."
"True. But there was reason to. Feizashi Wildcast. Why Prime me staked death to pour everything into sending info to this world's me."
"...Why?"
The old man's smile vanished. Chillingly. Killing intent? No, closer to dispassionate, mechanical emotion. Like a judge's verdict. Emotionless, resolute. Stating fact.
"Even now, every future I see is still nothing but doom."