Chapter 239: The Book No One Could Read

The Eastern continent had entered late winter.

Early morning frost settled white on the vegetable beds Kaelen planted behind the house; the wind blew past carrying a bone-dry cold very different from the damp chill of the Southern continent.

Kaelen woke up when the sky was not yet fully bright. He lay still for a moment, habitually reaching out to his side to feel around, touching an empty and freezing patch of blanket.

Right, the children had been gone for more than a month already.

Previously, every morning he was awakened by Finnick howling for food, Chloe smacking her master’s cheek, Ryder rummaging through his space looking for watermelon. Now the entire wooden house only had the crackling sound of the fire in the fireplace.

Sane wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on his mate’s head, his voice still hoarse with sleep: "You woke up early again."

"I couldn’t sleep." Kaelen rubbed his face into Sane’s chest, letting out a sigh: "I wonder if the kids are being good, the snow is falling very heavily over there..."

"There is Draven, there is Aaron, there is also Arthur over there." Sane patted Kaelen’s back; although saying that, his heart did not feel much better. Last night he tossed and turned dozens of times, just not wanting to say it out loud to make his mate worry more.

The two of them had not even had time to be fully sad when a loud knocking sound rang out outside the door.

"Priest Kaelen! Chief Sane! Are you two awake?! My Master is calling you two over immediately!"

Kaelen opened the door, seeing Bertram standing in the yard, his body still covered in road dust, sweat pouring down despite the biting cold weather. Tightly tied to his back was an ash-gray stone chest half the size of a person, its four corners wrapped in copper that had tarnished with time.

"Did you just return from the tribe?" Kaelen was surprised: "Wasn’t it scheduled to arrive in three days?"

Bertram panted heavily: "My Master urged too much, I ran for two days and two nights without resting. Let’s go quickly, the old man is waiting!"

The residence of the two Sages was located right next to the forbidden area. Kaelen and Sane had just stepped in and saw Valmot and Solomon sitting opposite each other on two rocking chairs; between them was an empty wooden table, the atmosphere unusually solemn. Even Valmot, who was lazy his whole life, had neatly combed his hair and beard today, sitting with a straight back rather than lying sprawled out like every other day.

Bertram placed the stone chest on the table, so careful that he held his breath.

Solomon took a drag of his pipe, tapped it against the edge of the chair, his voice hoarse: "Sit down, you two brats."

Kaelen and Sane sat down, a premonition rising in their hearts that the thing about to be brought out was not ordinary at all.

Valmot placed his hand on the chest lid, pressing the four corners in a specific sequence. The grating sound of stone rubbing against stone rang out, the chest lid slowly opened, revealing inside a layer of black silk that had decayed to the point that a light touch would turn it to dust.

Beneath the silk layer was a book.

As soon as Kaelen saw it, his pupils immediately shrank.

The book cover was made of a material resembling leather yet not leather, so thin it was almost transparent, but time had not left a single stain on it. The pages inside were as thin as dragonfly wings, as light as dust; under the early morning candlelight, they even reflected a faint layer of luster.

It was Elf paper. Not three loose sheets stored in the Martial God Shrine’s jade box, but an entire book three finger-joints thick.

Sane squeezed his mate’s hand tightly, his breathing also becoming slightly heavier.

"Five hundred years ago, the Alliance of the ten large tribes in the Eastern continent was secretly manipulated and battered to pieces." Solomon slowly opened his mouth, his aged eyes looking into the void, as if looking through five centuries: "Five tribes were completely wiped out, not leaving a single survivor. I and this old man were still young at that time, dispatched to provide reinforcements, but arriving there we only saw a sea of fire."

Valmot stroked his beard, continuing, his voice strangely calm: "In those ruins, the dying Priest of the White Crane clan shoved this chest into my hands, telling me to run. He said the thing inside must not fall into the hands of the one who burned his tribe."

The old man paused, chuckling once: "I carried it on my back running for three days and three nights, getting slashed by someone from the back piercing through to the front chest. My foundation was ruined from then on, unable to cultivate a single step further in my entire life."

Kaelen was startled and raised his head. He still thought the "damaged foundation" matter that Valmot often dragged out to bicker with Solomon was just an old person’s joke.

Solomon snorted, his gaze glancing at his old friend, containing something very much like respect, but his mouth still refused to lose: "At that time I carried both you and the chest running, don’t claim all the credit alone."

"Hmph!"

The two old men bickered for two sentences then fell silent together. A long while later, Solomon finally sighed, pushing the book towards Kaelen:

"We managed to keep it, but for these five hundred years, we haven’t been able to read a single word in it."

Kaelen was stunned: "You can’t read it?"

"Cannot read it." Solomon nodded, his face clearly revealing bitterness: "I brought it to ask everywhere, asking even the oldest living Sages on this continent. Not a single person knows what script this is. I kept a thing I couldn’t read for five hundred years; tell me, is it stupid?"

Valmot curled his lip: "Stupid it is, but do you dare to throw it away? You don’t dare, right."

Solomon did not answer, only taking another very long drag of his pipe.

Kaelen reached out his hand, paused mid-air for a beat, then carefully flipped open the cover page.

Then he froze on the spot.

The densely packed characters on the paper page meandered like tree roots; the end of each stroke had a small hook flicking upwards. Kaelen had looked at this type of script for two hundred years in his previous life, on every record book of Spiritual Planters, on every species name tag in his nursery.

It was not completely identical. The writing style was more ancient, some characters had strokes omitted, some had extra dots he had never seen before. But its framework was unmistakable.

"Brat?" Valmot saw Kaelen’s complexion was not right, craning his neck out: "What’s wrong, what’s the matter with you?"

Kaelen did not answer. His finger trembled gliding over the first line of text, his lips moving, struggling to piece together every single sound.

The room was dead silent. Four pairs of eyes were glued to him.

A very long time later, Kaelen finally raised his head, his eyes red, his voice dry:

"I... I can read a part of it."

The pipe in Solomon’s hand dropped to the floor. Valmot almost tumbled out of the rocking chair; fortunately, Bertram had fast reflexes and caught him.

"You... what did you say?!" Solomon jumped up, completely forgetting his sore back, leaning forward: "Can read it?! You can really read it?!"

Kaelen nodded, pointing at the four large characters in the middle of the page: "This part I am sure of. As for the latter part, the writing style is too ancient; I need time."

"What do these four words write?!" Both old men shouted together.

Kaelen pursed his lips, slowly reading:

"Mandate Origin Nourishing Method."

The air in the room momentarily stagnated.

Solomon staggered back half a step, leaning against the chair armrest, his voice trembling violently: "Mandate... Origin Nourishing... Is it a cultivation technique meant for Mandate Bearers?!"

He suddenly punched his own chest hard once, his eyes bloodshot, howling like a wounded beast:

"Five hundred years! For these five hundred years, how many Mandate children have died prematurely before my eyes?! This thing was lying right in my chest, right under my feet, yet I just sat watching them die!!!"

Bertram hurriedly ran over to support his Master, his eyes also red. Valmot sat still on the chair, his beard trembling, one hand covering his eyes, not saying anything.

Kaelen also could not say anything. He only hugged the book tightly to his chest, feeling its weight pressing down on his arms.

This Beastman continent had never lacked knowledge. It was just that those who held it had all died, and among those who managed to keep it, no one could read it anymore.

Sane placed his hand on his mate’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

---

That night, Kaelen lit a candle and sat copying each character in the book onto the wood pulp paper, cross-referencing with what he still remembered from his previous life. Copying until the third watch, his eyes already drooping shut, he finally let Sane drag him to bed.

But having just lain down for a moment, he suddenly shot up.

A very strange burning sensation surged in his chest, as if someone had just placed a burning coal in the middle of his heart. Hot, then a sharp twinge, then completely extinguished, leaving behind a cold empty void.

"What’s wrong?" Sane also sat up along with him, reaching out to feel his mate’s forehead.

Kaelen hugged his chest, his complexion pale white: "I don’t know... Just now I felt hot, right here."

Sane frowned tightly. He also felt his heart just skip a beat, only not as clearly as his mate.

Kaelen sat blankly on the bed, pinching his fingers silently counting. Finnick, Ryder, Edward, Oliver, then Ignis, then Orion. Every single child was separated from him by an entire continent; every single one he could not see, could not touch, did not know what they were eating or wearing at this hour.

He counted back and forth three times, eventually still unable to determine which child that burning sensation just now transmitted from.

He looked up at Sane, his voice breaking: "Did something happen to the kids?"

Sane hugged him tightly, his hand mechanically patting his mate’s back. He did not dare to answer, because he himself was also afraid.

"The array still has twenty-nine trips." A very long time later he finally spoke, his voice dropping low: "If you want, tomorrow we go."

Kaelen remained silent for a long time, ultimately still shaking his head.

He knew he could not go. As long as the whole family stood together in the same array, that person hiding in the darkness would immediately smell the scent. The children had just escaped their line of sight; he could not personally lead them back.

"Wait a bit longer." Kaelen rested his head on his mate’s shoulder, hoarsely saying: "Wait until I finish reading this book."

Outside the window, the winter wind blew through the forest, howling intermittently like a crying sound.