Chapter 947: Act 118 – The Battle of Gray Lands
(Harmony has arrived.)
“Great Migration?” Brendel’s dark brown eyes showed a hint of skepticism. It seemed he had some faint recollection of this term, and after notable consideration, he finally remembered a fierce war that occurred between the dark elves and demons after the Second Era—what the subterranean dwarves called the ‘Battle of Gray Lands.’ This war, aimed at survival and destruction, eventually affected the upper regions of Jotungrund, leading to the migration of all subterranean world inhabitants upward. Jotungrund was not a realm for players, and the information about this war, which was far removed from the mortal world, was sparse, only surfacing in whispers much later when players caught wind of some fragments of it. A sliver of doubt flickered in Brendel’s mind: could this be the beginning of that war, already initiated in this era? He shook his head subtly; although migrations in history only began to show signs after the fortieth year of the Second Era, there had been no large-scale invasions from Jotungrund beforehand. Although he was not a Crusian, if such a significant event occurred in Cruz, as a player, he would have had no reason not to hear any rumors.
Suddenly, a strong premonition welled up in his heart: perhaps just like the early arrival of the Holy War, the war between the dark elves and demons had also been brought forward for unknown reasons—no, it might be more accurate to say that the advancement of this battlefield prompted the early outbreak of the Holy War. Ultimately, the trigger for this Holy War stemmed from the large-scale incursions by Toquinin’s Gold-maned Lionmen, who claimed to be reclaiming the Earth Sword, but since Brendel had met the Queen of Dragons, he understood that this was merely a well-orchestrated play by Cruz’s empress.
Brendel felt a chill run down his spine; prior to this, he had theorized about this empress’s schemes: historically, she had made similar plans, only to have failed, which led to the starkly different histories in the two worlds. After all, he had changed the outcome of the battle at Ampere Seale with his own hands, later leading to the emergence of the Gun of Azure, the ‘disappearance’ of the Crown Prince of the Cruz Empire, and the changes brought forth by his butterfly effect. While this sounded somewhat fanciful, it was not impossible; he understood well the type of character the Silver Queen was, and it was entirely possible for her to seize any glimmer of opportunity to flip the tide.
However, in this moment, his speculations about the Battle of Gray Lands contradicted that theory.
Since traversing into this world, Brendel could confirm that he had no ties to the dark elves or demons; if there were any connections to speak of, it would only be the one encounter with demons during the battle at Ampere Seale. However, the time that had elapsed since the battle was merely half a year. The war between the dark elves and demons had impacted Ashen Spire, which led to the migration of the inhabitants of the underground world to Jotungrund; it couldn’t be that there had only been half a year since then. He recalled another matter: during the demon invasion at Ampere Seale, many troops from Jotungrund had been enslaved—there were eagle-bodied harpies, troglodytes, and even that beautiful Medusa woman had escaped from the demons. In other words, this was enough to prove that when the war at Ampere Seale broke out, the ‘Battle of Gray Lands’ had already been raging for quite some time.
Looking further back, he hadn’t even stabilized his own foundation, let alone influence the global structure of Vaunte. This only pointed to one conclusion:
The current world and the world of the Amber Sword were inherently different. Historically, the empress had not made such plans; the histories and futures of the two worlds had been walking down two parallel, similar yet divergent roads.
What the senior said might indeed be true.
Brendel couldn’t help but take a deep breath; this fact was somewhat difficult for him to accept since he had relied on his foresight of the future to reach this point. He lifted his head, gazing across the plains, his light brown eyes traversing past the troglodyte tents, the migrating pack animals, and the fluttering Jotungrund flags that resembled torn pieces of fabric in the wind. There was an incomprehensible depth in his gaze, as if he saw the passage of time, the torrent of history rolling forward, crushing everything he knew, even breaking the shackles of space. He could see the complex and winding river of fate uncoiling across mountains and plains, a layer of mist shrouding the whole of Erluin, even covering the entirety of Vaunte.
This was the fragmented foresight and potential future.
But shaking his head lightly, Brendel was surprisingly not overly frightened by this outcome. That feeling was akin to a realization after enduring numerous challenges and trials; once the weak and illusory ‘reliance on the future’ that could dissolve into vapor at any moment truly shattered, his heart instead became more resolute, an indescribable confidence seemingly manifesting as the radiant sword in his hand. As long as he gripped it tightly, he could feel its real and cold touch, while all those relying on and supporting him stood behind him, like a source of power.
Brendel even felt that with this strength, simply swinging the sword lightly would seem to clear the fog ahead. Beyond that mist, there lay a broad road.
That was Erluin’s fate, as well as his own fate.
History might have changed, but it brought with it a sense of grasping one’s fate and pulse. This strange sensation, both wondrous and resilient, was rooted deep within his soul.
…
Laisimeka naturally would have no idea that her simple opening statement would evoke so many feelings in the young lord. She saw Brendel silent and glanced at the others; the nobles present were all wearied and confused, evidently yet to understand what this so-called ‘Great Migration’ represented. Laisimeka seemed quite satisfied with the effect of her words and did not continue speaking; she was a woman well-versed in the art of rhetoric and understood that it was best for the humans to draw out the topic themselves, allowing her subsequent descriptions to resonate even more deeply.
As she expected, it was not long before a well-dressed male noble spoke up: “This beautiful… lady, I must admit, I do not quite understand your meaning of migration.” His words clearly represented the thoughts of most of those present, and almost all eyes were fixed on Laisimeka’s radiant face.
The Medusa lady smiled faintly: “As you all see, the so-called migration… is merely colonization.”
“Colonization?” The nobles looked puzzled, for according to common knowledge, the surface world was not suitable for troglodytes, and considering the vast expanse of Jotungrund, it seemed these subterranean inhabitants hadn’t reached a population explosion such as to necessitate occupying the surface world.
“Has something happened in the underground world?” someone else inquired.
Laisimeka glanced appreciatively in that direction, replying, “Good guess; the reason is the demons.”
“Demons?”
A gasp arose among the nobles, for in all legends, demons were the most extreme evils lurking in the depths of hell. Their existence was a taboo for the surface world; for the past ten centuries, the temples had harshly cracked down on any sects and individuals related to demons, yet secretive gatherings and organizations could never be completely eradicated, alongside blood sacrifices, living offerings, and cruel, bloody rituals. However, most attendees were knowledgeable dignitaries, not like those ignorant folk who would panic at the mere whisper of the word, but the critical question was—ever since the Knight of Azure had defeated the Duskgazer Dragon, demons seemed to have been silent for countless ages; how could they be linked to the upheaval in the underground world?
“The demons invaded Jotungrund, those beings from beneath the River of Sulfur, representing chaos and destruction, have annihilated numerous underground cities across the Scorching Plains and Ashen Spire, leaving only blood and fire in their wake; naturally, the inhabitants could not escape this fate, including myself and my kin…” Laisimeka seemed to recall something, a flicker of terror crossing her face.
“What did you say?”
“Oh my God, are those hellish demons stirring again?”
Clearly, this was more than just a gasp; Laisimeka’s words stirred a significant commotion among the crowd, and the nobles erupted into a cacophony of mixed astonishment, everyone trying to digest this new information, displaying varied expressions. Especially in this season, people inevitably linked the demons’ abnormal actions with the rare magical tide, an apparently dreadful association.
Most of the crowd looked pale; some recalled the battle of Ampere Seale half a year prior, where the struggle for power between Erluin and the Temple of Fire had obscured the shadow of demons behind the war, but now, they were recalling it vividly.
“Could it be that the doomsday cultists’ prophecies are true, that the rare magical tide is altering the future, and the era of mortals is nearing its end?!”
“Will the Duskgazer Dragon really resurrect from the chaos? Are those hellish demons merely its vanguard?”
Whispers rippled through the crowd, and some of the more timid individuals could not help but tremble; if that were the case, it would be the last chapter of the Black Prophecy—the harbinger of the apocalypse, the Battle of Dusk.
The nobles’ discussions finally snapped Brendel out of his reverie. Upon hearing the term ‘demons,’ his brow furrowed slightly, and regarding what the nobles referred to as doomsday cultists—those prowling tricksters who hid in alleys and crevices—struck fear in him. Due to temple prohibitions and hunts, these people dared not preach openly and only exchanged their alluring so-called ‘doctrines’ privately, among whom a substantial portion were indeed cultists, while the rest mostly had ulterior motives—how credible their ‘prophecies’ could be was highly questionable.
Nevertheless, such worries were not unfounded. Although in various legends, the Knight of Azure had slain the Duskgazer Dragon, as a player, Brendel knew well that as the final boss of Amber Sword, the Duskgazer Dragon would eventually meet the players. Moreover, in the true Songs of Azure, the Knight of Azure only sealed the Duskgazer Dragon, marking the beginning of the mortal era. The rise of chaos was inevitable; in the game, once the Great Demon Tide took shape, the Stones of War and Wolf Havoc would follow, and soon after, there would be Eternal Night and the War of Wizards, leading up to the return of the Battle of Dusk. In truth, the signs had already begun to appear even before he had traversed. However, all of this was still some way off for the current Vaunte.
As Brendel pondered on this, his heart unexpectedly leaped.
Was it really still early?
His gaze automatically crossed the crenelations, landing once more on the plains, where the gathered troglodytes served as a kind of omen, or perhaps a subtle inner voice, reminding him of something. What had occurred beneath the River of Sulfur? Why had the war between dark elves and demons erupted so prematurely? Without thinking, he turned his head instinctively, locking eyes with the Lady Knight behind him, only to starkly discover that she was looking at him too, her purple-black eyes clearly reflecting the same worry.
What a time of troubles! He sighed heavily; the Great Demon Tide was forming earlier than expected, while the Gun of Azure had coincidentally appeared at this time, the Empire’s strong intervention and Bud’s uncharacteristic eagerness for the mortal world, not to mention the return of the Silver Elves. Every single event here intertwined with various periods of history, seeming ambiguous yet profound, as if the game’s narrative had accelerated unexpectedly and intertwined, though he did not yet grasp what had truly happened or what had propelled all of this. Still, he felt a vague sense of the changing times: the old era fading away, a new era dawning, the grand continuation of history.
“However, I would much rather be born in a peaceful and harmonious age…” He couldn’t help but feel a bit distressed; these events were originally unrelated to him, but for Erluin to try to survive in such a grand environment would undoubtedly be no easy task.
“What did you say?” Nemeses, unable to hear Brendel’s muttering, guessed a portion of it, frowning as she asked.
“Uh… it’s nothing.” After spending some time together, Brendel had gradually gotten a handle on this ‘senior’ from another world’s temperament. He knew that if she heard his languid remarks, she would likely furrow her brow again, so he quickly changed his tune: “Just a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
Brendel nodded slightly; he wasn’t lying.
The turmoil and warfare brought about by ancient stones, followed by the Wolf Havoc, and even the Great Demon Tide itself, could all potentially stem from something deeper—before he traversed, Amber Sword was at the end of a mature chapter, and the next chapter had already started revealing hints: Madara’s second advance, and the battles in the Altania Mountain Range were merely the prologue, wherein hints were vaguely mentioned of the wanderers over the vast Eastern Plains; in that environment, the entire continent was also dynamically stirring, much like now.
This was certainly not just a Holy War.
Brendel couldn’t help but associate it with that War Stone—once the stone descended, what then?
Was it seven days and nights, wolves wandering in the wilderness…
…
From the main street, King’s Avenue, in Ruin Port, looking westward, the white streets and the almost-tiered rooftops descended at this level, converging at the azure mirror at the horizon. In the harbor area, rows of ivory towers pierced the clouds, segmenting the sea visible before the eyes with rhythm.
This was the prime docking area of the first-class port.
Although purely from the scale of the port, the largest harbor to the south of the High Sea, New Pearl Ruin Port, might not match Ampere Seale—after all, the latter was a hub connecting two vast seas, where ships from dozens of countries would dock according to the seasons, but as a commercial center of a small kingdom, Ampere Seale did not possess the unique grandeur of an imperial naval port.
A century ago, the introduction of magical engineering by the Hazel people to the continent, the invention of the magical power core, and the advent of airships led to the emergence of specialized docks—these being first-class docks. Before that, all ports in Vaunte did not have the concept of first-class docking. At every port on the continent, even the docks used for his Majesty the Emperor’s flagship could merely be termed as upper-class or royal exclusive docks.
As for airships, their special nature dictated that they could only surface as the most important military equipment, thus all ports with first-class docking facilities were imbued with another special meaning: naval fortresses.
And Ruin Port was one of them.
Ruin Port was one of the three backup bases of the Imperial Navy. Although it was not frequently used, it existed as a logistic base for winter training; while the main force of the Cruz Empire’s navy did not garrison here, their supplies would be relied upon at this port upon entering the High Sea. As a logistic base, in fact, there were always a few warships stationed at Ruin Port; some belonged to local fleets, and others to the Empire’s support fleet. However, since the invasion from Jotungrund, the Imperial Navy deemed that Ruin Port was perhaps unable to withstand assaults from land, so to prevent the fleet from falling into enemy hands and ‘aiding them,’ they arbitrarily dispatched the originally stationed support fleet to the Violet region.
Since the Imperial Navy stationed at Ruin Port did not belong to local jurisdiction, even though the Castellan of Ruin Port and the superintendent Wolas strongly opposed this, it ultimately came to nothing.
“Proving to be an extremely wise decision,” Charles stood on the transverse walkway of Pier No. 14, taking a deep breath. At this height, the brisk wind greeted him, causing his robe to flap wildly, and the chilly air seemed to pour directly into his lungs, sharpening his senses. Looking down, the bay of Ruin Port transformed into a small piece of deep blue glass shards nearly a thousand feet below, fragmented by the strait and the pier extending into the bay, yet exceptionally beautiful.
Grazing a blade of dried grass between his teeth, he continued, “While the Empire’s upper echelons are bureaucratic to the extreme, they set the example for others to follow; those big shots clearly understand that the locals are often even worse. Relying on these folks isn’t feasible. If the Empire’s support fleet were still here, we likely wouldn’t have been able to seize it.”
Charles spoke to Juliette beside him, utterly unfazed by the ugly expressions on the faces of several local Cruz officials—across the transverse walkway, between two opposing towers flickering with soft light, a fragment of glowing air made up this special dock. Ruin’s air dock had been built only ten years prior, and while still relatively new among such constructions, it had already borne the marks of battle, with dragon beasts’ attacks leaving prominent scars; almost a third of the docks had been utterly destroyed—he was almost certain that before the attack arrived, this port had been completely unprepared.
Thus, if that fleet had remained here, it would have likely turned into a spectacle of fireworks in the sky.
Juliette nodded slightly. Although the warfare involving dragon beasts and airships had far surpassed this mercenary captain’s imagination, she could sense the clues from those local imperial officials’ airs; those guys eyed her like a predator, with disdainful looks towards her identity. She had seen too many of these local nobles in Erluin—she knew full well what sort of people they were.
Yet she had no mood to indulge in the sorcerer’s sarcastic remarks; instead, she was more concerned about the tasks Brendel had entrusted to her: in her eyes, those robed apprentices of wizards hustled around the transverse bridge, unaware of what they were doing and oblivious to their progress; after all, they had little time left, and she couldn’t help feeling somewhat anxious as she glanced at the nonchalant-looking young sorcerer, whose demeanor made it hard for her to find peace.
“Mr. Charles, about the lord…”
Juliette finally couldn’t hold back from asking, but before she had finished speaking, she saw Charles turn his head, raising a finger to silence her.
The latter was gazing intently at the space between the high towers, eyes bright as if he had discovered something intriguing: “Shh, Lady Juliette—there’s movement!”
A ripple spread from the empty space, as if a pebble had been thrown into calm waters.
“We’ve made contact, Master Charles!” one apprentice shouted, the voice trailing off in the wind.
“Excellent, immediately lower the anchor point!”
