[Lord of Abundance] Chapter 28: Mythic Chronicles

 Chapter 28: Mythic Chronicles

Just how strong Kun’s practical ability truly was—across both the Eternal Dawn Continent and Blue Star—only he himself had any real sense of it.

To the world, he was the prodigy who stepped into the ranks at six, a grand mage at fifteen. What they didn’t know was that at ten, he had created Abundance Magic; and by fifteen, he had built it from nothing into a complete system, raising it to the third tier. Now, at sixteen, Kun had already stepped into the fourth tier—a superior existence.

Even after reaching the fourth tier, he wasn’t satisfied. He had begun reverse-engineering a more accessible fourth-tier advancement system—one with lower entry requirements. Rumor had it he was already making progress.

If that news ever spread, the entire continent would erupt.

After all, the Heroic Domain had always been a mysterious realm only the chosen could enter. Stumbling into it by chance was one thing—but to claim one could guide others into that supreme domain?

Since the dawn of humanity—since it rose to become one of the dominant races on the continent—no one had ever achieved such a feat.

The Tale of Wizard Tom—bah, Harry Potter.

A normal person, even if they didn’t like the protagonist, would at least admire the headmaster. But this guy? From the very first installment, he idolized the Dark Lord. He’d say things like, “The Dark Lord is truly a role model for our kind.” If Li Tianyun hadn’t stopped him, the Fengrao Territory might have ended up with a very different name.

To people on Blue Star, those films were just fantasy—an imaginary world whose magic could never be realized.

But to Kun, it wasn’t like that.

Because he idolized the Dark Lord—and since the Dark Lord could speak Parseltongue—Kun had used a magical gemstone to create an artifact capable of simple communication with low-level beasts. He even named it the “Potter Stone” (with a faint hint of mockery).

As for the three Unforgivable Curses—according to Kun, similar magic did exist on the Eternal Dawn Continent, and he had already learned them all. Though in practice, their destructive power was still inferior to a basic fire explosion spell.

And now this lunatic was talking about researching Horcruxes?

Horcruxes—things that required flesh and soul as sacrifices to create.

Whether others could achieve it, Li Tianyun didn’t know—probably not.

But Kun?

He wouldn’t dare be certain.

Even if Kun couldn’t make a true Horcrux, he would absolutely create something similar. Never underestimate the hands-on ability of a fanatical enthusiast.

Li Tianyun rubbed his forehead, a headache forming.

Someone, please tell him—how exactly do you stop a madman like this?

Right now, the people of the Fengrao Territory were probably praising their lord’s “kindness” without end.

But Li Tianyun knew the truth.

What Kun displayed had never been kindness—it was calculation born of absolute rationality.

He didn’t care for the people because of compassion.

He cared because their deaths would introduce variables that interfered with his plans.

That was why he thought more, did more.

And to those who didn’t know the truth, it appeared as benevolence.

In reality, Kun was cold to the core.

Otherwise, across two worlds, how could he barely muster even two friends?

He was distant even toward his own family.

A person like that—how could he possibly be called kind?

Too naïve.

In Kun’s eyes, “self” and “the world” were two completely separate domains.

Everything outside the self—joy, sorrow, life, death—had nothing to do with him. None of it could truly move his heart.

If the deaths of the Fenrao Territory’s people didn’t interfere with his farming plans, then even if everyone died tomorrow—

Kun wouldn’t frown.

Of course, “self” didn’t only mean Kun himself.

It included the few people he truly cared about.

Li Tianyun. Old Tate. Perhaps Dawn counted as half.

In fact, Li Tianyun suspected that among all the native inhabitants of the Fengrao Territory, aside from Joel, no one—not even a prodigy like Nia—had truly been remembered by Kun.

Kun had two kinds of memory.

One—what he saw with his eyes and held in his heart: true memory.

The other—what he stored in his mind like books on a shelf: to be pulled out when needed, then discarded again. People in this category would never be remembered on their own.

This kind of coldness, in a way, was one of the traits of great figures.

Killing one makes you a criminal. Killing ten thousand makes you a hero. Kill nine million—and you become a hero among heroes.

It had always been so.

Li Tianyun wasn’t condemning him.

After all, if he could become Kun’s friend, it meant they were fundamentally the same kind of person.

Similar—but not identical.

And perhaps what created that difference was simple:

Compared to Kun, his own life hadn’t been so bad.

That was also why Kun liked Blue Star so much.

People are haunted all their lives by what they couldn’t obtain in their youth.

What they once longed for becomes something they later dismiss—yet can never truly let go.

Such is human contradiction.

—

The so-called laboratory that replaced a mage tower was, in truth, just a hidden room the size of an ordinary chamber.

But it was filled with all kinds of strange and grotesque objects.

There were claws that looked half human, half beast. A crimson eyeball the size of a fist, with fine, tentacle-like filaments writhing behind its sclera.

And most eye-catching of all—

A “golden” door standing at the very center of the room, woven from mature wheat stalks. Mysterious. Lush with life.

Li Tianyun glanced once at the Gate of Abundance—the door that connected two worlds—then looked away.

On Blue Star, this thing would probably trigger World War III.

But back when Kun had dragged him into the Eternal Dawn Continent, he had already seen enough of it. There was nothing novel anymore.

It was simply a door that only Kun could pass through.

Any other being with a mature soul would be reduced to charred remains upon crossing.

Beside the golden door stood another object—

A lifelike golden dog statue, baring its teeth in a vivid, almost grotesque expression.

“Come—take a look at my latest discovery.”

Kun’s voice brimmed with barely restrained excitement.

“A severed insect limb… and a drop—well, half a drop—of blood?”

Li Tianyun stared at the two crystal containers Kun presented, puzzled.

The container on the right wasn’t filled with liquid, yet a tiny droplet of blood floated suspended within it.

The one on the left held a golden insect leg, immersed inside.

A faint glow filled the container—not because the crystal emitted light, nor the limb itself, but because the limb naturally gathered surrounding light elements, creating the illusion of radiance.

“An insect limb? Half a drop of blood? That’s not wrong—but that ‘insect limb’ you’re talking about is recorded in Mythic Chronicles as the remnant of Fenrinsai, the Devourer—an evil insect that once fed on the flesh of the Sky God. It is also a sacred relic bestowed by the Sky Goddess—the Golden Sacred Scarab. And this half-drop of blood was something I extracted from that limb.”

“The Sky Goddess I’ve heard of—she’s one of the six major deities worshipped on this continent, right? But this Sky God—where did that come from? And this insect leg—sacred scarab, evil insect—this is getting confusing.”

“That’s normal. The Eternal Dawn Continent isn’t like Blue Star, with a single civilization. The same deity can have different identities, titles, avatars, and powers among different races.”

“Even historians specializing in ancient history are confused by the records here. And once you mix in mythological accounts—it’s even worse. Nine parts falsehood, one part truth.”

“But what does that have to do with your discovery?”

“No rush. Let me explain.”

After saying that, Kun stared at the floating half-drop of blood, utterly absorbed.

Time passed.

Nothing.

Li Tianyun sighed. “Well? Go on.”

Kun snapped out of it, then looked at him seriously.

“You—do you believe in gods?”

“Or rather… do you think gods truly exist in this world?”

Gods?

Li Tianyun hesitated.

Before meeting Kun, he had been certain they didn’t exist.

After meeting him…

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

Maybe they did.

After all, from a certain perspective, he had experienced a miracle—one that gave him a second chance at life.

To attribute all of that to mere luck… felt like a stretch.

“One of the ultimate pursuits of all mages,” Kun said, eyes gleaming, “is to disprove the existence of gods.”

He pointed at the crystal container.

“And yet—I’ve discovered half a drop of blood that may belong to a god. Tell me—does that count as a major breakthrough?”

Half a drop of divine blood?

Li Tianyun stared at it.

It looked completely ordinary—bright red, no different from human blood.

Except for one thing—

In normal conditions, blood didn’t float.

“This is divine blood? Are you serious?”

“Eighty to ninety percent certain. You asked earlier about the Sky God and Sky Goddess, right? It all ties back to Mythic Chronicles.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s not a modern text. Three thousand years ago, when the Sun and Moon Elves still dominated the continent, the ancient elven empire compiled it as a comprehensive record of mythological history.”

“It’s far more reliable than the theological texts of today’s Six Divine Churches—those that try to elevate their patron gods into creators of the universe.”

“Because it’s a work from an ancient non-human civilization, some of its contents aren’t exactly flattering to the current six gods. So only well-read archmages or historians know of its existence.”

Li Tianyun smirked. “That sounds like you praising yourself.”

“Just stating facts. I read it in the original language—not a translation. Do I sound arrogant?”

“Not at all. Not even a little.”

“Enough joking. What I’m about to say—keep it to yourself. The Church’s fanatics are reckless and fearless. Best not to provoke them.”

“In Mythic Chronicles, the deity now widely worshipped as the Sky Goddess was not originally known by that name. She was once called the Radiant Goddess—a subordinate deity of the Sky God.”

“That’s why we have the Church of Light, not a Church of Sky.”

“It’s certain that the Sky God has fallen. As for how—that part isn’t recorded. Because the Sun and Moon Elves, who worshipped him as a chief deity… collapsed overnight. Their entire civilization was wiped out.”

“As for how the Radiant Goddess inherited the Sky God’s title and became the present Sky Goddess…”

“Who knows?”

Li Tianyun’s expression turned serious. “That sounds like a conspiracy.”

Kun smiled, but said nothing.

Mages valued rigor. Speculation, however reasonable, often strayed far from truth. Drawing conclusions from fragmentary evidence was irresponsible.

“Neither the Church’s texts nor Mythic Chronicles explicitly state that the Radiant Goddess and the Sky Goddess are the same being. That’s my inference—based on this scarab limb and this drop of blood.”

“You’ve seen it yourself—the blood isn’t of light. It belongs to wind… or more precisely, the domain of ‘sky’—the atmosphere.”

“And the Golden Sacred Scarab itself isn’t aligned with light either.”

“In the legends of the Dansu Kingdom, the scarab was a sacred relic given to holy knights to suppress a legendary undead creature. Notice—relic, not creature. Which means it was already dead when it was bestowed.”

“A goddess associated with light—whose divine arts are all light-based—shouldn’t have wind affinity. Yet from her relic, I extracted a drop of blood with extraordinary properties… aligned with the sky.”

“Doesn’t that seem strange?”

“Wait—there’s still one problem. How do you prove that’s divine blood? It could just be from some other creature.”

Kun’s expression turned peculiar.

“Do you know what ‘divine blood’ represents in alchemy?”

“What?”

“It represents the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“The so-called Elixir of Transmutation. The glory of the phoenix. The universal panacea. The Red Tincture.”

“The power of morality and divinity.”

“The mystery of all mysteries.”