Chapter 1057: Beltira’s Technical Path

Bard looked at Andersa standing before him— the image of the clumsy little girl who once ran toward him in the courtyard was gradually fading, leaving only fragmented silhouettes mixed into his ever-dimming memories.

Before him now stood an Imperial soldier who had grown into her own: steady, valiant, with an unyielding will and unwavering conviction, charting a life path all her own.

“You will return safely to Typhon— as a symbol of the friendship between our two nations, a good start,” he said thoughtfully, slowly. “His Majesty… I mean, King Gawain Cecil will prepare the public narrative and guide the discourse. Aldern will make the necessary arrangements. Some of the truths behind the war will be revealed. You will return honored as a meritorious officer, not as a defeated commander taken prisoner…”

“I understand,” Andersa replied calmly. “This benefits both countries and allows me to fulfill my value better. But no matter what, Aldern will have to pay some price to ensure my safe return, right?”

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Bard shook his head. “Queen Rosetta knows exactly what she must pay for a wolf general. Your role is simply to cooperate with Aldern’s decisions.”

“Of course, I will,” Andersa said as usual, but she couldn’t help glancing at her father twice more, hesitating before asking, “Then… will you ever return to—”

Bard seemed to have expected this question all along. His answer was clear: “I no longer belong to Typhon. Officially or personally, I’m no longer fit to appear in Aldern. The life of Wolf General Bard Wendell is over. My presence would only complicate matters there. Here, I am just Bard the researcher. Andersa, you should understand what I mean.”

“…Yes, I understand,” the young wolf general sighed softly, then lifted her gaze toward the towering Solin tree. She noticed several aircraft approaching from afar, humming low as they headed toward a gap near the lower canopy. Curiosity sparked in her eyes. “Lately, there always seem to be these oddly shaped flying machines around?”

Bard’s expression twisted oddly. “Ms. Beltira is testing ways to expand the functions of her ‘brains’ and enable them to coordinate independently, even when separated from their host. The finer details are classified tech secrets—I can’t tell you.”

Andersa blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“…Alright, that’s a bit hard to grasp. Better not to pry—it’s healthier for both mind and body,” Bard said, thinking of the strange projects underway in the Solin tree’s internal biolab. Considering even he, once a priest of the End of All Things, sometimes struggled to understand Beltira’s aesthetics, he decisively changed the subject. “We’ve been standing in the courtyard breeze long enough. You just recovered; you should limit your outdoor time.”

Andersa looked resigned. “I’ve been cooped up inside long enough. Doing nothing is more exhausting than fighting on the battlefield.”

“Nothing to do?” Bard glanced at his daughter, suddenly remembering something. “Ah, I have a suggestion—remember those exercises we didn’t finish last time? We could start with some simple equation sets…”

Andersa: “…?!”

…

High in the Solin canopy, a gentle breeze stirred the massive, lush leaves, their rustling like waves rolling endlessly. Deep within the layers of swaying branches and foliage, a dense, sturdy wooden framework formed an immovable barrier. Between these frames, layers of metal absorbed from deep underground connected, “growing” into vast chambers linked by corridors and stairways. Soft, bright plant-based lights illuminated these inner spaces—this was Beltira’s private domain, her precise biolab.

Compared to the crude, single-hall prototype at the start, these deep-canopy labs had expanded several times over. Their functions and capabilities had grown, too. Anticipating human assistants, Beltira had made many user-friendly modifications. Now, this “upper lab” stood alongside the “underground biocenter” beneath the tree roots and the “Druid Research Institute” in Solin Fortress, forming the region’s three major biolabs.

Thanks to Solin’s unique natural environment and convenient conditions, the area was taking on more and more biotech research. The Empire increased funding and talent each quarter, and more Druids brought their projects here, turning this reborn land into the Cecil Empire’s biotech hub.

This was a scene Beltira never imagined when she first emerged from the ruined underground chambers, scarred and transformed, facing this changed land.

In an oval chamber deep within the upper lab, half-plant, half-human Beltira moved lightly and silently, supported by numerous tendrils, inspecting neural nodes embedded in the walls. At the far end, a massive arcane crystal shimmered, projecting a hologram of an aircraft smoothly landing in the giant tree’s hangar.

A small old man in a black short jacket, bent over with white hair and beard, stood before the projection, watching intently as the craft settled. The upper hatch opened, and a huge brain detached from its nutrient supply. He watched as it tapped the droplets hanging from its body with neural tendrils, then flew toward a passage inside the hangar.

“…These ‘brains’ are getting more astonishing,” the old man said, turning to Beltira. “Are you controlling those subtle movements too?”

“I could control them directly, but that’s inefficient,” Beltira replied without looking back as she passed nearby. “Simple tasks like that are better handled by preset logic, letting the ‘brains’ decide on their own. After all, they’re highly efficient thinking organs. Giving them simple independent intelligence is even easier than programming logic into an Ironman’s core.”

Pittman blinked. “Ah, I almost forgot—you were once a Gondorian.”

“As the Empire’s chief Druid, you came all this way just to study how my ‘synthetic brains’ fly around?” Beltira finally paused, glancing at Pittman with some confusion. Behind her, a wall lined with a dozen cultivation pods pulsed rhythmically with dark red light, swelling and contracting like hearts.

“Observing your ‘synthetic brains’ is indeed my main reason for coming—using His Majesty’s term, this is an ‘inspection,’” Pittman said with a smile, approaching Beltira. “His Majesty is very pleased with the psychic choir and wetware servitors, and he’s quite interested in your ‘synthetic brains.’ So he sent me to see them firsthand… By the way, are you very busy now?”

“Can’t you tell?” Beltira wanted to roll her eyes, but her neural system forgot how to make that human expression, so she just spread her hands. Then she turned, gesturing toward the pods fixed to the wall. “The improved second-generation synthetic brains are at a critical development stage. I must ensure each one is healthy and robust until fully mature.”

As she spoke, the pods emitted faint rubbing sounds. Their tough outer shells slid off one by one, pulled by underlying muscle-like fibers, revealing transparent inner casings resembling giant eggs. Inside, dormant “brains” floated in translucent nutrient fluid, connected by various nerve fibers and feeding tubes. Some tubes glowed faintly.

Pittman’s eyelid twitched. “I guess quitting halfway back then was a wise choice…”

“Don’t you find them somewhat cute?” Beltira glanced at Pittman. She knew this “Empire’s chief Druid” had once been a member of the End of All Things, even her subordinate back then. But those old ties had long faded; those still alive chose to treat each other normally. “I’ve adjusted their size and shape as much as possible. Anyone who’s interacted with these ‘brains’ knows they’re gentle and harmless. Their favorite foods are even candy and shrub berries…”

Pittman covered his forehead. “The fact that these ‘synthetic brains’ can forage on their own is strange enough. Who cares about their diet?”

Beltira seemed not to hear his muttering. She continued checking the immature brains’ status, carefully recording every neural fluctuation. These complex neuro-engineered products, still in late development, couldn’t yet think fully. They slept like infants, occasionally emitting vague, chaotic “thoughts”—brief neural impulses under half a second passing through interconnected nodes. No one else could hear their “murmurs,” only Beltira could, and these “sounds” were crucial for assessing their condition.

“Actually, there’s something I’ve always wondered,” Pittman said casually, watching the synthetic brains. “I saw the schematics for those wetware servitors—you insist on making the cockpit canopy transparent. Why not add an opaque cover? You know, many soldiers get startled the first time they see it, and your ‘synthetic brains’ don’t need normal vision to perceive their surroundings.”

Beltira finished inspecting all the brains, then carefully closed the protective layers of each pod. She answered seriously, “Every brain deserves the right to bathe in sunlight…”

“No, normal brains don’t bathe in sunlight!” Pittman almost yanked his beard out, glaring. “You just can’t control your photosynthesis impulse!”

“Photosynthesis…” Beltira suddenly froze, as if awakening from a dream. After a few seconds of silence, she murmured, “Ah, so that’s it… No wonder I always felt there was an unexplainable cognitive error deep in my neural system…”

She shook her head, a hint of self-mockery in her voice. “I understand now. I’ll follow the other technicians’ advice and add an opaque outer shell to the next generation of synthetic brain containers. Sorry, looks like I unintentionally caused some trouble.”

“…We all understand. Take it slow—you’ll fully adapt one day,” Pittman sighed, steering the conversation back from the tangent it had taken. “Now, back to the technical side. About these ‘synthetic brains’ you’ve created—His Majesty has been paying close attention lately. And we have a major question: can these brains only be ‘produced’ by the Thorin Great Tree?”

Beltira caught on quickly. “You mean, is it possible to replicate them through technological means, to mass-produce and scale up their output?”

“Synthetic brains are impressive, no doubt. But at this stage, they’re still lab products—albeit your lab is large enough to manufacture them in batches, almost like a factory. Still, there’s only one Thorin Great Tree, and it’s yours,” Pittman shook his head. “You’ve studied long enough to understand what ‘magitek industry’ really means. In a true industrial system with its potential, anything that can’t be mass-produced has an inherent flaw.”

“…Of course I understand that. I’ve been thinking about this issue myself,” Beltira mused for a moment, then nodded gently. “In theory, the production process of synthetic brains can indeed be separated from the Thorin Great Tree.”

“Really?” Pittman’s eyes widened in surprise. “You can have these made in a factory?”

“Not a factory in the conventional sense,” Beltira said thoughtfully, “but a biological replication center… and a breeding ground. I know it sounds strange, but you might already know the genetic origins of the synthetic brains—the Nightmare Skull from the Dark Forest, the Soul-Eater from Ancestor’s Peak, and other magical beasts or wild creatures. Essentially, these ‘synthetic brains’ are artificially cultivated monsters. You know how humans domesticated wolves into dogs, or bred griffins from a branch of predatory giant owls. In a way, the process I use to create these brains is similar.”

“Of course, that’s a broad analogy. Technically and in terms of difficulty, the two are quite different.”

“Back to mass production—I believe it’s possible to cultivate these brains in controlled biological factories without relying on the Thorin Great Tree. From what I understand, you and your druid team have already reconstructed the manufacturing methods for the Enher fusion pods and cross-type biomass fission pools from the technical archives left by the End of All Things sect. You’ve also neutralized these technologies using modern methods. These two devices are key to cultivating synthetic brains. The only remaining challenge is how to translate the knowledge I ‘understand’ into something ordinary humans or elven druids can learn and master… Without overcoming this, even if I handed you the raw brain substrate, you wouldn’t be able to guide or cultivate a complete synthetic brain.”

As she spoke, Beltira lightly tapped her forehead—though she looked entirely human, the sound was like knocking on wood. “My altered life form has changed how I perceive the world and think. Though I still have a human heart, I can no longer think like a human. There are many things I know how to do—some almost instinctively—but it’s difficult to explain them to you. Like this ‘room’ before you: I can grow it with a single thought, but it might take me half a year working with druid assistants to help them understand how this plant manipulation technique works.”

“That takes time, I get it,” Pittman nodded. “But putting that aside, mass-producing synthetic brains is indeed achievable—and within an acceptable timeframe, right?”

Beltira considered carefully, then gave a slight nod. “That much is certain.”

“Then we can move forward with the project,” Pittman exhaled. “That way, the ‘wetware mainframe’ can finally take center stage, not just remain a specialized piece of equipment used in limited scenarios.”

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(End of chapter)