“Scared me to death! I almost lost my life!” ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel-fire.net

“Wow, we actually have a real ‘mage’ here!”

Having crossed through the dark, damp large drainage pipe, they found themselves at a secluded beach on the other side of Scrap Iron Avenue. The fortunate group of teenagers and children sighed in relief, turning their awestruck and complicated gazes toward Rosalyn, who was walking ahead.

Being elite students from Blacktower Middle School, they were well aware of how exceptional such a level of spellcasting was; even upperclassmen in their third year would certainly not have been able to lead them in a direct escape under those circumstances.

“Can we keep this a secret?” Rosalyn winked at them and made a shushing gesture.

Hans, Mary, and Briel all nodded eagerly. They had already experienced enough fright for one day, and their only thought was to get back to their safe shelter immediately.

“Damn those Dog Gang members! They made me lose my bodyguard automaton; I’m going to tell my parents when I get home and make them pay…” Briel grumbled with resentment.

“What do we do next?” a small lackey timidly asked, nervously glancing around the dark coastline.

“Let’s move forward. We’re still too close here; we need to avoid being seen,” Hans replied.

This path was discovered during recent explorations by Rosalyn and her group, leading to an old seaside village. It was a place where very few gang members or tourists ventured, inhabited only by a handful of elderly residents waiting for the end of their lives.

To evade the gang pressure, the six deepened their journey, quickly spotting a seaside wooden house. An elderly man with gray hair was fishing nearby and smiled as he saw them.

“Grandpa Walter!” Rosalyn waved her hand, the motion and her voice startling a few seagulls.

As they approached, the man named Walter squinted and smiled, “Oh, you brought new friends. Have you come to fish again today? Or do you want to try the ‘crunchy pupae’?”

“No, no, no… not this time,” Rosalyn quickly declined. The “crunchy pupae” that Walter referred to were actually plump, large white worms found locally, about as thick as two fingers. When roasted, they shrank down and turned into a crunchy, salty treat.

Other than the elderly folks around Scrap Iron Avenue, very few young people in Blackwater Zone would dare to eat something that looked so intimidating, lacking the courage to even try.

“Crunchy pupae? Wow… old man, are you one of the locals?” Briel exclaimed in surprise.

Two hundred years ago, Ish Island was home to a marine island government known as the Ish Kingdom, inhabited by native people characterized by a darker skin tone than those on the mainland. They developed local foods like “crunchy pupae” and had unique cultures and beliefs.

However, with the colonization by the “Great Eden Empire,” the native people suffered massive slaughter, with survival rates plummeting, and much of their history and culture faded away, crushed under the wheels of time.

Certainly, in subsequent developments of civilization, the regime of the Great Eden Empire had been overthrown, and what remained now was the New Eden Commonwealth, which on the surface, claimed to be a democratic nation.

Walter nodded with a smile, unconcerned about Briel’s rude phrasing. “The descendants of the kingdom are likely still around here, as well as some who moved to Gray Port City. Others settled in Ruya City behind Ish Mountain, but I’m not too clear about that.”

At that moment, one of Briel’s lackeys suddenly pointed in a direction and exclaimed, “What’s that?”

Everyone looked over to find an entrance-like structure beneath a steep cliff.

“Oh, that’s the ‘Tidal Chapel,’” Walter explained.

“Tidal Chapel?” Rosalyn, Hans, and Mary expressed surprise. This was the first time they had seen it after visiting the area two or three times.

“It used to be a place for worshipping deities. It’s hidden during high tide and can only be accessed when the tide recedes. Now, it’s just ruins; hardly anyone comes here besides archaeology enthusiasts,” Walter chuckled.

“What god?” Mary asked. Most Ish Island residents had little religious belief; however, in the Origin civilization, there were quite a few prominent religious factions, such as the “Sanctum of the Mind” on Silver Mirror Continent and the “Tree God Church” on Emerald Continent.

“It’s called ‘God of Dusk.’ In the current mythological system, he is considered a demon deity, but back then, the islanders believed he embodied death and rebirth, so they worshipped him from the tribal era onward, with a history spanning several thousand years,” Walter elaborated. “However, I don’t know the specifics; I only saw it in a documentary. That was a long time ago.”

As he spoke, traces of nostalgia flickered in the elderly man’s eyes, as if he could see countless years ago when people entered and exited the Tidal Chapel, performing orderly masses. At that time, the “magical revolution” driven by magitek technology had yet to begin, and Ish Island had not fallen to invasion; their ancestors lived peacefully on the island, free from strife, as if in a paradise.

…

Rosalyn and the others stayed with the old man Walter until dusk. They nearly got discovered by the gang along the way, but thanks to Walter’s deliberate misdirection, the gang members did not notice the teenagers hiding in the woods and quickly left.

In the evening, after returning home with Hans and Mary, Rosalyn got back to room 1809. She detailed the day’s events to her teacher, ending with an eager question, “…So, how did I do today, teacher?”

“Arrogant, reckless, careless,” Yvette said bluntly, “And next time, notify me immediately. Even if this is a dream, I cannot guarantee you would remain safe in reality if anything unexpected happens.”

“But! I felt like I did excellently, teacher,” Rosalyn replied defensively. She truly believed that no one else could have performed better than she did under the circumstances.

“If you had informed me, I could have used you as a stepping stone to hack into their internal chips using network ports, causing all sorts of distractions, or operating nearby vehicles to crash into them… wouldn’t that be safer than riding a skateboard to dodge bullets?” Yvette countered, her tone more severe than her previous calm demeanor.

Rosalyn fell silent, her mouth opening slightly but unable to respond—undoubtedly, her teacher was right. She knew her teacher possessed such abilities, but at that moment, she felt it was her time to shine and completely failed to recognize the hidden risks and foolishness.

What left her feeling even more embarrassed and ashamed was that on the way back, she had been eagerly anticipating her teacher’s reaction, imagining Yvette would be astounded and impressed by her growth. Instead, it was all just her own presumption.

After a prolonged silence, she finally regained her composure and mumbled, “I’m sorry, teacher… I was wrong…”

Yvette acknowledged her with a simple “Mm” and said nothing further. As someone who maintained a cold persona, she had already said quite a bit, believing this was sufficient to make a point to the 12-year-old girl, hoping to steer her away from rushing into rebellion.

…

After dinner, reflecting on the information Rosalyn had shared about the Tidal Chapel, Yvette turned on the holographic screen once more to gather data.

Having been unsuccessful in her search for materials regarding the Silent War, she decided to shift her focus, speculating that the apocalypse might not have been solely caused by the civilization itself. In a magical world, deities may very well exist.

What if it was just a god having a bad day and deciding to bring about the apocalypse?

After skimming through mainstream research on religions and mythologies, Yvette suddenly made a discovery.

It was a free research document that argued that deities similar to the “God of Dusk” had parallel existences in various cultures across Origin Star.

For instance, the apocalyptic demon “Lord of Dusk” found in mainstream myths, translated references from other continents such as “Source of Destruction,” “God of the End,” and “Elysium of the Apocalypse,” all share similar themes.

Moreover, a striking similarity persisted—these demon deities single-handedly devastated the heavenly kingdoms of gods in their respective mythologies, forcing newly birthed humanity to conceal themselves in the cruel, earthly realm to survive.

Of course, this was not an exact expression but rather shared story arcs overall.

The reason for this high degree of narrative similarity, as agreed upon by experts in history and mythology, was that these legends were vastly interconnected with an ancient civilization that existed over 30,000 years ago.

Regarding that prehistoric civilization from 30,000 years ago, the Origin civilization knew very little. They could only scrounge for traces from a few fossils, theorizing that this was a time of abundant magical elements, where gigantic dragons roamed the skies and terrifying beasts walked the earth.

Back then, humans could become powerful mages solely through meditation, using their abilities to protect their tribes and establish communities and kingdoms.

Yet later, for reasons unknown—much like the extinction event during Earth’s dinosaur age—every creature from that era perished at some point, entering a time of magical desolation along with the world.

Such a colossal, mysterious, and bizarre historical shift gave rise to the mechanical deific image of the “Lord of Dusk.”

The so-called heavenly kingdom “Elysium” became the ultimate yearning and beautiful spiritual solace for those living in the age of magical desolation, nostalgically longing for that time of abundant high magic.

“Turning points… could it be that the ancient civilization of 30,000 years ago also faced a mysterious ‘apocalypse’ that led to its destruction?” Yvette whispered to herself, feeling as though this resembled an entire fateful cycle.