musicians of old

Chapter 956 Overflowing Happiness

Fanning knew that this description was inappropriate. How could there be "people" in a house, and why would there be "people"?

That is the dwelling place of the Lords of Witnesses. The fact that the principles are still in effect is itself the greatest significance. The root of the word "Lords of Witnesses" comes from "witness".

But today, for some reason, this inappropriate description just kept popping into Fan Ning's mind.

I don't know why, but I keep recalling that scene from when the sky opened up at "noon" atop the tower, and the muscles seemed to be churning and the internal organs were writhing.

"Let's see if we can try again for the last one. Roy, you should rest for a while."

Fan Ning's figure fell directly out of a crack in the corridor.

The border of the Kingdom of Lydia, in the Hegewell Valley.

The front lines of the border conflict have become quiet due to the withdrawal of troops after the peace talks. The trenches are still faintly visible, but new grass has grown. The abandoned machinery is rusted in the soil. The air is no longer filled with the smoke of gunpowder, but with the damp earth, plants and the faint, refreshing fragrance of flowers.

When discussing the targets Janus fought in the past, or the place where they now stand, people would identify it as the border between "Lydia" and another previously unheard-of "Prygia," and they would all say it with certainty—just as the "worm" contamination had indeed been cleared away. But when it came to the official knowledgeable organization that had been cleared away, some would say it was the "Lingyin Discipline Society" that worshipped "Ravens," while others would say it was the more ancient "Raven School."

A collapse resulting from the inherent structural instability of things after a rapid and massive purging of chaotic and corrupt knowledge. The division of secular states after the armistice is both a fact and a symptom. In any case, the civilian map version will likely be updated soon.

The societies that worship or study "Ravens" still exist, but the largest temple from the old days is now deserted. The temple sits in a secluded forest clearing in the upper reaches of the valley. The once solemn, heavy stone building with sharp Gothic lines is now enveloped in layers of vibrant plants. Ivy and a vine with fluorescent blue flowers climb all over the exterior walls and spires, thick tree roots have arched over parts of the stone floor, and wild roses grow freely between the window frames.

The temple itself seemed to be being gently yet firmly absorbed by the forest. This was the impression Fanning had of it. He gestured for Joan to lead the way, and he followed closely behind.

As the last twilight of the old year arrived, the shadows of the two stretched long in the valley.

There were no guards, no priests. The temple doors were wide open, and the interior wasn't dimly lit; it was filled with sunlight, tinged with soft hues, filtering through the glass windows and gaps in the vegetation. The air was much warmer than a winter in the Western Continent, and the delicate fragrance of flowers mingled with the sweetness of riper fruits. The ground was covered in soft moss and grass, dotted with wildflowers that shouldn't be in season at the same time. Everything seemed less like a temple and more like a tranquil, forgotten greenhouse or nest.

“I came here once about two weeks ago,” the girl in the purple dress said softly. “It was when I realized that I had that feeling of being ‘filled’ by the wellspring of true knowledge within me.”

“I just want to clarify one question: did He become the Witness, or did the Witness become Him? But the result of trying to communicate is no different from before, day after day, year after year.”

“Orkgan left the same words as Bologna in the alchemist’s attic at the ruins of the ‘Grand Court School’,” Fanning said after a moment of silence.

“The evil god ‘Split Pupa’ worshipped by the Longevity Tantric sect almost killed us before.” Joan recalled the past. “Their method of constructing the source god ascension ceremony is flawed. If possible, it might be safer to contact my father. Even if there was 'worm' contamination before, that’s all in the past.”

“I’ve already prayed for ‘Split Chrysalis’,” Fanning shook his head, the result already self-evident. “Let’s try ‘Raven’ again.” Joan placed a soft-light oil lamp on an empty altar, covering it with a seashell, the air filled with the scent of rosemary and dried grass roots. She knelt on the ground, her hands clasped over her abdomen, and closed her eyes.

At first, everything went smoothly. The interference from the "worm" disappeared, and the colorful specks that had once been "seen" have now returned to a simple, Microsoft lamp.

Through this, she carefully wove some images in the void of consciousness: the rustling of feathers, the coolness of the night breeze, a silent and focused gaze, restrained and secretive actions, an aura of silence and protection. But as always, it was more like touching the outer shell of a huge, well-functioning furnace, knowing that it should be working, that it should be radiating energy, but having no understanding of the flames, structure, and will within.

However, this time Fanning connected beams of divine light to the perimeter of the outer shell like cables.

The warm hues of the garden twilight seemed to intensify, and the light became softer and more golden, as if silently embracing the newcomers. An emotion, a pure, abundant, and unadulterated sense of happiness and contentment, gently washed over their divine senses like warm water flowing over pebbles.

Fanning's brows gradually furrowed.

Joan finally "touched" the inside of the furnace wall image, and he could feel it too.

But there was no will, no thought, and not even the images of the "ravens" that had been sketched out before!

There is only a pure, overflowing sense of "satisfaction" and "belonging," like a drop of water joyfully returning to the sea, a seed happily buried in fertile soil, like consciousness completely dissolving into a larger, warmer, and safer "whole."
Is this the only time that "communication" was achieved?

Ockham wrote that "even the high places of the dwelling are so painful, no wonder it is even more meaningless for everyone living in the mud here," and asked, "Am I the one who became the witness, or did the witness become me?" Bologna, on the other hand, had no questions, no pain, no fear, only eternal, thoughtless "happiness."
The temple garden in the twilight was gentle and romantic, with soft and warm light. Joan knelt on the ground, but a hint of fear and paleness appeared on her face.

"No, no, this isn't how 'Raven' should feel. It can't be. This is even more like 'Worm.' It's so full that there's nothing left."

Fan Ning pondered for a moment, looked around, and finally reached out to help her up.

The two broke free from the drowsy warmth, and the cool air of the valley forest filled their lungs, carrying the scent of earth and decaying leaves. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but it felt real.

"Carol, let's go back and celebrate the New Year." Joan's soft voice was surprisingly hoarse, and she didn't even look back in the direction of the temple.

"After thinking about it, there's one more place I should check out," Fan Ning said.

"Now? What about Director Walter's arrangements for tonight?"

"Of course I'll go back. I won't miss the roast goose and mulled wine. I just need to confirm one more thing. It'll be quick."