Chapter 259: Chapter 45: A Buried Seed Grows into a Tree

The five human senses are windows to perceiving the material world.

And the sixth sense—that mysterious and profound ’intuition’ or ’premonition’—its origin is not at all illusory.

Its essence is a faint sensitivity to the gravitational effects produced by the Dark Matter and Dark Energy that permeate the universe, yet are difficult to observe through conventional means.

For most mortals, this sensitivity is passive, vague, and unconscious, much like living in a gravitational field without a precise awareness of gravity itself.

But at certain special moments, when the flow of Dark Energy or Dark Matter is violently disturbed by certain events, the "information" it carries can be passively projected into the subconscious of a perceptive individual via the medium of gravity, forming what is known as an "Omen" or a sudden insight.

Wizards, especially those of the Prophetic Series, take this a step further.

They possess an aptitude for Spiritual Power (a Spirit Root), allowing them to perceive the flow of Dimensional Energy (Spiritual Qi). Through specific knowledge, Magic Models, and training their Spiritual Power, they can actively "amplify" and "analyze" this sensitivity to disturbances in Dark Energy or Dark Matter, converting it into relatively clear fragments of information.

The [Peeping at the Ripples of Destiny] spell cast by the recently deceased Wizard is a typical example of such Magic.

The so-called threads of fate are nothing more than a computational and observational model for the trajectories of special Dark Matter and Dark Energy flows.

The difference is akin to how mortals utilize "universal gravitation."

Ordinary people can only stand passively on the ground, feeling the constraints and pull of gravity.

But those who have mastered specific knowledge and techniques can design pulleys, levers, and even rockets to actively utilize, counteract, and even transcend the limits of gravity.

Gazing at the ghostly blue ancient spiritual coin in his hand, Murphy’s eyes sharpened.

’To be able to carry and trigger such a clear fragment of Spiritual Information spanning a vast amount of time... this ancient spiritual coin is definitely not normal.’

It might not be a trap, but rather a kind of "information receiver." When two ancient spiritual coins of the same origin gather within a certain distance, they spontaneously enhance a specific "reception" effect, activating and revealing ancient information that was either dormant in the environment or imprinted within the coin itself.

Just like a hard drive that records information.

After decades of research, Murphy had come to understand that, in theory, there were no "spiritless people" in this world in the usual sense.

The so-called people without a Spirit Root were not entirely without one; rather, their Spirit Root’s development or innate talent was too weak to "see" the Spiritual Qi that permeated the heavens and the earth.

Their Spirit Roots could perhaps only manifest in the most subtle way, in the form of a sixth sense.

But those with a qualifying Spirit Root, once they embarked on the path of Cultivation, would gradually unlock a special perception that transcended the five conventional senses as their realm advanced—spiritual vision.

This "vision" was not true optical imaging, but a direct perception and information-receiving ability based on the Spirit Root’s sensitivity to Spiritual Qi.

It operated independently. Just as a person could look at something without it affecting their ability to feel it with their hands, using spiritual vision to observe the flow of Spiritual Qi or Energy structures typically did not interfere with normal sight.

But everything has its limits.

When the influx of Spiritual Information was too immense, complex, or carried a strong emotional imprint,

it would violently impact and overwhelm the brain’s ability to process other sensory information, even temporarily overriding the input from the five senses, creating an "illusion" like the one he had just experienced—an immersive vision almost indistinguishable from reality.

This wasn’t a case of the eyes seeing a phantom; rather, the massive stream of information received by the Spirit Root was forcibly "translated" and "constructed" by the brain into a full-sensory experience.

’What I just saw... was it an ancient fragment recorded in this ancient spiritual coin? Or was it a historical echo lingering in the nearby environment, drawn out by resonance?’

Murphy stared at the stardust-like glimmer flowing inside the ancient spiritual coin.

’Ancestor of Light... it sounds like some long-lost native faith or primitive worship, somewhat similar to the Church Court’s God of Stars and Truth, Oriane.’

’The people from above they mentioned, seizing resources, laying out patterns, luring monsters... how does this scene so closely resemble the legendary Wizards from before the Dawn War?’

’It’s said that before the outbreak of the Dawn War and the appearance of the Church Court, it was the golden age of Wizards, who crossed planes to conduct their so-called great pioneering...’

’And that sphere... it finally ran out of Energy and extinguished.’

Murphy recalled the pure, milky-white light and the scene where it granted the old man a moment of youth.

’Why does this scene faintly echo the secret that Wizard revealed—the one about certain higher-ups in the Church Court pursuing ways to ’extend and even break the limits of lifespan’?’

’Could the power contained within that sphere of light be some ancient force related to the mysteries of life forms and time? Or perhaps, an original prototype or a lost version of what the Church Court is seeking?’

He suddenly thought of the dead Wizard and the Shadow Hunter he had encountered earlier.

Both were Wild Wizards, both carried similar ancient spiritual coins, and both knew Margaret’s identity.

But the problem was that the ancient spiritual coins they carried were all problematic.

’Is it all ancient spiritual coins, or are the few they held exceptions?’

’Did they sense the problem with the coins?’

’Or maybe I’m the only one who’s special?’

[New map detected for Host]

[Retrieving map of Host’s surrounding area]

[Retrieval complete]

[Host’s current coordinates retrieved: Molten Abyss Realm]

Molten Abyss Realm...

This was the name the system had provided when Murphy first entered the Deep Red Wilderness.

It was just a name, offering no specific information.

And his current location was merely an inconspicuous crevice called "Rift Valley Slope," with no special designation.

Unlike "Taymer Palace," which had a place named "Suspended Sword Pavilion"—a name that immediately evoked the atmosphere of a Martial Arts Sect, even with a hint of Cultivation.

He looked up at a narrow fissure not far away, where the ruins of a hall stood.

’Should I go inside and take a look?’

’Maybe the system will provide a new name, which might offer some clues, even if it’s just a few words.’

...

「At the same time, inside Blackstone Fortress.」

Saint Cyril Cardinal stood by the window of an inner hall, his gaze passing over the high fortress walls toward the sky over Eagle’s Beak Peak, which appeared exceptionally dim even in broad daylight.

His face was still pale, but the hand gripping his Golden Scepter was remarkably steady.

The Ironspine Duke, Hakon Perik, stood two paces to his side like an armored stone statue, his gray-blue eyes also fixed on the distance, as silent as a mountain.

"Lord Star Speaker," the Cardinal said suddenly, his voice calm. "Have your prophecies revealed anything? Those pawns we invested... can they truly reach that door and bring back even a mere fragment of time’s mysteries?"

The Ironspine Duke did not answer immediately.

He withdrew his gaze, turning instead to an ancient tapestry on the hall wall depicting the mountain range protected by the Peric Clan, as if he could read the patterns of fate in its interwoven threads.

After a long moment, he finally spoke slowly:

"The path of fate is never as clear as a mirror, Your Eminence. It is more like the mist in the mountains, at times gathering to form a shape, at others dissipating without a trace. What prophecy can capture is merely a droplet of water occasionally condensing in the mist, reflecting a vague silhouette of the future."

He paused, and a faint starlight seemed to flash and vanish in the depths of his gray-blue eyes.

"But the droplet... did, in the end, reflect light. The ancient constellations have not fallen silent; they are still whispering. Regarding Eagle’s Beak Peak, regarding that forgotten, scorched land, regarding the ’seed’ buried deep within... the signs have already appeared."

"A seed..." Cardinal Cyril chewed on the word. A trace of profound desire appeared on his aged face, only to be immediately masked by an even deeper solemnity. "His Holiness, the Pope has personally entered a Half-Plane and has yet to return. With chaos in the Holy City and the fires of war erupting everywhere... the Church Court is facing a crisis unseen in a millennium. We need more than symbols, Star Speaker. We need tangible results, a ’fruit’ that can steady the hearts of the people, and even... change the rules."

"An impatient gardener cannot wait for the fruit to ripen." The Ironspine Duke shook his head slightly, his tone as steady as ever. "Sowing, watering, waiting... and even the necessary pruning and sacrifices, are all part of the process. Prophecy guided us to open a Path here and invest our power precisely because what is buried here is not just the ’fruit,’ but the Path to the ’orchard’ itself. Those pawns that were deployed are the very roots that explore the way, the feelers that absorb nutrients."

He turned to Cardinal Cyril, his gaze deepening. "Your Eminence should understand that some doors are impossible to budge from the outside. Only from within, when a fitting ’key’ touches the core, can it truly be opened. We... have already succeeded in sending the ’key’ inside the door. What comes next is no longer something prophecy can accurately describe. It depends on the ’soil’ behind the door, and the ’quality’ of the ’key’ itself."

Cardinal Cyril stared intently at the Ironspine Duke. "You mean... all we can do is wait?"

"It is waiting after cultivation," the Ironspine Duke corrected. "Prophecy has already indicated the season and the soil for sowing. We have paid the price, cleared the weeds, tilled the earth, and sent in the seed most likely to sprout. But whether the seed can break through the soil, whether the seedling can grow, and whether it can ultimately bear the fruit we desire... this involves too many variables, including the seed’s own Life Force, the nutrients remaining in the soil, and... whether there will be any uninvited ’birds’ or ’pests’ to interfere."

He raised his eyes, once again looking toward Eagle’s Beak Peak. "But I can tell you this, Your Eminence. In the whispers of the constellations, the imagery of ’growth’ and ’sprouting’ has never been so clear. The ancient ’orchard’ is not completely barren. It is merely sleeping, awaiting the right ’gardener’ and ’season.’ And we... have stirred it."

Cardinal Cyril fell silent for a moment. At the top of the Golden Scepter in his hand, the emblem of the Eye of Truth faintly pulsed with a trace of light.

Finally, he slowly let out a breath.

"I understand. In that case, we will continue to play the role of the ’gardener’ well. We will maintain the defensive line here and ensure the gate to the ’orchard’ is not forcibly destroyed or closed by external forces before our harvest. As for what happens inside the gate... let us leave that to fate, and to the ’key’ we have chosen."

The Ironspine Duke gave a slight nod and said no more.

Both men turned their gazes to the dim sky outside the window, as if they could pierce the barriers of space and see everything that was happening on that dark red, scorched land.