The Record of Orc Civilization - Chapter 444: The Architect of the Destroyer

“So, it wasn’t you who killed him, Mother?” Moku asked, looking directly into her eyes.

“Well, I believe I won regardless. I preserved my honor even at the cost of my life. Therefore, one could say I was the victor of that struggle,” she replied, her chin tilted upward with unyielding pride.

His mother was no warrior, yet no being in the universe could deny she was a fighter. She was a soul who simply did not grasp the meaning of defeat. From her youth until her final breath, she had fought against the world. Not once had she taken a step back, even when facing the insurmountable.

To her, humans were the Supreme Creator’s most perfect creation. Nothing in this world held a higher status than a human being; only the Creator Himself had the right to look down upon them. Because of this, she never bowed her head to anything other than the Almighty.

“Hahaha… my Mother always wins!” Moku laughed brightly, a surge of pride swelling in his chest.

“Of course. But unfortunately, I wasn’t the one who finished that disgusting man—it was you, my son… Ah!” She paused, twirling a lock of hair around her index finger—a habit she fell into whenever she was thinking deeply or preparing to outmaneuver someone. “But, considering you came from my womb, you are a part of me. Therefore, the conclusion stands: I killed him too!”

Moku could only manage a wry smile and a nod. “Well, I suppose that’s true.”

“What? You don’t believe me? Young man, are you daring to defy me now?” Her eyes narrowed sharply.

Moku shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no. I never said that. I believe a hundred percent of whatever you say!”

Despite her gentleness, she was still Easterners at heart. The philosophy that “parents are always right” and the lingering memory of the “bamboo whip” used to discipline him were etched into Moku’s consciousness from childhood.

“But why was I reborn, Mother? Didn’t you once say that death is the end, followed only by eternal rest? Why did I die only to come back and fight in this world?” Moku asked, attempting to pivot the subject. He felt far too old to be scolded by his mother.

“Hmm… I know you’re changing the subject. Don’t try to be smart with me. I’m your mother; if you so much as sneeze, I know the color of the mess coming out of your backside!” she snorted, sending a cold sweat down Moku’s spine.

“However, I forgive you. Your rebirth in this world likely does have something to do with me.”

She continued, “After my death, the Creator looked kindly upon my deeds in life and granted me Heaven. But I prayed to remain by your side. I was so worried about you—not that you would suffer, but that you would make others suffer. I knew from the time you were small that you were different from other children. While others were lost in play, you watched them like a predator stalking prey.”

“I still remember how you tortured those tiny ants by drowning them in a basin. You claimed it was an experiment to find the strongest ant. But even when an ant managed to climb out, you killed it anyway. You didn’t do it out of curiosity; you did it because you wanted to torment them. You purposefully gave them hope before snatching their lives away.”

Moku instantly recalled the incident. His mind drifted back to the stinging lash of the bamboo whip his mother had used as punishment. Back then, she had stopped after three lashes and offered a deal: he wouldn’t be punished further if he could memorize the multiplication table of six on the spot.

What she hadn’t known was that Moku had already memorized up to ten, but he had kept it secret. He easily recited the table. But instead of being released, he received seven additional, harder lashes. The lesson he learned that day was: intelligence cannot erase a moral failing, and his mother was the one person he could never deceive with tricks.

“You have what experts call psychopathic residencies…”

“Psychopathic Tendencies,” Moku interrupted.

Her eyes narrowed again.

“Sorry, sorry. Please continue,” Moku apologized immediately.

“Hmm… Because of that, I feared you would one day become a serial killer. I chose to move us to the countryside, far from the chaos of the city, to give you a peaceful childhood. I was certain you wouldn’t act while I lived, but what about after I was gone? I tried to channel your violent urges into acts of heroism, so you would take them out on those who deserved it rather than the innocent. I introduced you to heroes from every story, East and West. And you… you were most captivated by Gatotkaca.”

“Though literature on Gatotkaca was scarce in our country, I pieced his story together from whatever I could find online. I tried to mold your character to align with the idol you admired. That way, you would grow into a warrior of justice, not a murderer. Unfortunately, I died before I could see it through.”

“But luckily, you vented your aggression not on the weak, but on the strong. You focused your energy on becoming powerful to face greater challenges. Perhaps it was proof of the Creator’s grace; by the time you were a man, MMA had become a global phenomenon, and you found a channel for your ambition.”

“My prayer should have been answered then. Even if you didn’t grow into a pure warrior of justice, at least you didn’t become the worst-case scenario. However, the time for the Old World was running out. Not long after your death, the ’executioner’ arrived and the apocalypse began. In less than three centuries, the universe was destroyed.”

“The Old World,” Moku suddenly recalled the term Garuda had used. He had thought it was just a metaphor for his previous life; he hadn’t realized it referred to a world that had literally ceased to exist.

“Exactly. The life we once knew is called the Old World. Normally, with the end of that world, all souls should return for judgment. But that does not mean a New World cannot be created. This time, the world has no set deadline. The Creator is giving His creations a chance to resist their own destruction. Do you understand?” she asked with a cheeky grin.

“I am an agent of destruction!” Moku exclaimed as the realization hit him.

“Well, more accurately, you and I are the agents of destruction!” his mother added.

“You too?” Moku’s eyes widened. Despite his effort to hide it, he was in total disbelief. Unlike himself, who had harbored destructive desires since childhood, his mother was the soul of gentleness. She was someone who wouldn’t even kill a mosquito drinking her blood, merely saying, ’Ah, she’s just finding his livelihood.’

“Yes. You are Gog…” she pointed at Moku, “…and I am Magog,” she concluded, pointing to herself.