Chapter 1044: The High Mountains of Ogure

In the western reaches of the Loren Continent, the Ancestor’s Peak towers majestically over the land.

This imposing mountain stands like a colossal beast, head raised defiantly toward the heavens, deep within the heart of the Ogure Tribal Nation. Its jagged “fangs” pierce the clouds above. Three great ridges extend from its core, each reaching into the territories of the orcs, humans, and gray elves respectively. Meanwhile, the vast mountain itself serves as the ancestral home for the spirit and fae races—generations of their people have lived and thrived here. To every soul dwelling on this land, the mountain holds profound significance. It is for this reason that when the various city-states of the Ogure Tribal Nation decided to unite, they all instinctively chose to build their shared capital at the foot of Ancestor’s Peak: the city of Sancthelm.

Within the Ogure Tribal Nation, the five major races generally govern their own internal affairs independently. The few multi-racial cities function like autonomous city-states. But when matters arise that affect the entire nation, the “Five Kings” convene in Sancthelm to deliberate the future of their land.

At the heart of Sancthelm, inside the city’s grandest domed hall, the leaders of the humans, gray elves, spirits, fae, and orcs gathered around a round table, discussing several pressing issues. Among them was Wenna Whitebloom, the gray elf chieftain, though her mind seemed elsewhere. Her gaze drifted past the towering orc leader, Lady Kamira, seated opposite her, beyond the open terrace at the hall’s far end, and finally rested on the silhouette of Ancestor’s Peak rising behind the city. The mountain basked in the soft glow of the golden sunset, its entire face radiant in the evening light.

Wenna sat in a specially crafted high-backed chair, lost in thought for a long moment—until Wickliff, seated beside her, nudged her back to reality. “Wenna, Wenna—stop daydreaming.”

Startled, the gray elf leader blinked and glanced first at the human chieftain who had just called her out—a middle-aged man with short silver hair and a perpetually warm smile, which did not falter now. Then she looked around the table at the others.

Across from her sat the tall, feline-featured Lady Kamira, frowning with mild displeasure. Next to Kamira was Stur, the spirit leader, his pale blue skin and inscrutable expression making it hard to read his thoughts. Opposite Stur was Stella, the fae chieftain—a petite woman perched atop her beloved high-backed chair, which itself was stacked on a pile of books resting on a small stool, all placed on the table. This precarious throne made her the tallest person in the room, though it did little to bolster her authority.

“Ah—” Wenna finally snapped back to attention, blinking rapidly. “Is it my turn to speak? Where were we?”

“Wenna, zoning out during important meetings isn’t a good habit,” Kamira sighed, her voice a pleasant huskiness. As a longtime friend and straightforward orc, she never hesitated to call out Wenna’s flaws in private. “We’re discussing matters that affect the entire tribal nation’s future.”

“Of course, of course, I know,” Wenna nodded quickly. “I just think this topic doesn’t need so much debate. About Emperor Cecil’s ‘invitation’—we have no reason to refuse. Politically and economically, joining this new alliance offers more benefits than risks…”

“That point was actually agreed upon just now—while you were off admiring the view,” Wickliff said with a smile. “What we’re discussing now is something else. Based on the concept the emperor mentioned in his letter, Stella just proposed a very constructive suggestion…”

Wenna’s eyes widened. She instinctively glanced toward Stella, who was standing proudly atop her book stack, hands on hips, clearly pleased with herself. A sinking feeling crept over Wenna. “Stella’s suggestion? And you’re seriously considering it?”

“Wenna, you’re biased,” Stur interjected, his voice low and slow, tinged with mystery. “You should hear the suggestion first.”

“Alright, I’m listening,” Wenna said, turning to Stur. “What exactly is it?”

“The Ogure Tribal Nation operates under a unique system. All the kingdoms on the continent know we are ruled jointly by five kings,” Stur explained gravely. “So Stella suggests that each of the five ‘royal houses’ send a representative to the Silver Outpost. We tell Emperor Cecil that our political structure is this loose—if it works, we’ll have five votes in the alliance.”

Though Wenna had guessed the gist of this “constructive suggestion,” hearing it out loud still exceeded her expectations. She glanced at Stella with a hint of admiration, then looked around at the others with a strange expression. “…And what do you all think?”

“We’ve already voted. Now we’re waiting on your opinion,” Wickliff said. “Personally, I find the idea very appealing, but my reason won’t let me vote for it, so I opposed.”

“I oppose as well,” Stur shook his head. “It’s nonsense, even damaging to our nation’s dignity and prestige.”

Kamira waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t overthink it. I just think it’s stupid, so I’m against it.”

“Well, that settles it,” Wenna spread her hands. “I’m against it too—for all your reasons combined.”

She then looked at Stella. “Alright, everyone except you opposes. Let’s move on.”

Stella slumped back into her chair, muttering under her breath. But no one was surprised—they knew the optimistic fae leader would bounce back before the next topic.

“Let’s finish by discussing the ‘Mage Network Hub,’” Wickliff said, checking the agenda. His gaze settled on Stur, Kamira, and Stella. “First, I’m glad we finally reached consensus last month to build the main Mage Network hub on Ancestor’s Peak. We’ve set up a temporary test device, but as of last week, it’s been… problematic.”

“Big problems,” Stella said, now fully energized. She stood, her voice sharp and clear. “The test Mana Obelisk worked fine at the mountain’s base, but once moved to the summit, interference spiked. While mana transmission is stable, the signal is full of noise. Our scholars have studied it for days. The current conclusion: the interference comes from outside, unrelated to the obelisk’s structure or faults…”

“Superstitious mountain folk believe the spirits sleeping within Ancestor’s Peak are disturbed by the obelisk’s crystals,” Stur said solemnly. “So besides technical fixes, we’re also trying to calm the locals’ fears.”

“I had a good idea,” Stella waved her arms excitedly. “We could say the obelisk lets us communicate with the Ancestor Spirits—that once built, it’s a way to chat with our forebears. Maybe the mountain folk would support it then… but you all voted it down.”

Wenna sighed, while Wickliff rubbed his forehead and muttered, “Stella’s ideas are always devilishly tempting… voting against them feels like a challenge.”

“I agree,” Wenna glanced at Wickliff, then back at Stella. “Anyway, let’s focus on solving the interference first. We’ve already invested heavily to start the project on Ancestor’s Peak. This will move forward no matter what. Theoretically, Ancestor’s Peak offers the best natural conditions in the nation: high altitude, clear atmosphere, stable mana environment. Interference like this shouldn’t happen… It’s worth investigating thoroughly.”

“Of course, of course, we will,” Stella said quickly. “We’ll study it carefully—but we might not find anything. I’ll have scholars collect interference data from the mid-mountain and nearby peaks this week. If we’re still stuck, we may have to ask for help from Cecil’s technical experts.”

This time, the fae leader’s suggestion finally won unanimous support.

…

The meeting ended, and the tribal leaders began to depart.

A massive golem lumbered into the hall, lifting the small stool from the round table with deft arms. Stella nimbly hopped onto the golem’s neck, waving to the others before directing the construct out of the chamber. Kamira watched the golem’s heavy frame retreating and shook her head. “We really should forbid her from bringing that golem into the council chamber… the floor needs repairs every year because of it.”

With that, the orc leader bid Wenna farewell and left, followed by Stur. As most attendants withdrew, only Wenna Whitebloom and the human leader Wickliff remained in the vast hall.

Wenna stretched her stiff shoulders, then climbed down the small ladder beside her high chair. Looking up at the tall Wickliff, she asked curiously, “You’re not leaving?”

The silver-haired man smiled faintly and strolled to the nearby balcony, gazing out toward the city and the mountain beyond. “Rare moments of peace like this—I want to stretch them out as long as I can, away from paperwork.”

Wenna pursed her lips and joined him at the balcony. Following his gaze, she looked out over the ancient city of Sancthelm bathed in twilight, with Ancestor’s Peak glowing orange in the distance. The scene was familiar—over the years as gray elf leader, she had often stood in this council hall, watching this very view.

“A magnificent city,” she murmured softly. “A new era is coming… I wonder if the scenery here will change too, like Windwhisper or Whitefeather Harbor.”

“Nothing stays the same,” Wickliff said with a smile. “Many see Sancthelm as a symbol of age-old tradition, but if you look back, the city itself was born of change.”

Wenna blinked, then couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s true.”

As one of the rulers of this land, she knew the story of Sancthelm’s founding all too well.

This great city lies nestled at the foot of Ancestor’s Peak, governed jointly by the Council of Five Kings. Its style is unique across the entire continent: the architecture features the sharp, rigid lines and grand, imposing presence reminiscent of ancient Gondor, yet it also carries the sturdy, practical character of the distant western dwarven realms. Although this land was historically home to four races—the Grey Elves, Orcs, Spirits, and Fairies—the city itself blends the styles of the ancient Gondorian Empire and the Dwarven Kingdom. This distinctive fusion is naturally tied to the history of Sainthelm City—

Sainthelm was founded over seven centuries ago, at a time when the ancient Gondorian Empire had collapsed and its scattered survivors fled in all directions. Among them, pioneers moving westward crossed the empire’s fractured borders and rugged mountains, stepping into the ancient, mysterious lands of Augure. Back then, the major races here had yet to form the “tribal nations” known today; instead, they existed as loosely allied clans. The sudden arrival of humans from the fallen empire was a profound shock to the native inhabitants. After a period of contact and negotiation, the locals finally agreed to accept these refugees from Gondor, who in turn chose to repay this kindness in their own way.

Beyond bringing some of the empire’s knowledge—fragments that had survived the magical cataclysm—and treasures, the greatest gift the westward pioneers offered the natives was this very city of Sainthelm.

They poured all the wealth they had carried through exile into its construction, applying the far more advanced architectural and urban planning knowledge inherited from Gondor. They also invoked an ancient Gondorian treaty to invite skilled dwarven craftsmen from the western continent. Over the course of ten years, they built the city at the foot of Ancestor’s Peak. The humans themselves occupied only one-fifth of the city, gifting the remaining four-fifths to the other four races.

At the same time, the new knowledge and ideas brought by the Gondorians played a crucial role in transforming the traditional clan structures across Augure, leading to the formation of the more closely connected “tribal nations.”

This is why Wickliffe once said: Sainthelm City itself is a product of revolution.

Wenna Whitebloom suddenly sighed, a wave of emotion stirring within her.

More than seven centuries ago, before humans ever set foot on this land, Ancestor’s Peak had already stood as a sacred site for the four races. For countless generations, this land had its own traditions and customs—until the Gondorian Empire was shattered by a magical cataclysm, and its survivors crossed the vast wastelands to arrive here. It was the young, creative humans who brought about earth-shaking change.

Regardless of how those ancestors felt about these upheavals, as a descendant looking back through the lens of history, Wenna had to admit that it was precisely these changes that shaped the nation into the far stronger, more united country it is today.

And now, once again, a new change is knocking at the gates of the Augure Mountains—this time, brought once more by humans.

Human creativity… truly is something extraordinary.

(End of chapter)