I Forged the Myth of the Ancient Overlords
Chapter 746 - 746 745. Year of Burning Flames_1

Chapter 746: 745. Year of Burning Flames_1 Chapter 746: 745. Year of Burning Flames_1 The high tower still stood, but the flames had not yet been kindled.

Something was still missing, Joester thought, something pure, fundamental, something that reached directly to the source.

There are three conditions for the existence of the Magic Network.

First is the agreement between Mages and Demonic Beasts, representing contracts and oaths, rules, order, the foundation of everything.

Second is knowledge, the knowledge from great beings, the Ancient Overlords, and ancient tomes passed down through the ages, along with derived spells, the source of all things.

Lastly, the sacrifice.

The sacrifice that bears the Pollution, offering itself in the eternal Silence.

This is the continuation of everything.

At this moment, the Players had already signed an agreement, made a pact with the Magic Network, the foundation was established.

Through Joester’s ritual, those ancient knowledge too would be poured into the Magic Network, turning into spells accessible to all, the source is far-reaching.

Only the sacrifice was missing.

Once the three conditions were met, Joester could immediately materialize the Magic Network, granting everyone on the land of Night Country access to the Magic Network, and in an instant, the flames of the Spirit Torch would spread across this place, illuminating the deep night sky.

From then on, Night Country would embark on a history of endless struggle and sacrifice that would last for a thousand years, countless people would die because of this, and countless others would be born within this struggle, opening their eyes, looking at this world.

The tide-like Demonic Beasts surged forward, engulfing everything, annihilating all life forms, and even the scent of blood and fire seemed to linger in the air.

Joester stood at the pinnacle of the high tower, the pinnacle of the tower built with the blood and sweat of countless people, challenging those unreasonable Divine Beings.

He could overlook the world, witness the suffering and struggle of this Foreign Domain.

In front were terrifying monsters, and behind, a home that was on the verge of collapse.

It was time.

He thought, he had already known the answer long ago, but making this decision required immense courage.

Because it was not just the sacrifice of one person, but from now on, the sacrifice of countless others.

Joester could give his own life in any form, at any time, just to save this world he loved, but he had no right to decide the dedication of others, and what Joester was about to do was the ultimate arrogance, because he would decide the destiny of hundreds and thousands of Mages that would come after him.

And Joester himself, would be forever bound to this high tower, witnessing all the sacrifices and deaths that followed, until the end of the world.

In the final moments of his life, he could give up everything and pass away suddenly, without care for the floods that would come after his death.

But he did not do so.

Joester stood on the top of Gray Tower, that desolate tower peak.

“Legends say that powerful Mages can leave a curse on the world at the time of their death.”

“The knowledge they bore had transcended the limits of Mortals, they sublimated themselves, mastered the rules, and could even rival the Divine Beings.”

“Therefore, when they fall, their most hated, most desperate, most angry will, would turn into a curse that persists.”

“There are lakes that have held endless Pollution, even a glimpse of which could drive men to insanity.”

“There are eternal Gale Winds, wild and ravaging, erasing all living creatures.”

“And there are towering high towers, twisting all life around them, causing corruption to bloom and fruit.”

At this moment, Joester’s vision had transcended the present, from the emergence of civilization in this world to the distant future, he saw everything without exception.

Blood quietly trickled from his nose, a sign that a Spell was about to be cast.

“I, Joester, the first Chief Mage of Gray Tower, before I die, want to leave not a curse, but a hope.”

Beside him, streams of electricity surged, and a colossal, chaotic whirlwind formed over his head, one that even Demonic Beasts feared.

He looked up, gazing into the crimson vortex, piercing through the clouds, he met eyes with the red moon, with all those in the world now, in the past, in the future, who attempted to defy the Divine Beings.

Then, he spoke.

“Agni the Fire Incinerator, you once protected thirteen duchies with your alone strength, your brilliance in the face of the Demonic Tide was fiercer than the sun, in the last moments when Sanity remained, you chose to sacrifice yourself, reducing the original sixteen strands of Demonic Tide to fourteen, and the curse you left still wanders in the far north, a fire tornado that devours everything.”

“Indomitable Flower Flar, your developed and improved medicines saved the nation on the brink of collapse during the great plague, those enchanting flowers were once the nightmare that Demonic Beasts feared most, when you walked the earth, white flowers bloomed across the whole Black Forest, and even your fall was unspeakably beautiful, the curse is the ever-growing bright red thorns in the depths of the Black Forest, continually annihilating Demonic Beasts, just as it has for a hundred years.”

“Enigmatist Jansen, the labyrinth spell you created still imprisons a lord of the Demonic Tide, you were the first to show humanity that those Demonic Beasts were not invincible, that even with feeble strength, humans could still use their wisdom to rival them, and even after your fall, your curse became an insurmountable barrier for the Demonic Beasts.”

He spoke thus, conversing across time with great Mages who had once walked the earth.

Those most desperate, most extreme, most sorrowful curses, along with a vast amount of knowledge that could erode the will, poured into his brain.

“To all Mages of this world, I, Joester, here, make a covenant with you.”

Light interwove, forming a vast network, with him at the very center of it.

“I pledge to you that as long as you are willing to reach out your hands, I will always respond to your prayers.”

In the void, countless ethereal hands reached out to him, some firm, some frantic, some longing, some angry, carrying a multitude of emotions. The wishes, cascading along the network of light, poured into his consciousness.

The first handshake was a final plea in the depths of despair, a struggling murmur in agony, a furious roar in resentment. Regardless of the form, each represented a will—the belief in the existence of hope and the attempt to draw closer to it.

For a brief moment, blood gushed from Joester’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. His skin reddened and emitted white smoke as some ferocious fire seemed to rise from beneath it.

Emotion and will were far more torturous than knowledge. His eyes were now only scarlet, and he was about to shed the last remnants of his humanity, becoming a mark, a presence that would never fade.

Thus, without any hesitation, Joester reached out to those wishes.

The second handshake was a response of not betraying, not disappointing, not neglecting anyone.

Joester bore all the pollution that the knowledge brought. The massive curses turned tangible and flowed into him. Through this act, the wills of the Great Mages of the Night Country, who boasted an ancient pride, converged through the invisible mighty network.

Some sneered, some wept, some were utterly confused, others brimmed with confidence, but all extended their hands to him without hesitation.

They all knew well that choosing Joester meant confining themselves to a cage, their will forever branded upon the Magic Network. From this point on, countless mages would pray to them, and knowledge from the Foreign Domain would imprint upon their minds through the Magic Network, along with the pollution.

They would bear all pollution for the Night Country, forever.

And yet, they chose Joester still.

Just as they had once chosen hope.

In the instant that two hands joined, the Spell was about to be complete.

“Prayer…”

With the last of his strength, he squeezed out the word, and his entire person was enveloped in pale flames.

The flames were weak, flickering, and looked as if they would extinguish in the next second under the Gale Wind.

Shia quickly grasped what he was intending to do. She closed her eyes immediately and began praying to the Gray Tower above, just like the nightly prayers to the Divine Beings for the gift of Prayer Magic.

Seeing this, Cui Siter too closed his eyes.

More people began to pray.

Players who had once fought Demonic Beasts naked among the flowers.

Players who harvested in the fields, gazing at the golden waves of wheat.

Players who fought Iron Lizards, built fortresses, learned Magic, and lived a real life in the Night Country.

Villagers dominated by fear, Mages who fiercely resisted, and those viewers from another world who watched the live stream on their computers.

Everyone began to pray.

Magic is a power of the mind.

A powerful Mage must possess a strong will.

And the most powerful Spell would inevitably carry the most determined of prayers.

That incalculable, layer upon layer, overwhelming like a tsunami of prayers, drew together upon the dimming network toward the Gray Tower above.

Willing to accept such a fate, willing to become the kindling, to ignite themselves and light up this dark world with their will.

It was a promise, a contract, a vow.

In this deepest, most despairing, most painful of dark moments, they chose to believe in hope.

This was the third handshake.

And so, the largest-scale Spell in the history of the Night Country was finally constructed.

The pale fire atop the Gray Tower blazed fiercely in an instant. Its light pierced through the clouds, the crowd, the dense throngs of Demonic Beasts.

It was only then that Shia finally realized why this year was known as the “Year of Burning Flames” in the history of the Night Country.

From this moment on, Magic was no longer a flower ensconced in high places, but a power accessible to everyone.

From this moment on, the Demonic Beasts were no longer an insurmountable despair, but an enemy that could be contended with even by the body of a Mortal.

From this moment on, no longer stars but Mages one after another shone brilliantly in the sky of the Night Country.

From this moment on, the Night Country would be plunged into a thousand years of bitter struggle and rebellion. The people, who had suffered tribulations and adversity, the diligent and brave, the unyielding people, never again uttered the word surrender.

For from this moment on, the horns of rebellion had been sounded, and humanity had kindled its own civilization with its hands.

Within that intense, throbbing Spirit Torch, Joester’s voice pierced through space and time, reaching the ears of the chief culprit.

He said, to hell with the gods!

*

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