Chapter 275: Chapter 273: Formula
Completely kill the swarm?
Jeff’s words left Mo Ling stunned.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it literally. Kill the swarm."
"Why?"
"Because only complete, supreme authority can kill the swarm," Jeff explained. "In the process of the swarm conquering the world of text, we became a part of the Fishman language itself."
He pointed to a character on the ancient Fishman tome and said, "The ’swarm’ can’t delete these accounts that possess authority. Deleting these accounts would be the same as deleting the entire language."
"But things are different now. All authority rests with you, including authority over the ’swarm.’ Therefore, you can delete any account you wish."
At Jeff’s words, understanding dawned on Mo Ling.
He’d always assumed that deleting accounts was an innate function of supreme authority. He never imagined it required such a prerequisite.
"So, if I delete all the accounts, that means the swarm is dead?"
"Exactly. Simple, isn’t it?"
It really was that simple.
’But why would Jeff do this?’
’Has he been asleep for so long that he’s lost his mind?’
Mo Ling still didn’t understand Jeff’s ultimate goal. He couldn’t shake the feeling that some conspiracy was hidden beneath the surface.
As if sensing Mo Ling’s suspicion, Jeff pushed the ancient Fishman tome in front of him.
"The Fishman tongue is a fascinating language, isn’t it?" he suddenly asked Mo Ling an odd question.
Although deeply confused, Mo Ling nodded.
"’Moon’ also represents time. ’Tree’ also means soul. One character can have multiple meanings, and different combinations of characters create different meanings as well."
"These meanings are their authorities. The swarm uses these authorities to accomplish many things that would otherwise be impossible."
"Does the Square Race dry their clothes?" he asked unexpectedly.
Mo Ling paused for a moment. "They do. Why?"
Jeff’s finger slid across the ancient Fishman tome.
"Sand, desiccation."
"Sun, high temperature, destruction."
"Fog, evaporation, dissipation."
"..."
He pointed to many more characters, reading them out one by one.
"What does this mean?"
"It’s a formula," Jeff said seriously. "The formula for drying clothes."
Hearing this, something clicked for Mo Ling.
"A skill formula? This is how you record your skills?"
"Yes," Jeff confirmed.
"Arranging and combining the authorities of the characters creates our skills. It’s the only way we can comprehend this world," Jeff said with a hint of nostalgia.
He slowly began to tell Mo Ling about when they first arrived in this world.
At that time, they had no bodies and were incapable of movement.
After the great dragon burst into reality, it landed on a giant stone.
At that time, the characters of the Fishman language were merely meaningless patterns on that giant stone.
But the appearance of the swarm gave those patterns meaning.
Unlike other races, the first skill the swarm learned was refining ore.
It was very simple. They just needed to use ’Sun’ to burn away the impurities, and what remained was pure ore.
Just like that, the swarm obtained all sorts of strange metals.
Slowly, they learned to control the metal, making it fly and allowing them to explore the world from a unique perspective.
To communicate with the creatures of this world, they created "bodies." This, too, was a skill.
As they continued to explore the physical world, the swarm’s formulas grew in number. They used this method to forcibly make sense of a world that was completely alien to them.
To them, this world was just a combination of different scenes, so using characters to form skills fit their worldview perfectly.
The swarm had invaded so many races that they were well aware of their own uniqueness. But the species in the abyss were bizarre to begin with, so possessing an unusual logic for perceiving the world wasn’t considered anything special.
So, they continued to use this method until the Racial Lock appeared.
Only then did they realize something was wrong.
"Our fundamental logic—or you could say, our underlying ’programming method’—is flawed," Jeff explained. "Because the possible permutations of characters are finite."
"Isn’t language infinite?" Mo Ling asked. "You can just keep talking."
"But formulas can’t be infinite. They can’t even be too long. A verbose formula makes using a skill incredibly slow," Jeff said grimly.
"That’s not even the biggest problem."
Jeff’s fingertip once again slid across the ancient Fishman tome.
"Our formulas have conflicts. The formulas for some skills are completely identical, so we have to add other defining authorities to tell them apart. This makes the formulas even more verbose."
"That’s why I said our underlying logic is flawed. Our way of perceiving the world has been wrong from the very beginning."
"And we can’t just tear it all down and start over. That would cause the entire swarm to revert to its primitive state."
Hearing this, Mo Ling also came to clearly understand the swarm’s dilemma.
"So, the Racial Lock... it was actually caused by this flawed underlying logic of yours?"
"Yes. Too many formulas and not enough capacity. We can only reuse old formulas for new skills, which means the original skills are forgotten..."
Jeff shook his head helplessly. "The swarm now is like an old machine, too dilapidated to be refurbished. The swarm kept invading other races in an attempt to find a way to break these limitations."
’So that’s why they sought out a method like eternal life.’
Mo Ling didn’t understand how eternal life for their souls would allow the swarm to escape this restriction.
But now, it seemed the swarm had lost all interest in eternal life.
"What does this have to do with killing the swarm?" Mo Ling still didn’t understand.
Hearing Mo Ling’s question, Jeff grew another scale-like plate of armor on his fingertip and tapped Mo Ling on the arm.
Once again, their visions were linked.
Only this time, it wasn’t one of their memories, but the scene currently unfolding outside the library.
The ferocious suits of armor were all locked in place by Mo Ling.
The newborn Fishmen were trying to figure out how to dismantle the armor and rescue their kin trapped inside.
They used tentacles of flowing water to pry off the parts piece by piece until they had created an opening, then carefully shifted the bodies within.
"I’ve looked into it carefully. These souls were likely generated spontaneously by the bodies when we detached from them. They aren’t some body-snatching race," Jeff said calmly.
"Souls that are spontaneously generated like this are a much better fit for these bodies than we are."
Mo Ling could actually hear a hint of praise in Jeff’s words.
’What is he planning to do to these new members of the Fishman Race?’
The swarm’s track record was too extensive; Mo Ling couldn’t help but be suspicious.
However, Jeff truly seemed to hold no animosity toward these newborn Fishmen.
He seemed completely unconcerned that his body was now occupied by someone else, even focusing the vision on the newborn "Jeff" who was hard at work rescuing his companion.
"How nice..."
