Chapter 1028: Unspoken Understanding

After that, a brief silence settled over the room. High King focused intently on the intricate patterns etched on the cup before him. Rosetta fell into a moment of contemplation, while Bertilla seemed somewhat lost in thought—her gaze fixed on the shifting symbols and geometric shapes in the distant sky, her eyes narrowing slightly as if calculating something.

“Actually, I once wondered—if we ever had a chance like this, sitting face to face and both being candid—what would you talk to me about?” Rosetta suddenly broke the silence, his sunken eyes like deep pools as he looked at High King. “To be honest, I never imagined an ‘Outlander’ would discuss… ideals and the future with me.”

“If we can’t even talk about ideals and the future in the realm of the mind, then this world truly has no future,” High King smiled, lifting his teacup and nodding slightly toward Rosetta. “I’m not really an idealist. I put my faith in practical experience and natural laws, in tangible benefits and things that can be measured by reason. But precisely because of that, when I speak of ideals, I mean it with absolute sincerity.”

Rosetta glanced at his own teacup, the clear blue sky reflected in the liquid inside—everything looked as flawless as the real world. He said casually, “So, for the sake of some grand shared ideal, would Cecile withdraw unconditionally?”

“No,” High King replied calmly. “And I’d want a good price for it.”

“Ah, that’s a relief,” Rosetta’s usually gloomy face softened for the first time. He raised his cup. “Then we can continue this conversation at the negotiating table.”

High King smiled in return. At last, they reached a tacit understanding, a balance both could accept. Rosetta exhaled softly, seeming more relaxed now, and showed a clear interest in this incredible space. He looked around with curiosity. “This place is truly incredible… But I wonder—what happens outside while we’re talking here?”

“I’ve accelerated time locally in this space. So far, only about half a minute has passed in the outside world,” High King explained. “Don’t worry, everything’s under control. Opportunities like this are rare—I’m even more reluctant than you to mess this up.”

“How did you… bring me here?” Rosetta asked seriously. “Does it have something to do with that flying machine with a brain I saw last?”

“That’s not a machine with a brain attached—it’s a brain piloting a machine,” Bertilla, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly spoke up. “We did establish a connection with you through it.”

“That thing is… astonishing,” Rosetta chose his words carefully. “Honestly, when I first saw what was inside, I almost instinctively attacked. It didn’t seem like a normal weapon—more like some kind of dark magic.”

“I agree with that, and I’m trying to improve it,” High King said helplessly, glancing subtly at Bertilla. “But I’d advise you not to focus too much on its appearance, because in a way… that thing is actually part of Lady Bertilla here.”

This time, when Rosetta looked at Bertilla, his expression was more than just complicated.

But clearly, Bertilla had no interest in continuing that topic. She ignored Rosetta and suddenly looked as if she were listening intently. Then she turned to High King. “Looks like things outside are mostly settled—Nariel has sent a safety signal.”

As she spoke, she stood up, her figure gradually fading into the air. “I’ll go handle the temporary node—chat for a few more minutes before the network cuts out.”

Rosetta looked at this ancestor of the Augusti from seven centuries ago and finally couldn’t help but ask, “Are you in Cecile now? Will you return to Typhon?”

“…Sorry, I can’t leave,” Bertilla’s tone faltered slightly before she shook her head. “Forget the name Bertilla Augusti. That’s all in the past.”

“I understand,” Rosetta said slowly. “In any case, thank you for your protection just now.”

“No need…” Bertilla’s voice faded as her figure disappeared, leaving only a final sentence lingering in the air. “…If it were a true god, that would be one thing. But a mere fragment torn from a god… isn’t worthy to perish alongside the Augusti’s descendants.”

Bertilla was gone. Only High King and Rosetta remained in the vast space. In a strange yet somehow harmonious silence, they sat back down, quietly sipping their tea. The last few minutes of their conversation slipped away in this calm until High King tapped the table lightly with his fingers. “One minute left.”

“It’s been decades since I’ve had such a peaceful cup of tea. This quiet… it’s almost nostalgic, to the point where it feels unfamiliar,” Rosetta said with a hint of emotion as he set down his cup. “Thank you for your hospitality—even if it was only in a ‘dream.’”

“You’re welcome,” High King nodded, then looked at Rosetta with curiosity. “I want to ask you something—when the war god was breaking free in the final moments, you seemed ready to reverse the entire magical polarity of Winterburg to perish with him. Was that really your last card? Were you truly prepared to end it all with your own death?”

“Honestly, that was my last card—no doubt about it. I was ready to die alongside the war god. No matter how future generations record it, my death today would have ended everything,” Rosetta said calmly. Then he shook his head and shifted tone. “But from today on, I don’t think I’ll make that choice again.”

“Why?” High King asked, intrigued.

“Because of what you showed me,” Rosetta said slowly. “To Typhon, you’re terrifying—no matter how great your ideals, you’re first and foremost a fearsome opponent. So as long as you live, I dare not die.”

“…That’s quite the compliment,” High King was momentarily stunned, then shook his head with a helpless smile. “Looks like I might live for a very long time. You probably won’t outlive me.”

Rosetta stood expressionless for a few seconds before suddenly smiling. “I’ll do my best.”

A faint dizziness washed over him. The surroundings began to sway and fade. Rosetta felt his connection to this strange space weakening rapidly, while sounds from the real world grew clearer. He realized the “time limit” Bertilla mentioned was approaching. Before fully leaving this world, he looked up at High King once more and asked solemnly, “That land you showed me… beyond the ocean outside it, how vast is the world?”

The vision shattered swiftly. The endless sky and mirror-like waters dissolved into chaotic light and shadow. His senses snapped back to reality—the howling wind and cold air on his face were stark reminders that this dreamlike “contact” had ended. In the last faint echo of the mental illusion, he vaguely heard High King’s reply: “Vast beyond measure…”

“Is that so? Sounds wonderful…”

The solid feeling of the ground returned. Rosetta’s eyes snapped open just as voices came from nearby. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty, are you alright? Your Majesty?”

He turned toward the voices and saw Parin Winterburg and several senior battle mages rushing into the hall, their faces tense. The Count of Winterburg looked not only anxious but also apologetic.

“My deepest apologies, Your Majesty,” the count said quickly as he reached Rosetta. “You ordered no one to approach the Arcane Hall—but a flying machine suddenly crashed through the wall just now. We feared you might be in danger, so…”

“No matter,” Rosetta interrupted. “I won’t hold anyone accountable for this.”

He looked around the vast hall. Aside from the count and a few battle mages, no one else was present. The Eye of God had vanished, as had the massive spider-like limbs. The “brain flying machine” that crashed through the wall was gone too. The hall was left in disarray—broken bricks and rubble scattered across the floor. A large hole in the wall let in the biting cold wind, a harsh reminder that what had just happened was no illusion.

“Where did that flying machine go?” he asked casually.

“It flew away again, right in front of everyone,” the count said with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “We tried to intercept it, but the mage towers were either drained of energy or badly damaged and couldn’t attack. Some battle mages who tried to take to the air were entangled by those strange flying soldiers—they used mental attacks that were hard to defend against. Plus, there seemed to be a strong interference field around those machines. Our exhausted mages were quickly overwhelmed…”

The loyal border count hurriedly added, “But rest assured, I’ve already notified several battle mage regiments nearby that are still operational to prepare for aerial interception—”

“No need,” Rosetta cut him off immediately. “The Cecilians are not our enemies right now.”

“…They just crashed into your floor,” the count reminded him. “Is this some kind of misunderstanding?”

Rosetta was silent for a moment, then said slowly, “…It’s a Cecilian-style support. In any case, don’t worry about those flying machines. Let them leave as they please.”

…

High King slowly opened his eyes. The bustling scene inside the Winterwolf Fortress command center came into view.

Philip hurried over. “Your Majesty, the psionic singers and wetware servitors have begun their return journey—Typhon’s forces did not intercept them.”

High King nodded slightly. “As expected.”

He believed that even the exhausted Typhon army, if truly intent on interception, could have mustered a few mage squads to take to the skies and block the now-exposed “Psionic Choir.” Their choice to hold back must be by Rosetta’s order—which made sense.

After all, those wetware servitors were probably many generations older than Rosetta himself…

“Don’t focus too much on Typhon’s movements for now,” High King said, glancing at the nearby tactical map. Then he turned to Philip. “The battle is over, but we still have much to do. Send out more search teams to the sites where the war god’s remains fell. Whatever we find that seems suspicious, bring it back. Remind the soldiers to take proper precautions.”

He paused, then added, “You might encounter Typhon’s search parties. They don’t have our level of mental defense technology, but they do have basic siren runes, so they’ll try to recover the war god’s fragments too. Order frontline troops: if the debris is near our controlled area, prioritize recovery. If it’s in their territory… if you don’t meet anyone, recover it anyway. If you do, say we’re searching for pilots who ejected during the air battle. Above all, avoid conflict with Typhon forces.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Gawain paused for a moment, then casually asked, “Has Tyr woken up yet?”

“Miss Tyr woke up about half an hour ago. She seemed a bit down after learning that everything had settled. She probably hasn’t fallen back asleep yet.”

“The main debris field is in the southern area near the Shadow Marsh,” Gawain said calmly. “Send her out with the search teams operating in that direction. She might help us find more valuable war god relics… but make sure someone keeps a close eye on her—don’t let her hoard too much.”

After Philip left, Amber’s figure gradually materialized from the air.

“Where did you go just now?” Gawain asked without looking up.

“I was watching that ‘Lady Diana,’ but she seemed quiet—no movement so far,” Amber replied casually, then glanced at Gawain. “Did you have a talk with the ‘other side’?”

“A rare opportunity,” Gawain nodded. “I didn’t want to waste the chance Beltira created.”

Amber studied him seriously for a long moment before slowly saying, “Judging by you… it looks like we won’t be attacking Aldern.”

“That plan was never a priority,” Gawain said, his expression growing serious. “It was only a possibility if the war spiraled out of control. Typhon… it’s not the hopeless old Ansu. An assault on Aldern wouldn’t benefit either nation.”

“Ah—I see what you mean. You’re thinking about the magical tide and divine calamities—the overall survival odds of mortals in the face of disaster,” Amber shrugged. She’d been by Gawain’s side the longest and clearly understood his mindset. “Then why are you still having Philip send out more search teams, competing with the Typhon people to scavenge the battlefield for ‘divine relics’?”

“I want to establish an order where mortals advance and retreat together,” Gawain said, glancing at Amber. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll stop and wait for anyone. Besides, Typhon is far from being Cecil’s ‘ally’—what’s happening on this battlefield is just a promising start. We still have a long way to go before the order I envision can be realized.”

(End of chapter)