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The author admits arrogance drove the book's completion, yet the expected relief never came. He argues discussing life itself matters more than showcasing wonders; society and science rest on lived experiences, and without understanding life, we cannot grasp what people build. He calls the book a personal journal of his last great journey. He was troubled by dismissive attitudes toward studying foreign peoples—one student found Sargon and Kjerag irrelevant; a Londinium friend called such work menial. He was encouraged by a Sarkaz mercenary, a former comparative literature student, who still hoped to return to school. Feeling old age approaching, he rushed publication without regrets, inviting readers to become companions in thought and face life itself.
The author admits that while writing this book over the last decade, a sense of self-importance drove the work—imagining that without it people could never comprehend "Al-Alam" (an ancient Sargonian term meaning "world," the whole of Terra). Yet the expected sense of accomplishment never came, perhaps because the work feels incomplete.
The author believes discussing life itself matters more than narrating the land's wonders. Only by taking one's own life and the lives of others seriously can one understand what is "valuable." Society, culture, and science are built on lived experiences; one can use Originium-powered devices without understanding their principles, but without understanding life, one cannot grasp what people have built through it.
Though lacking deep philosophical reflection, the author sees the book as a precious personal journal from what may be life's last great journey. Two events stood out. What troubled him most was frustration, not exhaustion: a former student, Ted Arnett, now a history lecturer, relayed a student's complaint about studying foreign histories with no relevance to them, and a Londinium friend dismissively asked why bother studying barbarians, calling such work menial. The author finds fact-finding enjoyable and wonders whether his years in education made an impact.
Encouragement came from a Sarkaz mercenary in Columbia, who claimed membership in the Royal Court. Before the Kazdel Civil War he studied comparative literature in Kazdel, but dropped out when everything changed. He asked for a signed copy, hoping to return to school, study sociology, and travel. Such modest hopes sustain the author's optimism.
People talk about others' lives yet refuse to truly understand them; those in peace treat distant wars as casual conversation. Feeling old age approaching, the author rushed to publish despite gaps remaining—nations, cultures, places, races still to explore—but has no regrets. Future generations will finish the work, and readers are invited to become companions in thought, facing life itself head-on.
Over the last decade, while writing this book, I repeatedly told myself that it was essential, even imagining at times that without it, people would never be able to comprehend the entirety of “Al-Alam” (an ancient Sargonian term meaning “world”—the whole of Terra). I must honestly admit that, by the final stages, it was this arrogance and sense of self-importance that drove me to complete the book. However, unlike in the past, the much-awaited sense of accomplishment and relief never came. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, I feel the work is not yet complete? With that in mind, I think it’s necessary to summarize my current thoughts.
In my view, it is far more meaningful to discuss life itself than to narrate, like a bard, the land’s wonders or to dress up them up like displays in a showcase for readers to admire. Only when a person can take their own life and the lives of others seriously can they begin to understand those topics we deem “valuable”. Our society, culture, science, and all the things we take pride in are built upon the lived experiences of countless individuals. We can use Originium-powered devices, even without understanding the principles behind Originium technology. However, if we do not understand life itself—if we do not grasp how we and others experience life—how can we truly comprehend what they have built through those experiences?
This book lacks deep philosophical reflection and falls short of thoroughly exploring many unknown fields, but I see it as a precious personal journal. It has accompanied me on what may be the last great journey of my life, bearing witness to many significant events along the way. Many of these moments left a lasting impression on me—some were disheartening, while others were uplifting and inspiring. Allow me to share two such events with you now, to commemorate the completion of my journey.
What troubled me the most wasn’t the physical challenges or exhaustion of the journey itself, but rather my underlying sense of frustration. Even after leaving the university, I stayed in touch with old friends. One of my former students, Ted Arnett, now a history lecturer, once shared with me the protest of one of his own students: “...I forced myself to stay awake through your lecture on Sargon and Kjerag, but honestly, I was ready to nod off just five minutes in. We poor students have to learn everything—all of Victoria’s history, from milestone events to extremely mundane footnotes. I get why we need to learn those things, but why
do I have to put so much effort into understanding something so foreign, some- thing that has no relevance to me?
Then there was my friend from Londinium, whose words carried an unmis- takable air of arrogance, despite his attempts to hide it: “Why bother studying barbarians? My friend, you should just take it easy and enjoy your retirement. Leave these menial tasks to the younger generation!” As I see it, young people shouldn’t be assigned so-called “menial work” simply on account of their age. In truth, I find these fact-finding missions quite enjoyable. There’s nothing boring about it. I mention this because I occasionally hear similar remarks, and each time, I reflect on whether my years in education have truly made an impact.
On the other hand, there have been many things that have encouraged me to keep going. During my time doing research in Columbia, I hired a team of Sarkaz mercenaries for security. The leader of the group was a big man who claimed to be a member of the Royal Court. “Back then (before the Kazdel Civil War), I was studying comparative literature in Kazdel,” he told me, during one of our casual conversations. “People like us, well, we’re sensitive folk, so we appreciate art. There were still a few universities in Kazdel at the time, and they put out cutting-edge research. I reckon you folks might not know that the Sarkaz have their own views on a lot of subjects. Then everything changed, and I had to drop out. I don’t like how things are with Kazdel now, so a few buddies and I decided to take our chances outside.” Our conversation was quite enjoyable, and he asked me to send him a signed copy of the book once it was published. “I still want to go back to school someday,” he said with a smile as we parted ways, “Maybe I’ll study sociology, travel a bit, and learn more about this great land.” It’s simple, modest hopes like these that keep me optimistic about the future.
People love to talk about other people’s lives, yet they often refuse to truly understand them. Those who live in peace tend to treat wars and disasters in distant lands as mere topics for casual conversation. I want to share everything with everyone, to allow people to recognize what other people are going through and empathize with them. But perhaps I no longer have the opportunity to complete the work I once imagined. I can feel old age catching up with me, which is why I rushed to publish this book, even though it’s far from complete. There are still many gaps to be filled, many nations and cultures to explore, many places and races to be studied, but I have no regrets. My part of the work is nearing its end, and the rest will be completed by those who come after me. Lastly, I invite everyone who has read this far to become my companions in thought—if only for a short while, even if just to face life itself head-on.
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