Chapter 47: The World-Shaking Wisdom of Anda and Washtor

Page (1/3)

Aaron, having successfully ignited the fire, lay beneath the stove, blowing with effort, without worrying about choking on a face full of ash. His father might be unreliable in many ways, but no one could fault his skill in working with clay. When he crafted this clay stove, he even devised what Malum called the "air channel" technique, ensuring that smoke and soot would not escape during burning. It sounded like the duty of Hephaestus, the god of craftsmen.

Aaron looked up at his father eagerly. "Father, can you teach me these things too? I consider myself quite handy, but many things must be learned and understood before one can make them."

Anda patted his dirt-stained hands casually and said, "Don’t you see your brothers in your dreams? I vaguely recall some of them are skilled artisans. Just learn from them when the time comes."

He looked at his son with a serious expression. "But learning these won’t be useful. Human society today doesn’t support making intricate tools, nor will it improve your standard of living."

Aaron complained, "I could teach my younger brothers!"

"Kilimann and Loga are already grown, but both are busy—one handling the mess you left behind, the other still trying to stabilize his own world, both fighting demons," Anda replied. "Chagatai’s still small; although taller than you, he’s only four years old."

"What if the brothers in my dreams keep getting younger, even infants? Then I’ll have to learn more to teach them," Aaron added.

Anda fell into rare contemplation, which was never a good sign. When he pondered, it usually meant Mother frowned and sighed, hinting that stubborn, troublesome thoughts were brewing in his mind.

"Stop, stop! Don’t speak, don’t open your mouth. Let’s finish dinner tonight first, then at dusk we’ll check out this Dionysian festival here," Aaron decided swiftly, cutting off his father’s wandering thoughts.

Anda washed his hands clean, rubbed his beard thoughtfully, and leaned against the courtyard wall, murmuring, "If the eldest could help watch the children in dreams, I’d have more reason to persuade Erda to bear me more children."

"Erda thinks I’m unreliable; her son can’t be any more trustworthy. But I’m not that bad, am I? So why do those brats all have complaints about me?"

Aaron didn’t catch his father’s self-reflection as he hurriedly called Malum to bring over the prepared ingredients. The kitchen pot was cooking normally, and any leftover food could be used to test his father’s new stove design.

Malum carefully carried a whole table out, inspecting His Majesty’s “invention.”

Page (2/3)

It appeared to be a new kind of oven, preventing smoke and flying debris from contaminating the food while maintaining sufficient heat for baking, thus preserving the food’s flavor to the greatest extent—

He couldn’t go on praising it; after all, as a warrior focused on efficiency, Malum was not good at compliments. To a warrior who valued speed, a flat pan oiled and used for frying or roasting worked just as well.

Unfortunately, his father would never enjoy such family moments with His Majesty.

Anda returned and nudged Aaron aside. "Go put the food away; I want to examine the stove."

Aaron muttered, "The fire’s already lit; just add wood next. If you want me to do something, just say it instead of finding an excuse."

Anda remained unflustered. "Controlling the heat is the essence. If you burn the food, we’ll have to starve tonight. By the way, that’s an old saying from some era and region; future memories get too complicated and keep wiping my mind."

Across the table, Malum looked at Aaron, who was concentrating on arranging the food, with envy. All the original beings probably admired this elder brother.

Though he had no right to comment on His Majesty’s paternal relationship, at least father and son were together. Without the constraints of lord-subject ties or grand expedition goals, Malum’s reaction was like Kilimann’s—thinking it wasn’t so bad.

As the sun gradually set, huge torches lit up throughout Yunu City, along with bonfires in every district. The lively streets outside and the bustling human life created a comforting, down-to-earth atmosphere.

The three sat down to eat. On the other side, instead of a chair, there was a large trough for Old Five, the donkey.

Malum was meticulous about Old Five’s cleanliness, likely spending his daily prayer time maintaining the donkey’s hygiene.

As a result, this once old and filthy donkey now appeared much cleaner and neater, eating fresh hay without any odor.

Perhaps after tens of thousands of years, that would be considered a sacred Terra native crop, which nobles wouldn’t even get to taste much.

"By the way, it’s been a long time since I dreamed of Chagatai. I only saw him taming White Scar, a huge wild Chogoris stallion. If only he could teach me some horse-riding skills," Anda said, chewing on a half piece of fish.

"Why learn to ride? Our family only has one donkey, and everyone rides on Malum’s back. Should I make a pun?" he added.

Aaron looked puzzled. "Hmm?"

Anda waved his hand, signaling it was nothing. "Just some strange thoughts drifting by."

"You don’t need to learn horse riding; you don’t know how to drive a cart either. You only watch the races to see the girls your age wearing festival robes that expose their arms."

Aaron, embarrassed and angry, snapped, "Enough! Just eat your meal properly!"

Anda chuckled at Malum. "See, young people just have weak mental endurance. Oh, your father Kilimann is the same."

Apparently, at the other side of the table, only Old Five the donkey was immune to the teasing, as it didn’t understand human speech—just a stubborn donkey.

Page (3/3)

"By the way," Anda’s tone returned to a reasonable level after a series of ramblings, "there will be a market near the Dionysian festival. Some so-called inventors will be tinkering with their gadgets there."

"Aaron, Malum and I will go gather information. You just wander around casually, but remember this!"

Anda’s gaze grew serious, and Aaron instinctively straightened up. Was his father about to say something important?

He said, "Don’t waste money investing in those self-proclaimed inventors and their scams. The money at home is all earned by me—spend it sparingly. I’d rather you chase after girls—wheat-colored skin," he pointed to his own, "healthy."

Aaron didn’t know how long he held back from flipping the table.

After Malum and he cleared the dishes, Aaron stormed back to his room to sleep in a huff.

Meanwhile, three thousand meters away, at the center of Yunu, beside the Sun God Temple.

Someone had already laid out the market boundaries. An elderly man named Anliwen, with strange wooden contraptions, was sleeping in his tent, having arrived early to secure a prime spot.

He prayed that during the festival these days, some foolish rich noble’s son would be attracted by his craftsmanship and provide some sponsorship.

Anliwen snored deeply, clutching his creation, lost in eternal emptiness.

A majestic voice called out to him: "Anliwen, I will bestow upon you supreme craftsmanship, but you must offer me a life in return."

Within the treacherous labyrinth, several demons responsible for inspecting incoming materials were checking the quality of several suits of war machines, flying about and hammering and knocking.

Vashtor, who usually needed demons to trade with him and whose debts could overwhelm most demon merchants, was now personally dispatching envoys to seek the help of the Lord of Transmutation.

"The Black King is stuck in that position. I must—no, you must find a way to eliminate him. Otherwise, you will never become one of us."

The Lord of Transmutation’s voice always troubled Vashtor, but he dared not question the cunning plan’s correctness!

This was indeed what he needed most.

After all, the current frozen sun was beyond handling. He was eager to trigger a grand ascension.

Yet the Black King just sat stubbornly on the throne, refusing to rise.