Chapter 958: Act 130 – History
After the storm, a captivating shade of deep blue emerged from the previously dark sea surface, with sunlight piercing through tattered dark clouds, as the sky gradually cleared behind. After the fierce winds and rain, only thin streams of raindrops remained in the sky, sparkling with golden light under the sun. The raindrops fell on the masts of the fleet, washing away the scorch marks and blood stains on the silver sails. The entire fleet, battered and bruised, hovered above the elevated waters of the sea, resembling a colossal beast fallen into silence, its injured scales telling the tale of the recent fierce battle.
The dragon beasts were retreating like a receding tide.
Modest flapped her expansive wings that shaded the sun, the clouds caught in her vortex were torn apart like rushing water crashing against rocks, turning into scattered fragments of flame. She confronted this human fleet in mid-air, glaring hatefully at them, her golden pupils revealing a mix of rage and unwillingness. However, the incredible sword that had slashed through the storm just moments before left her trembling with fear.
The Extreme Sword Saint—there was actually an Extreme Sword Saint among this small human fleet, that man in black, with icy eyes that extinguished any thoughts of resistance within her.
Damn it, if that arrogant Oblisdain were here, he would surely give them a hard time. Mother Black Dragon gritted her teeth but had to admit defeat. She gestured with her paw for her dragon general not to act rashly. “Go, retreat! They are heading for Fattan. We shall meet again there!” Modest forced out these words through clenched teeth.
As she turned, it was as if a dark cloud had moved away from the sky, freeing the shadow that had enveloped the fleet.
The giant dragon had departed.
“They’re retreating!” the crowd screamed. They could hardly believe it; they had weathered the storm and repelled the dragon beasts’ attack. It was nothing short of a miracle—no, a divine miracle. Everyone understood that the greatest crisis had passed; from now on, this vast sea would be smooth sailing for them, with no more obstacles in their way.
After the rain and storm, the rainbow hanging in the sky appeared so clear.
The Crusian warriors who had participated in the battle could not help but shout with joy, some even crying out loud. The nobles, disregarding any sense of dignity, rushed onto the deck, watching this scene with their legs feeling weak, leaning against the mast while fervently sketching Martha’s holy emblem—humbly praising the divine protection that had descended. Yet, they had not forgotten who had created this miracle, though they were extremely reluctant to admit it was an Erluin who had accomplished all this. From Valgris to Ruin Port, and from Ruin Port to the elevated sea, it was as if there was no challenge that could hinder the confidence of that young man.
“After all, he is the descendant of that person.”
“He is the descendant of the Highland Knight…”
Whispers like this circulated among the crowd.
More people gathered at the ship’s railing, cheering loudly, celebrating this hard-won victory while hysterically releasing their emotions. But those who had truly participated in preparing for this war felt not a single extra thought but only a deep fatigue that engulfed them both physically and mentally.
It was as if, the moment they relaxed, exhaustion and mental fatigue surged over them.
Brendel stood on the stern of the Akenton, his gaze immediately landing on the Merchant Miss cradled in Yuta’s arms, who had already fallen into a deep sleep. Even in slumber, Romaine’s brow was slightly furrowed, as if still engaged in her work. Seeing this, Brendel couldn’t help but feel his heart soften uncontrollably. Over the past forty hours, the countless supplies of the entire fleet had been unified and allocated by the Merchant Miss alone, working ceaselessly for nearly two days and nights without a moment’s rest.
Yet all of this had been accomplished nearly flawlessly under her extraordinary talent; that terrifying memory and keen sense of logistical flow even left Brendel in awe.
In the past, he seldom involved himself in Romaine’s business affairs in the territory and had never witnessed how this young lady commanded her domain, but at this moment, he understood why the commercial activities in Cold Fir Territory had been so orderly from the very beginning, even surpassing its other industries.
…
“Brendel, the number of monsters attacking our side is far greater than those on the other side. On the other side, there are sixteen small boats and four large ones; their magic crystals and ammunition consumption should be far below expectations. If any of the twenty-seven ships on this side run out of ammunition, you can find a way to balance it from the other side.”
“And,” Little Romain said with dark circles under her eyes, carefully reminding him, “the hit ships include the Bambi and three others, two of which fell into the sea. The sunken ships should be carrying food and drinking water, which is a third of our total supplies. The remaining transport ships have been placed in the middle of the fleet. Brendel, you must protect them carefully.”
After saying this, she yawned, leaning her head on him and falling into a deep sleep, lightly snoring without a care that Brendel might take advantage of her, which made him smile with bitterness. Unfortunately, Brendel wished to give this Merchant Miss, who had devoted herself to him since Buche, a warm embrace, but the fleet could not leave his command for even a moment. He had no choice but to hand that task over to Yuta.
Recalling the just-concluded great battle, he felt a bit fortunate.
It was a rare storm over the elevated sea, with lightning streaking down like a curtain of lightning from the dark clouds. However, the violent storm was not just a hindrance for humans; it equally hampered the dragon beasts’ attacks.
This was the reason he had insisted the fleet deviate from its course and plunge into the dangerous storm area because he knew these dragon beasts from the depths could not adapt to the complex and changing weather environment of the ocean. It was proven again that his knowledge from the game had saved everyone. Modest launched multiple attacks during the storm that were all ineffective; the dragon beasts were not accustomed to organizing formations in the chaotic skies filled with wind and rain, let alone launching effective offensives, and many ended up falling into the sea due to losing altitude. On the other hand, the human fleet, though slow, had sailors who were used to facing the wind and waves, allowing them to effectively avoid getting lost. Although Modest was furious, it was of no use; while the giant dragon was powerful, it was not omnipotent.
The one truly threatening attack came just before the storm abated, but it did not escape Brendel’s predictions. He understood the vengeful nature of the black dragon, so he had laid out plans for counterattacks early on. Moreover, even the heavens sided with humanity in this instance; the storm continued for two full days and nights, exhausting the dragon swarm. By the time they launched their final assault under Modest’s coercion, the shocking sword strike of the Gray Sword Saint had extinguished all her wild fantasies.
Humans may have held the upper hand, but looking back, all had endured a brutal struggle over the past two days.
The fleet lost over ten percent of its warships, with countless damages, many perishing in battle, but even more losses came from the storm itself. It was a nightmare, and thankfully, it had finally ended. Sailors and officers, after a raucous cheer, one by one slumped against the deck, instantly falling into a chorus of snores. At this moment, there was no first officer urging them to rise and continue fighting; soon, only the sound of united breaths remained on the deck.
“What a stroke of luck, my lord,” Charles said, looking disheveled. The elegant magician’s robe was drenched and clinging to him. He climbed the stern, wiping droplets from his forehead as he complained to Brendel, “We faced a storm in the Shimmering Sea before, and the storms out in the open sea are much scarier than this. Your grandfather was utterly seasick back then.”
Brendel glared at this guy who was tarnishing his grandfather’s image.
Charles felt a bit guilty under Brendel’s glare and shrugged, “Alright, I admit I got a bit sick too, but I’m a wizard, you know, our willpower is always a bit more robust than ordinary people’s.”
“Your pale face isn’t very convincing.”
“That’s only because I’m so tired, my lord.”
“I wasn’t aware that spirits needed sleep too?”
“I see that particular lord has a different opinion—” Charles smiled slightly.
Brendel knew the guy was talking about Queen Saint Ausoor, cursing him for being sly; he dared not poke fun at that elven senior sister.
Clop, Brendel heard footsteps behind him. Turning around, he saw a pair of black high-heeled shoes, adorned with roses at the tips as red as blood. Above the snow-white ankle, a dark ebony skirt flowed down, a delicate waist and layers of lace over the chest, subtle shoulder straps pressing on her fair shoulders, her long neck, pointed chin, inky hair, scarlet eyes like garnets, high-arcing slender eyebrows, and a smooth forehead akin to jade.
“Why are you out here?” Brendel frowned, somewhat displeased. This was troublesome; he had worked hard to keep her presence concealed, not wanting her to be exposed in front of the crowd.
If the inheritor of the dark dragon were akin to a street rat, if this lady’s identity were revealed, he would likely become a target of civilization.
“It was too stuffy in the coach.” The Dark Kehua wrinkled her nose and made a nearly inaudible sound of disdain.
Brendel glanced at Charles, who nodded knowingly and placed his hand over his chest in greeting to Kehua, “I’ll go arrange rooms for Miss Oni and them. The deck is too crowded, which is a risk.”
The Dark Kehua’s eyes showed a hint of disdain, ready to scoff at such hypocritical words, but then, Brendel sternly said, “Come with me.”
The deck surrounding the second level of the stern of the Akenton was a hollow corridor, still damp from rainwater that had rushed in after the storm. Brendel silently led the Dark Kehua through the corridor, stopping midway and turning to face her, saying, “You are looking for trouble.”
“You’re so cautious for someone so young, like an old man,” the Dark Kehua frowned. “I caught the scent of those annoying crawlers. I merely wanted to come up and see if you needed help. Those people outside don’t even know me; what are you afraid of?”
“Never underestimate humans; don’t forget who defeated you. Besides, I have a dragon on my ship; do you think she wouldn’t recognize you?” Brendel replied tersely.
“No wonder it stinks in here. But dragons come in different generations. The little crawlers born after the era of chaos might not recognize me.” The girl lightly scoffed, “Moreover, do you think I want to see you, this despicable scoundrel? If it weren’t for someone urging me to come out, I wouldn’t bother strolling around in this stench.”
“Someone urged you to come out?” Brendel had anticipated her words, knowing she would speak insincerely. Although she claimed to be unconcerned, she was clearly more cautious than anyone, never appearing before others lightly. This woman, though outwardly arrogant, was deeply attached to her life and craved power. She would never expose herself to danger unless absolutely necessary.
“It was I who called her out.”
A gentle voice suddenly resonated in their minds.
Brendel paused slightly, quickly identifying whose voice it was. “Lady Wind?” He didn’t expect this long-absent elven senior sister to choose this moment to appear, and he couldn’t help but feel excited. In fact, he had a whole lot of questions he wanted to ask her, but prior, this sage lord had never given him the chance.
“Brendel.”
However, Saint Ausoor’s tone today was unusually serious. Accompanying her words, a phantom gradually took form in the corridor. Brendel had seen this sage lord’s appearance deep underground in the Schafflund silver mine before, but she was not like this at that time. Now, the elven senior sister wore a silver crown, clad in armor that radiated a faint purple glow, resembling a fierce dragon. A heavy fur cloak trailed behind her, embroidered with the royal emblem of the mist elves, and a star-moon entwined emblem akin to purple crystal hung at her waist, her sword hilt adorned with the legendary treasure—Star Diamond, glowing brilliantly.
Upon seeing Saint Ausoor in this form, Brendel was momentarily stunned, but his reflex was to realize—this was the legendary armor of Wind from the Saint War, also a symbol of the elven royal family, the Lament of Stardust. Myths had long believed this suit of armor had vanished along with the mist elves in the rivers of history, but when it reappeared on the body of this elven monarch, it certainly did not lose its former splendor.
“Lady Wind… what is this…?” Brendel was somewhat unclear about the meaning behind Wind’s grand appearance. Was it to intimidate that mother wolf? It seemed out of character for the Saint Ausoor he knew.
“Ah?” The Dark Kehua expressed surprise upon seeing Wind, “Indeed a relic from those tower fellows; I never expected to see it in this era.”
“What does this mean?” Brendel interrupted.
“Brendel,” but Wind took the initiative to speak, “do you still remember what I told you last time?”
“Last time…?”
“When you accepted Odin’s inheritance.”
“You said…” Brendel suddenly recalled that conversation: “At that time, you had mentioned that what you did, and what Odin did, could not simply be deemed right or wrong after hundreds of years; it was merely the different means leading to different outcomes—”
As if a lightning bolt had struck through his thoughts, he immediately realized: “It turns out the Dark Dragon chose the wrong path, and you—”
“We may not be right either,” Saint Ausoor interrupted Brendel. “In fact, even after the final battle, we had anticipated the results of today.”
“But why…?” Brendel looked at Wind in confusion. “Does that mean Master Turiman was right?”
“This involves a legend, Brendel.” The elven senior sister cast a quiet glance at Kehua and answered gently.
It was the era before the Knight of Azure pierced the firmament, summoning shooting stars to the earth, thereby commencing the age of mortals…
The time before chaos.
In the countless hymns describing that age, gods walked upon the earth, and the land was filled with the children of the gods—the People of Silver. The warriors of the gods—the People of Gold. And before them, there were even more radiant divine beings and divine servants. Under the brilliance of the gods, the land was covered with gold and precious gems, rivers flowed with sweet and clear waters, and the deities guided their people to plant and multiply upon this bountiful earth. The flame of civilization thrived and prospered in that time, and the People of Silver built countless wonders upon the land, with towers piercing the clouds, cities floating above the layers of clouds, temples constructed from jade, and the holy music never ceasing within the sacred halls.
However, the chronicle of war inscribed in the Azure Poem tells an entirely different story.
It was a time composed of war, bloodshed, and heroic sacrifices worthy of songs. During that era, the gods and their servants faced a terrifying enemy—the Duskgazer Dragon. Countless battles and numerous reconstructions occurred atop the ruins; civilization faced repeated collapses, and in the final years, the Duskgazer Dragon even captured the most formidable fortress of the People of Silver—the Tower of Babel.
The Dawn of Civilization.
This was the dreadful calamity recorded in the Azure Epic of the Crusian, inscribed on the War Stone and written in the Black Prophecy. Countless civilizations were obliterated, ancestral legacies shattered upon the earth, and countless years afterward, the once noble People of Silver had to struggle arduously upon that land, clearing paths through thorns, seeking to reclaim all that was lost.
Until a hero appeared in this world.
The Knight of Azure.
That legend that changed everything.
When the Azure Gun pierced the heavens and sent the Duskgazer Dragon into slumber, thus, the Minren emerged upon the earth, a prophet leading them across the vast plains to establish the first civilized empire away from Vaunte, after the gods had abandoned them. This was the Minren Empire, and it also marked the beginning of the age of mortals.
And that prophet, he had no name, but his legend continued through the ages, for from that time onwards, every generation of Minren had a prophet, and they shared a common name—the Dark Dragon.
