Chapter 1025: Act 197 – Victory of Evergreen
Whenever the shadow of a dragon sweeps across the hills and the land, many descendants infused with dragon blood surge forth from the earth. Astrologers claim that the next generation born under the shadow of a dragon will possess magical powers, and this gives rise to the year of the dragon’s shadow.
A thousand years later, the azure sea still washes against the coast of the White City, as it did a millennium ago. The sea, resembling a sapphire, leaves undulating wet marks on the long embankment of Antisquai; the highest wave has now reached the iron ring marking the highest water level in the history of the White City, a rusted artifact weathered by time.
This embankment was constructed during the era when Lord Tylenk of the White City forged swords into plows. It connects to the stone pier extending into the far-off blue bay, where hundreds of vessels of various shapes and sizes are moored, with the elven galleons standing out among them—a long procession of triangular sails, the ship’s prow curved like a sabre. This fleet crossed the sea from Erlandta in five waves.
On that day, the citizens of the White City watched as the fully armed elven army disembarked from these ships and headed east, batch after batch, and they never returned thereafter.
Half a month later, Rand stood once again on the embankment, gazing at the yellowing sailtops—the elves had not returned, and the ghostly fleet drifted aimlessly in the bay, still and silent. There were those who coveted them, but all who dared reach out were met with stern warnings from the Sanctuary.
The scent of the sea moistened his cheeks, carrying a damp chill.
He was filled with doubt; why had the elves of Erlandta come and where had they gone?
The empty fleet adrift on the sea seemed to speak silently, whispering like ghosts above the bay, sending a chill through him.
Rand suddenly felt a breeze rising over the sea, a cool sensation on his forehead.
He pressed his forehead, momentarily taken aback; how could a wind blow from the sea at this time of year?
But the sea wind quickly turned frenzied, darkening the surface of the water and whipping up white lines of waves. The strong gust swept across the bay, snapping the banners atop the sails, causing the trees beside the embankment to rustle and bow low. Rand felt his hair flying and hastily held onto his hat, as the wind lifted his clothing. He saw the sailboats in the harbor beginning to sway against one another.
What was happening?
A few workers in the direction of the port were shouting, their voices carried on the wind, seemingly complaining about the terrible weather, claiming a storm was brewing on the sea. But years of intuition as a sailor told him this was not the prelude to a storm; moreover, the rainy season had passed, and how could there be a storm on the calm sea nearing autumn?
He lifted his head and squinted; suddenly, he spotted several dark shapes appearing against the uneven skyline.
Those elegant beings flapping their wings were enormous and beautiful, as if every muscle on their grand bodies rippled with rhythm, showcasing the ultimate perfection of life; when they spread their wings, they seemed to blot out the sun, the wind swirling beneath their powerful membranes, raising waves upon the sea as they flew through the clouds.
Enormous shadows once again swept across the land, just as in the past when they ruled everything.
On this day, the dragon fleet flew once more over the White City.
……
Water droplets coalesced on the intertwining gray and white giant rocks, their edges glowing faintly, reflecting the grand sight within the Sanctuary; plink, a droplet fell from the vault above, landing in the dark holy stone pool, sending ripples across its surface.
“Master Sage, the outcome has been determined,” the Eleventh Lord Asbestus said softly in the darkness.
In the distance, several holy candles emitted a dim glow, outlining his silken robe of whitish fabric, which trailed down to the stone floor and was tinged with an unclear dark green.
Erlandta’s tall and tower-like figure stood still, her emerald eyes emanated a profound light in the darkness, her gaze cast beyond the terrace on one side of the giant stone Sanctuary—beyond lay the lofty mountains and forest shadows under the evening glow, the last line of gold light was swallowed up by heavy clouds, and stars tumbled down from the crimson-purple sky, imbued with a sense of poignant melancholy.
Light must fade below the horizon, followed by a long, endless night.
After a moment, she slowly spoke, “What did you see, Lord Asbestus?”
“This is news brought by my student: the Queen of Dragons has allied with the undead of Madara. On the morning of the seventeenth, an undead army departed from the Arjun region; on the twenty-first, they were sighted marching near Owesen. If I am not mistaken, the undead of Madara have now reached the battlefield—”
“On the Evergreen Corridor, the golden-maned Toquinin and the vast armies of Jotungrund are rushing north day and night; once they pass the gateway of Arobijang, the eastern forces of the Crusian will exceed five hundred thousand.”
The Eleventh Lord Asbestus produced a piece of parchment from the long sleeve of his robe, examined it carefully, and then handed it over.
But Erlandta did not take it.
“Have you heard of the Battle of Ekatos, Lord Asbestus?” She turned her head to look at him and asked.
Plink—
Another droplet fell into the pool.
Lord Asbestus lifted his head in confusion, the flickering candlelight deepening the wrinkles on his face, which appeared to have been carved by knife and chisel.
“Is there still uncertainty, Master Sage?”
“But… even if the Crown Prince can deal with the White Legion… facing the army of Jotungrund, they can’t hold out… unless…” he hesitated before answering, “unless you intervene, Master Sage.”
“I will not intervene, Lord Asbestus, I have made that clear long ago.”
“In that case… I fear they’ll find it difficult to—” The Eleventh Lord Asbestus furrowed his brow deeply, shaking his head repeatedly. “Master Sage,… not everyone is the King of Flames; miracles like the Battle of Ekatos… can only be called miracles precisely because they’re impossible to replicate.”
“But miracles are difficult to recreate—”
Erlandta did not refute him.
The last sliver of golden light had already sunk below the horizon, and the deep twilight carried endless solitude. The night wind began to stir, clouds slowly drifted south along the mountain ridge, and soon the moonlight poured down, casting a silver hue over the Golden Cupflower Mountains.
“I feel a stirring; the Sword of Flames, Odrefice, has been reborn into this world and has chosen its promised one—”
The Eleventh Lord Asbestus was startled, his head jerking up. “Master Sage, this…?”
“Every era has heroes born,” Erlandta replied softly, “and an era is called an era precisely because it will replace the past. Simply repeating the past will not provide answers.”
“The Bud people are paying back a debt; they really should not intervene in the holy war. Sixty years ago, someone bore it all for them, and now they must repay this gratitude.” She turned back, a rare smile on her resolute face. “The wind is rising, Lord Asbestus; can you feel it?”
Outside the giant rock Sanctuary, the wind was gradually intensifying, trees were making a chaotic sound, innumerable leaves were caught up and flew into the sky, forming a torrent that danced wildly in the air.
Some leaves were even swept up to the terrace, falling to the ground within the Sanctuary, as a few monks hurriedly attempted to close the doors.
But at that moment, the main door at the back of the Sanctuary was thrown open with a loud crash.
“Dragons—”
“Master, Sage, it’s a dragon fleet!”
……
“Duruoma, Anlek, Karasu, many reports have confirmed the presence of dragons.”
“The dragons are behaving strangely; is something unusual happening?”
“There’s another matter, Your Highness; we need an explanation—”
Princess Grifian finally lifted her head from the pile of documents on her desk, slightly frowning, the gentle yet resolute silver hues in her eyes betraying a hint of unnoticed worry as she looked at the noble standing before her—a member of the Norning family, behind whom stood Duke Golan-Elsen, perhaps with others?
She parted her lips, asking, “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you just said; could you please repeat that?”
The princess’s voice was not loud.
Yet it caused the purple basil hall of Onivido Castle to fall into silence, the nobles of various grades seemingly realizing something, halting their conversations in unison, tilting their heads to look in that direction. Some appeared uncertain, while others wore expressions of amusement, a tapestry of peculiar faces intertwined, forming an absurd painting.
The noble paid no heed to Princess Grifian’s status and arrogantly stepped out of the crowd, gleefully pulling out a letter from his bosom, placing it before Grifian.
“Your Highness,” he pointed at the letter and said, “This is a recent frontline report from Buche, Gold Castle, and the Kalaras Plateau; the facts show that both the Empire and the undead of Madara are amassing troops on the border, eager to act.”
Princess Grifian stared directly into the nobility’s eyes, catching sight of many figures in his peripheral vision: envoys of Duke Golan-Elsen, northern nobles, her grandfather Duke Vieiro, and even royalist members; she spotted Makarolo among the crowd. Those people first averted their gaze from her, but soon approached her boldly—
She clenched her fist inwardly.
“There’s also a report, Your Highness,” the noble continued calmly, “saying the Crusian have allied with Madara. Madara has deployed tens of thousands of undead to participate in the eastern Mez region, while the Jotungrund and Golden-Maned Toquinin legions loyal to the Queen of Dragons have also crossed through the gateway of Arobijang; the Crown Prince of the Crusian is doomed at any moment—”
“I am already aware of that report,” said Princess Grifian, her face darkening. “What kind of explanation do you wish to hear?”
“Your Highness,” an envoy of Duke Golan-Elsen suddenly interjected, “Erluin is a small nation. Under the pressure of both Madara and the Empire, it cannot survive. And small nations must have their own way of survival. Recently, your earl has been stirring up trouble within the Empire, disregarding everyone’s counsel. Now that your bold and reckless plan is on the brink of failure, should you not give us an account?”
Princess Grifian fell silent. Since the war broke out at Fatan Port, both sides of the conflict had used magic to seal all magical communication in the region; for nearly half a month, there hadn’t been a word of news from the battlefield.
She shifted her gaze to the Byrelei standing among the crowd, who did not speak but merely nodded slightly in her direction.
For some reason, her heart felt a warm flutter.
Regaining her composure, she coldly surveyed everyone present, speaking, “The earl’s actions are just and reasonable; Erluin must protect its people, and will never bow to any tyrannical power—be it the Empire or the undead! Earl Toniger has previously defeated the Empire, and I believe he will halt the Empire in its tracks this time as well. I must tell everyone a fact—”
“That is that Lady Martha once taught us, justice—will—prevail.”
The hall fell silent, the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.
The atmosphere was charged with tension, almost palpable.
The envoy scoffed.
“Your Highness, one cannot win wars with merely words. The Empire and Madara are united; there are tens of thousands of undead forces gathering in the Arjun region. Adding the formidable White Legion, please tell me how the Empire will fail? Even if, by a stroke of fortune, our Earl Toniger, under the protection of Lady Martha, wins this battle, what then will he do about the lionmen of Toquinin and the Jotungrund army?”
As he reached this point, he couldn’t help a rather presumptuous chuckle: “Of course, perhaps our esteemed Earl will use his will to kill the enemy, and with a flourish of words, cause hundreds of thousands to vanish into thin air? After all, didn’t Lady Martha say that justice will not fail—”
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Duke Vieiro sighed, shaking his head: “Grifian, stubbornness is not a quality a good ruler should possess. Though you are not the king of Erluin, you do represent the royal face; what you said before was far too naïve.”
Princess Grifian’s expression turned icy as she turned her gaze to Makarolo.
Makarolo frowned. “…Your Highness, do not be so headstrong.”
Princess Grifian’s face betrayed unmistakable disappointment as she scoffed, “So, you all were waiting for this moment.”
“Your Highness, you should say that we’ve given you and your earl ample opportunities, but you have disappointed us greatly.”
“What a disappointment—”
With a loud crack, the main doors of the purple basil hall in Onivido Castle burst open, and in walked the grand commander of the Highland Knights, Bud, followed by seven or eight young Highland knights. Bud looked around with a cold smile: “What’s most disappointing is that it’s not the previously glorious royalist faction saving Erluin, but an obscure junior. Some people in the back must be seething with jealousy, for fear of being consumed by envy.”
The expressions of the royalists present, including Makarolo, changed drastically; only Overwell remained calm, though he frowned slightly. After all, who could endure being publicly ridiculed?
“Bud, have you lost your mind!” a young royalist could no longer hold himself back, wanting to step forward, but he was immediately pulled back by others.
What a joke; the man before them was known as the ‘Restorer’—one of the elite fighters among Erluin’s few civilized elements. Wouldn’t it be self-deprecating to step forward?
Bud didn’t even glance at these foolish youths but directly approached Princess Grifian, kneeling on one knee to perform a grand knightly salute and said, “Your Highness, I bring good news.”
Princess Grifian was momentarily taken aback.
The knight commander had already produced a scroll from his bosom, extending it with both hands. “Your Highness, the Great Victory of Mehotofin. In mid-last month, Earl Toniger shattered the White Legion in the Battle of Fatan Port, annihilating the undead army of Madara. Then he set up an ambush, defeating the joint forces of Golden-Maned Toquinin and Jotungrund. As of the seventh of this month, the entire eastern Mez region has been liberated and is under the control of the Crown Prince of the Empire.”
A dead silence blanketed the hall.
“That’s impossible!” the envoy of Duke Golan-Elsen loudly objected, “This is a false report of military affairs!”
“Lord Bud, what on earth is happening?” Princess Grifian frowned. Even she had difficulty believing that three consecutive victories meant that the armies of the Empire, Madara, Toquinin, and Jotungrund were made of wood. While she had no doubt that Brendel could perform miracles, how many people were at Fatan Port? Merely maintaining a stalemate would already be remarkable.
Bud smiled slightly, turning to explain to everyone: “After defeating the White Legion, Earl Toniger persuaded the commander of the White Legion, Duke Ambronner, to surrender. Capitalizing on this information advantage, he sealed off news. By then, the Golden-Maned Toquinin and Jotungrund coalition were completely unaware, following their original plan to cross the Evergreen Corridor, plunging headlong into the earl’s ambush. Earl Toniger, using the terrain advantage in the Arobijang Canyon, virtually annihilated the league of lions and Jotungrund’s army in one fell swoop.”
“What about the Dragon Queen? How could he possibly confront three giant dragons?” the envoy screamed.
But Bud didn’t even consider him worthy of a glance; he turned back to Princess Grifian with a nod.
Princess Grifian blinked in surprise, a complex emotion flashing through her gentle silver eyes. After hesitating for a moment, she gently reached for the scroll—
Outside the palace, it was just after noon, and amid the shifting lights, there appeared the shadow of a dragon gliding gracefully.
……
(PS: Haha, today is the Holy Building Day, did all of you gain anything, huh? I just got Leysaill! Not that I’m bragging! The bishop’s mainstay faction is just so happy! To celebrate, I quietly added another thousand words for the update, just so commendably principled!)
