Chapter 1035: The Invitation

At the elven outpost on the wasteland border.

If it weren’t for Solderin’s reminder, High King Gawain might never have thought of this—though he was indeed aware of the outpost’s existence.

In fact, back when Cecil was still a duchy, Gawain’s first successful contact with the distant Silver Empire at the southern tip of the continent was made possible through this very outpost as a relay point—that was several years ago.

“The Silver Empire’s Wayfarer Outpost is a permanently neutral zone,” Solderin explained from the side. “From the distant days of Gondor, through the era of the Second Reclamation and into the Kingdom Age, all nations have recognized this for centuries. Given the current situation, holding such a crucial ceasefire negotiation anywhere else would be problematic. It would be better to conduct it at the elven outpost northwest of the Shadow Marsh. Moreover, elves make excellent witnesses—at least considering their long lifespans, they are well-suited to witness agreements that last over a thousand years.”

Gawain admitted he hadn’t considered this angle before, but hearing Solderin’s words now, he found some merit in the idea. “…Seven hundred years ago, the Founders’ Act among the nations was also signed under elven witness…”

“And what do you think?” Solderin looked at Gawain. “Do you approve?”

After a brief moment of thought, Gawain nodded gently. “This seems to be the most suitable plan at present. I personally approve, but this matter requires more than just my consent. We should send word to Winterhold and see if the Typhon people agree. Also, we need to contact the Silver Empire to hear what Queen Belsethia thinks.”

“The Empress will surely be glad to serve as a witness,” Solderin said confidently, then nodded. “Of course, I will report this to Her Majesty Belsethia.”

Gawain gave a short affirmative sound, his serious expression unchanged as he fell back into thought. Amber, noticing the shift in his demeanor, couldn’t help but ask, “What is it? Did you find something else wrong with the plan?”

Gawain snapped out of his reverie and shook his head. “Nothing wrong exactly, but…”

He glanced toward the map hanging on the wall not far from the hall—a detailed map showing the entire territories of Typhon and Cecil, as well as neighboring countries. Mortal realms were marked like jagged teeth: sprawling empires, scattered kingdoms, city-states clinging to great powers—all clearly labeled. His gaze swept over the ancient and newer names, his eyes growing deep with thought.

“Perhaps… we shouldn’t be satisfied with just a ceasefire negotiation…”

“Not just a ceasefire?” Amber looked puzzled, scratching her head. “Oh, is this like the story you told me before? When you smashed your cup halfway through the talks, then five hundred White Knights with power hammers burst in through the window and flipped all the tables…”

“Stop, stop, stop…” Gawain’s grand plan was derailed halfway by this half-elf’s interruption. He hurriedly called out to halt and inwardly regretted teaching her so many ridiculous jokes—though, of course, he’d keep doing it anyway. “I shouldn’t have taught you all that nonsense… I almost lost my train of thought.”

Amber was unfazed. “So what do you mean?”

“We resisted a divine calamity,” Gawain said, regaining his solemn composure with the wisdom of an old ancestor. “Two human empires mobilized their entire nations to confront it head-on. Our enemy was a real, mad god descended into the mortal world. This should be a major turning point in mortal history—it shouldn’t be seen merely as the ‘result’ of a war between Typhon and Cecil.”

Amber blinked, still processing, but Solderin seemed to catch Gawain’s meaning. “You mean… using this divine calamity to push the ‘Rebellion’ plan worldwide?”

“No, we can’t push the Rebellion directly—it’s too radical for most who don’t know the truth. The terrifying reality behind it would scare off many potential allies prematurely,” Gawain shook his head. “But we can use this opportunity to make the continent’s nations more aware of the crisis, to unite more people, to prepare more for what’s coming. The War God’s fall will soon have consequences: corresponding divine magic will fail, related psychic seals will vanish. Every nation will quickly realize the War God’s absence. This calamity can’t be hidden, so we might as well make it public.”

“…Honestly, for many, this shock might be no gentler than the Rebellion plan itself,” Solderin sighed wryly. “But I still agree with you—we should make this bigger.”

“We need to prepare two meetings,” Gawain nodded. “One is the ceasefire agreement between us and Typhon. The other… we need to invite as many allies as possible. We must establish a new international order and forge close international relations to unite everyone. Of course, it’s too early to say this now, but I think we can start preparing.”

Gawain laid out his thoughts in detail. This wasn’t a sudden inspiration—he had conceived these ideas long ago and had discussed them extensively with Hetty and others.

To him, this world was far from a gentle, bright paradise. Divine calamities, black traps, and magical tides were existential disasters for mortals in any era. Even as a legendary hero and sovereign, living in such a world always made him cautious. For ordinary people, the threat was even greater.

Facing this hostile world, Gawain never considered himself powerful. On the contrary, he openly acknowledged his own weakness—and that of all mortals. That was why he valued societal development and the survival capacity of the mortal collective so highly. When disasters like the magical tide strike, the survival of a few strong or lucky individuals means nothing. Only if civilization endures can mortals truly live.

This was the resolve he had when he first pitched a tent for refugees by the Whitewater River. To this day, that original intention remained unchanged.

To realize this grand “ambition,” he had to promote his ideal order across the world. Once, such thoughts seemed arrogant and naive, but now, he saw the opportunity to take the first step.

Gawain lifted his gaze northeastward. Through a window in the corner of the hall, the snow-capped peaks of the Winterhold Mountains faintly appeared in his sight. “Now, it depends on whether our ‘neighbors’ are willing to join us in welcoming this new era.”

…

The devastation wrought by war was staggering. Even the towering, sturdy mountaintop fortress lay scarred and battered after the disaster.

Its walls, once as white and pure as ice crystals, were stained blackened and charred. Towers and banners around the castle had collapsed and crumbled. The majestic Winterhold still stood atop the mountain, but a full quarter of its structure had been obliterated in the great explosion. The remaining three-quarters shivered against the cold wind, standing amid ruined courtyards and crumbling corridors and pillars. Dust-covered mages busily worked to repair the damage.

They tried to prevent further collapse and used magic to reinforce and patch the broken walls and main buildings. But the pervasive residual magical interference throughout the Winterhold fortress complex made concentration difficult, and progress was slow. At least, for now, the main hall and several adjacent corridors were secure.

The black-haired, black-dressed head maid strode down a cracked, dust-laden corridor. Her short-heeled boots clicked crisply on the stone floor. Despite the ruin around her, she moved with the grace and composure of walking through an obsidian palace. Her delicate face betrayed no emotion, as it had for many years—no one could guess what this lady, loyal to the Augustus family for centuries, truly thought.

Passing through the foyer and corridors, through two empty small rooms, she arrived at a freshly cleaned sitting room. Rosetta Augustus sat in a chair with a dark red cushion, seemingly deep in thought.

“Master,” Diana said as she approached the Empress.

“Welcome back. I trust the journey was not too arduous,” Rosetta looked at the black-haired maid and nodded slightly. “It seems the Cecilians did not trouble you.”

Diana folded her hands neatly before her waist. “Gawain of Cecil is a reasonable man. His officers adhere strictly to protocol.”

Rosetta met Diana’s eyes. “Tell me about your experiences with the Cecilians. Anything worth reporting?”

A faint glimmer flickered in Diana’s eyes. She opened her mouth but hesitated at the last moment—a hesitation that immediately surprised Rosetta. In all his memories, he had never seen this “Iron Lady” show such hesitation!

After a moment, Diana spoke. “Beside Gawain of Cecil stands a ‘Remnant’ who has survived since ancient Gondor.”

“…Not surprising,” Rosetta lightly tapped the table, his expression natural. “From the intelligence we have, at least one of Cecil’s technicians is a great mage from the Gondor era. As a ‘Founding Hero’ resurrected seven hundred years ago, Gawain himself is a Gondor remnant. The Gondor heritage he wields surpasses all others.

“But… since you mention this specifically, I assume the Gondor remnant beside Gawain is no ordinary person?”

“…Ophelia Norton,” Diana said. “A royal member from the Starfire Age of Gondor, commander of the Iron Legion, one of the Rebellion leaders, and a cutting-edge technician. Her current name is Veronica Morn, a princess of Old Ansu. This is some form of soul immortality technology, but my database lacks further details.”

Rosetta’s tapping ceased. He sat motionless, expressionless, like a black iron statue for several seconds.

“Master?” Diana looked at him. “What are you thinking?”

Rosetta’s suspended finger finally landed on the table. He sighed with subtle emotion. “To be honest… I’m beginning to envy our neighbors.”

Diana considered this and reminded him, “You’ve said similar things before.”

“But this time it’s different,” Rosetta shook his head. “I envy not only the resources Gawain of Cecil commands, but more so… his sharp mind and perspective. These qualities allow him to make the most of those resources.”

A flicker of genuine confusion crossed Diana’s face. “Why do you say that?”

Rosetta replied, picking up a copied document from the table and handing it to her. “You just got back, so the news is a bit behind. Before you even set foot in the castle, the Cecilian side sent this to us through a temporary communication line.”

Curious, Diana took the document and scanned its contents in an instant. Meanwhile, Rosetta continued, “Besides the ceasefire agreement, Gawain Cecile mentioned something else: an initiative to establish a ‘Commonwealth Alliance of Mortal Nations.’ He hopes to use this war, which has captured the entire continent’s attention, to expose the threat of the divine calamity and leverage the influence of both Cecile and Typhon’s respective spheres to build a vast… order spanning the whole continent.”

“An ambitious idea,” Diana said, setting the paper down with a measured tone. “But at this point in time, it’s not impossible. According to my calculations, not every nation will answer his call, but if even a portion join, this ‘alliance’ will wield enough power to intimidate the world. For those countries far removed from the war, the threat of the divine calamity might not be so clear—but the economic benefits of joining would be undeniable.”

“Exactly. And the Cecilians have always been masters of economic strategy,” Rosetta said. “They’ll undoubtedly exploit that strength to the fullest.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “While most people’s minds are still stuck on sieges and territorial conquest, he’s already planning a new order for this world.”

“And what about you?” Diana looked up, quietly watching Rosetta’s reaction.

“He says he’s no idealist, yet here he is, presenting me with an incredibly idealistic vision. I want to face this ‘invitation’ with absolute rationality, but unfortunately, this world isn’t entirely rational…” Rosetta sighed softly, or perhaps it was a sigh of admiration. “Sometimes, you have to take a risk to meet the challenges ahead. This invitation—I’m accepting it.”

(End of chapter)