Chapter 1221

NO. 125: Supreme Directive of the Rainbow Serpent God (x) (4k)

By now, Aomo Lindun had also come into contact with quite a few of the 'secrets' that were common knowledge at Rhodes Island Company.

Especially during the recent week's commission auto-run segment, he had spent a lot of time chatting with people in Rhodes Island Company's experimental field, asking this and that.

And among these, the most noteworthy point was that the ancestors of those 'Terrans' did not resemble modern humanoids.

The evolution of all things is a traditional proposition; even the Holy Terra Federation has both creationism and evolutionism, and then the agitated side tried to find evidence from tens of thousands of years ago.

Then they discovered that creationism is true, and evolutionism is also true.

In the ape-to-human evolution phase, various gods and a few time-travelers gave it a push, and some places where the gods were dissatisfied with this efficiency of evolution, they fashioned humans themselves and mixed them in to boost racial values.

Not to mention this subtle fact made the two sides that had been arguing for so long quite embarrassed, but at least the Terra of the Rhodes Island employees' homeland had a very unified origin for the human species.

Whether as the local Sarkaz or as the migrating Tower of Priests tribes, all were gradually transformed into a humanoid form under the influence of Originium, or rather—under the information interference within Originium itself.

Even the so-called 'godfolk' were no exception.

This could be considered evolution or degeneration, the answer lies in the heart, but obviously, Lady Holguin's lineage is very special.

At first glance, all the 'Feathered Serpents' are 'degeneration theory' supporters.

For hundreds of years, all their clansmen have been tracing back to past glories, as a particularly powerful bloodline of the godfolk from Sargon, their legend of 'using wind and thunder power, soaring through the skies' still circulates in some native Sargon tribes today, providing them with strong motivation for their obsession.

But looking at the existence of this surgery, it's not hard to guess that hundreds of years ago, there were also Feathered Serpents who spontaneously refused to pursue their ancestors' glory.

But even so, this should have been a will imposed by their fathers and forefathers, yet it would still gradually dawn on them with age.

Gradually realizing that their short lifespan—barely over fifty, and even less than forty for the degenerated—was spent chasing after a result they could not even see hope for.

Whether in a daze, awakened, or filled with hatred—the Feathered Serpents' inheritance surgery determined each clansman's foundation, but it could not fix the future; this is not a high-coercion ideological brand, because every newborn who underwent the inheritance surgery was regarded by the previous generation as their sole hope.

A small body bearing the weight of fulfilling a long-held wish and opening up the future should not walk a life completely planned out.

Holguin had once had countless opportunities to choose.

Even if she could not forget this mission, she could choose to turn her back on it.

Accept, or ignore.

The result of acceptance is obvious, but what about ignoring?

"If we sincerely do not wish to fulfill this mission from the bottom of our hearts, then we should be able to ignore it."

Holguin stared at the traditional marble counter.

The black tabletop mixed with white stone, smooth and icy, reflected her gradually no longer icy and sharp emerald eyes.

The former Aomo could easily speak of his life in an indifferent, cold tone, with the objectivity of a third person, but now he finds it hard to do so; when he tries to like himself, when he tries to accept his life, seeking value and interest within it, that life no longer feels so difficult to empathize with.

Obviously, Holguin is the same.

Even her madness cannot remain indifferent to the path she has walked; in fact, her madness is precisely because she cannot abandon all these efforts.

But she was certainly not like this at first.

Her initial madness stemmed from the desire born of limited time, becoming increasingly extreme and frenzied for the unattainable wish, even to the point that when recalling that period, she even said things like 'I once considered finding a clansman to mate with during that time, even if not of the same clan, just a smart outsider of another race would do, as long as there is no reproductive isolation, being able to bear excellent offspring would also allow the lineage to continue.'

Though quite extreme, it is still understandable, because Aomo initially also considered those formal magicians at the Clock Tower, and upon hearing this, he subconsciously projected Lady Holguin's thinking onto 'magicians pursuing the source'……

……

No problem at all!

Even projecting onto those twisted old fogies of the Symbolism faction is quite normal!

It's all their fault, making me more and more tolerant of deviants… Aomo deeply reflected on them, then looked at this woman before him, who became fragile and sentimental as the drinks changed and her words rambled on.

Perhaps it was because the existence of the Rainbow Serpent God gave her enough reassurance, or perhaps it was because she put down her equipment, put down her staff, and finally could catch her breath briefly; in any case, from the moment Aomo agreed to make her a card, but the cost was satisfying all his curiosity.

The nature of this bar meeting changed.

From what should have been a verbal sparring, it became a long confession.

Of course, a woman in her forties confessing her life to a nineteen-year-old youth sounds like a hostess service, but the actual atmosphere is more like a confession in a confessional.

Perhaps this is also not a problem.

The nineteen-year-old Rainbow Serpent God was listening to the little Feathered Serpent's over forty years of life, and even the liquor originally prepared by the little Feathered Serpent as bartender and mixologist, after the third refill, was provided by the Rainbow Serpent God who used artificial brainpower to compute and perfectly reproduce the motion, angle, and force.

The Minoan Mist, the Sishta Iced Tea—Aomo Lindun mastered a new skill and new item in this meeting, and served cup after cup to the extremely relaxed woman.

To be honest, he had not urged her to drink even once.

He only acted when he saw the bottom of her cup, then, in her silent waiting, he topped it up.

To avoid letting her get drunk too quickly, he had originally only wanted to specially adjust one kind, but ended up being expected another by her, or perhaps even without relying on tools, she is confident in her drinking capacity…… Holding this guess, Aomo displayed his replication ability as she wished, then listened to her recount from the very beginning.

The cruel surgical inheritance spell, the long but poorly rewarded pursuit, everything paid for the pursuit, the increasingly radical and frenzied actions due to limited time, amid the muddled struggle, hearing of the hope ignited in another world.

In the end, it was seeing that hope was so grand, so within reach, that absurdity pushed her into another kind of madness.

He listened attentively to this long story; although it is deformed and twisted, it is still a story he could listen to with relish.

Aomo Lindun has heard many stories in these nineteen years, but few are treasures from another world, and fewer still involve a half-life journey; although for Holguin now, eighty or ninety years old is not necessarily the end.

After coming into contact with source energy cultivation on this side of the Federation, she has ample opportunity to extend her lifespan, even surpassing the Feathered Serpent ancestors she once regarded as the endpoint.

This might be the second time he has encountered another's life after that unclear order incident of his.

So he hopes to prolong it.

But the speaker seemed carried away by the moment, lifting the cup he had passed back to the table, naturally raising cup after cup, and by midway, those eyes like green agate had already gained a hint of moisture.

To be honest, Aomo was worried she might collapse midway.

By now, the drinking contest he had initially considered no longer exists; he hardly had a chance to drink, while she kept drinking.

And in those cup after cup, the topic often veered off.

Even mentioning her staff.

Library.

Her staff is not called a library, but the interior of its top indeed contains a small 'library' in the form of a box. It holds the hundreds of years of history of the Feathered Serpent clan, just as her exoskeleton is always made of the sturdiest material available at the time, and her newly woven fiber outer robe, crafted for extreme toughness.

These three respectively represent 'aloofness', 'wings', and 'skin'.

The feathered serpent's wings are as hard as gold and iron, and must never be removed.

The feathered serpent's skin is impervious to blades and spears, and must never be relaxed.

The feathered serpent's aloofness is unmatched, and must never be displayed outwardly.

Her parents, her ancestors—every feathered serpent crafts equipment according to this legend; beneath the seemingly sci-fi gear lies the most primal worship.

This is the burden of the clan, and also its pride: the mighty and aloof 'feathered serpent' must be able to face the vast majority of dangers alone, so she almost never removes this gear; they believe that when they take off these false adornments, it is the moment they return to the true 'feathered serpent'.

Just like half an hour ago.

At that time, after hesitating for a few seconds, she removed her exoskeleton and outer robe in front of Aomo, and placed her staff askew on the edge of the table.

And when she later pulled her chair close, almost leaning into him while resting against half the table.

When Aomo recalled her removed gear in detail, he remembered her hesitation at that time.

Silence.

Only silence.

Even though in yesterday's online chat he had already sensed an astonishing gravity through words, when that gravity field truly revealed itself, he still inevitably felt a sigh in his heart:

Hasty.

To know a secret is to bear its weight, and the weight he feels is not merely that of a monster card.

This is a weight greater than life itself.

Even if her original life was only forty-two years, this utmost purity of ritual feeling absolutely does not come from her forty-two years of persistence.

This is indeed the clan's inheritance, and the reason we say 'clan'—as if ignoring the wishes of those victims cursed since infancy—lies in one sentence.

"You still chose this path, didn't you?"

"Even without coercive shackles, you still chose this path."

These are Aomo's words, drawn from her previous statement not long ago.

Ignoring destiny—when self-awareness is complete, when that childhood wound finally scabs over, every 'feathered serpent' will know how they have been persecuted since childhood, so they naturally have the right to make a choice.

But Aomo now sitting here already proves their choice, proves Holohaiya's choice.

"Yes," Holohaiya said softly, her fingertips resting on the tilted wine cup, her hazy eyes reflecting the rainbow-colored silhouette of the youth beside her on the marble tabletop, "and I am not resigned either."

She truly longs for the feathered serpent's form.

Though it seems only a foundation was laid, standing upon it, you will increasingly feel the allure of that graceful posture.

Just as the horse girls, even without being given the duty to run, will spontaneously yearn to enter Trisen, yearning to stand on that track chasing extreme speed.

Those predecessors, those forebears, they stood on the radiant stage, they stood on the cheering racecourse—at that moment, their bearing entered the eyes of every successor, becoming a monument that guides countless horse girls in their spontaneous pursuit.

This is precisely the meaning of the 'feathered serpent' image for Holohaiya and her kind.

The more they grow up, the more they walk in developed, progressive civilizations, the more the 'feathered serpents' are able to feel the glory of soaring, the magnificence of their bearing.

That is the pursuit of strength, that is the longing for magnificence, that is the joy of honor.

That is precisely her will, and also the charm of the feathered serpent as a symbol.

Even if it brings short life, pain, and the loss of an entire childhood, they are helplessly drawn into the pursuit of that totem.

That soul-devouring, bone-eroding longing is so vivid, so vivid that Aomo, as a trainer and holder of the Mosuo Godzilla, truly cannot say he cannot understand.

"I understand," said the Rainbow Serpent God, having finished speaking and already risen, gazing down at the feathered serpent who now has no further chance for such emotional release, "just as I said at the beginning, if you satisfy all my curiosity, I will help you."

He said this, raised his hand, took away the wine cup she still wanted to lift, then walked to her other side, picked up the staff placed beside the library, and brought it before her eyes.

"You still have now."

He said softly, watching this woman who likely cannot rise on her own try to reach for the staff, only to lurch entirely and fall toward him in imbalance.

Unexpectedly light... Aomo, who caught her steadily, thought in his heart.

Due to her thick tail, full figure, wide robes, and the outline of her exoskeleton, Holohaiya gives the impression of never being lightweight, and one cannot even judge her true weight.

But for the Rainbow Serpent God, this is truly not important.

The little feathered serpent had already fallen asleep under the combined effect of emotional exhaustion and alcohol, and he would only, beside her azure wing-shaped ears, say once more:

"And the future."

For this, the feathered serpent, feeling slightly itchy, merely tilted her head, letting out a faint chirring, appearing to sleep deeply.

Leaving only the Rainbow Serpent God who supported her, freeing a hand to twist his nose bridge, then turning to survey this empty bar, and not far away, the sofa with the outer robe and exoskeleton.

Put the gear on her, then notify this place's original manager……then take her to the Military Committee to hand over to someone else……

"Ah..."

For a moment, Aomo, not knowing what to say, merely opened his mouth and sighed dazedly.

Cross-world transmission is really troublesome...

Magical energy tides cause even more trouble...

The demon realm area will just be rebuilt today.