Chapter 91: Chaotic History

This Translation is hosted on bcatranslation.com

In the city-state of Pland, the “public schools” serve a distinctly different role compared to the prestigious universities in the affluent upper districts. Unlike those elite institutions, which focus on nurturing scholars and intellectuals, the public schools are government-funded entities designed to meet more practical needs. Their primary goal is to prepare students for the workforce, specifically for the factories dominating the city’s lower parts. These schools also provide technical training for operating the church’s complex, steam-powered machinery. Basic literacy and foundational education are offered but remain secondary objectives.

Given this educational landscape, it’s easy to understand the budgetary limitations and resource constraints faced by a particular public school in the working-class Crossroad neighborhood.

This was where Duncan first encountered Morris, an older gentleman whose scholarly demeanor immediately struck him. Morris exuded an expertise that would be impressive even among the faculty of the top universities in the city’s upper echelons. He was the type of academic who could, with just a brief glance, identify the historical significance and approximate age of an ancient artifact buried in a heap of miscellaneous items.

Objectively speaking, Morris seemed out of place in the modest setting of the Crossroad public school. Nina, one of his students, had told Duncan that her classmates were generally disinterested in the subjects Morris taught, often struggling just to stay awake during his lectures—a sign of respect in itself.

Additionally, Morris was no ordinary citizen struggling to make ends meet. He had the financial means to acquire a century-old antique dagger—an extravagance suggesting he was more than just a paycheck-to-paycheck individual.

Puzzled by this incongruity, Duncan chose his words carefully, asking, “I can’t help but wonder, why would someone of your scholarly caliber choose to teach at a modest public school in the Crossroad neighborhood?”

Morris, accustomed to such queries, answered with a smile as he neatly packed up his belongings. “The truth is, as I’ve aged, I’ve grown weary of the cutthroat competition in the upper city’s academic circles. Rather than jostle for limited resources with younger, ambitious scholars, I prefer a quieter setting to focus on my research. Plus, in my twilight years, there’s a unique satisfaction in imparting my knowledge to the next generation. What’s so wrong with that?”

Duncan sensed that Morris was being somewhat reserved but chose not to push the matter further. He added, “Nina mentioned that your teachings aren’t highly valued by her classmates. Given the economic hardships faced by residents of this lower part of the city, don’t you think lessons about ancient civilizations like Crete might feel irrelevant to them?”

Morris shook his head, disagreeing. “Even in the bleakest, most forgotten corners of the city, as long as there are minds capable of thought, history will always hold its value. It’s the collective wisdom accumulated over thousands of years that has propelled us to our current state of civilization. Humans have short lifespans, but it’s our reverence for history and our commitment to passing it down that enables our culture to endure far beyond individual lifetimes. That is what distinguishes us from the long-lived but history-less creatures of the deep sea. They may live for centuries, but their lack of recorded history means they will never pose a threat to our civilization.”

“Indeed, Mr. Duncan, you make a valid point. Here in the less affluent parts of the city, the audience for my detailed lectures on historical intricacies is admittedly limited,” Morris said, articulating his words carefully and at a measured pace. As if struck by an insight, his face softened into a gentle, apologetic smile. “I must beg your pardon for my propensity to sermonize. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

Duncan dismissed the apology with a gracious wave of his hand. “No need to apologize. I find your ‘sermonizing,’ as you call it, highly enlightening. In fact, I look forward to engaging in more in-depth conversations with you. After all, you’re a historian, and I’m an antique dealer; you could say we’re cut from the same cloth in some respects.”

He then added silently to himself, “And in a sense, we’re both educators.”

Morris gestured expansively, feigning incredulity. “If I were to rely solely on my initial impression upon entering this antique shop, I would find it difficult to accept the notion that we’re in similar professions. However, given that you do possess at least one genuine historical artifact, I’m becoming more inclined to believe you.”

Duncan couldn’t help but smile knowingly to himself. ‘If you only knew,’ he thought. The moment Morris began writing out a check for the antique dagger, Duncan had mentally scanned the collections spanning all his stores. If he hadn’t been concerned about flooding the market, he would have already planned out the décor for his eighth location.

Reining in his thoughts, Duncan resumed the conversation with a courteous and subdued smile. “Nina mentioned that your area of specialization lies in ancient history, focusing particularly on the kingdoms of ancient Crete. Is that correct?”

“Ah, a slight amendment is necessary there,” Morris interjected swiftly. “My expertise begins where the ancient Crete kingdoms emerged—after the era dominated by the deep seas. Prior to that period, we had what’s known as the Great Annihilation—a cataclysmic event that serves as a demarcation line in the chronicle of civilization. No one truly knows what life was like before that stage. All we have are contradictory accounts, mythologized by various city-states.”

Duncan looked intrigued. “So the Great Annihilation acts like an ‘event horizon’ in the flow of history?”

Morris appeared genuinely surprised by the term. “Event horizon? Do go on.”

Duncan elaborated, “It’s a theoretical concept. Within the framework of the ‘Great Annihilation,’ you could consider it as an impenetrable barrier in time. Any information existing beyond this wall is essentially irretrievable. Whether it’s observational data or cause-and-effect relationships, everything is severed by this chronological boundary. So, from our vantage point, it’s as if the history of the world sprung into existence abruptly right at that limiting point, rendering whatever happened before it forever unknowable.”

Duncan could see Morris mulling over this idea, captivated by this new way to conceptualize what he had always seen as a breaking point in the continuum of history.

“Your concept is absolutely fascinating!” Morris’s eyes not only widened but also seemed to glimmer as if a new light of understanding had suddenly been ignited within them. “The idea of an event horizon in the historical timeline is profoundly apt. Mr. Duncan, please accept my apologies for any initial skepticism or even condescension on my part. It’s clear that you are far more scholarly than I initially estimated. Do you regularly delve into historical studies?”

“Not particularly,” Duncan admitted, adopting a modest tone, as he sensed it was the prudent approach at this juncture. “I don’t possess an extensive knowledge of ancient history. However, I do like to think creatively and apply unconventional analogies when exploring new subjects. My curiosity is genuinely piqued, however, by this notion of the Great Annihilation you’ve mentioned. You stated earlier that while there is no unified academic viewpoint regarding what transpired before this pivotal event, there exist alternative or ‘folk’ histories in various city-states. Could you elaborate on that?”

“Ah, indeed, myths and legends,” Morris began, his tone contemplative as he carefully selected his words. “Take the city-state of Pland, for instance, which has a document dated to 1069 in their new calendar system. The original text is unfortunately lost, but the surviving transcription speaks of a world before the Great Annihilation that would sound downright fantastical to modern ears. According to it:

“The world was a globe, suspended in an infinite ocean of stars. The night sky was festooned with celestial bodies, including not just one but three moons. Humanity lived on three distinct continents; one of these was enshrouded in ice. Ingeniously, people constructed ‘the Dome,’ a mechanical marvel that encapsulated this icy land, rendering its climate an ‘eternal spring.’ This Dome drew its power from mimicking the sun and operated on a special substance found in seawater, providing an almost endless source of energy.”

Here, Morris paused, perhaps to afford Duncan the opportunity to process, reflect, and marinate in the content he’d just shared. After a moment, he continued:

“Another account, discovered on a rocky island near a frigid port, paints an entirely different picture. Academics have wracked their brains trying to interpret this:

“The etchings on stone tablets tell of a ‘Mother Star’ that had been exhausted. Inhabitants traveled aboard an immense starship named ‘Abinixus,’ which moved through this celestial sea. The ship gathered its fuel from cosmic dust and gas and had been on its voyage for an astonishing 47,000 days and nights before it was swallowed by a ‘gigantic flash and vortex.’ The ship was torn asunder in this celestial maelstrom, and its survivors somehow lived on in seawater, recording their ancestral memories in subterranean caves.

“And then, the elves of Wind Harbor present the most baffling history of all.

“The elves, being long-lived, should in theory have the most detailed and reliable histories. But for some mysterious reason, their historical accounts are the most fragmented and illogical. Many of their ancient texts have been rendered unreadable, corrupted by some unknown force into ‘lost volumes’ that had to be sealed away. According to the epics that are orally transmitted among them, before the Great Annihilation, the world was essentially a dream. It was conjured during the twilight sleep of a great demon god named Saslokha. The elves existed within this dream to sustain Saslokha’s peaceful slumber. When the demon god experienced a nightmare about a great flood, he woke up abruptly. This flood then transitioned from the realm of dreams to actuality. As Saslokha vanished upon awakening, the elves found themselves in a new, harsher reality. They settled in the era of the deep seas that followed the cataclysm.”

Morris concluded his narrative, allowing Duncan a moment to fully absorb the intricate tapestry of myths, legends, and broken histories that he had so eloquently unfurled.

For those that just want to support me, you can follow the link to paypal donating. Sadly you won’t be able to get the benefit of reading ahead 

[Table of Content]

[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]