The Guardian gods-Chapter 464

After Ikem got this information, it was also when it was decided that the godlings had to leave from their retreat to head to the mortal world to teach them.

Something else that became a sensation in the past ten years, which was the birth of the world map. Map was never something new in the world of Nana but a map of the whole world was something never seen before.

The world of Nana had never been so vast.

Or rather, it had never felt so vast.

For centuries, men knew only what their feet could touch, what their ancestors had spoken of, and what the maps of old whispered in vague, uncertain lines. Their continents, their borders, their cities—everything was drawn only as far as their knowledge allowed. Beyond that? There was nothing. Only empty space. White voids of the unknown.

But that changed.

No one could say when exactly the first complete world map appeared. No one knew its origin, nor the hand that had drawn it. The only certainty was that one day, the world found itself staring at something that should have been impossible—a map of everything.

Every mountain. Every river. Every nameless valley tucked away in forgotten lands. Even the hidden realms of the godlings, places known only by few, were now laid bare. The merfolk’s underwater kingdoms were etched in perfect clarity. The unbroken sprawl of the Skyward Peaks, where storms raged eternal, was detailed with eerie precision. The lost isles swallowed by mist, where only myths dared to tread, were now as real as the streets beneath one’s feet.

It was a map that should not have existed.

And yet, it did.

And somewhere, in the vast openness of this newly discovered world, there was a lone figure drifting through the sky.

They moved with an almost careless grace, weaving between the clouds, their path uncertain, dictated only by the fickle whims of the wind. A jug of wine was always strapped to their waist, its contents sloshing with every turn and dive. The scent of fermented grapes clung to them, a fragrance of indulgence, of distraction. Their head often lolled to the side, their gaze unfocused, their body swaying as though at the edge of sleep.

A fool, many would say. A drunkard without purpose, a wanderer lost in their own haze.

But the truth was something else entirely.

For this nameless traveler, the world was a mystery until it was put to paper. The lands, the seas, the skies—they did not exist in their mind, not until their hands traced them, not until ink met parchment and shaped the formless into something real. It was only when they wrote, when they mapped, that their thoughts sharpened, their mind cleared.

And so they traveled.

From the frozen wastes where no man dared to walk, to the burning dunes where the sun reigned unchallenged. From the ruins of forgotten civilizations swallowed by time, to the celestial gardens of gods who had long abandoned their thrones. They saw, they recorded, they sketched and wrote—until what was once unknown became known.

And when the last stroke of ink was done, when the world before them was understood, the haze returned. Their mind drifted back into a fog of wine and aimless wandering, until the next place, the next unknown land, called them forth once more.

Perhaps, one day, they would finish. Perhaps, one day, the map would hold no blank spaces, no edges fraying into mystery.

And on that day... What would become of them?

Its arrival was not marked by great fanfare. No heralds announced it, no scholars debated its creation in grand halls. It simply was. One day, the people of Nana awoke to find it in their midst. Some discovered it folded neatly on their doorsteps, others found it slipped between the pages of their books, and for many, it was pressed into their hands by strangers who could not recall where they had first acquired it. The world map spread like wildfire, slipping through the cracks of mortal society faster than any decree or suppression could contain.

And with it, the world itself seemed to open.

For centuries, people had lived within the safe boundaries of their known lands, their horizons set by the limitations of old maps and whispered rumors of what lay beyond. But now, with every valley, every hidden coastline, every stretch of unexplored wilderness laid bare before them, the desire to see with their own eyes took root in their hearts. A great hunger awakened—a longing to step beyond their doorsteps, to cross the seas, to climb the mountains and reach the edges of the world itself.

The nobles and elites tried to quell the wave of wanderlust. They attempted to label the map as false, a trick, an illusion. When that failed, they changed their approach, warning of the dangers that lurked beyond. The territories of the godlings, they said, were not to be disturbed. The godlings were not kind to intruders, and those who strayed too far would pay the price.

Yet even this was not enough to dissuade all.

The merchant lords suffered the worst blow. For generations, they had hoarded knowledge of distant lands, keeping their own secret maps locked away, using them as leverage to control trade and wealth. The ability to go beyond the seas, to reach hidden markets and undiscovered treasures, had been their greatest advantage. But now, with a single stroke of ink, all their closely guarded secrets had been laid bare for the world to see. Their private paths, their hidden harbors—all of it—was now in the hands of common travelers.

Wealth and power that had once been theirs alone was now slipping from their grasp.

But even as the mortal world reeled from this sudden change, another group watched with quiet unease—the godlings.

They had long existed apart from mortals, their realms untouched and unseen by human eyes. Yet now, they found themselves gazing at a map that detailed their lands with eerie precision. The underwater spires of the merfolk, the floating islands of the harpies, all were drawn with a clarity that should have been impossible.

It was not offensive—not quite. But it was unsettling.

Who had done this?

Had a mortal truly moved so freely through their sacred places? Had they been blind to an intruder so skilled that not even their divine senses had detected them? It was not anger that stirred in the hearts of the godlings, but unease.

Then came word from the harpies.

Unlike most of the godlings, the harpies were wanderers themselves, their wings carrying them far and wide. They had seen the figure in question—a lone traveler, weaving drunkenly through the skies, parchment in one hand, a jug of wine on their waist.

The moment the godlings heard this, their unease faded.

They knew him.

Or at least, they knew of him.

A great elder, one who had walked the world and sat with the oldest godlings. Respected, but... odd. Lost, in a way that none could quite understand. He did not seek dominion, nor did he meddle in the affairs of mortals or divine beings. He simply wandered, mapping the world with single-minded clarity—only to forget it all once his quill left the parchment.

The godlings did not move to stop him.

Instead, they did what little they could for him. They gathered the finest wines of their realms and carried them to the highest mountain peak, leaving them there as an offering. They knew he would find them, eventually.

And they wished, in their silent way, that he would one day find whatever it was he was looking for.

A great deal can change in a decade, but some changes are less surprising than others.

The shift in the Sun Kingdom’s stance toward the Harpy godlings was one such change—expected, foreseen, and, in some ways, welcomed.

The Harpies were not taken aback. From the moment they had aided in the Sun Kingdom’s rise, they had anticipated that, one day, the tides would turn. It was inevitable. No kingdom, no matter how grateful, enjoys the weight of another’s influence pressing down upon it.

For years, the Harpies had quietly prepared for this. Their guidance had shaped the Sun Kingdom into one of the great powerhouses of the western continent, but power breeds pride, and pride resents oversight. The Harpies had no desire to rule, The support and growth of the sun kingdom came as a necessity at the time to keep the power balance in check, yet they had always known that the Sun Kingdom—once strong enough—would seek to stand alone.

It was better this way.

Edward’s change of heart worked in their favor, providing the perfect excuse to withdraw without conflict. They did not resist his shift in attitude, nor did they question it aloud. Instead, they gradually pulled away, letting distance grow naturally between them and the kingdom they had once nurtured.

And yet, they watched, because while distance was expected, Edward’s change was not.