章節 6: 6. Firewalls and Lessons
The village children gathered under the shade of an old oak, their eyes bright with curiosity, their hands restless with sticks and stones. They were supposed to be weeding the herb garden, but the moment he walked by, they abandoned chores to trail after him.
"Oracle, show us magic!" one cried."Make the rocks dance again!" another begged.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd only meant to test a basic levitation script, nudging a stone into the air. But to the kids, it had been the greatest spectacle of their lives.
Maren appeared at the garden's edge, arms folded. "If you are to distract them, at least make it useful."
Her voice carried that mix of dry reproach and secret amusement. He raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Class is in session."
The children squealed and plopped onto the grass.
He crouched, drawing shapes in the dirt with a stick. "Okay. You see these?" He scrawled crude versions of the glowing glyphs he always saw. "These are like… rules. The world follows them, just like you follow the rules of a game."
The kids leaned closer.
"If I write this—" He scratched a line: if (stone) → float = true;
He pointed at a nearby pebble. It rose, hovering gently above the dirt. The children gasped.
"—the stone floats. But if I change the rule—" He scratched out "true" and wrote "false." The pebble dropped with a soft thud.
"See? Rules. And if you understand the rules, you can play better."
One boy frowned. "But… only the Oracle can see the words."
That hit him. He looked at their eager faces, and a thought sparked: what if they could learn too?
Back in his world, knowledge was hoarded in companies, firewalled by patents, hidden in jargon. Here, he had the chance to open-source it.
He grinned. "Maybe for now. But I can teach you to think like the rules exist—even if you can't see them yet."
Thus began his first village lesson.
Days passed, and "lessons under the oak" became a ritual. He taught the children logic with games: if one goat eats grass faster than another, how long until the pasture is gone? He showed them patterns in nature—the way vines wrapped trees like nested loops, the way seasons cycled like repeating functions.
The kids caught on quickly. Their laughter rang through the fields as they solved riddles he disguised as code problems. Parents began sitting nearby too, curious at first, then nodding as they listened.
He realized, with a pang, that he was building more than food and tools. He was building a foundation. A school, in all but name.
And for the first time, he allowed himself to imagine: what if this village grew into something more?
But alongside teaching, another need pressed in. Defense.
The village had no walls, no watchtowers, only crude fences meant to keep goats from wandering. Bandits, beasts, or worse—if anyone came for their newfound abundance, they'd be defenseless.
So one evening, while the children chased fireflies, he walked the perimeter of the fields, pulling up the code of the land.
access = unrestricted;
He grimaced. "Not for long."
He rewrote it.access = villagers_only; unauthorized_entry = alert;
A faint shimmer rippled around the village, like a transparent dome invisible to normal eyes. A firewall, plain and simple.
Testing it, he walked through easily. Then he tossed a stick. The moment it crossed the invisible threshold, glyphs flared red, and a soft chime echoed in his ears.
Perfect. An early warning system.
But he didn't stop there. At key entry points, he etched subtle runes into the earth, tweaking them to trigger mild deterrents. If someone unfamiliar stepped through, the ground would tangle their feet with roots or blast them with harmless but disorienting light.
Non-lethal. Protective. Enough to give warning without bloodshed.
When he explained it to Maren, she arched an eyebrow. "You build walls of air."
He smirked. "Yeah. Call it a firewall. Keeps out intruders, lets the right people in."
She didn't understand the word, but she understood the intent. Her nod was approval enough.
Of course, word of these changes spread. Farmers noticed how predators no longer snatched chickens at night. Hunters returned saying wolves skirted the village, as if hitting an invisible boundary.
Whispers grew. First of protection. Then of sanctuary. Travelers began arriving, drawn by the rumors: a village with bountiful harvests, sturdy homes, safe borders.
He wasn't sure how to feel. Pride, yes. But also dread. Each new face was another variable, another potential leak in the system.
Still, when he saw children learning, farmers thriving, families laughing under lamplight, he told himself it was worth it.
One night, unable to sleep, he stood at the village edge, staring out into the dark forest. The firewall shimmered faintly before his eyes, a soft glow only he could see.
It comforted him. But also reminded him.
Firewalls could be breached. Systems could be hacked.
And out there, in the vast unknown, someone might already be writing their own counter-code.
He clenched his fists. "Then I'll just have to stay one step ahead."
Behind him, the village slept peacefully, unaware of the lines of logic and sacrifice that held their safety together.
For now.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
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-- 推薦票