Chapter 1097: Formation
In truth, Gawain deeply understood the predicament Talrond faced—not the post-catastrophe wasteland itself, but the existential crisis of the dragon race.
A species nurtured by Omega for 1.87 million years, a race that had lived in its cradle for nearly two million years. Though they maintained the most basic observations of the outside world and occasionally sent “agents” like Melita to other continents, these limited, high-level contacts did little to foster a truly functioning society. They had long since drifted away from normal social order—neither advancing nor regressing, neither pressured nor motivated. Like animals raised in a greenhouse, they still had sharp teeth and claws but had forgotten how to use them.
After the cradle collapsed, the infant dragons had to relearn how to crawl. Their raw strength meant little in this context.
Yet Talrond still held hope: the “Primordial Dragons” like Andar had survived, carrying with them invaluable survival experience; the “New Generation” like Melita, who had contact with the outside world, had also endured, bringing the potential for change. As long as these two groups maintained a voice within the dragonkind, Talrond’s revival was only a matter of time.
For Gawain, who urgently sought to strengthen the world’s overall resilience to disaster, he welcomed Talrond’s resurgence—and hoped it would come soon. To put it bluntly, he needed powerful races like the dragons to help “shoulder the burden” of calamity.
Shaking his head, he pushed these unrelated thoughts aside and looked up at Melita, suddenly wearing a somewhat awkward expression. “To be honest, I hesitated a bit when I first brought this up—I worried that talking about these things might upset you, or even make you think I was somehow… offending you.”
Melita looked puzzled. “Why would you say that?”
“What happened to Talrond was a disaster—you lost so much. That wasteland is a deep scar for the dragon race,” Gawain sighed. “Turning that scar into a ‘scenic attraction’ for visitors, even packaging your cultural traditions as commodities to sell—I don’t know if that’s something dragons can accept…”
Melita fell silent for a moment, then suddenly let out a soft laugh. “Is it worse than selling the flesh and bones of our own kin?”
Gawain blinked in surprise.
“We’ve considered far worse scenarios,” Melita smiled. “Friend, the problem Talrond faces now is survival—not dignity or individual feelings. Helping more of our kin live on and rebuilding our homeland as quickly as possible—that is our greatest honor. Besides… I don’t see any reason to lament turning that wasteland into a ‘scenic spot,’ because we never saw post-war Talrond as a ‘scar.’ It’s our pride.”
At that, the blue dragoness winked playfully. “And one more important thing—this is a business faster than robbing a bank. Why wouldn’t we do it? Dragons are notoriously greedy.”
“If that’s how you see it, then I’m much more at ease,” Gawain exhaled softly, smiling. “I look forward to the day Talrond shines again. Oh, and one more thing—I want to remind you, though I’m sure you’re already aware—keep a close watch on that tower, especially as more outsiders enter Talrond. That tower is dangerously unstable. The more intelligent beings approach it, the greater the risk of leaks. And the intelligent races of Loren have never lacked curiosity or a death wish. We have to be vigilant.”
“Don’t worry. Monitoring and sealing off the Reverse Tide Tower is now our top priority after survival,” Melita nodded immediately. “We’ll secure it first, then consider opening Talrond gradually. The areas we open will be concentrated in the southeast of the continent. Aside from dragons, ordinary people won’t be able to approach the tower in the northwest.”
Her brow furrowed, her expression turning serious. “But monitoring and sealing are only temporary solutions. Ultimately, we have to figure out how to completely eliminate the tower’s threat…”
Completely eliminating the dangers within that corrupted tower…
Gawain’s expression grew thoughtful. At that moment, he recalled his earlier conversation with the dragon goddess Enya and some of the ideas he had proposed. But after a moment’s reflection, he shook his head gently.
“We will deal with it, but now is not the time. For now, keep monitoring. Both Talrond and Loren need time to solve their own problems.”
“I understand,” Melita nodded, then glanced out the window at the fading light. She stood. “I’ll take my leave—I need to write up a report on what you just mentioned and send it back to Talrond. I’m sure Chairman Andar and Chief Heragor will be very interested in those incredible proposals.”
Melita left. Gawain watched her blue figure disappear through the doorway. Only after the door to the lounge closed softly did he turn his gaze to Amber, who had remained unusually quiet for a long time.
“It’s not easy… to see a once-great dragon race brought to this state,” he murmured, shaking his head.
“Indeed. I still remember how magnificent their cities and temples were…” Amber pursed her lips, a hint of melancholy in her voice. Then she suddenly asked, “But honestly, those ideas you just proposed… even someone like me, experienced and sharp in matters of wealth, was a bit shocked. I thought I’d already figured out your business acumen, but it turns out you’ve been hiding a lot.”
“Your so-called business acumen…” Gawain laughed wryly. “Well, it’s rare you’d call my ideas ‘wise.’”
“I’ve always valued your ideas!” Amber said quickly. “But… I didn’t expect you to put so much effort into helping Talrond. Aren’t you worried that this will cause too much wealth to flow north from Loren? After all, they’re making money with Loren’s resources.”
“What’s there to worry about?” Gawain waved dismissively. When it came to economics, the half-elf’s mind was still a bit lacking. “Let them earn it. Wealth only has value when it circulates. Besides, it’s good for them to earn more. The Alliance’s food aid is temporary. The dragons themselves wouldn’t want to rely on handouts forever. Once the aid ends, we’ll start exporting food to Talrond, along with all kinds of engineering machinery. If the dragons can’t handle our machines, we’ll just send contractors over. According to Cassandra’s reports, those dragons raised by Omega aren’t exactly skilled at building houses with their own hands.”
He stroked his chin, thinking quickly. “That said, their tourism industry might not be enough… We need to find ways for them to expand other sectors, or see what else they’re willing to sell…”
Amber stared at him, speechless.
Noticing her expression, Gawain asked, “What’s with that look all of a sudden?”
“Sometimes I really don’t know if you’re a great hero or a terrifying schemer,” Amber sighed. She always spoke her mind around Gawain. “You’re pushing this world forward with all your might, but at the same time, you’ve calculated nearly everyone— even those you’re trying to help. Isn’t that contradictory?”
Gawain hadn’t expected her to bring this up. Surprised, he smiled and shook his head. “It’s not contradictory—because the world is inherently complex and chaotic, impossible to define simply. We don’t live in a black-and-white world, so there are no absolute heroes or absolute rights.”
He sighed softly, his expression carrying something Amber couldn’t quite read.
“I’m no different from anyone else—we all have to live in this world and do what must be done, much of it unseemly and unglorious. Like Matilda said, I probably can’t be a ‘saint,’ but if I could, I’d want this world to be better… at least so future generations won’t face the same choices we do today.”
“Choices…” Amber looked at him, half understanding, then sighed as if talking to herself. “Sigh, I never thought life would be this exhausting.”
…
Under the night sky on the edge of the wasteland, the world’s changes were quietly brewing. In many guild halls, lights burned late into the night.
Countless brilliant minds worked deep into the night, shaping decisions and plans that might influence generations to come. The wisest and most powerful gathered in this small frontier town, thinking, debating, observing, and reporting through the night. Eventually, all was swallowed by the tranquil darkness and the starry sky.
When the giant sun rose again the next day, its radiant corona bathed the land. Representatives from all nations gathered once more within the Oathstone Circle—each one energized and full of fighting spirit.
Beneath the green-and-silver banner of the Elven Empire, the Silver Queen Belsethia stood by the ancient stone table. Her gaze slowly swept the assembly, then she spoke in a tone both gentle and authoritative:
“I hope everyone’s rest last night truly restored your energy, because today we face another battle of minds and stamina—and many more days like this to come.”
“We will continue the agenda from yesterday,” she paused, then continued, “After a night of reflection, I trust all representatives fully understand the significance and long-term impact of the ‘Alliance,’ and have thoroughly negotiated within your teams. Now, the first item on today’s agenda: a full vote to establish the ‘Alliance of Mortal Civilizations.’ This vote will be public. Please cast your ballots by touching the runes on the stone table. Note the marks for ‘approve,’ ‘oppose,’ and ‘abstain.’”
Under Talrond’s banner, Melita took a deep breath. She saw the runes on the stone table glow softly. Three clear symbols emerged from the ancient stone surface, each labeled in Common, Draconic, and Elvish.
Her heart pounded—flesh and blood, a heartbeat that had accompanied her since hatching, now beating stronger than ever.
Without hesitation, Melita placed her hand on the rune representing approval.
The next moment, a faint hum sounded from above behind her. Looking up, she saw the towering stone pillars shimmer with subtle flowing light. Then, the massive banner hanging from the top of the pillar suddenly glowed with a brilliant aura—the once-dark fabric now gleamed as if forged from light itself.
Similar magical pulses spread throughout the hall. The blue dragoness instinctively lifted her gaze, watching as banners representing the mortal nations around the Oathstone Circle lit up one by one. The emblems of the mortal realms shone brightly under the infusion of magic.
All the recording devices on site sprang to life, capturing this moment and engraving it into the memory crystal.
At last, the flags of the three great empires were illuminated.
Above the entire Oath Stone Circle, every banner was bathed in a solemn, radiant glow.
Gawain slowly withdrew his hand from the voting rune, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. This voting procedure had been carefully crafted by him, Rosetta, and Belsethia together. For a gathering of such monumental significance, every step needed a sense of ceremony—not empty pomp. In fact, this very “ritual” was a vital part of strengthening the cohesion and shared identity of the new alliance.
“Unanimous approval…” Amber murmured softly from behind Gawain.
He glanced toward the Silver Empress, who met his gaze in return. After a brief exchange of looks, he rose and spoke with solemn steadiness: “Then, I hereby declare that the ‘Alliance of Mortal Civilizations’ is officially established today—our mortal nations’ fates are now intertwined, and from this day forward, we shall advance and retreat together. May we stand united, facing the future as one.
“Simultaneously, the ‘Charter of the Alliance of Mortal Civilizations’ takes effect immediately. The legitimacy of each member state’s seat and government is recognized from this moment on. All responsibilities, rights, and laws stipulated in the Charter are now in force.
“In accordance with the Charter, the Cecile Empire, Typhon Empire, and Silver Empire, as founding members and initial organizers, shall henceforth serve as permanent council members of the Alliance, with all corresponding rights and obligations effective immediately…
“Per the Charter, all member states…
“We will now proceed to the oath-taking ceremony…”
The commanding voice echoed throughout the Oath Stone Circle. After the solemn reading and the joint oath of the three leaders, every representative within the circle rose together, repeating the pledge and applauding in celebration.
It was the third year of Cecile, the year 2490 in Gondor—on the 26th day of the Month of Awakening, one of Gawain’s boldest visions finally came to life.
The world was still far from unified, but the era of fragmentation had come to an end. At least in name, all mortals now stood shoulder to shoulder on the same front.
(The End of This Chapter)