Chapter 1078: Greetings

Amber’s wild speculations were, of course, just that—wild speculations. After the half-elf finished her rapid-fire rambling, High Lord Gawain cast a faint, almost amused glance at this “shame of all creation” and said calmly, “Well? What do you make of what you heard today?”

“What I heard today?” Amber stuck out her tongue and hunched her shoulders, muttering to herself, “Honestly, everything I heard today sounds deadly… the kind of stuff that would get you silenced immediately if you said it in the wrong place or under the wrong identity…”

Gawain kept his half-smile fixed on the half-elf, watching as her expression grew increasingly awkward. The act of feigning ignorance was becoming impossible to maintain, until finally she lowered her voice and admitted, “Actually, I’ve suspected for a while that the ‘Wanderer from Beyond’ title isn’t just a bluff…”

“I know you suspected,” Gawain’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Of course you did.”

Amber stared at him for a few seconds, then relaxed. Her usual carefree, lighthearted demeanor returned, and she grinned with a hint of pride. “Naturally—I’m the most well-informed person in the entire Northern Continent.”

“If even my intelligence chief can’t piece together the truth from all the information we have, then the Empire’s intelligence network is clearly facing its greatest crisis yet,” Gawain exhaled softly, as if a weight had lifted from his chest. He felt a bit lighter, but also curious. “But… do you think Hetty and Rebecca have caught on to this?”

Amber tilted her head, then looked toward the distant sunset, the pale golden clouds reflecting in her amber eyes. “I guess… ever since you rose from the grave, they stopped caring whether you were really Gawain Cecil or not. And now, that question doesn’t really matter anymore.”

Gawain looked at the half-elf with some surprise. He knew that beneath her rough exterior was a sharp mind, but he hadn’t expected her to have thought about things on such a level. Amber’s answer seemed to remind him of something. He wore a thoughtful expression before finally letting out a small smile.

Everything Gawain Cecil once knew was long gone. Only a handful of people had survived the seven centuries since. For those active in this era, all that mattered was the Gawain of today.

That question truly was meaningless.

“By the way, you didn’t mention the God of Nature to the Empress, did you?” Amber noticed the change in Gawain’s expression and suddenly asked, “Aren’t you going to bring it up? If the elves are going to join the Theocratic Council, this will inevitably come up—at least for the Silver Empress, who holds both spiritual and royal authority. Sooner or later, she’ll have to confront the core of the Rebellion Plan and learn of Amon’s existence.”

“Yes, sooner or later. But now is not the time,” Gawain nodded. “At least until the elves officially join our plan, and until we confirm that Belsethia can unify and control the entire upper echelon of the Elven Empire, this can’t be brought to light. The elves are different from us—their ruling system has been in place for over ten thousand years. Their royal court has long since evolved into a colossal entity that outsiders can hardly comprehend. Even the powerful Silver Empress may not have full control over it all.”

He paused, his voice growing serious. “I don’t distrust Belsethia, but this involves the gods. And the elves… over the past three thousand years, they’ve tried more than once to pull the gods back into this world.”

“Yeah, if word of the Great Stag Amon got out among the common folk of the Silver Empire, it could cause a huge mess,” Amber sighed in agreement. “When they had no clues, they managed to conjure up several ‘proto-deities.’ Now that there’s a lead, they might have a ‘return of the ancestral god’ movement within a year. And some of the old survivors might use their influence to pressure the royal family into welcoming the true gods back… The Silver Empress might not be able to handle that.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” Gawain nodded. “After all, Belsethia said that five centuries ago, she had to crush a cult trying to summon a god. Five centuries is a long time for humans, but for elves, it’s just ‘a mere five hundred years.’”

Amber opened her mouth to say more but suddenly closed it. She glanced toward a corner of the street where the high-ranking messenger Sonia was approaching.

“Looks like you’ve finished your talk with Her Majesty,” Sonia said with a slight bow as she came before Gawain. She was naturally curious about the half-day’s conversation with the Silver Empress but showed no sign of it. “Shall I take you to see the rest of the town?”

“No need. You should go to Rebecca—she needs someone to watch over her more than I do,” Gawain said, his gaze drifting toward a certain direction in the town. “As for me… I have other friends to visit. Don’t worry, Solderin is among the guards here. He’s a good guide.”

Sonia glanced at Gawain and Amber but showed no doubt. She stepped back half a pace. “Very well, I’ll take my leave then.”

The high-ranking messenger’s figure receded, and the nearby attendants and guards, having received Amber’s signal, brought two magically powered carriages swiftly to Gawain’s side. One door opened, and Solderin climbed out of the passenger seat, smiling at Gawain. “How did the negotiations with Her Majesty go?”

“Not quite as expected, but just as smoothly,” Gawain smiled and nodded, then casually asked, “The Typhon delegation should have arrived by now, right?”

“Yes. The envoy just sent word that a Typhon messenger bearing the Augustus royal seal has arrived—Rosetta Augustus has invited you to meet in Conference Room 7 of the Emerald Hall.”

“Hmm, that was arranged in advance,” Gawain said knowingly, glancing at Amber. “Let’s get going. Looks like we won’t have a moment’s rest these days.”

…

A gentle breeze, stirred by magic, swept through the southern country’s flowers and grasses, carrying a pleasant fragrance. The pale light of dusk slanted into the courtyard, streaming through a gap in the distant high walls and tracing a path along the bushes beside the walkway—a track seemingly forged from light itself. In that trail, tiny insects flitted by, their fleeting shadows scattering faint motes of light.

All of it made the little garden feel quieter than ever.

The tea on the table had cooled again, but Belsethia didn’t ask her maid to replace it. She idly stirred the golden-red liquid with a teaspoon and casually asked, “Which direction did they go?”

“Toward the Emerald Hall,” the senior maid Ilian bowed. “Also, the Typhon carriages are parked in the clearing behind the Emerald Hall—they’re probably planning a closed-door meeting before the official talks.”

“Is that so…” Belsethia sounded somewhat indifferent. “I wonder what they intend to discuss.”

“Shall we try to find out?” another senior maid asked cautiously.

“No,” Belsethia said without hesitation. “We don’t need such underhanded moves. They bring no benefit, only risk. Whatever consensus Cecil and Typhon reach will soon become clear.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Silence returned to the garden. The red tea slowly stilled as it swirled, and Belsethia seemed to savor this rare moment of peace—until a few minutes later, she suddenly broke the quiet. “Ilian, after seeing Uncle Gawain again… how do you feel?”

Ilian thought for a moment, then lowered her head. “Everything is just as I remember. I’m glad to see he’s healthy now. Your Majesty, did you notice anything amiss?”

Belsethia lifted her eyelids, but before she could answer, footsteps sounded from the garden entrance. A servant appeared at the end of the path, carrying an exquisite wooden box. After receiving permission, the servant approached Belsethia and placed the box on the white round table. “Your Majesty, a gift just arrived from the Cecil envoy. It’s from His Majesty Gawain Cecil.”

Ilian stepped forward and opened the box. Inside were not precious treasures but a colorful assortment of pastries.

Belsethia quietly regarded the vibrant sweets. A faint smile finally touched her serene face. She sighed softly, as if speaking to herself, “Nothing’s wrong, Ilian.”

…

At the elven outpost on the edge of the wasteland, more and more envoys from various nations gathered. The entire mortal world’s attention focused on the northeast side of the Great Wall. Far below the Dark Mountains, the imperial capital’s Cecil Palace was quieter than usual.

The Empire’s master and its most boisterous princess had both left. Hetty, the Grant Chancellor, spent half her time busy in the Council Hall. With the master away, no visitors came to call—the vast mansion had lost seventy to eighty percent of its usual bustle, leaving every corridor and room feeling drained of vitality.

But Betty didn’t mind the quiet days—though she didn’t dislike the old liveliness either.

Her heels clicked crisply on the marble floor as she walked briskly down the wide corridor. Servants and maids passed by, all stopping to respectfully greet the head maid. Betty always responded politely and, most of the time, could call them by name.

Years of study had sharpened her mind considerably.

As the servants and maids left, Betty caught snippets of their low conversations. Most talked about His Majesty’s recent departure or the news in the papers, discussing the distant negotiations as if they were right there on the battlefield of diplomacy.

Betty couldn’t follow their train of thought, but seeing everyone so spirited lifted her mood.

After finishing her routine inspection, the “Emperor’s trusted head maid” let out a small sigh. She looked up and found herself at the end of a corridor, facing a door inlaid with brass runes. Two fully armed royal guards stood dutifully at attention.

She approached the door, and the guards lowered their heads with smiles. “Good evening, Miss Betty.”

“Good evening,” Betty replied politely, peering at the door. “Is everything quiet inside?”

One guard immediately straightened. “Yes, all is normal.”

“Good. I’m going in to check—it’s time for an inspection.”

“Of course,” the guard immediately stepped aside and opened the heavy door. “Please, come in.”

Betty nodded and thanked him softly, then stepped past the guard and entered through the thick door inlaid with brass runes—

Behind the door was a spacious, brightly lit room, almost bare of furnishings. The floor and surrounding walls were covered with countless neatly arranged rune plates, each glowing faintly. The soft light created a misty halo that seemed to float throughout the space. Above, the ceiling featured individual ventilation ducts, through which a clean, temperature-controlled breeze gently flowed, keeping the room comfortably warm.

The heavy door closed firmly behind her. Betty lifted her eyes to the center of the room, where a special platform with a recessed groove stood. On it rested a massive orb, nearly two meters tall, its surface shimmering with a pale golden glow.

This was the “guest” His Majesty had specially entrusted her to care for.

Betty steadied herself and circled the enormous “egg” twice, confirming it remained intact. Then she checked the nearby holographic projection, reading the displayed text and symbols to ensure the room’s temperature control and power systems were functioning properly. Though she didn’t fully understand the complex, advanced equipment, she had completed all the general courses at the Academy and even some advanced classes at the Imperial College. Reading the parameter reports in the holograms was well within her grasp.

After finishing these routine inspections, the maid let out a breath and returned to the giant egg. Somehow, she now held a soft white cloth in her hand. She exhaled gently onto a spot on the egg’s surface and began carefully wiping it with the cloth.

The soft “scritch-scratch” sound of fabric against the smooth shell echoed through the room.

Soon, the egg gleamed brighter and brighter under Betty’s diligent polishing, its surface so clean it faintly reflected her silhouette.

Clearly pleased with her work, the maid stepped back to admire her handiwork, smiling happily as she nodded. Then her brow furrowed slightly, as if pondering something seriously.

She had heard it was an “egg,” but it seemed to be more than just that. Princess Rebecca had said it was an important guest, and His Majesty had specifically instructed that this “guest” be well cared for… If it was a guest, wouldn’t it be proper to greet it?

Betty thought carefully, then made up her mind. She smoothed the skirt and folds of her maid’s uniform, then bent forward earnestly toward the giant egg.

“Hello, my name is Betty.”

“Hello, my name is Enya.”

The egg replied politely.

(End of chapter)