Shadow of the Evil God

Chapter 462 I am you, you are him, he is me

......

As they progressed deeper into the Tomb of the Wise, Sephora noticed that Jiralor was changing, becoming increasingly oppressive and silent. Along their path, whether in the tomb chambers or the passageways, the runes carved into the ground were fading and breaking. The structures, which had remained intact for countless years, were now eroding and decaying. It seemed that the ancient spells scattered throughout the tomb were converging on the priest.

Sephora heard Jiralo muttering to himself, "No, that's not right. This should be a circle. It started from the origin, so why can't it return to the origin?"

"The old man seems to be affected by the tomb," Ajeh said. "I think his remaining memories won't last long. Without the wizard, who can we rely on for guidance? Alanti has been sealed away, sealed in the sword of the real dragon. The Firiels in this place are even worse than the remaining memories, so we can't rely on them either."

Aya whistled, and Sefera glanced at her sideways, and she immediately blinked and fell silent. Ajiehe, on the other hand, was in high spirits. This guy always talked nonstop, commenting on one person after the next.

"Do you know what's the most amazing part?" Ajeh said to Sevra, "Even though you're the female part of both of you, the child you adopted thinks you're his father."

"You talk too much." Sefra said to Ajeh as he walked through the foggy tomb passage towards Jiralo in the front.

The fog was filled with the shadowy figures of the Frankish knights. Some of the knights looked to be wearing splendid armor, and they were the knights of the Frankish Empire during its glorious era; some of the knights looked confused and sleepy, and they were the knights of the Empire who had been trapped in tombs for hundreds or thousands of years; and some of the knights were only rotten remains but were still wandering around aimlessly. They were the knights who had lost themselves in the maze of time for far longer than the actual number of years, and it might not be an exaggeration to count them as tens of thousands of years.

This final group of knights was neither alive nor dead, their sense of self completely extinguished, leaving only their own existence trapped in the labyrinth of time, unable to perish. If she had obeyed the will of ancient Sephora and trapped Cesar, Ajeh, and Aya in this labyrinth of time, they would surely have met their only end in endless death...

But what's wrong with that? Perhaps from this moment until the end of the world, the years they experience in the outside world won't be as long as the years they can spend in the Labyrinth of Time—not even a fraction. Even a single moment in the outside world can be stretched to eternity in the Tomb of the Wise. If she didn't care about the existence of others, why should she care about the difference between the outside world and the Labyrinth of Time?

Lost in thought, a rough head bumped into her back. She turned and saw it was Cesar's. Aya was communicating with Ajeh in her incomprehensible sign language, and hadn't noticed Cesar's impact on her shoulder like a battering ram. Cesar was actually still smiling, which made her frown—he must be trying to persuade some woman with his warm, sunny warmth again. He was really too emotional.

When Sevra turned around, Giralo was gazing at her gravely. The old man, who had been looking sad, haggard, and decrepit lately, now had a deep and mysterious expression, like an ancient statue.

“You haven’t been talking much lately,” Sevra said.

"I think this old guy is sick." said Ajiehe.

Aya whistled again, agreeing with Ajeh. Ever since Ajeh had learned her hand gestures, she'd been whistling in agreement, as if Ajeh were conveying something she'd always wanted to say but couldn't. Thinking of this, Sephora wanted to frown.

At this moment, Jilalo also frowned, his brows as if carved by a knife, and one could even see the lines of tendons on his thin cheeks. "You are not me," he said.

Sephora now felt that what Ajeh had said was true; perhaps Jiralo was indeed ill. She crossed her arms and raised her chin with her hand, trying to think, but after a long while, she still couldn't figure out what he was talking about. "I said, priest..."

"When I saw that woman holding the baby she had just given birth to, I knew you were not me," said Jirallo.

She was even more surprised. "What did you see?"

"When that woman brought you here, I realized you weren't me. I saw a new Kuna individual being born, and I thought things were turning around, but the truth is, you're not me. So this isn't a turning point; it's just a demon from somewhere else being born as a Kuna."

Sefera discovered that Jiralo was describing her past through the lens of Iskrig—her biological father. Of course, this was true. Tracing back to her roots, she wasn't a separate individual from this world. Neither the origins of the Flan nor the Kuna had anything to do with her. Jiralo insisted on calling her a demon, and according to their world's understanding, she was indeed a demon. However, there was something she didn't understand.

"You want to say you're Iskrig?" Ajeh was quite interested. She loved to understand and know different people. "You're not only Jiralo, you're also Iskrig. You even think you could be Sefera?"

Sevra continued to think about what she had said. But this matter was beyond her comprehension, and the mere questioning made her feel like her brain was turning into a mess.

"Because I am a Kuna, I should be you, and you should be me..." She covered her eyes with her hands.

He held his forehead, trying to understand the meaning of Jilalo's words, "The Kuna people..."

"It's not this tribe." Jilalo still stared at her with his deep eyes, "It's all tribes, all living beings, all individuals trapped in the scope of time. All living beings are the same living being, all souls are the same soul, all existence is the same existence. It is that one existence that experiences different selves at different times and in different places, mistakenly believing that it is many, many people."

"You remind me of those crazy wizards and philosophers in history." Sevra stretched out his hand and took the knife, "Tell me, Jiralo, what does the word "evil" mean to you?

"I am Iskrig, I am Jiralo, and I should be you - I should see myself with your eyes, and you should see yourself with my eyes, but I don't, - you are a demon." Jiralo murmured to himself.

"Jilalo!" she raised her voice.

"The last time I was born was in the last moment before the true God came into the world." Jilalo was still muttering to himself, speaking more and more slowly, and he was weighing every word. "I was the last Kuna to develop self-awareness from an empty soul. I was also the last Kuna to know, feel, and experience this world. I only lived for two years before freezing to death, but I still remember everything I knew, felt, and experienced as a baby."

Ajeh whistled, imitating Aya's. "Your great ancestor seems to be saying," she lowered her voice mysteriously, "that in this world, there is no Sevra, Cesar, Aya, Ajeh, Jiralo, Iskrig, or anyone else we know. There are only you and me. You are both Sevra and Cesar, and I am everyone else."

"Do you know why I hate metaphysics?" Sevra said, eyes wide. "These lunatics always try to define us with theories that transcend human limitations."

"So," Ajiehe said with interest, as she always did, "then I am also Ferriers?"

"You are Firiels, and you are also everyone Firiels has killed over the past thousand years, whether they are beastmen, Frans, or Kuna."

"Then of course I am also Milava?"

"You are Milava, but you are also Alanti, just as Milava is Alanti. Two people who harm each other and love each other are still the same person. As long as I am deceived, I cannot recognize myself."

"Then I am you too?" Ajiehe's interest grew even stronger. "Are you a wise man?"

"Giralo is me, Iskrig is me, and the Wise One is also me, but only I know that I am them, and they are also me." Giralo continued to stare at her. "Every time I do evil, I harm myself. Every time I do good, I help myself. Everything I have experienced in all moments, all histories, and all my selves is my own experience."

Sefera covered Ajeh's mouth to stop him from talking any further. "So, why are you telling me this?"

"Every time you do evil, you are harming yourself. Every time you do good, you are helping yourself. Do you understand?" Jiralo - no, that's not right. It's the wise man. The wise man suddenly raised his voice. "I am harming myself more and more! Do you understand? The era of the Kuna people is over. The beastmen, the Franks, the Sasule people, every era that follows will be filled with endless wars and traumas! When everything comes to an end, I have experienced all the lives of all creatures in all time. I have finally become the complete me. Then they will constitute everything about me!"

"Your metaphysics has driven you completely mad," Sefrah whispered. "What do you want, wise man? You want all living things to follow your teachings and live like the Kuna? But you don't seem to have much good intentions, do you?"

“Although I am a Kuna, I also guided the Franks and did my best to bring civilization to the Sasoulai.”

"What do you want to say?"

"In the age of the True God's advent, the pain, despair, and madness faced by the Kuna people have converged upon me, shaking everything that existed before."

"What exactly are the Kuna? Aren't you everyone? Why are you just the Kuna again?"

“The Kuna people must reach the end before I will one day reach the end, so that I can become good.”

"Very well, you want to make your own people the subject of your metaphysics? This kind of selfish desire—can it be called good?"

Jiralo looked at Ajeh, and through her, he seemed to see all the Beastmen, all the Franks, all the Sassulai, and all the people of the Kasar Empire. "You are the ones who are doing evil," he said.

"You say that all living beings belong to you, but at the same time you want to separate all ethnic groups other than the Kuna people just because you think they are not kind enough?" Sephora did not retreat.

"It seems so..." Jilalo covered his forehead in pain. His eyes became haggard and worn again, as if he had transformed from a wise man back into Jilalo. "Why?" he muttered to himself, "Why do I insist on..."

"Jiralo," Sefera lowered his voice, "Old man, know the difference between you and the wise man. Regardless of whether his metaphysics is true or false, you came into this world with nothing, and after death you are remembered by this world. Then you are Jiralo, not any other.

people. "

Jilalo began to mutter to himself again. Although he no longer questioned her in the tone of a wise man, he stood still and no longer led the way.

"So it seems," Ajeh said, becoming more interested. "The closer we get to the end of the Tomb of the Wise, the stranger the old man looks. He's actually receiving the Wise's thoughts. The broken rune lines throughout the tomb prove it all—he's not just Jiralo and Iskrig, not just the Wise, but all the Kuna who left behind spell runes everywhere. He's taking back what the Kuna once left behind."

"I thought you were going to say you were him too."

"I've heard so much nonsense." Ajiehe smiled. "Besides, even you don't admit that Cesar is you, so why should I accept it? So even if it's true, it doesn't matter."

"It's so rare that you can say something nice."

"Do you think that's a good thing?" She was a little surprised, then spread her hands indifferently. "Then take it as a good thing, but our Jiralo, or the wise man, thinks he is saving the world."

"It's about saving his imaginary world," Sevra shook her head. "In this guy's world, besides me, an outsider, he's the only soul. Since everyone is one person, part of that person, then all meaning is the meaning of that one person. To fulfill that person's meaning and make him ultimately good, what will happen to you? What will happen to all those less-than-good people? Will they all be discarded as tiny distractions in people's hearts?"

Aya folded her arms and nodded in a serious manner, looking very serious, but it was unclear whether she understood it or not.

Sefera looked at Jiralo, observing his bewilderment. Thinking carefully, this seemed like her first glimpse into the true nature of the Kuna people. All other ethnic groups, whether the Franks or the Sassulai, or even the various peoples of the Kasar Empire that had migrated across the ocean, shared similarities. Only the Kuna were incomprehensible, as if shrouded in a veil of mystery.

Now it was different. Now she understood. If one added the premise that the Guna people believed in returning to the ultimate good, the situation became easier to understand. The wise man believed that the inevitable end of the world would see everyone transformed back into the same person, possessing all the feelings and memories of everyone in all history and all places. For this reason, the wise man hoped that the Guna would achieve this end before all other groups, becoming the ultimate good and reducing all other groups to minor distractions.

This is an incredibly magnificent spell...

Was it this twisted magic that gave rise to the Beastmen? Was it some kind of backlash? Was it this backlash that wiped out their descendants?

The last true Kuna, she thought, born in the final moments before the advent of the true god Analik.

"Let's talk about practical matters," Sevra said finally. "The old man won't lead the way. What should we do now?"

Gouzi raised his hand, "I know!"

"you know?"

"The Master is already at the gate!" The Faceless One was in high spirits, unaffected by Jiralo's words. After all, she had no soul, and according to Jiralo's description, she didn't even exist. "That's a shortcut. I'll take you there!"

Chapter 463 You've confused me a bit

......

The darkness of the tomb, and the shadowy ghosts of the Empire along the way, all seemed incredibly oppressive. This oppression stemmed from the years that had gradually reduced the knights of the Frank Empire to mere corpses, and also from the news Gouzi had brought back from Sevra. Of course, Cesar had always felt that the Kuna were different from other ethnic groups, but he had never imagined such a bizarre and strange story.

Cesar felt that the story of the Guna people resembled a kind of theology. Excluding beings outside of time—the gods and dragons—according to the wise, there is actually only one consciousness in the world, and all consciousnesses still trapped in the realm of time are merely extensions of this ultimate consciousness. Whether Guna, Farran, or Beastmen, everyone believes themselves to exist independently, but in reality, at the end of the day, they will become the only consciousness and become everything.

The further theory of theology is to seek the meaning of existence. According to the wise, this single consciousness creates so many seemingly independent consciousnesses, in fact, just to experience everything in this world.

After experiencing all lives at all times and in all places, it will reach the end, obtain everything, and become the unimaginable ultimate consciousness.

The wise man hoped that the subject of this ultimate consciousness would be good, or in other words, the good he desired. The long reign of the Kuna people stemmed from this, and the wise man's guidance of the Franks seemed to be for this purpose as well.

The Wise One wanted the Guna to become the subject of ultimate consciousness. Therefore, based on his own theology, he transformed all the Guna into a single being. He, the Wise One, was the subject of consciousness that constantly accepted all the Guna's experiences, memories, and personalities. He was Iskrig, Jiralo, and even the Trickster Prophet, the earliest ancestor of the Yestren School...

No, that's not right. Cesar felt the Trickster Prophet was different. If the myths and legends she spoke of were true, then she was upholding the will of a true dragon. Even immature dragons existed outside the realm of time, simply not yet crossing the threshold she could cross with a single thought. Using the dragon's will, she deceived the wise man, repeatedly infiltrating his tomb, each time taking away a piece of the sealed true dragon.

Why didn't the wise man discover this through the memories of other Kuna people? Perhaps the wise man could no longer bear the gradual accumulation of memories, experiences, and personalities. Cesar thought that not only was this spell too crazy, but the person who wanted to use this spell on himself was also crazy.

If that is the case, what existence can bear it?

Cesar glanced at Gouzi, thinking of her switching back and forth between various appearances, and couldn't help but laugh. Faceless? That was a fascinating idea. Since they had no consciousness, they wouldn't be affected by anything. So, of course, they could accept all the different personalities.

Of course, these speculations didn't help the current situation, but using various clues to infer the truth was a long-standing habit of his. In fact, many of his speculations appeared serious, but later turned out to be completely different from the truth. Yet, he still enjoyed them and was keen to share them with others. This helped him to connect with others and narrow the gaps between them.

In the darkness, Milava was also silent. As more and more imperial knights passed by on both sides of the tomb passage, he became more and more silent.

From the solemn and awe-inspiring ranks of knights to the gradually decaying, bewildered corpses, the passage of time was vividly evident along the way, each change seeming to tear at the emperor's soul. Cesar pondered for a moment, then, over the clatter of iron boots on stone pavement, shared his speculations with Milava: the persistence of pursuing the truth can overcome much confusion and loss.

Rain began to fall again inside the tomb. The masonry of the tomb passage was decaying, and the path beneath the monitor lizard had turned to mud, as if foreshadowing the approach of the end. Not just the end of the road, but the end of the Tomb of the Wise.

Milava, who had been delivering an impassioned speech not long ago, now curled up even tighter in Cesar's arms as he spoke. Raindrops pattered the cloaks that covered their bodies, pecked at their scalps and cheeks, and trickled down their clothes.

By the light of the past, gleaming from the maze of time, Cesar could see his eyelashes, stained with water. He wondered if tears had melted away in the rain. Shadows hung over his fair cheeks, and his eyes were lowered, almost completely obscured by his lashes. Every time he looked up, this creature would stare at him for a long moment, then lift his face for a wistful kiss, lips touching, before his shoulders slumped again.

It can be seen that Milawa has an inexplicable obsession with lip kissing.

"Having seen so much failure and decay, it seems difficult to hold on to one's beliefs," he said.

As he spoke, the damp clothing clung to Milava's skin, already outlining arcs on his body, as if foreshadowing the disturbance of his sexual characteristics caused by changes in his emotions and mood. Because of the unfamiliar fruits, he clutched the clothes tightly, tightening the fabric on his chest and hunching his back even more.

Cesar hugged his shoulders tightly and covered him completely with his cloak, turning him into a warm, damp darkness. Darkness can hide many things and allow people to focus on their own thoughts. He hoped that he could find some comfort in it.

As expected, as Cesar continued to express his thoughts, Milava began to respond briefly. He was completely curled up in the darkness surrounded by the cloak, listening and thinking attentively, as if this was all he needed to pay attention to.

Then, he suddenly said that there was nothing obstructing his chest.

"Mile, I want you to forget about your own affairs first and focus on the changes in the outside world. I am not guiding you to return from your female identity to your male identity," said Cesar.

"Actually, I haven't completely..." Milawa said hesitantly.

"You can't rely on me for this kind of thing. This is your own business."

“Isn’t that a teacher’s job?”

"No," he said flatly.

Mirava frowned. "What if I, with the authority and status of an emperor, declared that this was the duty of a teacher? I could make laws, write a code, and command you to do this."

"You'd better become emperor first," Cesar said. "This matter is still far away from you."

"But you do have the ability to make me switch between the two sexual characteristics. I can't do it myself, but you can do it with just a few words."

Cesar felt that this guy was starting to get stuck in a rut. "That's just me stabilizing your emotions," he denied. "Now your sexual characteristics will change with your mood, but most of the time they tend to be more female."

"Emotions..." Milava muttered to herself, "I'm not as good at dealing with emotions as you guys. Even if I became the emperor and commanded so many knights of the empire, I only knew how to inspire them on the battlefield. Does this count as influencing other people's emotions? It seems so, but I don't think so, because I don't even know what they are thinking. If you hadn't met with Ferriers once, I wouldn't even know what Ferriers's migrant cavalry regiment was thinking, and old Milava never knew either."

"Does being an emperor require this?"

"It is absolutely necessary," Milava insisted. "I must be lacking many things to bring about the demise of the empire. I don't know the true thoughts of many knights, nor do I know how the various temples will resist. But you know, and not only do you know, you are also using even more terrible means to deal with the temples. Some temples have been tied to your chariot, and some temples are being replaced by the sects you support, and will turn from hostility to complete loyalty. The princess of the Kasar Empire recognized you as her teacher, she must have seen through these things."

“You’re just…”

"She wants something from you that she lacks. Something she can't get from anyone else."

"You project too many imaginations and expectations on me."

"Then will you project some expectations and imaginations onto me, teacher?"

"Let's talk about something realistic," Cesar said, wanting to end the discussion. "Have I told you before about immature true dragons? Their existence is actually far more profound than the scope of time. So why do they refuse to grow up and become greater beings? I believe that it is their acquired self-awareness that makes them greedy for the flow of time and the changing world. Therefore, they refuse to grow up and refuse to accept their higher nature. In other words, the birth of self-awareness causes those immature true dragons to curl up, refusing to transform from human to god."

"It sounds like some kind of allegory," Milava said, "a prophecy of our choices. Do you wish to ascend from human to god, or do you wish to remain as you are, Master?"

"I don't even want to be emperor," said Cesar.

"So you do project certain expectations and fantasies onto me. And you won't reject them?"

"Do you really have to drag our conversation over?"

"I just want to understand you, teacher." Milawa said persistently, "I never thought about understanding Allandi in the past, so now I want to understand you. I wasn't really in love in the past, so I think I should try now."

"You really are a natural at saying sweet words," said Cesar.

"Will it?" Milawa smiled softly, lowered her head and placed a soft, slender hand down, touching his pants for a moment, then retracted it. Their bodies were so close together that he could sense the changes in his body, and he could certainly sense his own. He then kissed his fingers, seeming a little surprised. "I can feel..." His voice was extremely soft, "The temperature. Like it's burning..."

Cesar felt like this guy was about to make his blood burn. His cheeks were slender and delicate, and his skin was fresh like rain and dew. As his slightly parted lips continued to breathe on his chest, he felt that the rain-soaked tomb passage was warming up.

The young emperor, hesitant and resisting about his own sexuality, kept dwelling on his own obsessions, while he began to dwell on a different obsession with him. Previously, it had been through his clothes, but now the right hand had slipped inside, its delicate fingers gripping the snake's shaft. The tip of its index finger rested against the small opening, gently circling it. The other four fingers, smeared with dew and saliva, slowly stroked the snake's body.