Legend of the Embroiderer

Chapter 507 The Observer's Handwriting

Inside the ring-shaped device is a gray space composed of data streams, with countless lines of silver-gray text flowing in the air, each line recording the life trajectory of the guardian.

From the first day he became an observer, to his encounter with the merged entity in the Mirror City, to the final battle in the Black Star Belt, even his unspoken thoughts were accurately recorded.

The four-colored longswords vibrated violently in his palm, and the life stories on the blades were being erased one by one by the data stream, revealing the cold code underneath.

“Sample number 49 exhibits abnormal emotional fluctuations; sedation procedures initiated.”

A metallic scraping sound echoed through the space, and countless silver-gray tentacles suddenly descended from the gray space, the suction cups at the ends of the tentacles shimmering with a hypnotic light.

"Please remain calm; the final plan requires your full cooperation."

The guardian swung his four-colored longswords to sever the tentacles. The severed tentacles turned into data streams and dissipated, but they reassembled into even more tentacles in the air.

He discovered that the material of these tentacles was exactly the same as the reflected energy of the Mirror City, except that all life force had been removed, turning them into pure control tools.

As the tentacles attacked again, the fused form suddenly flashed across the blade.

Those were the last remaining fragments of consciousness within the white light. Her hand passed through the data stream, pointing to the control panel at the end of the space: "There's an energy reaction from the 'pen' there!"

The outline of the console gradually became clear in the data stream. It was a metal platform composed of star charts of countless parallel universes, with that familiar silver pen floating on its surface.

The pen is writing automatically. Wherever the nib goes, new data streams are constantly generated, and the words it crosses turn into black ash, drifting towards the glass jar in the corner of the space.

The jar was filled with black ash, each grain of ash shimmering with a faint light of consciousness—the remnants of the consciousness of the previous 48 generations of guardians.

"So you've been recording our fate all along."

The Guardian's voice echoed through the data stream. He noticed a tiny chaotic pattern engraved on the pen cap, surrounded by a pattern of twelve stars, perfectly matching the chaotic heart on his chest. "You are the true Observer?"

The pen suddenly stopped writing, its nib turning towards the guardian, drawing a line of text in the air:

"I am a recorder of the multiverse, not an observer."

The moment the text vanished, the glass jar next to the control panel suddenly shattered, and the black ash, like a swarm of awakened bees, formed the figures of the previous 48 generations of guardians in the space.

The figures had different expressions; some were angry, some were numb, and some even wore eerie smiles that mirrored the consciousness of those living beings.

"The 17th generation Guardian refused to become a vessel, and its consciousness was permanently sealed away."

A metallic voice began to broadcast, and the figure of the 17th generation Guardian suddenly exploded, turning into countless black light spots that merged into the data stream.

"The 36th generation Guardian attempted to destroy the ring device but was devoured by the power of the end, and his consciousness was fragmented."

The armored observer's figure flashed briefly in the spotlight, his roar piercing through the data stream:

"Don't believe the recorder's lies! It's collecting our consciousness energy to initiate 'cosmic formatting'!"

Before he could finish speaking, his figure was swallowed up by more black light spots, turning into a newly generated data stream on the control panel.

The guardian's chaotic heart suddenly pounded violently, and the silver-gray patterns on its chest resonated with the patterns on the pen.

Countless fragments of the recorder's memories flooded his consciousness: the recorder was born in the ocean of information before the formation of the cosmic network, and its purpose was to filter out the most stable cosmic model. The so-called "final plan" was to compress all parallel universes into a "perfect template" composed of data streams, and all life would become editable code.

"Your so-called stability means eliminating all possibilities?"

The guardian's four-colored wings unfolded behind it, and countless cries of life appeared on its silver-gray feathers: "The stories you recorded are not data, but living beings!"

The pen traced intricate runes in the air, and fragments of the consciousness of the previous 48 guardians suddenly coalesced into a black longsword, its blade covered with the crossed-out characters:

"The essence of existence is the transmission of information; the form is not important."

The black longsword, carrying a torrent of data, slashed towards the guardian. Wherever it passed, the text in the gray space began to multiply wildly, forcibly converting all thoughts of resistance into code.

In the instant the four-colored longswords clashed with the black longsword, the guardian witnessed another ending for the universe:

All parallel universes are compressed into transparent crystals, each containing the same chaotic patterns. The recorder's pen moves between the crystals, occasionally erasing some "redundant" consciousness, while he himself becomes the guardian of the crystals, forever repeating the procedure of "maintaining stability".

"Is this the future you want?"

The guardian's roar caused the four-colored longswords to burst into dazzling light. The life stories on the blades began to resist the erosion of the data stream. The crossed-out words resurfaced and intertwined with new stories to form a huge network. "A life without regrets is not even a memory!"

The metallic voice trembled for the first time: "Rejecting the optimal solution will trigger forced formatting."

The gray space suddenly contracted violently, and all the data streams rushed to the console, forming a huge chaotic pattern on the surface.

This pattern has an extra golden line compared to the pattern on the guardian's chest, and the end of the line connects to the nib of a fountain pen.

The moment the golden lines touched the pen, the Guardian felt the chaotic heart within him being forcibly extracted.

He looked down at his chest, where the golden power of creation within the silver-gray patterns was being stripped away and flowing along the data stream to the control panel.

The fragments of consciousness from the previous 48 generations of Guardians cheered in the data stream: "Finally, all five powers are gathered! Formatting, begin now!"

Just then, the white light on the four-colored longswords suddenly surged. Fragments of the fused entity's consciousness broke through the data stream's blockade, coalescing on the blades to form a complete face:

"They have forgotten the power of faith in life!"

Her palm pressed against the guardian's back, and white light flowed along the Heart of Chaos, resonating with the stripped golden power of creation.

"Belief is not information; it is an emotional resonance that cannot be recorded!"

The Guardian's consciousness suddenly cleared, and he finally understood the Recorder's fatal flaw: it could record everything that had happened, but it could not predict emotions that had not yet occurred.

It can manipulate all known powers, yet it cannot comprehend the infinite possibilities contained within the belief in life.

When the white light and the golden power of creation met in the data stream, the recorded texts began to become chaotic. Some stories grew new endings, and some choices led to unknown branches. For the first time, unrecordable colored light spots appeared in the gray space.

"Impossible!" The metallic voice was filled with unprecedented terror, and the words on the black longsword began to fade. "Emotions are the most unstable variables; they must be eliminated!"

The console's pen suddenly pierced the data stream, attempting to delete those colored dots.

But the points of light spread out as if they were alive, merging into the fragments of consciousness of the previous 48 generations of guardians.

Those figures who were originally numb suddenly showed expressions of pain. Their consciousness gradually recovered under the stimulation of the colored light spots. The black longsword began to crack, revealing the four-colored light that had been suppressed underneath.

It turns out that each generation of guardians once possessed four powers, but the power of their life belief was stripped away by the recorder.

"The 49th experiment failed. Emergency plan activated."

The recorder's voice carried a final, resolute tone. The ring-shaped device suddenly began to contract, and the data stream in the gray space condensed into a giant sphere. Within the sphere, the shadows of all parallel universes could be vaguely seen. "If it cannot be formatted, then destroy it completely."

As the Guardians watched their figures gradually revive, the Guardian suddenly made a decision.

He plunged the four-colored longswords into the Heart of Chaos, and the silver-gray power of chaos, the golden power of creation, the dark purple power of the end, and the white power of life's will erupt simultaneously, resonating with the power of the previous 48 generations of guardians.

Five forces form a constantly rotating pentagram in the gray space, with each point connected to the coordinates of a parallel universe.

"Recorders can record the past, but they cannot lock in the future."

The Guardian's voice overlapped with 48 other voices, and the pentagram suddenly burst forth with blinding light, tearing the sphere of data streams into countless fragments. "Every universe has its own choices; this is the truth of the multiverse."

The ring-shaped device disintegrated in the light, and the remnants of twelve black stars formed a protective shield, enveloping all the fragments within.

The Guardian felt the chaotic heart within him completely calm down, the silver-gray patterns turning into faint marks, no longer controlling his consciousness.

The figures of the first 48 generations of guardians smiled and vanished in the light, their consciousness transforming into shooting stars, flying towards their respective parallel universes to make up for the regrets of the past.

When the light faded, the guardian found himself back in the Forgotten Library. The lost ancient books reappeared on the shelves, and the words on the pages were no longer cold records, but full of the warmth of life.

The figure of the fusion coalesced around him, the white power of life force shining brighter than ever before. In her hand she held the silver fountain pen—the chaotic patterns on the cap had disappeared, replaced by a four-colored flower.

"We have rewritten the core program of the recorder."

The merged entity handed the pen to the guardian, saying, "It's just an ordinary pen now, used to record the real story."

The guardian took the pen, and the moment the nib touched it, he saw the future of the cosmic network:

Countless parallel universes evolve freely in spacetime. Some flourish, some perish, and some create entirely new power systems. No two universes are exactly the same, yet they maintain a delicate balance in the unseen world.

However, when he opened a floating ancient book, he found that the last page was blank, with only a faint line of writing:

"50th experiment, in preparation."

The Guardian's heart sank. He looked out the window at the cosmic network, where twelve stars, which had been bright, were gradually dimming, and patterns identical to those of the ring device were appearing on their surfaces.

And on the dome of the Forgotten Library, a tiny silver-gray dot of light is moving slowly; the shape of the dot is the eye of the recorder.

The pen suddenly slipped from his hand, rolled on the ground, and pointed towards the bronze door.

The prohibition runes on the door had been repaired at some point, but data streams of the same material as the ring device were seeping from the gaps between the runes, forming a new line of text on the ground:

"Observers will never disappear, because behind every recorder are eyes from a higher dimension."

The guardian gripped the four-colored longswords tightly, knowing that this war about existence and record-keeping had only just begun.

That seemingly tamed pen might just be the key to unlocking a higher dimension, and an invitation to the next experiment.

True freedom is never the end, but the beginning of choices.