Chapter 1081: The Outpost

Rosetta’s question cut straight to the point, and to High King Gawain, it came as no surprise—everyone in the room knew exactly why they had gathered today.

The “war” between Typhon and Cecil had officially ended. The armistice signed on the Winterfort battlefield had been in effect for some time now. Yet, for the soldiers of both nations, the matter was far from settled. Even now, reconstruction of the Winterfort defensive line was ongoing, and Winterwolf Fortress remained under the control of the Cecil Legion. Though Gawain had ordered half the troops stationed there to withdraw in good faith to honor the ceasefire, everyone knew the blue-and-gold Sword and Plow banner still flew over that Typhon stronghold—and the massive Iron Throne armored train remained parked along the border.

This issue would have to be confronted head-on sooner or later.

Gawain listened calmly as Rosetta finished speaking. He understood perfectly well that, under the current circumstances, the Cecil forces occupying Winterwolf Fortress had no real reason to hold the fortress any longer—unless he intended to escalate this concluded “war” back into an invasion. His true concern had never been the Winterwolf defensive line itself. But until his ultimate goal was achieved, the troops there remained a valuable bargaining chip.

“I understand your concerns,” Gawain said slowly. “But rest assured, Cecil has never sought to seize its neighbors’ lands. Our initial occupation of Winterwolf was forced by the situation—you know as well as I do that Typhon’s forces were out of control, your command system in chaos. We had to prevent the flames of war from spreading onto our own soil, so we pushed the front line forward. But now that the war is over, the land rightfully belongs to Typhon and will be returned. That said… we have our own difficulties.”

“The battle at the Winterfort front was costly not only for Typhon. Once our armored corps entered the War God’s strike range, we suffered heavy losses—two light armored trains, one main armored train, countless main battle vehicles destroyed, not to mention disabled heavy artillery and a large number of wounded. We cannot simply abandon all of this on the battlefield.”

“We need to transport our heavy weapons back home, but the railway to Changfeng Fortress has been completely destroyed by bombing. Repairs will take time. Many of the wounded require care; many are too severely injured to endure a long, bumpy journey. With the railway cut off, they must remain in Winterwolf. Honestly, I’m even more eager than you to bring them home, but I can’t very well order the wounded to march back on foot…”

Rosetta frowned. He knew Gawain’s words were excuses—each sentence might be true, but the truth was heavily diluted. Still, he pressed on along that line: “So what you’re saying is…”

“As soon as the main railway is repaired and the wounded can be transferred to the rear, my troops will immediately withdraw from the Winterwolf region,” Gawain replied. “In fact, you should know I’ve already pulled back most of the local forces. Those units capable of redeployment have left. The remainder… cannot be withdrawn overnight.”

“How long will that take?” Mathilda asked, looking at Gawain. “A month? A year? Longer?”

“All I can say is as soon as possible,” Gawain shrugged. “But many factors are beyond my control.”

Rosetta stared into Gawain’s eyes for a long moment before breaking the silence. “We really don’t need to haggle over such a vague matter, do we? We didn’t come here today to exchange empty words—”

He shifted his posture, adopting a more solemn tone as he looked Gawain squarely in the eye. “We each rule powerful empires. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t even meet face to face. If this were just about arguing over a fortress, our diplomats could handle it all. But since you and I are here in person, sitting across from each other, I hope we can speak frankly. No diplomatic niceties, no hints or euphemisms—just open, direct talk. Typhon has a moral claim here, so now you can state your terms. What do you want?”

Only then did Gawain finally reveal a genuine smile. He sighed and settled back comfortably. “You should have said that earlier, instead of testing the waters with Winterwolf. Since we’re at this point, I’ll share my thoughts—Amber.”

At his words, Amber casually pulled out a folded map. She spread it on the tea table, revealing a detailed map of the northeastern region of the Loren Continent.

The moment Rosetta’s eyes landed on the map, his pupils contracted sharply. But it wasn’t any particular marking that caught his attention—it was the astonishing accuracy, the detailed depiction of countless islands and coastlines along the shore. Especially those islands—some unknown even to local residents, some stretches of coastline barely charted. The precision of these details sent a chill through him.

As Rosetta’s gaze was drawn to the map, Gawain’s finger pointed to a spot along the border between Typhon and Cecil.

“Dragoncall Bay. As far as I know, Typhon calls it the same,” he said, pressing his finger down. His eyes met the Typhon emperor’s. “I intend to build a port here—a northeastern hub for the circumnavigation route around the continent. Beyond that, to provide necessary maritime defense and turbulence warnings for Dragoncall Bay, I’ll need to establish several outposts in the offshore island chain. In short, I want these islands.”

Silence fell.

Rosetta Augustus’s expression was as calm and deep as a still lake. Mathilda inhaled softly. At that moment, it felt as if a cold wind swept through the room, the very air thickening with tension. In their minds, both Rosetta and Mathilda heard the name that loomed over the conversation—

The Winter’s Wrath.

That terrifying steel warship still prowled the offshore waters east of Winterfort. It had been there for a long time, showing no sign of returning—a nail hammered firmly into the edge of Typhon’s coastline.

So that was it.

Gawain said nothing, patiently waiting for Rosetta’s response. His expression remained unreadable, leaving others unable to tell whether he was confident or smug. The silence stretched on until Rosetta suddenly lifted his head, his deep black eyes hard as ice.

“Typhon cannot accept this.”

“Think carefully,” Gawain said calmly, showing no surprise. “I’m not asking for your coastline, not for any land, not even your nearshore waters. I’m asking for the island group south of Dragoncall Bay’s offshore area. That region is already dominated by storm turbulence and lies outside your territorial waters.”

“Typhon can permanently relinquish its claim to Dragoncall Bay—that area is disputed, and we can acknowledge it belongs to Cecil. But those islands… they lie on Typhon’s side,” Rosetta said firmly. “It doesn’t matter if they’re in nearshore waters or not. Even those islands deep in the raging sea are part of Typhon’s territory.”

“The Endless Ocean is vast and boundless. Typhon cannot extend its control endlessly into the sea. Those islands have no ownership—that’s a fact. It won’t change just because you put them on a map,” Gawain countered without yielding. “We can put those islands to good use. That’s better than letting them erode away in the open sea.”

At that moment, Mathilda spoke up from the side. “What if those islands do have an owner?”

Gawain frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I imagine you have a way to contact that warship at any time, don’t you?” Mathilda looked Gawain in the eye. “Why not confirm for yourself?”

Gawain’s expression darkened slightly. He looked at Rosetta and Mathilda in turn and said gravely, “It seems… we’ll have to continue this discussion tomorrow.”

…

Out on the boundless ocean, a massive steel warship floated silently beneath the night sky. Waves rolled around it, and a southeast sea breeze slapped against its armored hull. Yet this most powerful warship in history barely rocked, steady as a mountain.

Byron stood atop a raised platform on the foredeck, gazing out at the sea with a hint of boredom. Beyond the gently undulating waves shimmering under starlight, there was nothing to see.

The Winter’s Wrath had long since left land far behind. At this distance, even in daylight, there was little to see—let alone at night.

The ship and its crew had been at sea for a long time. This was likely humanity’s longest continuous ocean deployment since the Second Expansion (excluding the legendary explorer’s drifting voyage). After the initial adjustment period, life at sea grew dull and monotonous. Even Byron found himself missing solid ground. Yet strict military discipline held firm aboard, and the well-trained sailors maintained their orderly routines. Over time, they accumulated invaluable experience.

Experience in executing long-range ocean missions, maintaining and repairing ship machinery at sea, understanding maritime environments and response strategies—these were precious technical assets, essential for future naval development and soldier training. Though Byron’s men had conducted many simulated exercises near shore before, no simulation could match the reliability of real experience.

Alongside gathering this vital data, Byron carried out his critical orders: monitoring Typhon’s coastline and standing ready for commands from home.

Everyone aboard understood the significance: as a floating steel fortress, the Winter’s Wrath’s mere presence here was a powerful deterrent against Typhon.

Suddenly, footsteps approached from behind. Byron turned to see a junior officer ascending the platform.

“General, urgent orders,” the officer said briskly, saluting with a serious expression. “Command directs us to immediately move southeast to scout the reefs at H-6, H-9, and H-12.”

…

A faint hum filled the air as a lightweight dragonrider reconnaissance craft, specially modified for scouting, lifted off from the Winter’s Wrath’s circular rear platform. It soared into the night, heading toward the distant horizon.

The rolling sea and the low-hanging mist rapidly receded behind him. Thanks to the night-vision and eagle-eye enchantments embedded in his observation lenses, the distant scene came into sharp focus before the young aerial scout’s eyes. He fixed his gaze intently on the ocean below. After flying for some time, something finally appeared in his view—something distinct from the endless water—a faint glimmer of light that seemed as fragile as if it could be snuffed out at any moment.

That was the first island reef under his watch—a barren, rocky outcrop soaked in icy, biting seawater. This desolate little “island” was so lifeless that even a few stray weeds were rare. Yet, a stubborn flicker of fire rose from the island, casting a glow that illuminated the entire reef and the nearby sea.

A makeshift tent stood against the cold sea breeze. Two sentries, each clutching a short magic staff, stood vigil in front of it, their eyes alertly scanning the distant waters. Behind them, above the tent, the flag of the Typhon Empire fluttered defiantly in the darkness.

On the far horizon, the first pale light of dawn was slowly spreading along the undulating waves.

Inside the bridge of the Winter’s Wrath, Byron sat stern-faced in the captain’s chair. Beside him, a communications officer reported the scout’s findings at the arcane network terminal.

“Sentries and flags of the Typhon Empire have been spotted on reefs H-6, H-9, and H-12. They all appear to have been set up recently… No Typhon warships detected nearby.”

“General,” an officer standing beside Byron hesitated, lowering his head, “those outposts are fragile, but I’m afraid we can’t—”

“Not ‘afraid,’ but ‘absolutely not,’” Byron sighed. “We absolutely cannot attack, even if those tents and flags could be toppled with a single push…”

He shook his head and lifted his gaze, looking past the bridge’s side window toward the broad deck outside. The massive rainbow generator crouched there like a slumbering beast, flanked by numerous secondary turrets guarding the terrifying main cannon. The ship’s arcane wing panels extended from one side, their rune arrays faintly glowing in the fading starlight.

This vessel could demolish fortified strongholds, sink warships from the old era, sweep away coastal defenses and bunkers, even execute feeble demigods—

But it could not take down those “outposts” manned by only two or three sentries and a single tent.

“Report this up the chain,” Byron sighed again. “Let His Majesty make the call.”

Muttering under his breath, he added, “Damn it, when did the Typhons catch on to this…”

(End of chapter)