Cthulhu Gonfalon

After solving the little problem at Keane Hill, the following days were calm and peaceful without nothing much to be mindful of.

At least, there was nothing for Sui Xiong.

So just like that, time rolled by smoothly. And soon, it was time to usher in the celebration ceremony of the 20th anniversary of the Republic of Northwest. Conveniently, it was also the opening day of the fourth Fighter Championship.

Originally, according to the rules, the Fighter Championship should have been held the previous year. However, the higher-ups of the Republic of Northwest had a discussion over how they held the Fighter Championship in the first year, followed by holding the National Day Ceremony in the next year. They had always felt that it was a bit of a waste of human and material resources. So they simply made a clear-cut adjustment and put the two events into the same year.

By doing so, the time spent would be more reasonable, and staffing arrangements would be more appropriate.

The Fighter Championship would be held in the summer while the National Day Ceremony would be held in the winter. Both were major events that required a few months to plan and prepare. It so happened that this year, everything was completed.

“During the Republic’s 20th anniversary, the Fourth Fighter Championship is convened. Though the contestants weren’t as amazing as the first, they were at least not as weak-kneed as those of the second, and they roughly maintained the standard of the third. It can be expected that, unless something happens to cause a drastic change in the group of masters below the legendary level on the Main Plane, contestants of the Fighter Championship will roughly be maintained at this standard. Maybe we can sort out the changes in the group of masters on the Main Plane through this competition perhaps once every ten years…”

A young historian who was sitting in the study room used a special magic ink to record down these words on a piece of special paper made of demon beast skin.

This historian was regarded as a different species among his own kind. This was apparent from the way he numbered the years when chronicling events. On the Main Plane, historians mainly used “major events” as the way they numbered the years. The specific approach was to take 12 years as one “period,” where each “period” would cite the most important event in the form of an epic, and the remaining events would be differentiated according to when they happened about the major event.

For instance, the period where the Republic of Northwest was established could be recorded as “the period of the Rise of Snow Country,” and then, this entire period would be specifically divided and numbered from “the 1st year of the period of the Rise of Snow Country,” all the way to “the 12th year of the period of the Rise of Snow Country.”

This approach originated from the time of the ancient Elf Empire. At that time, philosophers of the elven race had used such a method to number years. Later, though the Elf Empire was wiped out, this method of numbering years was passed down and inherited by historians.

Though many people felt that such an approach was a little indirect without a good focus, the historians begged to differ. They felt that such an approach was very appropriate if they had a good grasp of the main point.

After all, in this world, the difficulty in the field of “archaeology” would be far lower than the limitless height of Earth. If historians wanted to know exactly when a certain event occurred, they were not required to work so hard in cross-referencing against astronomical phenomena or various records. They could simply use a prophecy spell.

So long as the events were recorded correctly, the prophecy spell could accurately tell exactly when the events happened. The more accurate and detailed the records were, the clearer and more convenient the positioning of time would be. There would not be any confusion at all.

As for the unique situations where prophecy spells were unable to reap any results, the usual causes were generally because some powerful Legendary Master, or even masters at a god’s level, had executed some earth-shattering means to conceal certain events that occurred during the long course of history. One had to be wary of looking for trouble if they had the desire to examine the event closely—it was like you obviously knew certain matters were very sensitive and yet, you went ahead to investigate. Then in the end, you landed yourself in prison, and that would still be… sacrificing yourself for the sake of truth.

Throughout the years, this method of numbering years had always been used. Until the establishment of the Republic of Northwest, some scholars who came from the Church of the God of Knowledge came up with a new method of numbering years.

They suggested using some major historical events that could “open new chapters in history” as nodes so that a long history could be divided into a few big stages. Every stage would be specifically divided further into a varying number of years. Though this would cause the numbers to be relatively large, for the ordinary people, it was still a far friendlier approach as compared to the cumbersome “numbering years method via major events.”

A certain year in the Archean Calendar, a certain year in the Elven Calendar, a certain year in the Orc Calendar, a certain year in the Development Calendar and a certain year in the Republic Calendar—the new method of numbering years divided the history of civilization into these five stages. This five stages then corresponded to the era before the prosperity of ancient civilization, the era from the rise to the decline of the elf civilization, the era from the rise of the Orc civilization to the great development of mankind, the era from the great development of mankind to the establishment of the Republic, and lastly, the era after the establishment of the Republic.

This was just like on Earth, where the history of human civilization was divided into the primitive society, the slave society, the feudal society, and the near-modern society. It was simple and clear, where the person studying the history could roughly determine which stage of human civilization they were looking at exactly.

This might not be necessary for historians, but it was for ordinary people.

Over the past few years, because education was not popularized, a majority of ordinary people did not have the ability to recognize words, so they did not even worry about which year they were in nor did they know about their history. But the goal of the Republic of Northwest was to eliminate illiteracy and ensure a Republic where all its people had the ability to read. So the field of history responded to this call and embarked on the journey of innovation.

It was just like how a cicada would be aware in advance before the first autumn breeze blew. The more experienced and knowledgeable people were, the more they would be able to detect the changes in history, and the more they would feel the pulse of the great era. Therefore, they would be able to make correct choices in advance.

Just like if someone on Earth drew a divination lot that said “Here ye, here ye, someone by the name of Liu Xiu is going to become the emperor,” and thus he changed his name to Liu Xiu and tried to stage a revolt. As a result, the great scholar made a grave mistake due to incorrectly feeling the pulse of a great era. This was a lesson that the future generations could learn from, so they could prevent such mistakes from recurring.

After he finished writing a part of the record, the young historian put down his pen and gently blew a few breaths onto the paper before carefully placing it on the cork platform that was especially used for drying such materials. Then after he finished packing up the pen and ink, he moved to loosen up his neck and shoulders before getting to his feet.

Looking down from the window on the second floor, he could see that amidst the autumn scenery, many people were busy preparing for the National Day Ceremony.

The Republic of Northwest would hold a National Day Ceremony once every ten years. It was, more or less, the most important celebration ceremony of this country. And it was so grand and spectacular that even tourists from all over the world did not want to miss out on such a big excitement.

During the celebration ceremony, there would be endless wonderful performances, an unlimited supply of fine wine and an inexhaustible spread of fine cuisines. Just for that one celebration ceremony, the people of the Republic of Northwest, especially those from the Void City, needed to prepare for as long as three to four months.

Spending three to four months on preparing for just one celebration ceremony, was it worth it?

The young historian shook his head, sighed, and then laughed.

“Yes, it’s worth it.”

He said so to himself.

By this time, the paper made from the demon beast skin, that was placed onto the wooden platform, had dried. He took out a small yet sturdy little box, and from within, he took a pinch of powered stones that had been ground so finely that they were more minute than flour. Evenly, he sprinkled this power onto the piece of paper, and then he chanted the spell.

Following this wonderful spell, a magic rune appeared above that piece of paper made of demon beast skin. Then slowly, it fell upon the paper and blended in.

At first, both were clearly two separate entities, just like how oil and water were immiscible. However, as the spell continued to work its magic, such a feeling gradually waned, and finally, both blended to become a perfect combination. Just like mixing alcohol with water, they merged into one regardless of each other’s original form.

When the historian finally ended the casting of the spell, there were beads of perspiration above his brows. And that originally grayish-white paper of demon beast skin had now changed to a faint gold. The original black and green handwriting was also glowing with a silver-white light.

He held the paper up as though it were something very precious. Then from the bookshelf next to him, he retrieved a book made up of several loose pages strung together. He unstrung the book and placed this piece of paper as the last page.

This was the most important job of historians—documenting history.

Just for this job, they had to dedicate an entire lifetime, vowing never to seek fame and fortune, never to leave offspring, and only for their ideals to be passed down from generation to generation. In return, they earned the ability to create such wonderful pages that were almost indestructible.

On that shelf, there were several other books; those belonged to his teacher, and his teacher’s teacher. Those books belonged to the many generations of historians of their faction, the fruit of the painstaking labor of their entire lifetime. And this house was the sacred place of the historians. It was their temple, their altar, the place where they prayed and fought.

The young historian finished his work for the day. After putting away all his tools, he walked out of the room wearily. He felt very tired. He needed to go out for a walk to get some fresh air. Then he would eat a hearty meal and take a good rest.

Walking through the streets full of tourists and workers, he watched the scenery that was increasingly lively with all the bustling activities and could not help laughing.

After a while, he arrived at the public square. There was a bard who had used oils to paint strange shapes all over his face but could not be described as funny. Donned in a suit of flowery clothes, he was strumming away on his balalaika, singing a merry tune.

Around the bard, many tourists were listening with interest. After he finished a song, he did not take off his hat to ask for tips. Instead, he took a whole lot of green jellyfish gummies from out of nowhere and distributed them to the surrounding children.

Munching on the gummies, the children ran about happily while the adults quickly thanked him before leaving.

“Today’s work seems to be quite pleasurable,” said the historian, who had walked over to the bard. With a smile, he said, “But it’s truly surprising how someone like you, in your capacity, could actually do something like that.”

“What’s so surprising about this?” asked the elector of the God of Art and Culture. With a smile, he said, “I’m a bard. Performing on the streets when I’ve nothing much to do, bringing joy to the people, isn’t this just how I should naturally be?”

“It’s just like how you, an elector of the God of Knowledge and Culture who is in the field of ‘scholars,’ are busy all day long, either with teaching and educating people, or documenting history.”

An elector of the God of Art and Culture with the name of “Schwarier von Stolovsky Franz,” who was known to people all around the world as a great author, playwright, musician, and bard—Shoggoth was also the bellwether of the field of art and culture in the Republic of Northwest. With a smile, he took a wine jug and passed it over to his companion.

Owen Hart, an elector of the God of Knowledge and Culture who was from the Hart Family that was well-loved by their people, whose family had worshipped the God of Scholars for hundreds of years, was someone who could inherit the title of Baron anytime. He smiled and received the wine jug.

“Honestly, I don’t fancy spirits,” he said; yet without hesitation, he opened the lid and tilted his head to take a big gulp.

Then his face turned red immediately, as though there was a blazing flame.

“How can a man not drink spirits!” said Shoggoth. With a smile, he said, “You’re a grown-up now. Don’t be so wishy-washy like when you just came here.”

“Age doesn’t mean anything to me,” said Owen. “Just like how the intensity of this wine holds no significance to you. I just simply dislike the taste of this wine, that’s all.”

Electors had deathless bodies that were also immune to many abnormal conditions. Being “drunk” was one of them.

If there was a need to, both of them could easily drink the strongest wine in the mortal world as though it was cold water, and no matter how much they drank, at best they would drink until they felt full, but they would never get drunk.

So Owen had never been able to understand why Shoggoth liked drinking so much.

But that did not affect their friendship.

“Speaking of which… you have never attended the great celebration ceremony, haven’t you?” asked Shoggoth, as he took the wine jug from Owen. He raised his hand and brushed it across his face. The colorful paint on his face instantly vanished without a trace, and even his flowery clothes were changed to a long and simple robe. He now looked very similar to Owen in his scholar outfit, who was sitting next to him.

This was their usual daily attire. As for that fanciful outfit, it was just a costume he wore when he was performing on the streets.

“Yes, I have not been to one before. So I am also looking forward to it,” Owen said. “After this celebration ceremony, I will record it down in detail and especially make a golden scroll for it.”

“To that extent? Making an entire volume in gold is not an easy job for you right now.”

“But I feel that there’s a need to. All this while, historians have been overemphasizing on documenting the “major events,” but they think nothing of the lives of people and the various aspects of the society. Or maybe, from their perspectives, the joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness of civilians are simply not worth a mention,” Owen said solemnly. Then he added on, “This is wrong! No matter how great some people are, they too came from ordinary people. No matter how major an event is, it still began from the accumulation of minor things where it first started to develop. As a historian, I want to record all the joy, anger, sorrow and happiness; these are emotions that ordinary people should remember, and I also want to record the causes and effects of major events influencing the world.”

“That is quite difficult,” said Shoggoth as he himself took a sip of wine. Then he went on to say, “Your lifetime, I’m afraid, will be spent doing this.”

“What’s wrong with that? Finding something worthy for you to spend a lifetime doing, then spending your lifetime to do it well. Such a life is simply perfect.”

Shoggoth nodded and said, “In a way, you are also right. Being able to spend a lifetime doing something worthwhile and doing it well, such a life could be said to be perfect. Oh how envious I am, of you!”

“What about you?” Owen asked.

Shoggoth laughed and said, “I’m not as solemn as you are, and I’m also not as serious as you. I only need to be a good bard, to bring laughter and joy to people and spread those wonderful ideas, interesting stories, beautiful music. That’s enough for me.”

“This is good too.”

“Of course, I’m also an elector, after all. If I don’t do well, it will be as good as an insult to His Majesty’s judgment!”

“Haha! It’s getting late, and I’m also feeling a little hungry. Shall we go have a meal?”

“Great, it’s your treat.”

“Great writer, I think you are much richer than me.”

“You are a nobleman, right? The noble one does not pay, while I, the civilian, has to give a treat, does that make sense to you?”

The two gradually walked afar; then slowly, they walked into one of the nearby restaurants.

The public square was filled with people who marveled and laughed.