Chapter 1064: Sunshine

In the two days since arriving in Tal’Rond, Cassandra had done her best to learn about this mysterious land, recently ravaged by devastating war. For a million years, this ancient kingdom had kept its gates closed, shrouded by endless icy oceans and protected beneath a continental shield. Tal’Rond was like a veiled otherworld—so secretive that even the ancient sea witches had never glimpsed its true face. As a deep-sea sorceress and keeper of knowledge, Cassandra’s curiosity about this continent was naturally boundless.

Yet, regrettably, the glory of this land’s past had long since faded into history. Miracles built over a million years were wiped out in mere days. Now, all that remained were scarred lands and ruined cities scattered across the continent. Cassandra could only piece together the former grandeur bit by bit—from survivors’ accounts, from the wreckage of colossal structures, and from the few rare, blurry images that had somehow survived.

Meanwhile, Melita had been tirelessly gathering news from the naga and sea witches about recent developments in the human world. Since the loss of the Omega system, Tal’Rond’s once-proud advanced communications network had completely collapsed. Melita hadn’t heard any news from the Loren continent for a long time.

At the same time, word quickly spread from the coastal camp to Argondor—the temporary “capital” of the dragon clans—that a small human expedition from the Cecil Empire had unexpectedly arrived in Tal’Rond. It was only then that the dragons learned of the situation in the human world and the upcoming “International Conference” to be held on the northeastern border of the Gondor Wastelands.

—At that moment, the Dragonblood Duke Balrogar had just returned to the Holy Dragon Principality and had yet to relay the news from Loren back to Tal’Rond.

On the third day after Cassandra set foot on Tal’Rond, a small special team arrived at the Broken Coast camp, personally led by Heragor.

Inside the camp, in the modest dwelling where Melita and Noretta lived, the glow of a magic crystal lamp cast steady light over the temporary shelter built from salvaged materials and massive stones. Outside, the sea wind howled, whipping up gravel and sand that pelted the alloy-plated walls. But the cold wind was kept firmly outside—the interior remained warm enough that Cassandra needn’t worry about her tail freezing in the breeze.

She looked with mild curiosity at the middle-aged man sitting before her—said to be the highest ruler of the dragons. Even in his human form, his golden vertical pupils marked him unmistakably as dragonkind. His face was stern, with deep-set eyes and a prominent nose bridge. By human standards, he was strikingly noble and commanding. But the deep-sea sorceress, who had lived through countless ages, saw a faint exhaustion carefully hidden behind those eyes. Clearly, this leader bore immense pressure.

Yet from him radiated an indomitable fighting spirit that overshadowed any weariness—the kind of spirit reflected in Heragor’s piercing gaze and steady, powerful voice.

“Honored lady, I apologize for making you wait here these three days. I should have come immediately, but affairs at our main camp have been overwhelming, and it was difficult to break away.”

“I understand. In times like these, the survival of the people must come first,” Cassandra replied, her tone serious despite her naturally lively sea witch nature. Having lived through long ages, she knew when to be solemn. “Melita and Noretta have taken excellent care of me and my team here. The wait has been productive.”

“That’s good to hear,” Heragor nodded, locking eyes with her. “Now, I’ll get straight to the point—I’ve heard the news you brought. It seems the mortal races of the Loren continent are attempting to form a vast alliance spanning races and nations?”

“Yes. It was first proposed by Emperor Gawain Cecil. The Typhon Empire and the Cecil Empire are the main initiators,” Cassandra confirmed. “But the intelligence I bring is only preliminary—I lead a mere exploration team. At best, I represent Northport, not an official ambassador or the voice of Cecil’s government.”

“I understand,” Heragor said promptly, then paused thoughtfully. “So… this alliance only includes powers from the Loren continent?”

“As far as I know, there’s no such restriction. In fact, I don’t think Emperor Gawain initially considered that anything beyond Loren might exist…” Cassandra trailed off, suddenly realizing something. “Wait—do you mean the dragons of Tal’Rond might be interested as well?”

“I need to learn more about this alliance,” Heragor nodded. “But personally, I am very intrigued.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened. In that moment, she realized her unexpected detour might bring an even more surprising reward.

…

In an open space within the camp, Melita Penita met with the red dragon Karadol, who had arrived with the leader.

Behind Karadol, several powerful elder dragons stood guard, vigilantly protecting something at the center of the clearing. It was an object wrapped in heavy fabric and secured with sturdy crates, bearing no markings and emanating no aura. Clearly, beyond ordinary protection, it was concealed against detection. The object’s stark presence drew Melita’s gaze repeatedly before she forced herself to look back at Karadol.

“I heard you wanted to see me,” she said with curiosity. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a mission the leader wishes to entrust to you,” Karadol said gravely in his human form. “It may require you to leave Tal’Rond temporarily.”

“Leave Tal’Rond? At a time like this?” Melita was taken aback. “But I’m busy here—”

“I know the Broken Coast fisheries are important, but what you must do is even more critical,” Karadol interrupted, shaking his head. “Don’t worry—Noretta can handle things here, and Argondor will send more dragons to maintain the camp. You needn’t be concerned.”

Seeing his seriousness, Melita nodded immediately. “Alright, I understand. What does the leader want me to do?”

“You are currently the dragon who knows the human world best, and the only one with a personal connection to that legendary pioneer of the Cecil Empire. We need you to go to Cecil as the dragon ambassador,” Karadol said solemnly. Then, slightly turning aside, he gestured toward the heavily guarded object behind him. “Also, your other task is to deliver this to Emperor Gawain Cecil.”

Melita listened in surprise, her eyes drawn once more to the mysterious crate wrapped in thick fabric. She couldn’t help but ask, “I was wondering… what exactly is that?”

At that moment, Karadol felt a dull ache in his head. Explaining the origins of what was inside that box was no easy matter—not because the truth was complicated, but because it was utterly unbelievable. Still, he knew he had to explain. Melita would find out eventually, and she had the clearance to know.

“…First, it’s a dragon egg,” Karadol said slowly. “And—brace yourself—this egg was left behind by a god.”

“Wha… what?!!”

“See? I told you to brace yourself.”

…

With the arrival of the month of revival, the first warm currents melted the snow on the plains. Longer daylight hours dispelled the lingering fog that had blanketed Aldern throughout the bleak winter. The city was finally waking up, welcoming the first rays of sunshine in a long time.

Along the ancient Imperial Avenue, citizens dressed in winter clothes and fresh spring attire took to the streets. The great sun hung high above the city, its warm light glinting off rooftops and crystal shop windows. People chatted outside their homes or by storefronts, discussing the past winter, the war now over, or the upcoming conference.

Black mage-powered carriages bearing noble crests rolled smoothly over the wide, even road. Duke Ferdinand Wendell sat inside one, his gaze sweeping over the passing street scenes.

Company representatives on two-wheeled cycles reappeared, their crisp bells ringing through the streets as they hurried into alleys. Carefree children played at street corners, waving old flyers and colorful ribbons they’d found somewhere. The flyers still bore faint words about the church and the noble council. Men bundled in thick coats hurried past, out to buy food.

The carriage passed an intersection, its horn echoing through the street.

At a nearby home, doors and windows were tightly shut. Pale death chrysanthemums hung in wreaths by the gate, swaying gently in the breeze. A black-clad old woman sat dazed on the doorstep, wrapped in a black blanket bearing the Imperial Knights’ emblem, clutching a letter sent from somewhere unknown.

A knight officer in a military greatcoat paced in the sunlight. As the carriage passed, he looked up, recognized the crest, and stopped. Turning, he silently watched the vehicle disappear. A jagged scar ran from his temple down beneath his collar, where medals gleamed.

As the carriage neared the Obsidian Palace, the city’s broadcast system came alive. After a few brief static bursts, cheerful music played—a melody adapted from court music into a more popular form.

For a month now, this tune had sounded daily. Under its notes, some wounds slowly healed, some fates froze in darkness. All the undercurrents and hidden conflicts played out—and moved toward their end. When the melody played the next day, the sun would still rise, shining over this fog-shrouded city. Until the mist cleared, those who survived would continue facing a world neither beautiful nor ugly.

Within the obsidian palace walls, the fork-tailed swallows nesting there couldn’t comprehend the joys and sorrows of the human world. They were simply startled by the sudden broadcast, taking flight in a flurry of wings, scattering chaotically as they soared over the mage-powered car.

“Your Majesty,” a court attendant entered Rosetta Augustus’s study, bowing respectfully before speaking, “Duke Ferdinand has arrived in the courtyard.”

“Send him straight here,” Rosetta nodded.

After the attendant left, Matilda, who was sitting by the desk helping with state affairs, glanced at her father. “Should I leave?”

“No need,” Rosetta replied, casting her a glance. “You stay here.”

Matilda nodded. After a moment, the elderly yet still imposing Duke Ferdinand Wendell entered the study.

“Your Majesty, Princess,” the old duke bowed his head in greeting. “Good day.”

“Tell me about the situation in the city,” Rosetta said casually. Compared to the dark, cursed aura he’d carried before, the negative energy had noticeably faded. He was far from gentle, but the oppressive, grim atmosphere that once clung to the ruler of Typhon was clearly gone. “What did you see on your way here?”

“Aldern is slowly recovering—so is the Empire,” Ferdinand took a seat across the desk. “Things have stabilized. The doubters have fallen silent, and those who wavered have now taken the right side. Our forces to maintain order have weakened, but those who sought to disrupt it have weakened even more. That said… Parliament Street and some of the upper districts are much quieter now.”

“In time, they’ll be lively again,” Rosetta said calmly. “We just need to keep things steady, let production gradually resume, stabilize supplies and prices in other regions, and get through this dangerous period. Then everything will improve.”

He paused, then asked, “How is the War God’s Church?”

“The church itself is easier to handle than expected. With the War God’s power fading, the remaining priests and templars have all lost their strength. Though some still hold to their faith, they’ve ultimately submitted to the crown’s orders. The Reform Committee has already moved into the Grant Cathedral, inventorying the church’s assets and remaining personnel. By the way, the numbers in those ledgers are truly… staggering.”

“The trickier part is among the common people. The War God’s faith has been entrenched in our country for a long time, influencing every corner of society. While ordinary believers don’t have the priests’ zeal or organization, their sheer numbers make them an unstable factor.”

“That’s why we need the Reform Committee to oversee this transition,” Rosetta said. “The Cecilian approach is very effective—they know how to guide public opinion without escalating tensions, subtly shifting society. They turned their greatest Holy Light Cathedral into an academic institution, transforming the Holy Light doctrine into a civic code. While we can’t apply all their methods wholesale to Typhon, at least it gives us a path forward.”

Ferdinand lowered his head. “Indeed, Your Majesty.”

Rosetta fell silent for a moment, then spoke thoughtfully, “Speaking of the Cecilians… Duke Ferdinand, is their warship still operating near the eastern coast?”

(End of chapter)