Chapter 1204: The Clue

The tomb of Modir Wilde, Duke of the Northern Territories, was nothing more than an empty ceremonial grave—no ancestral bones rested there. As Victoria had said, this wasn’t exactly a closely guarded secret, but it wasn’t something casually discussed in public either.

No one in their right mind—and certainly no one wise—would waste time gossiping about the burial site of one of the four great dukes’ ancestors. Such matters were far removed from the everyday lives of ordinary people. Whether in the old Ansu era or the new imperial age, royal families and noble houses always had countless secrets and legends hidden behind thick veils of discretion—some true, many false.

But Amber was clearly not one of those indifferent “ordinary people.” After hearing Victoria’s reply, she didn’t immediately respond to the follow-up question. Instead, she thoughtfully stroked her chin. “So it really is an empty tomb…”

Victoria glanced at her quietly. “Looks like you’ve done some digging.”

“Uh… just a little,” Amber said nervously, waving her hand. “You know, it’s part of my job… There’s a rumor that six hundred years ago, Grant Duke Modir Wilde was never laid to rest in the family crypt. On his final adventure, he left Ansu behind and vanished into the vast unknown… But I’ve only heard it as a rumor. You know how intelligence work is—unconfirmed info is just a reference. His Majesty asked me to verify this with you, so I had to come check.”

Victoria paid no mind to Amber’s rambling. With her usual cool composure, she spoke slowly after Amber finished: “The rumor is true. Our ancestor Modir did not rest in the crypt beneath Winterhold. According to family records, at the age of seventy, he embarked on his last adventure—and disappeared during it. The great adventurer journeyed far on that final path. As a noble, he was a controversial figure, but as a member of the Wilde family, many of his achievements in exploration fill us with pride.”

“Disappeared, huh… That makes the ‘Great Adventurer Modir’ who showed up in Talrond even more ‘highly suspicious,’” Amber muttered to herself, her intelligence instincts kicking in. She finally ignored Victoria’s cold, imposing presence and instinctively pressed on: “Do we know where his last adventure took him? Any clues?”

“No clear records,” Victoria shook her head gently. “Modir Wilde planned every expedition himself and never followed a set path. Only when he returned could people piece together his travels from his notes. But he never came back from that last journey.

“Of course, after his disappearance, both the Wilde family and the Ansu crown put great effort into searching for clues, and some leads were found. According to family records, the last sighting of Modir during his final adventure was near the border between the Talrond Forest and Old Ansu. Travelers saw him heading further north.”

“North, huh… From Talrond northward, there’s only the northern city-states and the icy coastline… It’s unlikely he went to Talrond again; the dragons have no record of that,” Amber muttered thoughtfully, her gaze drifting to the large map hanging on the office wall opposite her. She had been scanning the continent of Loren out of habit, but before looking away, something caught her eye—a land rarely noticed by Loren’s people but recently appearing often in her work focus.

North of Talrond lies not only the northern city-states and Talrond across the sea, but also a reclusive kingdom surrounded by northern oceans—a mysterious island ruled by mages: the Violet Kingdom.

“Violet…” Amber whispered to herself. “Could there be a connection there…”

“Looks like you’ve had a thought,” Victoria’s voice came through the arcane network terminal, interrupting Amber’s muttering. “I heard you mention Violet.”

“Do you think it’s possible… that six hundred years ago, Modir Wilde ventured to the Violet Kingdom?” Amber looked up, her expression serious as she faced the Northern Duke. Even Victoria felt a flicker of awe at how grave Amber’s usually playful face had become. “And that something happened there that explains his… unusual condition now?”

“Reason,” Victoria said expressionlessly, her gaze fixed on Amber. “As head of intelligence, your guess isn’t baseless.”

“Of course there’s reason,” Amber puffed out her chest. “First, the Violet Kingdom is the land of mages—one of the most revered holy places for all magic users. And Modir Wilde was a mage—no matter what else surrounded him, that’s undeniable.

“Second, Modir was an adventurer. The unknown and mysterious held a fatal attraction for him. Aside from Talrond, nowhere else in the world holds more secrets than the Violet Kingdom. For someone who had traversed the known world, it was practically the last missing piece of his map. As a great adventurer, he had every reason to go there.

“Third, the Violet Kingdom is known for its secretive nature and its use of extraordinary memory-erasure magic. That might explain the amnesia symptoms shown by the ‘Great Adventurer’ in Talrond—he may have resisted the memory wipe, which only left his mind in chaos…”

Amber paused deliberately, her expression growing even more serious. “And finally, the most important reason—intuition. My intuition is fixed on the Violet Kingdom. You know I’m the Shadow Goddess’s chosen. Don’t you trust the instincts of a divine chosen?”

Victoria had remained silent while Amber listed her reasons, her face cold and indifferent but her eyes attentive. When Amber finished, she spoke in a low voice: “All three reasons hold up. You’ve convinced me. And perhaps I can add a fourth.”

“I said four reasons already…” Amber muttered, but Victoria’s serious demeanor made her swallow the complaint back down. “What’s the fourth?”

“The Violet Kingdom’s tradition of sending out traveling scholars and selecting apprentices—their influence on Loren’s magical system began around six hundred years ago,” Victoria said solemnly, her words carrying the chill of the northern ice that never melts. “Almost exactly the same time Modir Wilde disappeared.”

Amber blinked, then opened her mouth: “…Oh.”

“Now, it’s your turn to answer my question, Miss Amber,” Victoria said, watching her quietly for a few seconds before continuing in a cold tone. “I want to know more about the ‘adventurer’ who appeared in Talrond. That will help me cross-reference with the family records.”

“Oh, of course,” Amber snapped back to attention, nodding eagerly. “Well, it all starts with that adventurer—who might be your ancestor—buying a ship ticket at the Northern Port…”

…

In the hatching chamber, two ravenous hatchlings finally had their very first meal. Under Betty’s direction, strong attendants brought in two large basins filled with freshly cut raw meat and two cans of clean water (along with plenty of soft bedding to serve as temporary nests). The serious conversation between Highlord, Melita, and Enya was momentarily interrupted as the excited hatchlings drew everyone’s attention.

The two little dragons, whose scales hadn’t fully hardened yet, dropped their half-played eggshells the moment they caught the scent of food. Tumbling and scrambling, they rushed to the wooden basins of meat. Highlord watched in surprise as these apex beings of the mortal races lunged at the raw meat—and then even more amazed as they deftly grabbed pieces and tossed them into the air.

The tiny hatchlings lifted their necks, and bright red flames burst from their throats, quickly searing the meat to a perfect medium-rare before it fell into their eager mouths.

Sometimes, when the meat was too thick to cook evenly in one breath, they would toss it up multiple times, flipping it in midair until it was thoroughly cooked…

The hatchlings’ eating process was far more refined—and complex—than Highlord had imagined.

“This is… eye-opening,” Highlord muttered, dumbfounded after watching for a while. “They actually know from birth that meat needs to be cooked…”

“For humans, who can’t instinctively create fire, cooking food is a complex, advanced eating method—a major step in civilization,” Enya’s gentle, slightly amused voice came from the eggshell, patiently explaining. “But for dragons, born with the ability to produce intense flames, cooking is instinctive—almost like chewing is for humans. It’s a natural part of their evolution and physical gifts.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Highlord murmured, stunned, feeling a bit strange that a former deity was here giving him a science lesson—guiding him to use rational thought to understand the behavior of supernatural beings.

“After they finish this meat, they’ll probably want more, but don’t feed them again for at least four hours,” Enya’s voice added as Highlord muttered. “This amount is just right. Hatchlings can’t regulate their appetite well in the first week of life; overfeeding can harm them. But water can be given freely—that’s fine.”

“They won’t starve, right?” Melita asked worriedly. “I heard hatchlings get hungry easily. Will this be enough?”

“Don’t worry, they won’t starve—unless they get so hungry they try to eat their own eggshells. You don’t need to fret about their nutrition,” Enya smiled. “By the way, keep the eggshells at least until the hatchlings are a year old. During this time, the shells are their favorite toys and teething tools, and they help them sleep peacefully. They’ll even pick larger shell fragments to use as pillows.

“But their skin and scales are still fragile, so be careful of sharp shell edges that might scratch them. Smoothing out unsuitable shell pieces is an important part of caring for hatchlings.”

Gawain nodded repeatedly as he listened. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll arrange for someone right away…”

“I mean for Melita,” Enya interrupted before Gawain could finish, her attention fixed on Melita. “It’s the new mother’s responsibility to help the hatchling polish its eggshell and prepare its sleeping area. In the older days, this was an essential skill for dragons practicing the ancient methods of incubation. Plus, when the hatchling sees an adult helping to polish its shell, it grows to trust and rely on you more.”

“Make sure to save a few pieces of the eggshell for Noretta to polish. Otherwise, the hatchling won’t recognize her as its ‘other mother.’”

Melita nodded eagerly as she listened, then finally sighed in wonder. “I never realized caring for a hatchling was such a learned art… I had no idea.”

Gawain, standing nearby, wore a look of awe himself. In just this short time, he felt he’d absorbed countless bits of seemingly useless knowledge. But if you asked him honestly, this kind of expertise on raising hatchlings would be priceless to certain scholars obsessed with draconic studies. After all, back when dragons lived secluded and independent, those scholars had to rely on wild guesses and mutual flattery to develop a dozen or so competing schools of thought. Yet what he was hearing now came straight from the Dragon God’s own mouth…

At the very least, it was far more reliable than something like the Dragon-Slaying Compendium.

Gawain’s mind wandered off in vague thoughts, but at the same time, he noticed Enya visibly relax once the hatchling began feeding smoothly. Her focus shifted back to the matter they’d been discussing earlier.

“Based on your description of Modir Wilde’s condition… he does exhibit traits similar to the undead.”

Melita instinctively spoke up. “But Chief Heragor has already confirmed—Modir is very much alive…”

Enya smiled faintly and cut her off. “The body is alive, but what about the soul?”

Melita fell silent instantly, her eyes widening slightly alongside Gawain’s.

“The soul doesn’t simply live or die; it passes through stages of life and death. For mortal races, this is hard to discern with the naked eye—though not impossible. Heragor probably just didn’t look closely enough,” Enya explained slowly. “Modir Wilde is likely alive, yes, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t ‘died once,’ or is ‘halfway dead.’”

Melita stood there, stunned for a long moment before finally drawing a quiet breath. “Chairman Andal did say they suspect Modir Wilde is trapped in a kind of ‘neither living nor dead’ state…”

“That’s something you’ll need to send someone to verify in person—at least confirm his identity,” Enya said, her gaze seemingly settling on Gawain. “I can’t return to Talrond right now, nor is it appropriate for me to contact other dragons. This matter will have to be handled by you.”

(End of chapter)