Chapter 1144: The Dragonblood Hall

By the time he stepped out of the incubation chamber, the sunlight streaming through the wide floor-to-ceiling windows along the corridor had shifted to a warm orange-red hue. Gawain approached one of the windows and gazed out at the city bathed in the glow of the approaching dusk. The towering arcane broadcast spire in the distance shimmered under the fading light. At its peak, the arcane obelisk floated and slowly rotated, held aloft by anti-gravity devices. The precisely cut crystal facets refracted the magnificent sunset in dazzling patterns. Below the spire, the city thrived—still prosperous, and growing more so with each passing day.

This was a city he had built with his own hands, alongside thousands of dedicated builders. It stood proudly at the foot of the Dark Mountains, every brick and stone solid and steadfast, bearing the hopes and lives of all who dwelled within.

Yet, in a certain sense, this city existed only within the “observed world” of its inhabitants. It could be touched, reached, and possessed its own unique colors, textures, even scents—but all of this was merely a layer of “projection” laid over the true universe. Beneath this projection lay the real cosmos, still utterly beyond the grasp of ordinary mortals.

Gawain exhaled softly, dispelling the vague sense of meaninglessness and detachment that had crept into his mind. He shook his head with a wry smile.

Philosophical questions like these… thinking too much about them was bound to mess with one’s head.

A familiar presence stirred in his senses. Turning toward the source, he saw a small figure leap lightly out of the air beside the window, landing gracefully while scanning him up and down with curious eyes.

“First thing you do when you show up is stand in the hallway pondering the meaning of life?” Amber’s gaze was skeptical, and she effortlessly slipped into the odd phrases Gawain had taught her. “What’s the deal? You’ve been talking to the Dragon God for a while, and it’s like your whole worldview got rebooted or something… I’ve never seen you look like this before.”

Gawain recalled the things he’d heard from Enya and smiled with a complex, inexplicable expression. “A rebooted worldview, huh… I suppose that’s not far off.”

“Wow,” Amber’s eyes widened dramatically. “That… that can shake your worldview? Then the Dragon God really isn’t just any old egg. I’ve been around you for so long, and this is the first time I’ve seen anyone win a worldview battle against you.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Gawain glanced sideways at the elf’s cheeky grin. “And what kind of description is ‘not just any old egg’… You might want to try saying that to Enya’s face.”

Amber thought it over seriously, weighing her own strength against that of a dragon egg. A spark of mischief flickered in her eyes, but reason ultimately prevailed. She suspected that even if that former god-egg just stood there, it could probably use some ‘indescribable divine power’ to smack her into the ground at will. So she waved her hand in resignation. “Don’t get hung up on the details… Anyway, what exactly did you two talk about to make you look like this?”

Gawain’s playful expression faded into seriousness. He looked at the half-elf girl before him, whose large amber eyes shone with curiosity and a hint of concern. After a few moments of contemplation, he sighed softly and lifted his gaze toward the brilliant sun sinking toward the horizon.

(Quick, quick—wish me a happy birthday!)

“Have you noticed the sun?” he asked casually. “What does it look like to you right now?”

“The sun?” Amber blinked, puzzled by the sudden question. “What else could it look like… a big orange-red fireball? Or maybe a glowing balloon wrapped in clouds? That’s what the scholars say… Wait, does this have anything to do with your talk with the Dragon God today?”

Gawain didn’t answer directly. Instead, he murmured to himself, “Yeah, an orange-red fireball… but maybe, at certain times, to certain individuals, it no longer looks like that…”

“I don’t get what you mean,” Amber scratched her head. “But I did hear Santis mention something similar in his lectures. He said many birds’ eyes are structured differently from humans’ or elves’, so they see colors differently and can even perceive things invisible to us. The sun might look green or purple to them, and what we see as a clear sky might be filled with swirling magical vortices. Some birds get so confused by these spirals that they keep circling until they drop dead from exhaustion.”

“Oh?” Gawain raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Of course,” Amber said, shrugging. “And some superstitious hunters call those birds ‘birds of ill omen.’ They see them as bad luck signs. If they spot one before heading into the mountains, they might just give up hunting for the day, fearing they’ll get lost or trapped by invisible spirits like those birds. But nowadays, most people know it’s just because the birds see things humans can’t.”

As Amber enthusiastically shared her newfound knowledge, Gawain’s mind gradually calmed. He smiled and shook his head gently. At their core, the “birds of ill omen” and the “disoriented macro-observers” Enya had mentioned were not the same phenomenon—but there was a subtle similarity that struck him as both strange and coincidental.

When Amber finally finished her chatter, Gawain broke the silence. “Did you come to see me for something?”

“Oh, right! Got so caught up in chatting, I almost forgot!” Amber slapped her forehead and snapped back to business. “We received a message from the North Harbor. Tal’Rond is sending a resident ambassador and several diplomats to stay in Cecil. The list and official request letters have already arrived—the ambassador is an old acquaintance of ours, Miss Melita Pernia.”

“A resident ambassador… Looks like Tal’Rond is finally getting back on track,” Gawain said thoughtfully, unsurprised by the news. “Melita, huh? That’s about what I expected.”

“According to the ‘Trajectory’ intelligence line, Typhon’s side has also received Tal’Rond’s official diplomatic letter. Another group of resident ambassadors will arrive in Alden soon, though a bit later than us,” Amber continued. “Also, our intelligence agents in the northern continent report that the Holy Dragon Principality is conducting a series of public opinion campaigns related to Tal’Rond. The domestic atmosphere is shifting; the Dragonborn are reexamining their relationship with the pureblood dragons. The old narrative of ‘exile’ is gradually being downplayed by the authorities. From what I can tell, this is a ‘preparation’ for normalizing relations between Tal’Rond and the Holy Dragon Principality.”

As she spoke, the increasingly mature intelligence chief sighed. “Last time I saw Maggie, she was daydreaming in the garden. The Dragonborn’s feelings about Tal’Rond are definitely complicated…”

While Amber expressed her thoughts, Gawain’s mind drifted elsewhere. Enya’s words echoed in his memory:

“How many Holy Dragon Principalities do you think there have been?”

He sighed softly, gathering his thoughts before interrupting Amber. “Don’t forget to inform Hetty to prepare for the arrival of the resident ambassador—not just Tal’Rond’s, but soon we’ll be welcoming envoys from many more nations. Looks like the embassy district will need to expand again.”

“Also, notify Rebecca. Arrange a meeting with master-level scholars specializing in the arcane tides and divine realms. I have some announcements to make.”

Amber caught something in his tone. She looked up, their eyes meeting for a brief moment before she bowed solemnly. “Understood.”

“I thought you’d be chasing me with questions,” Gawain teased, glancing at the half-elf. “This straightforward, reliable attitude isn’t like your usual style.”

Amber rolled her eyes, her form already beginning to fade into the air. Her voice, growing more ethereal, drifted to his ears: “I’m capable of growing up, you know…”

…

As the constellation of the Flowing Fire rose to its zenith, the chill finally receded from every corner of the continent. Even atop the northernmost mountain peaks, the snow-covered areas shrank to their smallest extent of the year. Dragon’s Landing Fortress still stood proudly on the highest summit. Around the fortress, the snow had retreated to the mountain’s peak. From the castle’s lofty terrace, the rocky and earthen slopes below were tinged with green, growing denser as they stretched down toward the distant city, villages, and open fields.

Baron Balogur of the Dragonblood turned away from the terrace and passed through the narrow corridor connecting it to the main castle. He walked beneath stone arches and past blazing magical braziers and ancient, solemn pillars carved with dragon insignias until he reached the deepest chamber of Dragon’s Landing—the throne hall.

His most trusted courtiers, Gorosh Shikel and Eugene Natosh, stood on either side of the throne. Aside from these two, the hall was empty; the usual guards and servants had been dismissed.

“Your Majesty,” Eugene Natosh stepped forward. Though Balogur was titled “Dragonblood Baron,” within his principality he was addressed as “Your Majesty.” “The path to the lower levels has been activated. The Dragonblood Council awaits your presence.”

“Noted,” Balogur nodded lightly, then glanced at his two courtiers. “This time, you will accompany me.”

“Your Majesty?” Gorosh Shikel’s eyes widened in surprise. “But today isn’t—”

“I’m going to the Nameless Dragon Tomb to visit some old friends,” Balogur said quietly. “You will come with me.”

The two courtiers exchanged a glance, then their expressions settled into calm resolve as they slowly nodded.

Balogur said no more. He strode toward the back of the throne. Behind the massive, ancient stone seat stood a colossal dragon head statue—the most imposing and solemn decoration in the hall. Between the dragon’s head and the throne was a circular stone floor, slightly raised above the surface, its edges adorned with faint golden lines.

In the silence, the Grant Duke of Dragonblood and the two court ministers stood together at the center of the circular platform. After a brief pause, a voice echoed from within the dragon head statue behind them: “Elevator… descending. Destination: Dragonblood Council.”

A faint tremor rippled through the floor beneath their feet. The circular platform, edged with pale gold trim, shuddered once before steadily sinking downward.

Balogur couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. Since Omega’s departure, so many of the advanced automated systems had become nothing more than scrap metal due to network failures. Yet these “old relics,” relying on outdated technology, remained remarkably dependable.

Gorosh Hikel and Eugene Natosh, the two draconic court ministers, showed no such sentimentality. With solemn expressions, they silently descended alongside the platform. The elevator plunged deep into a vertical shaft, swiftly passing beneath the main structure of Dragon’s Landing, beyond the first floor, and even below the foundation. Still, the descent did not stop; it continued deeper into the ancient mountain’s core.

Inside the shaft, automated lights flickered on one by one, illuminating the circular walls lined with timeworn structures that had undergone countless renovations. Near the top, the walls still bore a stone-like texture, but as they descended, the surface shifted to reveal clear metallic alloys. Guiding grooves, energy conduits, and steel cables intertwined with bearings flashed past in the glow. Amid the mechanical hum and grinding of the elevator’s machinery, a low, subterranean drone gradually grew louder.

At last, with a slight jolt and the sharp click of locking mechanisms engaging, the elevator came to a halt. The synthetic voice announced, “Elevator… stopped. Arrived at Dragonblood Council.”

After several mechanical clicks, a panel slid open in the shaft’s sidewall, dim light spilling into Balogur’s eyes.

He stepped forward first, exiting the elevator into another grand hall.

This hall, nestled deep within the mountain, was almost an exact replica of the “Throne Hall” above ground. Its architecture mirrored the surface chamber so precisely that every pillar, every wall, and every pattern on the vaulted ceiling matched perfectly. The only difference was the absence of the massive stone throne and the dragon head statue. Instead, a circular dais stood in their place, connected to the floor by a steep stone staircase.

The “mirror hall,” as it might be called, was dimly lit. But as Balogur ascended the dais, the lighting system activated automatically. Bright lights stretched along the hall’s central axis, illuminating the space with sudden clarity. The towering shadows lining both sides of the hall sharpened into focus.

There were twenty-two dragon heads—each a fusion of machinery, piping, artificial neural bundles, and traces of biological tissue. Suspended about a meter above the floor, they were held in place by mechanical arms and cables descending from the ceiling. Beneath each dragon head was a circular platform made of an ancient metal, its surface topped with transparent crystal. Within the platforms, a viscous, blood-like fluid slowly flowed. Deep inside that thick liquid, complex mechanical pumps and piping systems could be faintly seen—pulsing steadily, like beating hearts.

(Hurry, hurry—wish me a happy birthday!)

(End of chapter)