Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse

Chapter 4285: Civilization! IV

Vulcan’s expression became somber, the jovial craftsman replaced by the ancient, weary philosopher.

He finished the Arbiter he was working on and started another, his movements now more methodical, less inspired.

”The chasm between us and them is not a distance to be crossed,” he said, his voice a low, heavy rumble that seemed to carry the weight of all the failed ascensions in history.

”It is a difference in kind. Imagine a goldfish, born in a small, comfortable pond. It can grow, become the king of that pond. It might even, through some miracle of will and power, learn to splash a bit of water onto the shore. But can it, no matter how hard it tries, no matter how much it grows, splash water on the sun? Can it even truly comprehend what the sun is?”

...!

The analogy was a crushing weight, a beautiful, poetic dismissal of his entire life’s struggle!

He shook his head, a gesture of profound, absolute futility. ”No. That level is far too vast. But...”

A new, different light entered his eyes, a flicker of something that was not just power, but a deep, abiding faith.

”Together, as a Civilization, we can build a tower. A tower of shared knowledge, of collective purpose. A tower tall enough to reach the sun. We can reach it that much faster. If there were no conflicts, no wars, no petty squabbles over territory and resources that waste eons and squander potential. If everyone was just inside their own domains, their own Civilizations... imagine how rapidly we could all advance. If we just focused on... our Ways of Existence. Our Civilizations.”

...!

The words were terrifyingly, beautifully heavy.

An ideal of Existence at peace, existence of quiet, collective growth toward a single, unified goal of ascension. A paradise!

His own expression became immeasurably serious as he processed the grand, noble, and ultimately, impossible vision. And yet...

A cold, ancient, and utterly cynical voice echoed in the silent chambers of his mind.

”Outsider,” Khor’s thoughts were a blade of pure, chilling ice, a whisper of a truth he was already seeing, ”does that not sound a bit on the nose for... THE Loom?”

WAA!

Yes. A domain isolated from wars and conflicts, just for entities to focus on... their Way. On Civilization.

The garden. The fence. The gardener.

An isolated paradise. It was the most beautiful, noble justification for potentially the most terrible, cruel bunker he could have ever imagined if misused!

He looked at the magnificent, terrible Arbiter Vulcan was now completing, a weapon of war forged in a city that preached a gospel of peace, and he had a chilling, dawning suspicion that the ideology Vulcan...may truly be one of the many reasons for THE Loom!

As Noah and Forgemaster Vulcan forged Justiciars and Arbiters and talked side by side, the private forge was interrupted as a wall opened up far behind them.

The black, star-absorbent stone of the forge did not slide or retract; it dissolved into a cloud of shimmering, obsidian dust and then reformed as a perfect, arching doorway.

Through it, a powerful Early Creature stepped, his face cloudy with a calm urgency that made the very air of the forge grow heavy.

He was a being whose skin was the color of a stormy sky, his hair a cascade of silver that seemed to flow like a river of starlight. He moved with a speed that was a casual violation of spacetime, appearing before Vulcan in an instant.

”Forgemaster,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling thunderclap. ”The forces of the Early Laboratories have been observed moving in this direction. A significant force at that. Their intent... it seems to be a full-on assault.”

...!

Forgemaster Vulcan, who had been in the midst of weaving a particularly intricate thread of Tartarite metal, stopped.

He did not look up immediately. He finished the delicate maneuver, his massive hands moving with a grace that was a profound contradiction to their immense size!

Only then did he turn, his starlit eyes, which held the heat of a billion dying Wheels, fixing on the newcomer. He frowned, a gesture that caused the very temperature of the forge to drop by a few million degrees.

And then he shook his head.

The gesture was slow, ponderous, the movement of a mountain that had been told a strong wind was coming. He began to speak, his voice a calm, unshakeable bedrock against the tide of the urgent news.

”The First Leader built Aethelgard to last,” he rumbled, his tone not of arrogance, but of simple, unyielding fact.

”Even our forces would be more than sufficient to handle anything that the Early Laboratories throw at us, and if Lord Gilgamesh joins in himself... no Early Creature or Living Existence would even have a chance.”

His gaze was a thing of profound, ancient wisdom. This was not the boast of a king who had forgotten the taste of defeat, the blind hubris that had toppled so many empires!

This was the quiet, absolute confidence of a being who had measured the strength of his own civilization and found it... sufficient.

It was the arrogance that was not only deserved but was, in its own way, a fundamental law of this place.

Forgemaster Vulcan smiled, a genuine, almost paternalistic expression that was more terrifying than any rage.

He rose from his workbench, his colossal, bronze form seeming to fill the very space of the forge. He looked towards Noah.

”It seems we have to cut our forging short for now,” he said, a note of almost genuine regret in his voice. ”I was looking for peace, and I was mentioning peace with you... but as you can see, there will always be others that seek to threaten one’s Way of Existence and their Civilization.”

At such words, Noah rose from his own seated position. His eyes, which had been calm and analytical, now flashed with a tyrannical brilliance.

The more than 15 Glyphs of Cheating Architect and 55 Glyphs of Perpetual Harvest that adorned his form pulsed with a verdant, golden light, and his voice, though quiet, was a low, dangerous growl that seemed to make the very flames of the forge burn hotter.

”Civilization... is also war,” he declared, his gaze fixed not on Vulcan, but on some distant, unseen horizon. ”War against Existence. War against those who put your own civilization at risk. The Gardener... will have to sometimes go out and collapse the countless pests seeking to harm his garden.”

...!