novelODS Chapter 44 Hope to Escape the Head of God
Chapter 44 Hope to Escape the Head of God
Shergra stared at Chen Mo for a long time.
Then he spoke.
"May I hear your answer on this?"
Chen Mo sensed the seriousness in Shergra's tone, frowned, and realized that this might be the real reason Shergra had invited him; he needed to offer something substantial.
This involves the deepest secrets buried in this world.
Everything about the ancient scrolls originated from a dream of the head of the gods.
Once the head of the gods awakens, everything in this world, whether mortal or divine, will vanish in an instant.
It's not that it "disappeared," but rather that the concept of its existence was erased.
Mortals are too weak to comprehend this. Their lives are too short, their power too small, and their perception too limited. Mortals live in the dream of the gods, but they are unaware that they are dreaming.
The gods are different. They seem to have a vague awareness that they exist within a vast illusion.
Their consciousness is countless times stronger than that of mortals; their perception can reach the boundaries of planes; their gaze can penetrate the barriers of time and space.
They could vaguely see the wall—the invisible, intangible, yet real wall that separated them from the "outside."
They wanted to know what was behind the wall, but they couldn't get through.
Limited by the fact that the foundation of their creation lies within this world, their power, their existence, and their essence are all part of this dream.
They are unable to dismantle the very foundation upon which they depend for existence using their own power.
Just as a person cannot lift themselves up, just as a fish cannot leap out of the water on which it depends for survival.
Gods—
Being imprisoned.
However—the mere realization that they might eliminate this matter was enough to terrify the gods.
Therefore, they have been searching for a way to transcend this world.
This search has lasted for countless epochs, spanning the history of all planes, and driving countless wars, conspiracies, and world-class events.
The most typical example of this is the establishment of the planet Nien.
The god of space, Rokhan, deceived the gods, saying that he had a way to create a "new world" independent of this vast dream, in which they could break free from the shackles of the head of the gods and gain true freedom.
The gods believed.
They poured their power into Roc Khan's plan, contributing their blood, bones, breath, and eyes, piecing together Nirn with countless fragments of divinity.
They were indeed halfway there—the planet Nirn was created.
But it was only half successful.
Nirn is not outside of this vast dream; it is merely another corner, another room, another layer of nested illusion within the dream.
Rokhan's plan failed.
He was punished by the gods, stripped of his divinity, and banished to the void. His body was torn apart and transformed into two moons around the planet Nirn.
However, the creation of Nien was not without purpose.
During the creation of Nirn, the gods discovered something that both shocked and excited them.
The soul of a mortal.
Those tiny beings born from the soil of Nirn and fragments of divinity.
Those tiny creatures whose lifespan is less than a hundred years, whose power is as meager as dust, and who cannot even perceive the existence of the gods—their souls contain greater potential than the gods themselves.
The souls of mortals seem to be less subject to this dream than the souls of the gods.
The power of the gods was so great that they were intimately connected to every dimension of this dream, like the roots of a tree underground; the stronger the tree, the deeper its roots.
The power of mortals is so weak that their connection with this dream is not so close.
In other words, they are more likely to transcend this.
Therefore, the gods continued to keep their eyes on the planet Nirn.
They searched for answers, for a way, for a method that could free them from the dream within the souls of mortals.
Ordinary heroes, ordinary sacrifices, ordinary choices—in these insignificant little lives, the gods saw the possibility of their freedom.
Despite the slim chances, the gods' search never ceased.
Now, Chen Mo's appearance has clearly shown the gods another way.
Souls beyond this world.
An existence that does not belong to this dream; his body has no foundation in this dream, and his soul is not connected to any dimension of this world.
He is a line, a line that extends in from the "outside".
Through him, the gods seemed to vaguely see what was outside the wall.
This line—perhaps it can become a passage, an exit, a door.
Isn't this a more readily available way than monitoring ordinary people?
It's not about searching for the potential of mortals bit by bit, not about being disappointed time and time again in the short history of Nirn, not about futilely chiseling at that wall for thousands of years and still finding nothing.
He's right here.
—Sit across from them.
But they were wary of something.
They dared not show themselves directly, or even look at him directly.
What are they afraid of?
Chen Mo raised his head and looked at Shergra.
The madman's light gray eyes were looking at him.
For the first time, that face was devoid of any expression of laughter, anger, or scorn.
There was no wide smile, no upturned curve, and no jingling bells at the waist.
He simply sat there, wearing that purple robe embroidered with stars and the moon, his snow-white hair and beard hanging quietly in the pale light, like a stone statue that had been forgotten for a long time, weathered by wind and sun, its edges worn smooth.
Shergra stretched out his hand and pointed to the air.
It wasn't pointing to those three stone gates, nor to that heavy wall of mist; it was pointing to something higher and farther away.
"Outside," he said in a low voice, "what is it?"
Chen Mo remained silent for a long time.
"Have you read the book?" Chen Mo asked.
Shergra did not blink.
He neither mocked Chen Mo nor brazenly told Chen Mo that he was the god of art, and that all paintings and writings in the world were within his divine authority.
"A book?" he asked. His voice was lower than ever before, as if he were waiting for Chen Mo's answer.
Chen Mo nodded.
He put the cheese in his hand on the table and patted the crumbs off his hands.
He looked at Shergra, at those light gray eyes, at this being who had transformed from a mortal into a god and lived for hundreds of years.
Then he spoke.
"We, the readers outside the book, tell the stories within it. With our thoughts, with our pens. We record, we imagine, we put everything into words."
His voice was soft and flat.
His speaking pace was neither too fast nor too slow, as if he were reciting a long narrative poem.
"But at the same time—"
He paused, looking into Shergra's eyes, watching his voice ripple outwards from the depths of those pale gray pupils.
"If this story doesn't satisfy us," he gestured with his hand.
"Then let's wipe it off."
The bell did not ring.
The three stone gates stood silently in the distance, amidst the wild grass and thick fog, like three sentinels.
Pelagius III made no sound.
He just squatted there, staring at Chen Mo, as if he had heard something unbelievable.
Shergra did not move.
He sat in a chair, leaning slightly forward, his purple sleeves hanging down at his sides.
His eyes were fixed on Chen Mo, staring at him. Then, very slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched.
Like a string on a musical instrument plucked by the wind, it emitted a very, very low laugh.
"Heh... wipe it off." He repeated the word.
His voice was very soft, so soft it sounded like a lover's whisper.