Wizard: My career panel has no upper limit

After receiving the news from the traveler, the psychic entered into a deep meditation.

No one knows what she saw; the meditation was performed without any assistants present, and no record was left in any form.

Outsiders only know that she went in, but they don't know what she saw inside or how long she stayed there.

Around dusk, she stood up from beside the tree and walked back to the council chamber.

The high-ranking spiritual medium in the hall had been waiting for a long time, and everyone looked at her with trepidation.

The spiritual medium sat down in the main seat and accepted the tea offered by his assistant.

"Before making the official announcement, I'd like to ask you a question."

The eldest medium bowed slightly: "Please speak."

"What would a child think if he knew he was born as part of someone's plan?"

The three of them exchanged a glance.

"That...it depends on the child's personality," the middle one replied softly.

"Some people will resent it, some will be grateful, and some will not think about anything and just continue to live."

“Yes.” The medium nodded, his expression containing something that was hard to define—whether it was relief or exhaustion.

"We will continue to live."

Her gaze fell on the teacup.

“Someone in the tree told me about those occasional flashes of a broad perspective that seemed to come from outside the world during meditation.”

Those images, which do not belong to any known ancestors, are not the kind of serendipitous encounters or revelations we might think of.

The hall was quiet for a moment.

"What you mean, sir..."

“Someone put it in,” the head medium said in a very calm tone.

"And it's been there for a long time."

Another silence followed, this time much longer than before.

The eldest medium spoke first, his voice somewhat hoarse: "Then...who is that person?"

“I don’t know, and neither does the tree.” The medium raised his eyes. “But what I do know is…”

"Those revelations enabled us to make the right choices during the most difficult times."

"So, I plan to tell everyone about this."

She soon announced the new doctrine and named it the preface to "Song of the Night".

"The Creator is the first light, a light older than the sun."

Within their theological framework, discovering an older, more fundamental light is neither confusing nor frightening.

The theological system of the Sunrise Church underwent a complete restructuring in the following period.

Those expansive perspectives that occasionally flash through deep meditation, like those from outside the world;

Those vague images that clearly did not belong to any known bloodline ancestors were all retroactively recognized as direct proof of the existence of the Creator.

"The Song of the Night" is reinterpreted, "The Song of Darkness" is re-annotated, and "The Song of Light" is interpreted from a completely new perspective:

"The Creator sent down light and wove us together from nothing; this is the true beginning."

The Sunrise Church subsequently submitted a formal proposal to the parliament:
Based on the Creator, the three parties rebuild their cooperation and jointly serve the Supreme One who brought the bloodline out of nothingness.

To put it bluntly, whether or not there is a creator is not important.

This is the gun they pulled out, a gun that forced the three major factions back to the leadership of psychics.

The chief lightsmith responded swiftly the day after receiving the proposal.

There's only one word: "Bullshit."

Realizing this was impolite, he later added the full position of the Deepstone Church in person after attending parliament:

"If someone designed us, we should be more aware of who we are, rather than kneeling before that designer."

Machines should not idolize engineers; they should understand their own structure and what they can and cannot do.

Then, based on this understanding, decide on the path you want to take.

Blindly following the designer's will is merely another form of imprisonment.

After he finished speaking, he glanced in the direction of the Sunrise Church seats and added:
"Of course, if you insist on deifying engineers, I can't stop you, but please don't use this to hijack parliamentary decisions."

The representative of the Sunbeam Cult looked back at him coldly:
"What makes you, the Deep Stone Cult, think you understand the intentions of that being better than we do?"

“Because we don’t need intentions,” the chief lightsmith replied, his tone ambiguous, whether arrogant or sincere.

"We only need results."

The Beastman general did not attend the council.

He chose a gathering of all the travelers to deliver his answer.

"We were created, and that may be true."

"But creation is not the same as control. The choice made on that cold night was made by the first leader himself."

That was his choice; no one did it for him.

"The mistake of this civil unrest is our own."

The deaths of those two young people were caused by us, not by the creator.

Because he didn't stop us, nor did he make any decisions for us.

He paused for a moment, allowing the silence of the square enough room for his next words to settle:

"I want to ask the creator one question, just one question: Did you ever give us the right to refuse?"

After those words were spoken, the square remained silent for a long time.

Then, a real split began within the Faraways.

Some people chose to follow the path of the Sunrise Cult, and this is how they explained it:

Knowing that they had been designed gave them a strange sense of comfort.

It's like finding a footprint in a wilderness where you've been lost for a long time, proving that someone has been there.

Even though the owner of that footprint had long since left, and this wilderness remained deserted, that footprint made the wilderness no longer completely unfamiliar.

Another group followed the general's question, deciding not to accept any theological interpretation or the purely technocratic dismantling of the Deepstone cult.

They need to find the creator, send a direct signal, and wait for a response.

Creationism, along with something more difficult to name, which we'll tentatively call theocracy.

Although none of them actually wanted to "kill" anything, they only asked the creator to answer for them.

But in the eyes of the Sunrise Cult, this was not much different from god killing.

The conflict between divine creation and divine annihilation became the most profound internal conflict in the final stage of the Bloodline Civilization.

Ron watched all of this unfold without saying a word.

That was the life I designed, the seed I planted myself.

Some of their questions had answers they already knew, while others had answers they didn't know.

Just as he was starting to organize his thoughts, he suddenly realized that he didn't seem to need to think about this problem anymore.

Because, in the blink of an eye, the situation was rapidly deteriorating.

The radical faction of the Sunrise Cult chose to act on a moonless night.

They used their positions to obtain a special kind of fuel.

The archives of the Lightsmith Workshop record that this was originally a dangerous substance that needed to be properly stored to prevent it from causing fires in underground mine tunnels.

It was brought, set ablaze, and poured onto the trunk of the sacred tree and its roots near the ground.

The flames flared up violently upon contact with the liquid.

The inner layer of the tree trunk contains a reserve of light energy accumulated over thousands of years by the continuous transmission of light through the pyroxene resonant nodes.

When that light energy is released in a concentrated manner at high temperatures, the size of the flames exceeds the limit that can be manually extinguished within the first few minutes.

The radicals knelt in the smoke, praying and waiting for a miracle, waiting for the Creator to perceive their devotion.

Waiting for a pure tree to fall from the sky and be born from the flames.

No miracle occurred.

Flames have their own logic, which has nothing to do with theology, but only with heat conduction and the distribution of combustibles.

It spread along those roots, climbed up the trunk, and the gray-white branches curled, broke, and fell downwards in the firelight.

The day after the fire, the chief medium came alone to the ashes of the tree.

She sat amidst the charcoal and the remains of her kin, burned to death, and placed her palms on the ground.

After sitting in that gray area for a whole day, the chief medium stood up and walked back to the council hall of the Sunrise Church.

She told those present that she was going to enter into one last deep meditation.

The wording of that statement made several of the mediums immediately understand what the other party meant.

This is the last time, not this time.

When pressed by her subordinates, she only said one sentence:

"There are still people in the tree who haven't left. I'm going to see them off on their final journey."

She then died by self-immolation in meditation, without any pain or struggle.

Those high-ranking mediums all made the same choice, following their leader.

On the other hand, seeing that the situation was completely out of control, the general did not spend much time preparing for the long journey.

On the fourth day after the fire, he gathered those who were still willing to follow him.

He stood beside the city wall, his back to the direction of Dawn City, facing the border line as he waited.

Among those who arrived, some came quickly and others slowly, their steps hesitant, clearly indicating that they had been repeatedly thinking along the way.

In the end, about two hundred people gathered.

The general did not call roll, did not make a count, and did not provide any form of list.

He waited until everyone who was willing to come had arrived, then stood beside that rough section of the city wall and spoke.

"There's a memory hidden within the Echoing Tree," he said.
"It was the first leader who took that step out on that cold night. How long he hesitated before taking that step is not recorded in the tree."

The tree only recorded the moment he walked out, and the two words he uttered.

His gaze swept across the faces of the two hundred people, confirming that they were listening.

"But I think that before he walked out, he must have spent a long time standing still."

"He didn't know whether the person opposite him was friend or foe, he didn't know if he would be stabbed to death on the spot if he went out, and he didn't know if he could leave a record in the tree."

"But he still left."

"What we need to do now," the general's voice lowered slightly here:

"It wasn't heroic, it wasn't a resistance, and it wasn't a declaration of war against anyone. We just didn't want to stay here any longer."

He turned around and looked eastward, at the horizon that had not yet been fully developed, where the morning light slanted down through the gaps in the clouds.

"If you could hear these words..."

He spoke in that direction without using any honorifics.

"The one who created our existence, I want you to know:"

Our decision to leave has nothing to do with you; you haven't done anything to make us resent you.

After saying that, he didn't turn around and started walking forward.

No one led the applause, and no one shed tears.

They followed one after another, heading towards the morning light beyond the border.

After the general left, those who remained knew better than anyone that the crossbeam supporting the internal balance had been removed.

Those who remained were mainly the technical team of the Deep Stone Cult, as well as a group of ordinary mediums who had neither fled with the general nor been martyred with the chief medium.

Initially, these psychics also attempted to restore order by establishing a new leader.

They held a small confession ceremony beside the remains of the Echoing Tree, electing a young psychic as their representative.

The young psychic is the nephew of the former head psychic, and he is quite qualified and skilled in psychic techniques.

But that tree can no longer output any information.

The root system still extends underground, but nothing can flow along it anymore.

After the river dried up at its source, the riverbed remained, but the water had disappeared.

The young medium stood beside the tree, pressing his palm against the charred trunk, his brow furrowed.

After a long time, he opened his eyes, his face filled with panic:
"It's all gone, there's nothing left."

After that, the Deepstone Church's need for mediums quickly shifted from allies to mere decoration.

All they need now is a pretext to shut others up.

The new chief medium seemed to have noticed this, and began to appear less and less at council meetings, spending more and more time alone by that withered tree.

No one bothered him, which was convenient for both of them.

Meanwhile, the cracks in parliament began to widen at a much faster rate than anticipated.

Initially, the dispute stemmed from disagreements over resource allocation.

The Deepstone Cult holds maintenance control over most of the pyroxene resonance nodes.

This issue was never a problem during the period of tripartite division, but now it has become a key in their hands.

Whoever controls the supply of pyroxene determines which settlements can continue to function and which will slowly erode in the darkness.

Those who remained realized this and began to unite in protest.

The chief lightsmith's response was concise and cold:
"Technology is technology, and emotion is emotion; these two things should never be discussed together."

If you want to discuss the allocation of pyroxene, please provide data on resource accounting; don't use moral principles to demand technical compromises.

The data, of course, was calculated by Deepstone himself.

In those data, the reasons for favoring the Shenshi sect's settlements are always sufficient and clear.

The areas where the remaining residents stayed were often marked as having "low energy efficiency, and it is recommended to temporarily suspend supply."

They know how to use these tools, and they've known them for a long time, but they were suppressed by others before they had the opportunity to use them.

The anger of those who remained was genuine; they repeatedly voiced their concerns in parliament, citing old rules and calling for justice.

The chief lightsmith would always listen patiently to the whole thing, and then say:

"Rules only have meaning when everyone follows them. Right now, you are the only ones left who follow the rules, and your adherence offers no protection for yourselves."

The tone of his voice when he said this didn't sound sarcastic; he was simply stating a fact that he himself found somewhat boring.

One of the psychics who stayed behind once said to another person in private:

"They knew from the beginning that it would come to this, and perhaps they started designing it even earlier."

The story of that young couple left many more questions during a later re-examination.

During the girl's last trip, she applied to the psychic academy to borrow a pointing device.

The device was reportedly provided briefly by a technician from the Deep Stone Cult under the guise of "academic borrowing".

In the subsequent review, a systematic deviation was found in the guiding accuracy of the instrument.

But now, this discovery is meaningless.

Parliament itself is no longer able to push for any investigations, and the Deep Rock Church no longer recognizes any investigation results.

While the tree was still alive, those memories related to the Sunbeam Cult were quietly suppressed, while the narratives of the Deep Stone Cult were quietly elevated...

These alterations are bounded and handled with caution.

Now that the tree is gone, caution is no longer necessary.

The final internal strife came both suddenly and unexpectedly.

After supplies were cut off, the remaining people decided to take direct action.

They forcibly entered the Pyrostone Node area under the jurisdiction of the Deepstone Cult, intending to maintain it themselves.

The Deep Stone Cult's technical team deployed an armed guard under the pretext of protecting core facilities.

The two sides faced off in the dimly lit underground passage, the torchlight casting long, distorted shadows.

At first, neither of them made the first move; they just exchanged insults.

Soon, there was the first muffled thud, and no one could say for sure who fired first.

After that, things went into chaos, and the entire settlement was in complete disarray.

The little trust that everyone had left was now completely exhausted.

Upon receiving the news, the current head of the spiritual mediums gathered the remaining spiritual mediums together and brought out a batch of special fuel.

No one asked where the canister of flammable liquid came from, and no one had the mind to think about it at that moment.

The current spiritual leader said, "I sat by the tree for a long time, but I didn't feel anything."

"But I remember someone saying that the sun is not only in the sky, but also in the stones and in our blood."

"I don't know if it's true or not, but it reminded me of that song, the one that everyone knows how to sing."

He picked up the canister of flammable liquid and walked toward the few stone pillars that still stood in Dawn City.

The fire started in the main hall and then spread to the workshop area.

The pyroxene released its accumulated light energy at high temperatures, illuminating the entire hillside with dazzling brilliance.

The fiery clouds that only appear on the horizon at sunset were now burning on the earth.

No one tried to put out the fire; everyone just silently walked their own way home.

While the settlement was burning, campfires were still burning in the deserted camps outside the border.

The general from back then is now much older.

The days after he left were as difficult as he had anticipated, yet there was also an inexplicable sense of freedom.

They have no Radiant Stone nodes, no backup of the Echoing Tree; death is true death, irreversible, and cannot be repeated.

In the first few years, they lost many people because of this.

The loss led many to believe that the departure itself was a mistake.

Soon, their population dwindled to an alarming degree.

The population is predominantly elderly, with few children. Many young people die during their explorations, leaving no descendants.

The general needed someone to help him walk, but his eyes remained clear.

That evening, the sentry stood outside the general's tent and reported his findings:
"General, there seems to be a fire in the direction of where we used to live."

The general emerged from his tent and followed the sentry to a rock at the highest point of the camp.

The fire in the distance had already spread like wildfire and was rapidly moving towards the camp.

The people around me gradually woke up.

Everyone watched the flames, waiting for instructions.

The general turned around and looked at the people around him.

There are about seventy or eighty people in the camp, including men, women, children, the elderly, the infirm, and the disabled.

He coughed:
"Alright, we've been out for quite a while now, it's time to go home."

Just that simple sentence.

Some people burst into tears on the spot, while others simply lowered their heads and took a deep breath.

They didn't pack anything, although there wasn't much to pack anyway.

After assembling the group, everyone headed towards the firelight.

Someone started singing as they walked.

At first, it was just one person, then another person followed, and then yet another, and slowly everyone started singing.

The general walked at the front, stopping from time to time to wait for those who were walking slower.

Those who walk slowly may not be able to keep up with the pace, but they can still keep up with the tune, and their singing is more synchronized than the procession.

The procession walked for a very long time, until they reached a place where they could feel the heat of the fire.

The general said nothing, nor did he need to say anything.

It was probably a night like this when the first leader took that first step out.

Actually, there's no difference at all; both that step and this step lead to an unknown place.

Just as the flames were about to engulf his body, he thought of the young couple again.

Those two should have returned long ago; perhaps they're waiting for them up ahead.

He didn't turn around to look, but he knew that the people behind him were still there.

As long as the song continues, the person remains.

When the singing stops, that means you've truly arrived.

………………

By the following spring, the roots of the Echo Tree had already completely withered underground.

The stone wall still stands, but there's nothing inside anymore.

Antigonus looked at the screen in the observation room and closed his eyes.

Lady Mercury stood behind him, her hands resting on the back of the chair, without saying a word.

Antigonus's tone was ambiguous, a mix of感慨 (gǎnkǎi, a feeling of deep emotion) and regret: "They were not wiped out."

Lady Mercury said softly, "It was her own choice."

“Yes.” Antigonus nodded: “It was his own choice, and it remained so until the very end.”

He lingered on the page looking at the aerial view of the hills for a long time, then gently turned off the screen.

The moment the scoring system finished its calculations, the entire management of the small chessboard fell into a strange stillness.

Someone stretched time in this space, making it slightly tense at a certain point, and then released it.

The holographic projection began to display a dense array of numerical values.

The rankings, from highest to lowest, appeared sequentially in the center of the projection.

Green Tide, third.

Iron Tide, fourth.

Abyssal descendant, second.

And, before anyone could even glance at the very top, a name was already quietly hanging there.

The civilization of the Bloodline is the only one confirmed to have been completely wiped out.

There were no remaining tribes, no descendants crammed into corners to eke out a living, and not a single tree still bearing withered leaves.

That hillside is now just a desolate yet pristine landscape, with charred stone walls and withered roots that have sunk deep into the ground.

But its name remained at the very top of the rankings.

Some people shifted their attention away from the list and looked elsewhere;
Some people's brows furrowed slightly, then relaxed.

Only Antigonus remained calm, revealing an expression of "I knew it."

The silence was broken by dissenting voices:

"The weight of the civilization survival indicator in the rating system has never been less than 30%."

The high priest, who posted the message on the public channel, carefully considered his words, not wanting to offend the great being:
"A civilization that has completely perished, no matter how high its complexity score is, has its survival factor at zero, so its total weighted score should not reach the top." (End of Chapter)