I Am The Swarm

During the Dark Age, aside from the limitations of spacecraft speed and communication delays, another problem plagued the Ji: the fleeting nature of an individual’s life span compared to the vast expanse of interstellar travel.

For civilizations engaged in space colonization, cryogenic sleep technology was a standard feature, significantly slowing the aging of passengers. Yet, the bonds and attachments between individuals remained an irreplaceable aspect of any society.

When a young Ji, brimming with hope and ambition, completed their rigorous training and bid farewell to their parents and siblings to embark on an interstellar journey, their youthful heart underestimated the challenges ahead and overestimated their own resilience.

After hundreds of years of travel, the young voyager awoke, as if from a long slumber, their concept of time blurred. Engulfed in battles, with gunfire raining and cannons roaring, injury and death became commonplace. Hardened by the trials of war, the youth grew and, if fortunate enough to survive, felt immense joy at the thought of returning home.

Yet another centuries-long journey awaited them. In the boundless cosmos, what seemed like insurmountable distances to mortal beings were trivial in the grand scale of the universe. Beyond the cabin windows, the stars still shone, most retaining their familiar positions, unchanged through the ages.

At last, the hopeful youth returned to the place of their upbringing. But a millennium had passed. What was once familiar had become alien. The time they spent in cryogenic sleep was lived fully by others. Their parents, siblings, and those who saw them off had lived and died without entering stasis.

The youth now understood the look in their parents’ eyes during that final farewell.

The realization shattered them. What had they fought and endured for?

This youth was emblematic of their era. Countless Ji warriors, bereft of emotional anchors, succumbed to despair and became hollow shells. They participated in wars across star systems, living solely for the purpose of dying.

The chaos and destruction of that time led to significant gaps in recorded history. But the two-millennia-long Dark Age was inseparably linked to these “youth.”

After the Ji overcame the challenges of speed and communication and ended the wars, they soon faced another truth: the issue of the “youth” was fundamentally spiritual. Even in peacetime, it remained unavoidable.

As long as the Ji continued to expand, the constraints of speed would inevitably resurface, and the “youth” would reappear.

The Ji quickly identified the core of the problem. The “youth” phenomenon was tied to lifespan and the emotional bonds that individuals formed. If so, the solution was clear—address the root causes.

Living organisms, as masterpieces of natural evolution, harbor countless secrets. Making abrupt changes often leads to unpredictable consequences. However, with their advanced technology and the assistance of numerous “external collaborators,” the Ji swiftly developed initial results. These advancements extended lifespans but not enough to resolve the “youth” issue.

The Ji soon realized that the vastness of the cosmos rendered any solution based solely on increasing lifespan inadequate. Without immortality, the problem could never truly be solved.

Thus, they had no choice but to approach the issue from a different angle.

Through a brutal reform, the Ji eradicated natural births entirely. All newborns were artificially cultivated and raised collectively.

Each group of six newborns formed a family. They had no concept of parents, only siblings. Close in age, these individuals were assigned work as a unit once they reached adulthood.

Whether in production, scientific research, or exploratory expeditions, family members advanced and retreated as one. They lived and worked together in the same roles until the end of their lives. This system eliminated the issues caused by disparate lifespans.

From the perspective of emotional bonds, the Ji had resolved the problem of the “youth,” albeit at the cost of suppressing many emotions.

This ushered in a period of stable development for the Ji. However, despite addressing the “youth” issue, they did not abandon their exploration of life itself.

Their research expanded beyond lifespan, exploring every aspect of life. For example, during the initial cultivation of life seeds, they made adjustments to predispose individuals toward specific roles, ensuring that upon birth, they were better suited for their assigned work.

Stronger warriors, more brilliant scientists, and so on—while these were peripheral improvements, they marked the Ji’s relentless drive to challenge the limits of life itself. These successes made the Ji increasingly arrogant. Devoid of certain emotions, they grew more fanatical—a transformation that reminded Luo Wen of a certain green-haired, obsessive gnome of a wizard.

The Ji became radical. While their original average lifespan had been lost to history, it was estimated by the Interstellar Technological Confederation’s civilizations to have been around 200 years.

By the time of their demise, the Ji’s average lifespan had increased tenfold to nearly 2,000 years.

Yes, the Ji perished. Their experiments in pushing the boundaries of life concealed innumerable hidden dangers. As genetic modifications continued, the Ji grew increasingly rational—cold, even emotionless.

Additionally, the modified life seeds exhibited declining viability. Birthrates plummeted, but the Ji, now devoid of emotion, saw no issue with this trend.

Until their final genetic modification.

For over a thousand years, no new members were added to the Ji population. As the remaining Ji aged and died, their numbers dwindled. Although they still possessed the unmodified Ji genetic templates, the surviving Ji refused to acknowledge these as their kin.

While the Ji population shrank, their territories became increasingly populated by non-Ji species. Yet, despite this, the Ji maintained an iron grip on their domains without the slightest loss of control.

Their dominance was underpinned by longstanding policies and another critical factor—a figure known as “Lumina.”

A long time ago, perhaps even before the Dark Age, the Ji’s vast territory began to outgrow their ability to govern it effectively.

This was not merely due to technological constraints but also human factors.

The Ji’s supreme governing body, the Council of Elders, had existed since the mythic era and continued to oversee all major and minor affairs.

However, as time passed and the number of colonies increased, the Council of Elders expanded in size. It became bloated with members, mirroring the Ji’s once-vivid emotional lives, with each individual holding strong personal opinions.

In most situations, having diverse perspectives was an asset. Yet, in some matters, it became a liability.

While the elders generally acted in the interests of their species, there were countless paths to achieve those goals. Each elder clung to their own ideas, forming factions and alliances.

As a result, many matters became mired in endless debate. Efficiency drifted further and further away from the Ji.

Fortunately, they eventually recognized the problem—although it took considerable time.

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