Chapter 1196: Between Life and Death

After hearing Helagor’s response, Modir fell silent for a moment, then suddenly lowered his voice and asked, “I’m suddenly curious… a long, long time ago, at some point I’ve since forgotten, did I really come to this place?”

Helagor gazed steadily into Modir’s eyes and, after a long pause, nodded gently. “Yes, you once visited Talrond—though you never actually set foot on its soil.”

Modir’s eyes widened slightly. “So the curse I carry was left here?”

“I’m afraid not,” Helagor shook his head slowly. “At least based on the clues we have, your condition was normal up until the time you left this land—and remained so for quite some time afterward.”

Modir fell silent, lost in thought. After about half a minute, he looked up again. “Is this something you can’t tell me? Maybe it involves Talrond’s secrets, or some kind of threat that arises just from knowing about it? If it’s the latter, I understand. After all, I’ve traveled far and wide over the years… I’ve come across all sorts of strange things.”

“Yes,” Helagor nodded. “Right now, we can’t discuss it in detail—mainly because I’m not sure about the risks involved. But if we make any progress, I’ll contact you immediately.”

“I trust you on that,” Modir finally smiled again, then exhaled softly and turned toward the room’s exit. “That’s enough for now. I should go back and meet with my companions.”

“Are you planning to return to the adventurers’ camp?” Helagor’s expression showed surprise. “I mean… as a legendary mage, you don’t really need to take on those tasks at the camp. I can arrange accommodations for you in New Agondor. Though conditions in Talrond are harsh now, at least in the core area, we can provide relatively comfortable and attentive living arrangements.”

Modir thought for a moment, then smiled. “No, thanks. Staying in a land full of unknowns and opportunities but not being able to explore freely isn’t a good life for an adventurer, no matter how comfortable it is. I prefer being at the camp with Lora and the others—even on days when I don’t go out, I can hear countless fascinating stories from the adventurers. That’s more interesting to me.”

“…I respect your choice,” Helagor nodded slightly. “Then please do as you wish. But if you suddenly remember anything or need help, you can contact me anytime through any of the dragon affairs officers at the adventurers’ camp—I’ve already informed them.”

…

After leaving the large house and returning to the gathering point at the Crystal Rock Hill temporary camp, Modir immediately spotted Lora and several familiar adventurers idly pacing near the protective gate. A faint smile appeared on the old mage’s face as he strode toward them. Lora and the others quickly noticed him and came forward.

“Just back from patrol?” Modir asked casually as he approached, glancing at Lora.

“We’ve been back for a while,” the young huntress smiled. “You were gone quite a long time. What did the camp commander talk to you about?”

“So much time has passed, huh…” Modir murmured thoughtfully, then waved it off. “Not much, just some questions about my background and a bit about the Fire Elemental Lord. Nothing else.”

“Just that?” The two-handed swordsman in the group—the one Modir had earlier shielded with over a hundred layers of protection—looked visibly disappointed. “I was hoping to hear about some ‘inside arrangements’…”

The druid nearby patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, whether you hear it or not doesn’t matter much. Just drink a few more cups later and it’ll all be arranged…”

The adventurers joked like that, and the few teammates who had grown familiar over recent days laughed along. But Lora didn’t join in. She keenly noticed something was off about the old mage. After hesitating briefly, she couldn’t help but ask, “Mr. Modir, are you… alright? You don’t look so well.”

“Me? My complexion?” Modir blinked, instinctively touching his cheeks. “I’m fine… maybe just a bit tired. Well, I am getting on in years—can’t keep up with you young folks anymore…”

As the old man spoke, the adventurers exchanged increasingly strange looks. The burly swordsman even gave Modir’s frail, stooped frame a quick once-over. Honestly, based on the past few days, the swordsman wasn’t sure about much, but he was confident that if he fought this old man hand-to-hand for three rounds, he’d be bedridden for a week afterward. And if they really went all out, he was sure he could make the old mage bleed in a single strike… And here this legendary mage was, sighing about life without a care for others’ feelings?

Lora’s gaze remained fixed on Modir’s face. He now looked completely normal, but she was certain she hadn’t imagined it—just moments ago, she clearly saw a brief, unfocused daze in his eyes, as if his soul had momentarily left, and the body was only moving on instinct. It reminded her of the undead she’d encountered years ago in an abandoned dungeon… Of course, that hideous, decaying corpse was nothing like this living, breathing old mage. What she felt was a “sense,” something only she could understand.

But the old mage had fully recovered, and the strange feeling vanished. Lora blinked, found no trace of it, and dismissed her suspicion.

Probably just a trick of the eye.

…

Helagor watched Modir leave the room, sensing his aura gradually fade away. Then he gently waved his hand. A series of faint clicks sounded from the nearby door as the lock engaged. Slowly, draconic runes hidden on the door, walls, ceiling, and floor began to glow with shifting, mysterious light under the lamp’s glow.

The former dragon priest carefully examined each rune’s state, then let out a slight breath of relief. He moved to a pale golden pillar device in the corner and activated its energy cycle. The recently repaired machine creaked softly as its upper crystal membrane formed a clear image—Andal in his dragon form appeared on the screen, his massive head turned this way, a faint glow flickering in his dark red mechanical eye.

Helagor frowned slightly. “Is something wrong with your body?”

“Don’t worry, I’m in good shape,” Andal nodded gently. “But I need to release my core and manually inspect these ancient implants. Although these old relics don’t rely on the Omega system, they’ve been running far too long. I don’t want any malfunctions at such a critical time.”

The aged ancient black dragon shook his head, lowering his massive skull toward Helagor. “Enough about me. How are things on your end? Have you made contact with that Modir mage?”

“Yes, but it’s complicated,” Helagor nodded. “His memory and mental state are off. He can’t recall his full name or origins, and his memories of his adventuring career are confused. We can preliminarily rule out a single, complete memory wipe—it seems to be a long-term, internal disorder.”

Andal was silent for a moment, then spoke softly. “Sounds like you couldn’t confirm in person that he is Modir Wilde?”

“No way to confirm. He doesn’t remember, not even when I showed him parts of the Modir Chronicles,” Helagor shook his head, then shifted tone. “But… I believe he is.”

“When we saw his name on the adventurer registry, we both immediately thought of Melita’s report—though we first suspected it was just a coincidence. But the coincidences are too many, too glaring to ignore,” Andal’s voice was low. “On the continent of Loren, ‘legendary’ is a rare title. In the last ten thousand years of history, there may never have been another human named ‘Modir’ who was a legend, and who was also an adventurer visiting Talrond in search of some ‘lost artifact’…”

“The only problem is humans don’t live six centuries—Modir Wilde should have died six hundred years ago.”

“Humans also don’t rise from the grave seven hundred years after death—but it happened,” Andal shook his head. “There are few certainties in this world, especially when it comes to the supernatural.”

“I agree. That’s one reason I’m confident he is Modir Wilde,” Helagor said slowly, then suddenly changed the subject. “Speaking of which, during my contact with that ‘adventurer,’ I discovered something.”

Andal’s mechanical eye contracted sharply. “What did you find?”

“After reading parts of the ‘Modir Chronicles’ and hearing the surname ‘Wilde’ from me, he quickly fell into a confused mental state. The whole episode lasted less than a minute, after which he forgot what had just happened and no longer remembered the Chronicles. His memory reverted to before I showed him the book,” Helagor described the recent events in detail. “At the same time, I noticed his soul’s stability plummeted. To avoid accidents, I didn’t try a second time.”

“…He became confused after hearing the surname? Then lost the memory afterward?” Andal’s tone turned serious. “That sounds… like the undead.”

“Yes, it’s reminiscent of the undead, but not quite the same. He at least knows his name is Modir, whereas the undead can’t remember their own names. Also, when undead suffer soul backlash, the consequences are far worse than mere confusion and temporary amnesia,” Helagor nodded. “Modir is a living, breathing man—that I’m sure of. He’s alive, but his state… is off. I suspect his soul suffered severe trauma that didn’t kill him but trapped part of his ‘life essence’ in a state between life and death—that might explain how he’s wandered the world for six centuries.”

Listening to Helagor’s assessment, Andal fell into thought. Minutes later, he broke the silence. “What about ‘contamination’ detection? Any signs?”

Helagor’s gaze swept over the glowing runes again. After a moment’s thought, he shook his head. “No contamination detected—neither divine spiritual pollution nor any trace of the ‘Inverse Tide’ anomaly. Modir is simply a mortal surviving in a strange state.”

“…But I still can’t shake my unease,” Andar sighed softly. “He’s the one who actually entered that tower before, and this matter is tied to the gods we once worshipped… Although from the clues we have, Modir Wilde wasn’t tainted by the Reverse Tide when he left Talrond, you know how unique that tower is— not even our former deities could intervene in what happens inside it.”

The room fell silent for a moment. Then Andar spoke again: “What’s your decision?”

“That tower has been weighing heavier on my mind lately,” Hragor said in a low voice. “And since that adventurer Modir appeared, my unease has only grown stronger.

“I think we should contact Gawain Cecil—at least let the Cecil Empire know about this adventurer’s existence. Perhaps the Wilde family descendants over there can verify their ancestor’s identity. At the same time, we could discuss the Reverse Tide Tower with Gawain, see what the human emperor—who’s also skilled in dealing with gods—thinks about it. And finally…”

Hragor’s expression shifted oddly, hesitating for a moment. Andar, however, guessed what the former Dragon Priest was thinking. He lifted his head slightly, the dull red glow flickering in his mechanical eye. “We could also ask… Lady Enya’s opinion on this.”

Hragor sighed softly. “Though the current ‘Lady Enya’ is little more than a remnant of her former humanity, her memories remain largely intact. We should ask her.”

…

At the northern border of the Cecil Empire, the coastal city of Northport basked in the bright midday sun. Gentle waves lapped against the breakwaters surrounding the harbor. The imposing prow of the warship Winter’s Chill pointed proudly toward the horizon. This massive sea fortress was moored steadily at Pier One in the military district. On the upper deck’s forward section, Byron, draped in his naval cloak, stepped forward and gazed out at the familiar city and coastline, a smile breaking across his face.

“Well, that was quite the ‘long journey,’” he muttered to himself. “I wonder if the girls back home have missed me…”

A low roar from high above cut through his musing. Byron looked up toward the sky, where, bathed in the bright sunlight, the silhouette of a red dragon streaked beneath the clouds, then circled above the city. With a majestic roar unique to dragons, the red dragon clad in full mechanical armor seemed to be greeting the Winter’s Chill at the dock.

Byron laughed and waved up at the dragon.

(End of chapter)