RoleplayNovel Chapter 45 The Madman's Request
Chapter 45 The Madman's Request
Shergra looked up at Chen Mo.
Something is now flickering in the eyes that were just extinguished.
"So, what is your purpose in coming to this world?"
His voice was low, carrying a dull weight.
Chen Mo shook his head upon hearing this.
He was not prepared to answer the question.
It's not that I don't want to answer, it's just that I don't know how to answer.
He came into this world in a daze. Perhaps the gods thought his arrival had some special meaning and purpose, but Chen Mo knew perfectly well that his arrival did not have any special mission.
He looked at Shergra.
"So, would you like to see the outside world?"
Shergra's expression began to change.
His lips parted slightly, then closed again.
A fierce struggle surfaced in his eyes.
The light gray lines in his pupils seemed to have been stirred by something, like a calm pond being rippled by a stone hitting it.
The path to escape the head of God was right before him.
This may be the closest he has ever come to this path.
Perhaps it will be the only time.
So, do you want to go see it?
"No. Not for now."
Shergra shook his head.
His movements were slow, but resolute.
His chin tightened, his lips pressed into a line, and the struggle in his eyes slowly, inch by inch, sank to the deepest part of his pupils, into some unseen, black river.
Chen Mo neither confirmed nor denied.
He picked up the wine glass on the table and took a sip.
The amber-colored mead exploded on his tongue. He looked at Shergra with a calm gaze, seemingly unsurprised by his choice.
Transcending the head of God is certainly a temptation.
"Transcendence" – in the language of ordinary people, it represents freedom and liberation.
But in this world, in this world where everything originated from a dream, the weight of the word "transcendence" is not something ordinary mortals can bear.
According to players' research, the sudden disappearance of the dwarven race overnight during the Battle of Red Mountain was likely because they realized they were in a vast dream world.
The deep elves, the Dwarves, the almost insanely intelligent dwarves who built countless vast tunnels and mechanical wonders underground—they discovered the truth.
They may have seen the wall, what was behind the wall, and the head of the god who was dreaming.
Then, they disappeared.
From time, from space, from every dimension.
Like a pencil mark that has been erased.
The paper is still there, but the words are no longer on it.
In other words, waking up may mean transcendence, but it may also mean disappearance.
No one knows where the dwarves went.
Did they transform into another being the moment they awoke from the God's Head? Or did they transcend to some unknowable realm beyond the dream?
In Chen Mo's view, the concept of dwarves is more likely to be erased.
Because in the real world, there is no race called dwarves.
In the real world he came from, a world without magic, dragons, elves, or orcs, dwarves were just a legend, a myth, a character that only appeared in games and fairy tales.
Therefore, it may not be a good thing to rush into this truth without adequate preparation.
Shergra was clearly not ready.
This is the instinctive caution of a deity when faced with a path he has never seen before, one whose depths are unknown, which may lead to freedom or to nothingness.
In other words, does this mean that the Mad God still has unfinished business in the mortal world?
Chen Mo frowned, feeling that this was the reason why the Mad God had found him.
as predicted.
"My friend."
Shelgra's voice regained its light, bouncy tone. "What are your impressions of the Empire?"
Chen Mo was stunned for a moment.
He looked at Shergra, a huge question mark rising on his forehead.
How did this topic get jumped to?
We were just talking about transcending the head of God and philosophical questions about the boundary between dreams and reality, and now it's like a boss is interviewing you and asking what your impression of our company is.
What, are you trying to introduce me to a job?
"I'm currently the enchanting consultant for Blue Palace," Chen Mo said, pointing to himself.
Shergra grinned and clapped his hands, the bells on his waist jingling several times.
"Haha, great, then there's no problem."
He rested his hands on the table, his chin on the back of his hands.
"My friend, I have an old buddy who wants you to lend him a hand."
Chen Mo pointed to himself.
"I?".
"Yes." Shelgera nodded.
"How can I help?" Chen Mo wondered.
Shergra laughed, a laugh filled with unbridled arrogance, and he said, word by word,
"He hopes—that you can restore the Septine Empire."
Chen Mo did not speak.
His fingers fell from his chest onto the table. He looked at Shergra for a long time.
"Which Septin are you talking about?" His voice was more steady than he had expected.
"There is only one Septim in Tamriel," Shelgra's voice was low and flat. "The family that built the empire. The family that ruled for three eras. The family whose last emperor became a dragon god on the ruins of the capital and then died."
Shelgra paused for a moment.
His gaze shifted from Chen Mo to the wood grain on the table, blurred by the passage of time and stained with mead and candle wax.
The wood grain is winding and crooked, like endless rivers.
“He’s been dead for a long time.” Shelgra’s voice trailed off. “Martin. On the ruins of the Imperial Temple, he crushed the Amulet of Kings, transformed into a dragon, and pushed Dagon back into Oblivion. Then he died. Septim’s bloodline ended. The Imperial throne was vacant. Those spineless senators took the place they shouldn’t have—”
He looked up at Chen Mo. Something flickered in those light gray eyes.
Chen Mo looked at him without saying a word.
He knew what Shergra meant.
The last of the dragon bloodline, Martin Septine, sacrificed himself to summon the Time Dragon God.
The emperor of the empire is no longer a dragonborn, no longer a chosen one, no longer an emperor recognized by the Amulet of Kings, with dragon blood, and capable of ruling all of Tamriel.
The Empire is corrupt, the Empire is weak, the White Gold Accord caused the Empire to lose its hammer, and now Skyrim is embroiled in civil war. The Empire is barely surviving in the shadow of the Thalmor, and is despised by its own people on its own land.
"Old buddy," Chen Mo repeated the word.
He guessed who this person was.
Chen Mo gripped the wine glass tightly. The amber-colored mead swirled in the silver glass, making a soft, sighing sound. He looked at Shergra, at those pale gray, transparent eyes that shone like stars.
"Why did he contact me?" Chen Mo asked.
Shergra's lips curled up.
He stretched out his hand, pointed to Chen Mo's right hand, and then pointed to the other end of the long table.
Pelagius III remained crouched there, his eyes fixed on Chen Mo.
"There are many reasons why I'm looking for you," Shelgra laughed. "Look, isn't this a ready-made one?"