Chapter 1087: The Day of the Assembly

The envoys from Typhon had departed, and the Oakwood Hall’s reception room fell into a calm silence. The Silver Empress Belsethia stood by the wide floor-to-ceiling window, gazing through the crystal-clear glass toward the town. The lush roadside plants were bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. Pedestrians and carriages along the main avenue were gradually thinning out. The sharply armored ranger guards marched in formation past the sentries at the main gate, while two giant eagle riders soared overhead along the northern city wall, their shadows cast upon the distant clock tower.

“It seems the Typhon delegation is eager to push forward the port openings and trade projects along the Reflux Coast and the Grey-Eyed Coast,” said Valendian Goldvale, tall and stern in his red robe trimmed with gold, standing respectfully a short distance behind the Empress. “Though they’ve been discussing these matters for the past six months, they didn’t seem this urgent back then. While this benefits us, could there be something suspicious behind it?”

“The biggest mystery might lie in the two secret meetings between Gawain Cecil and Rosetta Augustus,” Belsethia replied without turning around, her voice calm. “I’m genuinely curious about what they discussed…”

Valendian immediately responded, “Understood. I’ll make arrangements at once.”

“No need. Ilian will be back soon,” the Empress said. Almost as her words fell, a barely perceptible breeze stirred in the corner of the room, and a slender figure emerged from the ivy-wrapped wall.

High Elf handmaiden Ilian Vanna stepped out of thin air and quickly approached behind the Silver Empress. “I have returned, Your Majesty.”

“How are things? Any news?”

Ilian lowered her head. “As you suspected, the Cecil side has deliberately leaked a small portion of information—Typhon and Cecil will jointly restart the Continent-Circling Trade Route, and other nations on the continent may also participate.”

“Restart the Continent-Circling Trade Route? Typhon and Cecil ‘jointly’?” Belsethia finally turned to face her, eyes fixed on Ilian. “The news has already been released… so Rosetta Augustus agreed?”

“So far, yes,” Ilian paused, still bowing her head. “And it seems their consensus goes beyond that.”

“The Council originally predicted that Typhon and Cecil would negotiate some kind of territorial or resource ‘handover’ as part of their alliance,” Valendian said, surprised but quickly regaining his composure as he looked to his Empress. “Your Majesty, our predictions were seriously off. Gawain Cecil is asking for far more than we imagined.”

“To forcibly push the restart of the Continent-Circling Trade Route at this moment…” Belsethia seemed to ignore Valendian’s words, murmuring thoughtfully to herself, “Is he worried about Typhon’s recovery speed…”

“Or perhaps he fears the Silver Empire might fully side with the Typhon settlement zone,” Valendian added. “Since the Blue Rock Hills dispute was resolved, the Highland Kingdom reconciled with Typhon, and our trade with Typhon has rapidly expanded. This has likely raised alarms in Cecil. Given the high costs of land transport and the impracticality of air freight, opening the eastern sea route is their best way to prevent the Typhon settlement zone from maturing further.”

“Valendian, I think he’s after even more than that,” the Silver Empress glanced at her chief minister and shook her head slightly. “But that’s not the main point for us. The key question is why the Typhon Emperor agreed to this… He must be well aware of his own country’s situation. To agree to Cecil’s Continent-Circling Trade Route plan at this time, nominally as a joint effort, effectively cedes control of the entire route—and for at least decades…”

“Perhaps he faced an overwhelming deterrent, or an offer too tempting to refuse. That’s probably the part neither Cecil nor Typhon has made public,” Valendian’s expression grew serious. “Should we respond to the conditions the Typhon envoys just proposed? They clearly want to secure as much share and influence as possible over the southeastern segment of the route before the agreement takes effect. That would benefit us greatly—but it might also provoke Cecil’s displeasure.”

The Silver Empress looked at her chief minister as if to say his question was unnecessary. “Is that even a question? Of course we must respond. We’ve been waiting for Typhon to make concessions for over half a year now. But we can still raise the stakes a little. Trust me, Typhon’s room for compromise is far from exhausted. As for Cecil’s displeasure…”

A faint smile curved her lips as the late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, draping her like a cloak. “That’s Gawain Cecil. He won’t be upset.”

…

The secret meetings between Gawain and Rosetta Augustus were just a fragment of the prelude to the Assembly at Outpost 112. In fact, throughout the entire preparation phase, similar meetings and confidential talks never ceased within the outpost.

Almost every delegate attending the Assembly sensed that the world’s balance of power would shift dramatically within days. Countless spies and advisors swarmed like ants beneath the bushes, gathering and compiling information from all sides. From this overwhelming flood of data, they extracted valuable intelligence to present to their superiors. Those with sharp eyes and keen judgment—or at least those who believed they had such abilities—were spurred on by this information to reach out to allies and rivals alike, preparing bargaining chips and gathering intelligence, all in hopes of gaining the upper hand in the upcoming Assembly.

The Emerald Hall’s reception rooms and conference chambers buzzed with activity. Various embassy rooms also grew lively. From dawn to dusk, countless meetings and negotiations unfolded. In some particularly “dense” areas, an awkward and delicate scene often played out: delegates would finish a round of talks, step into the corridor, and just happen to see a neighboring king or prime minister emerge from the next room. After an awkward or cordial greeting, the delegates would regroup, turn, and enter different rooms to continue the next round of discussions…

It was anyone’s guess whether, amid this tense and hectic preparation, some delegates accidentally entered the wrong rooms and muddled the intricate web of alliances and rivalries.

Meanwhile, as the numerous representatives of minor and medium powers busied themselves, the three most influential factions—the Cecil, Typhon, and Silver Empires—suddenly fell silent. After initial high-level contacts, they quickly ceased all activity, leaving only ordinary diplomats to maintain routine exchanges behind the scenes. These three great empires seemed to watch the other powers scurry about like detached spectators, calmly awaiting the Assembly’s arrival.

Some delegates felt uneasy about this, but most no longer had the energy to focus on the great empires’ movements. Over these days of interaction, they increasingly realized what a formidable behemoth the new alliance would be. For smaller nations unable to influence the great powers’ balance, the real concern was how to find a better “place” within this colossal entity.

Time flew amid these undercurrents, and finally, the scheduled day of the Assembly arrived.

The first rays of dawn illuminated the crystal spire atop Outpost 112. The large pale-green crystal blazed brightly in the sunlight. Bells rang out simultaneously throughout the town, their tones rising and falling. Elite rangers clad in silver light armor and feathered helmets appeared at key intersections. Meanwhile, magically powered vehicles adorned with the flags of various nations gathered before the main embassies—these vehicles were uniformly provided by Cecil, the Assembly’s initiator. Aside from differing flags, all other standards were identical.

In fact, beyond these magi-tech vehicles, most of the Assembly’s materials were standardized. The Silver Empire bore the majority of the costs, with Cecil and Typhon sharing the rest. This “uniformity” was a deliberate arrangement by Gawain Cecil, with a purpose behind it—

All delegates would have equal standards and seating. Even though the alliance granted different powers varying influence and roles, this would not be reflected in extravagance or displays of national might. This “uniformity” broke from the old tradition where meetings were opportunities for each faction to flaunt their strength. It was also a simple expression of the “community of destiny” concept.

Of course, some delegates might find these arrangements odd or novel, unable to grasp Gawain’s intent. But before the Assembly ended… they would understand.

During the preceding days, delegates had been notified in advance and were familiar with the arrival procedures. So they quickly boarded their assigned vehicles. Yet many were surprised when the vehicles did not head toward the town’s largest gathering hall, the Emerald Hall, or other large venues. Instead, they drove straight out of town.

Inside a magi-tech vehicle bearing the emblem of the Ogure Tribe, petite Wenna Whitebloom craned her neck to look out the window. She stared in surprise at the direction of the convoy. Pulling back her gaze, she turned to the elf affairs officer seated beside the driver’s seat. “The venue is outside the town? Not in one of the city halls?”

“Yes, outside the town,” the officer replied with a smile. The golden-haired elf had slender eyebrows and beautiful eyes. Though Silver and Grey Elves had long been isolated, they were still distant kin. The officer’s attitude toward Wenna was unusually friendly. “The itinerary clearly states the venue is the ‘Oathstone Circle.’ There’s no place called that inside the town.”

“But I don’t see any meeting place outside either,” Wenna’s curiosity and confusion remained. She looked out the window again. The town was small, and their vehicle was nearing the city gate, which was covered by an energy shield. Beyond the gate stretched vast wilderness, and beyond that, the dark wildlands. “All I see is open land—could the ‘Oathstone Circle’ be hidden by some kind of barrier?”

“No,” the officer shook her head. “The Oathstone Circle isn’t an existing structure. It requires the Empress’s power to manifest in this world. Sorry for the confusion. Due to the large number of participants and the limited capacity of existing facilities at Outpost 112, plus some other considerations, we had no choice but to make this arrangement. But rest assured, even outside the outpost, elite ranger units and battle druids will ensure the safety of all delegates. Though this is the edge of the civilized world, the wasteland is still far from the inhabited zones.”

“We’re not worried about that wasteland—at least, I’m not,” said the orc chieftain Kamira sitting next to Wenna, a low rumble in her throat. “I just wish you’d told us about this earlier. Until today, I thought the Assembly would be held inside the town.”

“Apologies, that was our oversight.”

“Ah, it doesn’t really matter,” Camilla waved her hand dismissively. Her fluffy long tail curled up and draped over Wenna’s shoulder as she leaned forward to peer out the window on the other side. Her amber vertical pupils gleamed with curiosity. “The wasteland… it’s the first time I’ve seen it up close like this.”

“Control your curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat—and the beastfolk,” Wenna said softly, brushing the tail off her shoulder as she glanced ahead at the convoy. Before her stretched the open, flat expanse of the wilderness.

…

Outside Outpost 112, on the broad, level plain, the arriving vehicles gathered in a designated parking area. Nearby, on a patch of open ground, the Silver Queen Belsethia stood beside a massive stone slab, flanked by several high-ranking druids and elite rangers.

The roughly square stone was etched with intricate, arcane druidic runes. As sunlight spilled over its surface, the runes shimmered faintly with magical light, like tiny stars twinkling in the daylight.

But it wasn’t just elves standing by the stone.

Gawain stood alongside Amber and Rebecca near Belsethia. A little farther off, a group of technicians from Cecile—dressed in their work uniforms—were busy calibrating various arcane devices: vehicle-mounted layered magic network units, mobile mana obelisks, and several different models of magic network terminals. Their expressions were serious, their movements precise, carrying an air of solemn duty.

This meeting would be broadcast through the devices into the neural network, relayed back to the Cecile Empire, and then transmitted across the empire’s magic network. The signal would even reach parts of the Ogure Tribal Nation and the Holy Dragon Principality’s connected regions. While it wasn’t quite a “worldwide live broadcast,” the scale of this event’s coverage was unprecedented since the birth of magic network communications. Everyone involved would undoubtedly feel the weight of history in the making.

Gawain withdrew his gaze from the broadcast equipment and looked toward the various representatives arriving on site. Then he turned to Belsethia, a smile spreading across his face. “Doesn’t this atmosphere feel a little familiar to you?”

“No,” Belsethia replied with a faint smile, lowering her voice. “Seven hundred years ago, during that meeting, I was too busy sneaking snacks backstage. Valendian was the one keeping order. Don’t you remember?”

“…I do recall Valendian’s scowl back then,” Gawain said, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Later, he and I spent ages looking for you before finally dragging you out from under the dining table.”

They shared a smile, the mood lightening as they reminisced.

Behind them, Valendian’s pointed ears twitched involuntarily, and his expression darkened just a little…

(End of chapter)