Chapter 1206: The Road to Retaking the Wasteland

A giant eagle soared across the edge of the wasteland sky, taking in everything unfolding below. To Azmor’s eyes, the polluted lands looked much as he remembered—The Great Wall still stood firm, a barrier against the devastating frontier. The tainted earth and mutated forests sprawled like scars across the ancient empire’s borders. The energy barrier’s glow reflected faintly on distant clouds, like a luminous fortress stretching between heaven and earth. And beyond that, the civilized world… the civilized world still lay hidden beyond the mountains.

But as Azmor focused more intently through the eagle’s gaze, unfamiliar sights began to emerge—things absent from his memory.

He saw a faint line of scattered lights cutting through the Black Forest and the strip of plains at the Great Wall’s edge. The line began at the southern foothills of the Dark Mountains, where clusters of lights shone brighter, revealing vast tracts of artificially leveled land and a fortress nestled among rocky crags and trees. The line stretched almost all the way to the foot of the Great Wall—and it gave the impression of still pushing forward, stubbornly advancing.

It was a road. A road being built through the polluted zone, edging ever closer to the ruins of Gondor.

Azmor was surprised. Instinctively, he urged the giant eagle to climb higher, trying to peer further ahead. His sudden movement made the royal eagle riders escorting him tense up immediately. Several giant eagles followed suit, rising with sharp, piercing cries. The knights atop them gripped their reins tightly, their golden-spiked helmets shimmering nervously in the sunset’s fading light.

“Relax, young ones,” Azmor chuckled softly. “I’m just an old man nearing the end of his days.”

“Please don’t make such sudden moves at high altitude, Master Azmor,” came the voice of the eagle rider captain from a magical communication device pinned to his uniform. The young man’s tone was cautious. “We’re only concerned for your safety.”

Azmor smiled but said nothing further. The first time he rode a giant eagle across this continent, the previous Morningstar Empress was still a child. He had braved storms, crossed mountains, flown over vast battlefields between human ancestors and dark subraces, and even been a guest of honor among beast tribes. He had spread the gospel of the nature gods in countless courts. The dangers and trials he had faced far outnumbered those encountered by all these eagle riders combined.

They were simply worried that this “dangerous old man” might do something reckless.

Of course, they truly cared about his safety—more than ever before. At least until they reached their destination, no one in this unit wanted anything to happen to him. Though for three thousand years the Morningstar family and their orthodox faith had longed for his passing, from the moment this journey began, their greatest hope was that “Great Druid Azmor” would live to see its end.

Azmor shook his head and leaned forward slightly on the eagle’s back. The telepathic creature sensed his intent and let out a loud cry as the vast landscape unfolded in Azmor’s mind’s eye. His gaze stretched beyond the limits of human and elven sight, extending east of the Dark Mountains along the Great Wall’s edge—until he spotted more lights.

Another road was cutting through the Black Forest’s polluted zone. It lay at the edge of the eagle’s vision, almost completely hidden by the dense trees. If not for the deepening dusk, Azmor might have missed the faint glimmers rising above the treetops.

The ancient druid finally drew a breath and whispered, “Ansu and Typhon have finally begun their counterattack on the wasteland…”

“Master, Ansu is history,” a young female voice crackled through the communication device. “The northern lands are now ruled by the human empire of Cecile—the founder is the resurrected pioneer, Emperor Gawain Cecile.”

“Ah, the Cecile Empire… I know of it, I just forgot,” Azmor replied lightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “A resurrected pioneer, huh? I’ve heard the name Gawain Cecile and his deeds before, but—Bersethia, do you really believe a human can rise from the dead after seven centuries of rest?”

Empress Bersethia’s voice came through, soft as the wind yet resolute: “Yes, I do. Master Azmor, look at the road stretching toward the wasteland below you. Don’t you think so?”

Azmor said nothing, silently watching the stubborn line of artificial lights piercing the Black Forest, as if gazing upon the pioneers of seven centuries past, the people of Gondor a millennium ago, and even the human ancestors and elven heralds of three thousand years and more. After a long pause, he quietly broke the silence: “…Well, I suppose he could rise from the dead…”

“That’s good,” Bersethia said with a smile. “Master Azmor, please hold steady. We’ll be lowering altitude after crossing the Dark Mountains.”

…

As dusk fell, patrol and survey teams operating around the forward base began returning to safety. The last armored survey vehicle rolled through the reinforced steel gates, which then shut tight. Only the soldiers patrolling the walls and the slowly rotating spotlights atop several watchtowers remained vigilant, their eyes fixed on the dark, murky plains beyond, quietly awaiting nightfall.

Grant Architect Bruce Rockclad climbed the iron ladder to the camp’s outer wall. The thick steel plates and reinforced frames creaked beneath his feet. The strip of plains seemed forever swept by relentless winds, carrying the stench of decay from afar. The gusts howled through the gaps in the walls, sometimes raising eerie, piercing whistles—sounds that had long become routine for the soldiers stationed at the forward bases.

Bruce crossed a short connecting wall. Outside the main wall, numerous protruding curved structures housed the latest Justice-II rail accelerators and Empire-II arcane flux generators. These “big toys,” with their gleaming barrels and sturdy focusing arrays, gave those living on the wasteland’s edge a much-needed sense of security—in a place even the slime monsters avoided, such reassurance was invaluable.

He approached a watch post set into the wall. Two sentries stood guard inside a steel shelter, eyes scanning the polluted zone beyond while greeting him: “Good day, Grant Architect!”

Bruce nodded and asked with curiosity, “How long have you been stationed here?”

“We just relieved the previous shift,” one replied without taking his eyes off the outside. “Less than half an hour…”

“No, I mean how long have you been assigned to this base?” Bruce clarified.

The other sentry thought for a moment, then smiled, his teeth bright against his dark skin. “Almost a year now—we’re the second batch sent here. Our captain’s been here two years longer.”

Bruce nodded, his gaze drifting inside the walls—toward the gray barracks, vehicle garages, power stations, water purification facilities, and the arcane obelisk at the base’s center.

Eighty percent of these facilities were designed by his own hand.

This forward base was originally built to repair the Great Wall. After that monumental project ended, all the forward bases remained operational, just like this one. Some soldiers had rotated out, but a few veterans and commanders had extended their tours, still serving on this land beyond civilization’s borders.

Thanks to the supply line through the Black Forest, plus logistical support from the Rebellious Fortress piercing the Dark Mountains and the South Gate Fortress, these deep-pollution forward bases weren’t badly supplied. Their real challenges were the harsh environment near the Great Wall and the mutated monsters and ravenous beasts roaming the wasteland. Sometimes, they even had to deal with aberrations suddenly emerging near the energy barrier’s base.

Though aberrations wandering outside the Great Wall had become rare since the repair project’s completion, the sentry towers’ power limits and the aberrations’ unique “generation mechanism” meant these monsters never fully disappeared. According to Bruce’s data, the frontmost bases fought aberrations almost monthly. Fortunately, modern weapons and shields kept these small-scale incursions from breaking through the frontline.

“Grant Architect,” one sentry’s voice interrupted Bruce’s thoughts. The young soldier looked curious. “About that railway you mentioned… when will it reach here?”

Bruce paused, then smiled warmly, patting the soldier’s arm. “That’s classified, young man.”

“Ah… sorry!” The soldier immediately straightened, looking serious. “I was—”

“No need to be nervous. I know many soldiers are eager for news,” Bruce said with a laugh. “That’s why I personally lead engineers to inspect every forward base along the route. Thorough preparation is the key to smooth progress. Rest assured, this project is a matter of great concern to His Majesty. It won’t be delayed.”

The sentry relaxed, a hopeful expression on his face. “Once the railway’s complete, our war fortress will move forward—will we really be able to retake the wasteland then?”

“Of course. If not for retaking the wasteland, why would His Majesty invest so much here?” Bruce answered confidently. Just as he was about to say more, a faint cry pierced the clouds overhead, traveling across the distance to his ears.

The architect, gifted with keen hearing from his dwarven bloodline, instinctively looked up. In the dimming dusk, he spotted a neat formation of dark shapes flying high toward the Dark Mountains.

After a moment’s scrutiny, he furrowed his brow in curiosity. “Looks like elven giant eagles?”

“Elven giant eagles?” The two sentries finally noticed the movement above. Peering out and confirming through eagle-eye-enhanced spyglasses, one muttered in surprise, “They’re flying right along the wasteland’s edge… bold, aren’t they?”

“The Grant Wall was built by them; they know exactly where the edge of the safe zone lies,” Bruce said, unsurprised. He was more curious about the sudden appearance of those elves. “But a force of giant eagles on this scale… looks like they’re no small players. Most likely, another group of esteemed guests from His Majesty.”

The chief architect shook his head. This wasn’t really his concern. Just then, footsteps echoed nearby, breaking his train of thought.

A soldier hurried up the wall and saluted Bruce. “Chief Architect! Please proceed to the communications room—there’s a message from the South Gate Fortress.”

“Understood. I’m on my way.” Bruce’s expression turned serious as he replied, quickly bidding farewell to the two sentries on the wall before sprinting toward a nearby ladder.

The communications room was near the heart of the forward base, right beside the towering arcane obelisk. To get there, Bruce had to pass a row of barracks and two warehouses. His steps were swift and purposeful, and soon he arrived at the room housing the arcane network terminal. The central magitech device was already activated, a faint glow flickering above the focusing crystal. The face of Chief Architect Gordon appeared on the communication interface.

“Bruce, I hope I’m not interrupting your work,” Gordon said as soon as Bruce appeared. “I’ve just received orders from the Imperial Capital.”

“Not at all—I’ve already finished today’s data collection and work plan,” Bruce replied casually, though his expression grew serious. “Orders from the capital? What’s going on?”

“Nothing alarming—it’s a new assignment to be completed alongside the construction of the advancing railway. Don’t worry, the task itself isn’t difficult. The only requirements are quality, quantity, and absolutely no delays.”

Gordon’s face was grave as he spoke. At the same time, a printer connected to the arcane terminal began whirring to life. The soft grinding of gears and levers filled the room as sheets of paper slid out one after another.

“Have you seen the materials I sent? They contain everything you need to know.”

Bruce stepped forward with interest and picked up the documents. A mission dossier filled with detailed blueprints and technical specifications lay before him—highly specialized information, but for a chief architect who had overseen the construction of the Grant Wall, it was easy enough to understand.

“A large-scale biomass processing center… pre-installed fission pools… and an underground bunker reserved for servo-brain storage tanks?” Bruce’s surprise grew. “What’s this about? Are we supposed to push a biofactory into the wasteland as well?”

“Don’t ask me—I have no idea,” Gordon shrugged. “Since these are orders from the capital, we just have to carry them out seriously.”

(End of chapter)