Chapter 698: The Figure on the Throne

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A figure with short black hair, dressed in a pristine white robe, sped past, catching only the edge of Duncan’s vision. It seemed for a moment that the figure was merely an illusion. Duncan watched as the stranger headed into the enigmatic depths of Vision 004, eventually vanishing behind a wall.

As Duncan’s thoughts swirled with terms like “Doomsday Observer” and “The Doomsday Survey Team,” he became ignited with a fierce curiosity. He turned to the towering figure beside him and asked eagerly, “What is the purpose of these people?”

“They are tasked,” replied the Tomb Guardian calmly, “with navigating the streams of time, confirming that the sanctuary remains true to the creator’s design within our known temporal limits, and detecting when the system is set to fail.”

As they ventured deeper into the mysterious ‘Tomb of the Nameless King,’ Duncan’s interest grew with the Guardian’s explanation.

Time-traveling observers tasked with predicting the Great Annihilation… Could such a thing truly exist?

Suddenly, Duncan looked up, his eyes sweeping across the ancient-style architecture, the walls, and columns of the corridor. Another, deeper question emerged. “What exactly is this place?” he inquired, feeling as though he was questioning himself more than the guardian.

Upon asking, he realized the odd nature of his question, almost rhetorical, yet he sensed the Tomb Guardian would grasp his true intent.

“This location,” the Guardian began, his clear, resonant voice capturing Duncan’s attention, “is the first and last Cretan Observation Post. Long ago, there were twelve hundred such Doomsday Observation Posts, ten of which, known as the Cretan posts, were directly under our control.”

Duncan’s thoughts raced, recalling a passage from an ancient text he had studied—

“To avoid the tragic fates of the Dream King and the Pale Giant King, He split the blueprint, transforming nations into twelve hundred cities, the first ten entrusted to that clan, thus named ‘Cretan’…”

It clicked suddenly—Vision 004 was indeed a relic from the ancient Kingdom of Crete, a monument enduring over ten thousand years, still serving its purpose as an ‘Anomaly’!

Furthermore, the heretical book he had once read was proven right again. The ‘twelve hundred cities’ it mentioned were real, not separate city-states, but twelve hundred ‘Doomsday Observation Posts’!

Those known as ‘The Doomsday Survey Team’ set out from these posts, traveling through time to monitor the sanctuary’s functioning and establish its ‘temporal boundary’ at the brink of operability…

Then, suddenly, a vast space caught Duncan’s eye. Pulled from his thoughts, he gazed in awe at the immense landscape unfolding before him.

Unaware of the distance covered under the silent escort of the cryptic “Tomb Guardian,” Duncan reached the end of the corridor. Crossing a monumental gate, he was struck by the vast, open space ahead—so immense, it hardly seemed part of any structure he’d known.

Before him lay a massive square under a dim, yellowish sky, capable of hosting tens of thousands for a grand assembly.

Standing at the corridor’s gate, Duncan looked down a sloping stone ramp leading to the square’s edge. The square was paved with large, grey-white stone slabs, and a wide walkway divided the area. Solemn pillars with a slight metallic sheen stood along the path, their worn surfaces hinting at once more elaborate structures, now reduced to ruins. Amid the decay stood one intact structure—a massive throne at the center of the square.

This dark throne, both towering and majestic, dominated the space around it, its high back overseeing the square. A somber, dusk-like light enveloped the area, casting the crumbling relics into shadows, each emanating a sense of eternal solitude.

This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Duncan felt a wave of inexplicable desolation wash over him as he observed the dust-covered ruins and their oppressive atmosphere weighing heavily on his soul.

The white-robed Tomb Guardian had moved ahead, silently descending the ramp toward the desolate square.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Duncan quietly followed.

Together, they walked down the slope to the broad pathway that cut through the square, flanked by rows of tall, solemn stone pillars. Duncan’s eyes roamed, taking in the once magnificent structures, now reduced to rubble and ruins.

As Duncan walked, fleeting images flashed before him—figures in long white robes or shorter grey ones moving beyond the columns, rushing across the square, heading toward the now-deserted gates at the periphery, or clustering together, seemingly engaged in earnest discussions.

In his mind’s eye, Duncan could almost reconstruct the bustling activity that once filled this place—during the era of creation, when the “King of Darkness” was still refining the blueprint of a new world, with the ancient Kingdom of Crete acting as the creator’s “assistants” in shaping this realm. They convened here, diligently laying the foundation for the sanctuary, orchestrating plans for a civilization meant to thrive for ten thousand years.

In the period immediately after the cataclysm known as the Great Annihilation, the aftermath was palpably present in the mundane world. Debris from the cataclysmic event lingered, floating like specters. The very fabric of reality seemed to flicker and waver, with the natural order of things appearing and disappearing like a fragile illusion. During this tumultuous time, councils of kings convened repeatedly, their meetings laden with urgency and desperation from two failed Long Nights, with the ominous shadow of a third slowly looming. It was during this chaotic epoch that a group, later known as “The Doomsday Survey Team,” pioneered through the temporal veil to delineate the sanctuary’s boundaries within the dimension of time. While the Boundless Sea was possibly just beginning to form and city-states were mere concepts yet to be realized, the “sun” hadn’t risen, the first “humans” lay dormant within the King of Darkness’s database, and only the fleeting lights of the ancient Kingdom of Crete provided a temporary glow in this disordered world.

Originally, this specific location was not designated as Vision 004 but was one among one thousand one hundred and ninety-nine observation posts, all scattered amidst the ashes of the Great Annihilation, silently awaiting the birth of a new world.

Now, all that grandeur and tumult had faded, leaving nothing but this desolate, decaying relic suspended in a void just outside the real world, provoking Duncan’s deep thoughts and endless conjectures.

Ahead, the tall figure of the Tomb Guardian paced deliberately, his movement reminiscent of a solemn march through time. As they encountered another group of Doomsday Survey Team members weaving through the stone columns, he suddenly broke the silence, “It’s been a long time since they last sent back any messages.”

“… That’s because they’ve gone mad,” Duncan murmured softly.

“Oh,” the Tomb Guardian simply nodded and continued his slow, contemplative advance.

After some time, as if musing aloud to himself, he began, “At the beginning, they sent back a wealth of information—within the first contact cycle after their departure, they relayed news from the era of city-states. They chronicled the rise and fall of the Distant Sea Alliance amid the darkness. They reported the vanishing of the Kingdom of Crete and jubilantly announced the ‘sun’s’ emergence. The details they provided were laden with elements we struggled to fathom, aspects not envisaged in the original blueprint. Yet, in the creator’s subsequent recalculations, the emergence of these anomalies seemed not just plausible but inevitable…”

He halted his steps, his gaze lifting to rest on the massive, ominous throne at the center of the square. A protracted silence followed, during which he seemed to be lost in a sea of thoughts. Eventually, he softly shook his head.

“Then, their messages became sporadic and increasingly cryptic. Sometimes… the content was beyond our comprehension. It seemed as if they had ventured too deeply into the currents of time or perhaps too far beyond our initial scope of understanding…”

“The communications we received from them often contained contradictions and appeared out of chronological order, a phenomenon that became more frequent over time. According to the creator’s calculations, this was expected, given the nature of the sanctuary as a finite construct—it’s like a beacon casting its light into the wilderness. Time is the expanse this light travels across; the farther it reaches, the more it encounters the undefined, encroaching darkness… At the very edges of time, if they found no other beacon, it meant there truly was nothing more to discover or report…”

The Tomb Guardian paused, his silence extending into an undefined abyss of time. Then, almost as if speaking to the air, he murmured, “It’s been a long time since they last sent back any messages…”

Duncan remained silent, his gaze fixed on the imposing, dark throne before him, seemingly designed for a being of colossal stature. His eyes slowly climbed to the figure seated upon it.

A headless form sat there in stillness, an intricate network of massive cables and conduits wrapped around the body like veins and nerves. These connected to various interfaces and ports on the throne itself, some still flickering with the dim light of residual activity. Within some tubes, a semblance of vital circulation was visible, with a mysterious fluid flowing in and out.

At the sight of the headless figure, Duncan’s expression subtly changed, his mind recalling a scenario once described to him by Ted Lir. Yet, a profound sense of recognition emanating from the figure struck him deeper, sending a shiver of unease through him.

He stood there, transfixed by the sight for what felt like an eternity. Finally, compelled by a force he couldn’t resist, he uttered, “In subspace, there’s a headless body seated on a black throne…”

“That’s his shadow,” the Tomb Guardian replied softly, his voice echoing with hidden depths. “When the creator took his body, he could only claim a part of it—he was torn apart, not just physically but in every conceivable way. His memory, soul, shadow, thoughts, past, and future… all fragmented during the Second Long Night. The creator brought this part of him here while his shadow remained at the place of his initial demise.”

Suddenly, Duncan turned to face the Tomb Guardian, a spark of recognition lighting up within him as he looked back at the figure on the throne. Driven by a pressing need for answers, he demanded, “Who exactly is seated on the throne?”

“Saslokha,” the Tomb Guardian revealed, his voice heavy with ancient knowledge. “The creator fashioned the original ‘Cretan’ (create) in his own image.”

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