Chapter 330: Master of the Three Phases

In the vast, empty wilderness, an ancient minstrel played songs of bygone days.

He savored too many themes—heroes, sacrifice, betrayal, escape—too many stories woven into ballads.

The “Recorder of History and Heroes” fulfilled his duty, his arms in the void writing at high speed.

“The young hero, the star of the celebration, he who raised the battle banner—does he know what tomorrow will bring?”

The spring breeze wandered across the wasteland; the next moment, it became the icy wind of frozen lands.

Time held no meaning for this “Recorder”; he merely watched, wrote, and recorded—while the constant jingling of bells verified these records to the world.

Who remembers those lofty ideals? Who remembers the youths who sacrificed for their dreams? Who remembers the true heroes who never dared call themselves heroes?

“I remember.”

The Record of History and Heroes bore the names of those heroes.

Some died in the Dragon Plague as the Watchers.

Some were knights devoted to guarding their monarch.

Some were merely victims of tragedy—but this ordinary nun ultimately gave her life to save the children buried beneath the collapsing orphanage.

The six-armed, two-faced deity never rested; it forever watched all from the void.

Its system’s front-end, those ever-watchful observers, delivered the names of “Heroes” before it, and it judged whether each deserved entry into history.

Though it itself was a believer in the people’s view of history.

“Forgive me—I can only record a limited number of names.”

The evaluator with “limited memory” was one of the “Soul Approval Council,” and as an “auxiliary system,” it merely fulfilled its duty in silence.

It selected those “Heroes” to inscribe into its book of historical tales.

History is driven by people, but those shining “Heroes” are the points most easily remembered in the annals.

“The Watcher of the Dragon Plague did not die—he stood in the southern sky and slew the evil dragons.”

“The knight who died before the throne rose again; immortal, he carried the king’s last bloodline, falling just before dawn.”

“The mother of the orphanage became a wraith, bringing nightmares.”

The “Fabricator of Lies and Fairy Tales” fulfilled his duty, “editing” the true history.

This was not wanton malice, merely the crafting and recording of rumors—“reality” was refined into “story,” and stories spread more smoothly and endure longer.

It strove to make these tales positive, softening their negative human elements, encouraging their noble deeds. This world needed more heroes; those touching stories did not require excessive darkness to seem “real.”

“The evil dragon became the tide, and the dragon-hunter rode upon it; flame became his poetry.”

Ballads, dramas, and other forms of transmission were crafted; the stories took tangible shape.

The “Lord of Drama and Joy” fulfilled his duty—ballads and dramas were refined, either sent directly to the mortal realm or delivered as half-formed inspirations, gifts from the minstrel’s patron deity to his devotees as “creative inspiration.”

This world needed more heroes—even edited hero tales.

In truth, the more “edited” and “rumor-refined” the hero tales, the better.

“Fiestrion” gazed into the void, where another link in the system would further refine these “heroic rumors.” If deities grow strong through faith, then might these heroes change because of the edited rumors?

“Clang! A new Soul Seed is born. ID undetermined. Abilities undetermined.”

“Faith entwines. Rumors locked. World link established.”

“Spirit Seat locked. Soul Chess Piece card confirmed.”

At this moment, Fiestrion acted again, taking over the process begun by another system and completing the compilation of the Soul Chess Piece’s traits.