Chapter 296: Retrospect! The Truth! The Old Ones!

On the highest terrace of the royal palace, Lu Yan stood with a grim expression, staring at the sky ablaze with stars.

The countless chants of the faithful seemed to merge into the very fabric of the world’s great Dao. To ordinary people, they were imperceptible. But to someone of Lu Yan’s level, every note rang as clear as day.

Each syllable of that sacred hymn was like a hammer, smashing against his heart, shattering all his previous pride and schemes into dust.

The return of the stars. The awakening of the gods.

To Lu Yan in this moment, it was far from good news. It was nothing short of a cataclysm.

Everything he had painstakingly constructed was founded upon a delicate balance and a massive information gap.

The reason the Guild had been able to spread so smoothly, to make Victoria’s nobles bow their heads, and even to force the powerful Steam Church into retreat, was not merely due to Lu Yan’s power. It was the aura of mystery and unfathomable might exuded by the Underworld and the Emperor of Fengdu.

It was this fear—the fear of the unknown and the unseen—that allowed the Guild to expand unimpeded, that enabled him to suppress the entire Victoria Kingdom with near-tyrannical force and raise Elizabeth to the throne.

Otherwise, given the Steam Church’s deep and terrifying foundations, how could they possibly tolerate a foreign force taking root in their core faith territory, even going so far as to interfere with secular kingship?

Lu Yan had no doubt that within the Steam Church, there were hidden Sequence 2 Secret Angels wielding fragments of singularity—and possibly even Sequence 1 Angel Kings, terrifying beings one step short of godhood.

Though individually, a Secret Angel might not match the fully restored Undying King, unless they stepped into the Underworld’s domain, they were beings Lu Yan could not hope to contend with.

Especially a Sequence 1 Angel King—that was truly a being at the very pinnacle of the mortal world, only a step away from the divine throne.

Should such an entity descend into the Underworld’s realm, even if Lu Yan poured all his power and the full force of Underworld law into resisting, he would still stand no chance.

This was why he had always acted with extreme caution, carefully crafting an image of awe, maintaining a fragile illusion, and using the unknown as a weapon.

But now, with the realignment of the stars and the awakening of the gods—this upheaval rooted in the world’s fundamental laws—it was as if a giant hand had overturned the entire chessboard, scattering all his pieces and destroying his strategies in an instant.

The True Gods behind the Seven Great Churches were genuine existences of singularity—this world’s only ones.

Their understanding and control of the world far surpassed imagination. They could perceive the essence of version updates and would likely see through Lu Yan’s disguise as an outsider in mere moments.

Once Lu Yan was noticed by these True Gods, the essence of his being—a “Changeless One”—would become impossible to hide.

And a direct confrontation between Lu Yan, bearing the nature of a Changeless One, and the singular entities of this Secretive Version… was the last thing he wanted.

It meant exposure. It meant a potential purge by the world’s highest forces.

His original plan had been to bide his time—to gradually strengthen the Underworld and ensure that the Guild and its faith system could continue after the version update.

But now, facing the awakening of gods and the imminent attention of singular beings, Lu Yan’s current power was utterly insufficient.

All his scheming, all his arrangements—before the absolute disparity in power and rank—felt laughably weak.

His gaze flickered wildly as his mind raced faster than ever before, furiously deducing possible ways to break the deadlock.

Yet no matter how he calculated, it all seemed to point toward one bleak, bitter truth that he was loath to accept.

Resist head-on? Like a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

Continue the disguise? Before gods and singular beings awakening from slumber, that would be pure delusion.

Then, it seemed there was only one option left.

A thought—bitter, humiliating—began to grow in his heart like a poisonous weed.

“Escape?”

It wasn’t nonsense. It was a real, viable choice.

During the last Great Collapse Version, Lu Yan had aided the Heavenly Dao of that world and unlocked a new authority—he could forcibly trigger a version update and escape from the current version at will.

If he used that authority now, then no matter how the stars realigned or how the gods awakened, they would not be able to pursue him across the chasm between versions.

Lu Yan instinctively clung to that hope. But in the very next moment, he abruptly snapped out of it.

Yes, initiating the version update early could save him.

But… at what cost?

The Secretive Version wouldn’t pause just because he disappeared. It would continue along its predetermined path.

If Lu Yan vanished now, all the progress he had made—all the momentum and apparent victories—would collapse in an instant, like a sandcastle swept away by the tide.

The gods’ awakening would inevitably bring violent upheaval to the world’s order.

In such chaos, without Lu Yan’s backing, the Guild and the fledgling Underworld faith would vanish like candle flames in a storm.

And Elizabeth—the newly crowned queen whose foundation was still fragile—without her greatest pillar of support, would be torn apart by the backlash of the old powers. Her fate would be grim indeed.

Forget preserving the current order. Even surviving the backlash from the Church and the nobility would be uncertain.

And Anna…

She was the cornerstone of Lu Yan’s vision for a complete divine court of the Underworld. She carried the Underworld sequence, and if she fell in the coming storm, the entire future of that path would be severed.

To find another vessel with such perfect compatibility and boundless potential would be nearly impossible.

Everything he had invested—every drop of effort, every plan—would be reduced to ash.

As these thoughts surged through him, the urge to flee cooled rapidly, replaced by a heavy weight of responsibility and a bitter, unyielding defiance.

Just as Lu Yan’s eyes flickered and his heart waged an internal war, a soft fragrance approached him from behind.

Elizabeth stepped lightly onto the terrace, clothed in only a thin silk gown that traced her elegant, lazy curves.

Yet her expression held a rare weight as she quietly moved to Lu Yan’s side, standing beside him and gazing up at the strange night sky.

“The stars are brighter tonight than I’ve ever seen,” she murmured, breaking the silence. Her voice carried a hint of confusion, tinged with reverence. “And I feel… as if something is hiding behind them.”

Hearing Elizabeth’s vague yet astute intuition, Lu Yan forcibly calmed the storm within him and drew his gaze away from the stars.

Logically, with her mere Sequence 5 level, Elizabeth shouldn’t be able to perceive the heavenly Dao or understand the realignment’s true meaning.

But with her instincts as queen, she had sensed something—and that sparked a thought in Lu Yan.

He asked, voice low and steady, “Elizabeth, have you ever heard of the legend of the Stellar Realignment?”

Elizabeth frowned slightly, her beautiful face clouded with confusion. She searched her memories carefully, then shook her head gently.

“No. I’ve never heard of it. Even the royal archives don’t seem to contain any clear records of such a celestial phenomenon.”

Lu Yan’s heart sank further.

Elizabeth, now Queen of Victoria—even if her ascension was controversial—had access to knowledge far beyond the commoner’s reach.

If even she knew nothing, then the origins of this concept might only exist within the highest echelons of the Churches—or beyond even that.

He changed his line of questioning, voice even more solemn. “What about the slumber of the gods? How much do you know?”

This time, Elizabeth’s expression visibly shifted.

She wasn’t completely lost. Instead, she fell into deep contemplation, as if searching through a vast palace of memories.

Finally, she spoke slowly:

“In the ancient records of the royal family, accounts of the gods are extremely rare, vague, and often riddled with contradictions and taboos.

Even in the official scriptures and texts of the Seven Churches, references to the gods themselves are scarce—as if deliberately forgotten.”

Her voice dropped, weighed down by the burden of taboo knowledge.

“It is said that any attempt to describe or investigate the gods directly—through word or text—may draw their gaze across time and space, bringing conceptual-level corruption that twists the soul and drives the supernatural into madness.

Only those walking the path of truth—who seek knowledge above all else, regardless of madness or death—would dare pursue such secrets.”

Elizabeth looked up at Lu Yan, her eyes flashing with a strange complexity.

“There was a time, when I had no hope of ever claiming the throne, when I fell into despair. I sought solace in the path of truth, hoping to find a new form of existence through knowledge itself.

During that time, I read many sealed and even forbidden tomes—ancient, crumbling texts.”

“And from those fragmented and scattered scraps, I caught a glimpse of a horrifying truth.”

At this, her expression became more serious than ever.

The platinum crown upon her head—symbol of royal authority—glowed softly, releasing a translucent halo that formed an invisible barrier around them, sealing off all sound, light, and information.

It was a ward designed to ensure that what followed would never be overheard by any being.

“In some fragmented historical records, spanning thousands of years or more, I found something strange.

The power of the Churches seems to follow a cyclical pattern—rising and falling.”

Her voice dropped further:

“It appears that after each long, incalculable era, the influence of the Seven Churches would wane. Their grip on the secular world would loosen dramatically.

During those times, royal authority would grow stronger. Kingdoms would develop, even enact reforms.”

“But those golden ages of the monarchy never lasted.

As if on cue, the Churches would regain their strength, returning to dominance and pushing the kings back into their original roles—like nothing had changed.”

“And with each of these cycles, the internal doctrines of the Churches subtly shifted, and the faithful began to worship with slightly different beliefs.”

Her voice trembled slightly, as if she were recalling something truly horrifying.

“It was those hints, those patterns… that made me think of our current era—and this notion of divine slumber.”

“Church decline, royal rise, doctrinal shifts, faith transformations…

Don’t all of these mirror our present age of industrial revolution, social upheaval, and the internal strife within the Steam Church?”

“Though I lack direct evidence,” Elizabeth said, suddenly raising her head to look at Lu Yan, her eyes filled with awe and fear, “I am almost certain—the gods have not slept only once. Their slumber is cyclical!”

She took a deep breath and uttered the conclusion that made even her soul tremble:

“When they slumber, the world is set free—able to grow, evolve, awaken through royal will or public enlightenment.

But when they awaken, that development is forcibly stopped—frozen forever at the point they deem acceptable.”

Her final sentence struck Lu Yan’s mind like thunder.

That seemingly absurd yet perfectly logical theory was like a key, unlocking countless mysteries and contradictions he had long struggled with.

And almost simultaneously with Elizabeth’s final word, a force of absolute order exploded from Lu Yan’s body—centered around him, blanketing the palace and all nearby space-time.

It was no mere energy barrier.

It was the seal of the divine court of the Underworld, cutting off all sound, light, concepts, and even knowledge from escaping.

Only after this did Lu Yan whisper:

“Cyclical slumber. The fall of the Old Ones. The secretive gray mist…”

He looked up, as if trying to pierce the sealed sky above, his eyes filled with revelation and dread.

“If this is true… then everything makes sense.”

Back when he first entered the Secretive Version, Lu Yan had wondered—why, despite tens of thousands of years of history, had this world only just reached the industrial age?

This version hadn’t suffered any major apocalypse or collapse. The seven kingdoms had lasted millennia, and the Churches were even older.

In such a world, advancement should have been inevitable.

Yet in Lu Yan’s eyes, it felt as though progress had been forcibly halted for an unfathomable length of time—only slowly crawling toward modernity.

Unlike static worlds where magic ruled every layer of society, the supernatural here existed independently, scarcely touching the common folk.

Which meant there should have been no obstacle to normal societal progress.

Now, with Elizabeth’s revelation, Lu Yan saw the truth.

It wasn’t that this world progressed slowly—it was that progress itself had been repeatedly interrupted, even reset, by the gods who ruled the thrones of heaven.

They weren’t mercifully allowing the world to flourish during their slumber. Rather, every time they awoke, they would erase all progress made beyond their expectations.

They would rewrite reality, twist collective memory, perhaps even reverse time or rebuild the worldlines.

They froze civilization’s advancement at the moment they desired—and then went back to sleep.

Lu Yan finally understood the system.

But another question now loomed even larger.

“What do the gods want?”

He narrowed his eyes, staring at the slowly aligning stars.

And with the dissipating fog over the great Dao, he seemed to catch a glimpse of something beyond imagination.

In the immeasurable higher dimensions, the stars formed the shape of a colossal corpse—its remains stretched across the entire Secretive Version.

Almost involuntarily, Lu Yan spoke the name.

“The Old Ones.”

(End of Chapter)