anovelconsole Chapter 99 The Ghost of Thought
Chapter 99 The Ghost of Thought
Chapter 99 The Ghost of Thought
Xinwu stared at the ghosts of those memories, frozen in place.
A thought suddenly popped into my mind.
Since information can exist here in the form of ore, can it also create the same thing?
This is the depths of consciousness. The ores, bones, and even the entire mine tunnel are merely cognitive manifestations transformed from the incomprehensible vast amounts of data by the gods. The essence of these crystals is nothing more than segments of information. And I, too, possess memories, thoughts, and past experiences.
He closed his eyes, trying to detach himself from a childhood memory.
A campfire, a stone house—memories of childhood are peeled away bit by bit. A flicker of inner fire transforms into fine threads, carefully weaving and solidifying these intangible memories. A moment later, a tangible sensation returns to the palm of the hand.
Xinwu opened his eyes.
A tiny red crystal, the size of a grain of rice, lay quietly in his hand. But before he could examine it closely, the crystal shattered in his palm, turning into a wisp of red dust. The amount of information was too small to form a stable structure.
In the time that followed, he kept trying.
From one memory to ten, he dismantled his life into countless fragments. One crystal after another condensed in his palm before shattering, the largest piece no bigger than a fingernail. Insignificant compared to the pile of waste beneath his feet.
Xinwu sat on the edge of the mine pit, deeply experiencing the gap between the will of ordinary people and that of the collective.
The information contained in Gestalt is vast and boundless; even if one learns to solidify memory, the amount of data it can provide cannot have any substantial impact on it.
Just as my thoughts were stuck, a brand new idea emerged.
He reignited his inner fire to create crystals, but this time he infused them with no past memories or emotions. He recorded the method of crystal creation itself: how to extract, compress, solidify, and record. The entire logic of the process was fully injected into a new crystal.
A fist-sized crystal slowly took shape, far more stable than ever before.
Just as Xin Wu was about to pick it up, he noticed fine cracks spreading across its surface. With a crisp sound, a small piece of the chip detached from the main body and began to grow on its own after hitting the ground. In just a few breaths, the original crystal had replicated more than ten sub-crystals.
Xin Wu stood there stunned for a moment, but quickly came to his senses.
This does not stem from its own power, but from the underlying logic of Gestalt.
This crystal records a new way of processing information. Here, once a method is written into the network, the entire cluster will automatically acquire it. Sharing a single set of consciousness means that propagation knows no distance; once one node learns it, all nodes will instinctively begin to replicate this operating mode.
Inside the mine, more and more red crystals began to split themselves.
Like a spreading plague and bacterial colony, it transformed into a disease sweeping through the depths of consciousness. Xinwu, watching the proliferating red light before him, understood his actions. He had created a kind of information that actively spread and parasitized within the Gestalt network.
A virus of memory.
However, this realization lasted only a moment before the mine shaft began to vibrate again.
A muffled rumble came from overhead, and vast swathes of darkness in the distance vanished into thin air. The Gestalt detected the anomaly in its underlying logic, and the cleanup process was forcibly activated. Large swathes of the wildly proliferating crystals were wiped out, and the entire edge of the mine was heading towards annihilation.
Continuing like this will not help.
Gestalt indiscriminately deletes waste and anomalous data; for this self-replicating information to survive, it cannot simply manifest as destructive logic. It must disguise itself as valuable knowledge and experience.
As Xin Wu watched the crystals at his feet decrease and split, his thoughts gradually became clearer.
It must be given sufficient meaning and connotation so that Gestalt can determine it as a memory worth preserving. Once it is cloaked in this cloak, it will be like a seed mixed into a granary, taking root and sprouting throughout the entire network without the collective consciousness noticing.
Within the mine, red crystals continuously multiplied, only to be relentlessly cleared away by Gestalt crystals.
Xinwu sat cross-legged among the rubble, gazing at the flickering red light.
Give it an identity, give it a story, and let it become an experience worth recording. Gestalt doesn't preserve garbage, but it preserves experience, preserving information that can help the community survive.
Xinwu closed his eyes and began to build new memories little by little.
The protagonist is a member of the Sinker tribe. Born into the tribe, raised around the campfire, he learned hunting, fighting, and rituals. He experiences fear, hesitation, and makes mistakes. He has his own name, his own past, and a complete life.
All of this was based on Xinwu himself, with only minor modifications.
He disassembled a portion of his memories, rearranged and recombined them, weaving them into a brand new entity. A fire of passion flowed within him, and the red crystal in his hand slowly took shape.
Fine lines appeared on the surface of the ore, containing not only the method of crystal making, but also the growth experience of that fictional person.
A moment later, it began to split naturally. A first piece, a second, a third. New crystals were constantly being born, each carrying with it the fabricated story of that life. The Gestalt began to accept this information.
Seeing this scene, Xinwu confirmed his guess.
Compared to mere knowledge, a complete life story is clearly more likely to deceive the vast network of consciousness.
He continued to refine it, adding more experiences, insights, and survival-related lessons. He wanted to make this fabricated life increasingly real, expansive, and resembling that of a truly lived person.
The red light in the mine gradually spread, as if a life that had never existed before was breaking out of the depths of Gestalt's memory.
at the same time.
In the real world, on a desolate wasteland shrouded in thick fog, a supply convoy moved slowly forward. Dozens of wooden carts formed a long line, escorted by cavalry and infantry, traversing the ruins. At the forefront, a tall warhorse trampled the white bones on the ground. Xin An sat upright on the horse's back, his face covered by an iron mask, his long spear held horizontally, his cold armor covered with scratches left by battle.
Suddenly, a long wolf howl echoed from the depths of the thick fog. Several gray-black figures emerged from the mist.
"Enemy attack!"
The warning shouts had barely sounded when Xin'an spurred her horse. The warhorse let out a long neigh, and she and her horse surged forward like a sharp torrent of iron. The lance sliced through the air, instantly piercing a dire wolf that had lunged at the caravan. Dark golden flames flowed along the spearhead into the beast's body.
Immediately afterwards, the wolf's body burst into flames from the inside. Its internal organs, along with the worms that infested it, turned to ashes, and the corpse crashed to the ground.
More dire wolves emerged from the mist, but Xin'an was faster. Spears flashed, hooves pounded the earth, each movement seemingly anticipated by the beasts' advances. Several dire wolves fell to his spear, and the remaining pack began to retreat, circling the convoy at a distance, as if hesitant, as if in doubt.
>