Translator: EndlessFantasy Translation Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation
The magnificent ancient city wall of Holletta stood before everyone. Every brick, tile, and even line on the wall attracted the earthly otherworldlings’ eyeballs. They looked at the splendid city, the sturdy buildings, the people traversing between the structures, the Letta runes engraved on the building’s surfaces, and the culture as well as heritage that were revealed.
The sense of alienation and strangeness was inevitable. Hao Ren never expected the Earth’s otherworldlings to have homesickness or anything that could remind them about the Plane of Dreams. It was impossible for them to relate because the Sin of the Divine Blood had caused them to lose this part of their memory. But he still looked forward to the ancient otherworldlings who were insightful enough to experience the substantiality of their cultural heritage. This sense of substantiality had nothing to do with their agreement to it or understanding of it. It was immersed in the bricks of every civilization and baptized by time. As long as it came from a civilized collective, people would smell it. It helped those who were selected to realize the authenticity of the Plane of Dreams. As long as this authenticity was established, Earth’s otherworldlings would identify with the existence of this world, treat it as an established fact, and ponder the meaning of their homeworld.
Where were culture and heritage? They were not in the repeated presentations, travel brochures, data archives, and holograms onboard the Petrachelys; they could only be found in the place where they were given birth to and multiplied: in ancient architecture, word of mouth, and text that changed with times. All of these were the carriers. The street cry was a culture. The craftsmanship of the street cobblers was a culture. The coat of arms on the helmets of the Royal Knights was a culture. Even the waving gestures of pedestrians to visitors on the street was culture. These things were passed down from ancient times, becoming elements in the subconscious of the people and manifested before you. It was heritage.
The otherworldlings living on Earth did not possess these things, which was the saddest thing of them. Even in the glorious days of the Mythological Era, where they ruled the entire planet by force, and the indigenous masters of the earth were trembling at their feet, they could not change the fact that they lacked cultural heritage. They did not know what kind of ancestors they should worship, had no idea of the meaning of their names, social structure, and technological system. The powerful Olympian gods were just a chaotic big family. The indigenous gods on the Mesopotamia Plains dawdled their lives away by amassing treasures, indulging in food, and sleeping. Even if some of them had some brains and came out with some etiquette, law, and culture, their rarity and instability would not be able to sustain these things.
The Earth’s otherworldlings did not have their own cultural heritage. They had never thought about what it would be like if they had it.
In the Night Nobility district of the royal city, young aristocratic children from the Holletta’s blood clan enthusiastically introduced the origins and myths of the Night Nobility to their compatriots from Earth. They mentioned that the first generation of Blood Monarchs was born from the sap of the Seed of Origins. The patron god of the early Blood Clan was Hertoli, who lived on the larger moon. Even today, some old blood clans residing in remote areas still believed in these mythical stories.
While visiting a war gallery, the kingdom’s werewolf general, Elson proudly told the werewolves from Earth that they had been the bravest race on the planet since ancient times and the early explorer of shadowmancy. The werewolves, who were confined by their physical limitation, were later surpassed by the vampires in the field of shadowmancy. But the achievements of the werewolves in their effect of seeking the truth were well recognized by the world. The werewolves once built a mighty magic empire on this planet, and until today, the different kingdoms they built were still influential. Elson also told his ignorant compatriots from Earth that the werewolves had a sacred mountain, located in the western part of the kingdom, where it was covered with snow all year round, and it was the wish of every werewolf to pilgrimage to the sacred mountain.
The runic dwarves did not find their lost inheritance of enchantment skill, because the ability was also lost in Holletta. But the Runic dwarfs found something more precious than that: their ancestral text.
Those texts were engraved on the 122 tablets and kept in the treasure chest of the Royal Family of Holletta. If it was not for this extraordinary “visitation”, the stingy King Mhoren might not be willing to show them. The runic dwarves’ reaction to the tablets stunned Hao Ren. A group of rough dwarves hugged each other and cried. Their tears drenched their long beards, and their senselessness and indifference during the departure were nowhere to be seen.
Hao Ren had little contact with these runic dwarves and only knew that they were once part of the Norse gods. Before the arrival of the Twilight of the Gods, they got wind of it. The runic dwarves built a giant brass boat, fled from the falling Yggdrasil under the nose of the demon hunters into the deep ocean and retired underground. They were the origins of many stories of windlasses and earth cavities. These recluses only reemerged during the establishment of the Shadow Council.
Hao Ren curiously asked Hesperides about these dwarves before finally figuring out what was going on.
“They have been searching for their lost written language,” Hesperides said while pointing at a dwarf with bald head and beards that hung down on the ground. “They attach great importance to the inheritance of written language. But they lost most of their memory about it when they crossed into Earth 10,000 years ago. Do you see the symbols on their skin? Those are the written language they barely kept. It was said that the first-generation runic dwarf still vaguely remembered these symbols when they woke up. They immediately tattooed them on their bodies. While doing that, the language quickly faded from their mind. By the time their bodies were covered in blood, they had completely forgotten their language. From that day onward, every generation of runic dwarves tattooed the symbols on their parents on themselves. It was their only way to pass it on with the hope that they would be able to decode and re-understand it someday. Perhaps it was because of the influence of the Sin of the Divine Blood that you mentioned, all their efforts were in vain.”
While listening to the narrative of Hesperides, Hao Ren could reconstruct the scene in his mind:
Ten thousand years ago, Yggdrasil carried the refugees of the Plane of Dreams and fled from the horrible energy storm caused by the deicidal war. It tore open the Wall of Reality and crashed on Earth. Many passengers of the ark died.
The surviving refugees were ejected automatically by Yggdrasil to different parts of the earth. Earth was still primitive. There were only grasslands, mountains, swamps, and wastelands greeted the refugees. Yggdras might have preselected a landing spot based on the environmental index of the planet, but still, a considerable number of vulnerable refugees have died in the first few days to even after a few months.
The rest of the people woke up in fear and confusion.
The runic dwarves woke up on the frozen land of ancient Europe as if they had had a long nightmare. Then they found that the dream was real. They forgot from where they came, to where they go, and where this world was. They might want to record this first-hand information but were horrified to find that they gradually forgot their own language. In the process of their memory disappearance, they could only choose to tattoo the writing in places that they would not forget: their bodies.
They had been doing it for 10,000 years.
The Runic dwarves pleaded the Kingdom of Holletta to allow them to take one of the tablets, and their request was naturally granted. Once again, they hugged each other and cried. The runic dwarves cried so loud that everyone in the art gallery had to stop their conversation. After the dwarves calmed down, Hao Ren could not help but lament at Hesperides, “Little did I expect there were still people among the otherworldlings seeking their lost heritage. I thought you all could not care less about those things.”
“Because the runic dwarves have escaped the Twilight of the Gods. They were one of the races who suffered the least casualty after the end of the Mythological Period. Perhaps second only to the sirens. So they have spare energy to worry about heritage.” Hesperides said. “As for us… many of us are not indifferent. Were just do not have spare capacity to think about that. Just like me, I’m one of the few surviving Olympians who simply have no time to think of the great topic.”
“But weren’t you also fascinated when someone in the war gallery talked about the Thunder Giants?” Vivian said.
Hesperides’ expression changed, and she became silent.
Hao Ren laughed. He watched as the “tour guides” of Holletta showed the “tourists” around. After a long while, he said, “At least it’s useful.”
“But that’s not the most important thing,” the MDT reminded while floating next to Hao Ren.
“Of course, that’s not the most important thing,” Hao Ren said. He then looked up. His eyes seemed to penetrate the vault of the building, gazing out into deep space.
More and more divine power bursts emerged throughout the Plane of Dreams and were captured by the drone cluster.
A previously well-hidden “network” had finally revealed itself.
