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Ophis Wants Silence [15]
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 09:26:58 +0000 UTCThe Sword of Rupture, Ea could also be called the Sword of Beginnings; as for the Sword of the End, Enki, its nature required no further explanation.
Beginning and End—Creation and Destruction. They were the twin principles of the Ouroboros itself.
Because of that resonance, Ophis’s affinity with these two sets of weapons far exceeded even Gilgamesh’s.
Even the Hero King, with all his might and divine lineage, had never been able to draw out Ea’s full power. But Ophis—whose very being embodied the same concept—possessed the potential to do so. The same applied to Enki.
If she had to name what she most anticipated from this Fate Replacement, it was undoubtedly these two weapons—perfect mirrors of her essence.
She even suspected that the automatic selection mechanism Inori mentioned had assigned her this particular identity for that very reason—to place these weapons in her hands.
After all, Ea and Enki were merely two names for the same god—the Sumerian deity of water and creation, Enki. “Ea” was simply his Babylonian counterpart.
The two weapons—the Sword of Rupture and the Sword of the End—thus corresponded to Creation and Water, respectively.
…In a certain sense, calling Ea a water-associated weapon wasn’t wrong either.
In truth, these artifacts had no known names of their own—or, at least, no one remembered them. Gilgamesh had simply given them those concise designations, borrowing titles from the same god of creation.
Ophis saw no reason to change them.
She couldn’t think of better names herself, and Gilgamesh’s choices were direct and practical.
If she wanted to unleash Ea, all she needed to do was shout “Ea!” once.
And that was important—because Ophis knew her own temperament well.
In a real battle, she could easily imagine herself standing there, motionless, pointing something that looked suspiciously like a fire poker and monotonously shouting, “Ea. Ea.”
If she were forced to chant some elaborate invocation like Solomon’s “The Time of Birth Has Come, He Is the One Who Masters All” (Ars Almadel Salomonis), trying to sound impressive with length alone…
Her tongue simply wasn’t built for it. And if such a scene were ever animated, the enemy would probably have to stand there politely, waiting for her to finish before resuming the fight.
Of course, Ea could reveal still greater power when fully liberated.
“Enuma Elish”—the opening line, and title, of the creation epic carved upon the Tablet of Destiny. It meant something close to “When on High.”
But Ophis cared little for the heavens, or for the phrase’s literal meaning. What mattered was that the name embodied the story of creation itself.
Through that invocation, Ea could theoretically unleash its primordial power—the force that split Heaven and Earth.
Theoretically, anyway.
Reality still had to contend with Gaia.
And more importantly—with her own limits.
Still, Ophis was confident. Not now, perhaps, but after sufficient synchronization, she was certain she could handle Ea’s true strength without issue.
Well… she’d just have to be mindful of Gaia’s feelings.
Without touching Ea, Ophis simply raised her hand. The twin Swords of the End, Enki lifted from their pedestals and flew obediently into her grasp.
The moment she held them, the golden glow of the blades began to darken. From where her fingers touched, black spread slowly along the metal, devouring the gold until the swords gleamed like polished obsidian.
“You’ve accepted me?” she murmured.
Had the swords responded to her will?
Black certainly suited her better—but that wasn’t the reason.
To Ophis, the Sword of the End was precisely what its name proclaimed: a weapon born solely for destruction.
A Noble Phantasm created to erase civilizations.
Gather power for seven days, then release a deluge to wash the world away.
Unlike the holy sword that guided humanity with light, or Ea that sang of creation, Enki was a song of annihilation.
And destruction had never been beautiful, nor glorious, nor worthy of praise.
If it had a color, it would not be gold.
Black… suited it perfectly.
Expressionless, Ophis gave the twin swords a few light swings to test their balance before returning them to their pedestals.
She probably wouldn’t be using their full liberation very often in the future, would she?
There was little point in spending seven days preparing to erase the world. If she truly desired instant destruction, her magic cannons could achieve roughly the same effect in far less time.
Still, in terms of durability and sharpness, these blades were unquestionably worthy of their EX rank—fully capable of clashing with Excalibur head-on.
Perhaps using them occasionally for close combat wouldn’t be so bad.
After all, in this age, every class needed at least a trick or two for melee engagements.
Dragons naturally possessed superior physical strength and reflexes compared to most beings, and most of them trained in close combat to some degree. At the very least, it prevented embarrassing situations where one got pummeled by a ten-hit combo without a single counter.
Setting those thoughts aside, Ophis sifted through the new information that had been flowing into her mind ever since she first grasped the golden key.
The King’s Treasury—[Gate of Babylon].
It could store countless treasures and unleash them as projectiles, automatically retrieving and repairing them afterward—all at minimal mana cost.
In terms of speed, though the process required three distinct actions—opening the gate, loading the weapon, and firing—it was still faster than her current magic cannons.
As for destructive power, that depended on the Noble Phantasm fired, but the resulting attacks were highly focused, far inferior to her cannon’s wide-range devastation.
Yet Gate of Babylon’s true value wasn’t its arsenal, but the concept it embodied—the primordial archive of human wisdom.
Through that principle, any artifact born of human creation could theoretically be reconstructed, even those completely destroyed. With sufficient time and knowledge, anything humanity could imagine might be remade.
For an ordinary human, that kind of process would take eons. But Ophis had time—endless time.
It was, without question, a tremendous gain.
Even setting aside her highly compatible new weapons, Gate of Babylon meshed naturally with her preferred combat style: overwhelming ranged firepower.
Her magic cannons, though devastating, had one major flaw.
As Inori had once warned, if she ever faced an enemy resistant—or outright immune—to energy-based attacks, her cannon would become almost useless, reduced to nothing more than a colossal shove.
Such opponents were rare, but not impossible. And there were times when large-scale bombardments were simply impractical.
In those cases, Gate of Babylon, offering precise and physically destructive strikes, would fill that gap perfectly.
The minimal mana drain would also allow Ophis to focus more energy on other aspects of battle.
But to Ophis, these advantages were only secondary.
More fascinating was what her nature—the Ouroboros—was doing even now: analyzing the environment, integrating useful data into her own structure.
A bug within perfection. The power of Self-Reference.
Because the Ouroboros was already complete, it should, in theory, be incapable of further perfection. Yet to fulfill itself, it created an external mechanism—a loop that could feed upon and refine its own existence.
That was why Enkidu had drawn Ophis’s interest in the first place: she was a mirror, a living point of reference.
But now, with all these treasures at her disposal, things were entirely different. Given enough time, Ophis’s instincts would naturally absorb and internalize the abilities of certain Noble Phantasms.
And self-reference grew exponentially stronger when the target shared traits with the self.
Ophis’s fundamental concept was Infinity. Represented symbolically, she was closer to ∞ than to the serpent biting its tail—meaning she lacked direct embodiment of beginnings or endings.
Thus, Ea and Enki, weapons of creation and destruction, complemented her perfectly.
Their harmony with her nature filled Ophis with rare, genuine delight.
Seems I’ve gained truly remarkable treasures this time…
With that thought, Ophis departed the Golden City.
But—
As she emerged from the cave, she was met by Enkidu’s gentle, familiar smile.
For a brief moment, Ophis found herself staring, unable to move.
Perhaps… this was the greatest treasure she had gained from this fateful journey.
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This is a fan translation of 无限龙神找不回寂静 by 呆毛神 rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
