Chapter 1218: The Dragonborn and the Pea

The weather was growing colder by the day, and the chill was even more pronounced on the outskirts of the city after nightfall. But for mighty transcendent knights and Dragonborn like them, this slight cold was hardly anything to worry about.

Asalina stood quietly atop a hill bathed in starlight. Below her, the imperial capital shimmered like a jewel set against the banks of the Whitewater River. To her eyes, the city’s glow outshone even the stars above. Several winding trails of light stretched out from the city, snaking across the dark plains into the distance, connecting to even more distant lights—these were the bustling highways and railways, arteries pumping the lifeblood of the empire through the land.

After their conversation about Talrond, Asalina and Byron had fallen into a long silence, letting the quiet slowly envelop them from all sides. It was only after an indeterminate time that Byron’s familiar, low voice broke the stillness: “…If only they could have lived to see this day…”

“If they were all still alive, you’d probably still be that mercenary captain roaming the gray zones,” Asalina replied, turning to look at Byron. Her eyes glimmered faintly red in the night. “If you were still a mercenary captain, then when Old Cecil was struck by the aberrations, Lady Hetty and Miss Rebecca wouldn’t have had your strength by their side. Without you, the last spark of Cecil would have been hard-pressed to survive that disaster. Even if Gawain Cecil had been resurrected, the fate of this land would be completely different today…” She paused, her voice calm but firm. “I know it sounds cold, Captain, but fate is a chain of linked events.”

“…Yeah, fate is a chain of linked events,” Byron sighed softly, then gave Asalina a strange look. “But you never used to talk like this—so mystical and cryptic. The image I have of you is you clutching a keg, bragging and boasting, and when you lost the argument, pulling your knife and fighting it out. You never lost a quarrel, and you never lost a fight.”

“Bringing that up in front of a lady isn’t very gentlemanly—but it does fit your style,” Asalina laughed, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes. “So that’s the impression I left on you back then… I don’t quite remember, but those were definitely my most carefree days.”

“I’ve always been curious,” Byron said, eyeing Asalina up and down, “what exactly does a Dragonmark Witch do? It sounds like you hold a very special position in the Holy Dragon Principality—not just some envoy for external affairs.”

Asalina blinked in surprise that such a rough-and-ready guy like Byron would even care about such details. Then a faint smile curved her lips. “Indeed, I’m more than just an envoy. The ‘Dragonmark Witch’ has her own duties—in the Holy Dragon Principality, everyone is born with a ‘calling.’ Some are natural craftsmen, some born warriors, some have extraordinary memory, others can sense or decipher the hidden knowledge in draconic runes…

“These traits are etched into our genetic code, deep in the soul memories of every Dragonborn. Many of these ‘callings’ are actually useless in this era, but they’re preserved, waiting for the day they might be needed. That’s the original purpose of the Holy Dragon Principality: we are Talrond’s ‘disaster backup,’ the seeds for rebuilding dragon civilization after the pureblood dragons went extinct…

“As for me, the Dragonmark Witch, my duty is to record and master draconic magic. I’m also born with the ability to recognize the bloodlines of other dragon descendants and to communicate with other Dragonmark Witches over long distances through psychic resonance. We’re like the ‘index’ and ‘nodes’ of the disaster backup. If dragon civilization collapses, the number of surviving Dragonmark Witches directly determines how fast and how well the civilization can be rebuilt.”

Byron’s eyes widened in surprise. Seeing Asalina speak so calmly about all this, he furrowed his brow. “I didn’t realize you played such an important role… Does every Dragonborn know about this?”

“Every Dragonborn? Of course not,” Asalina shook her head with a smile. “Only the upper-class Dragonborn living in Dragon’s Rest Fortress know about these ‘missions,’ and only after they reach adulthood. Most Dragonborn don’t even know the duties they bear. They just live ordinary lives on familiar lands. I know the outside world thinks the Holy Dragon Principality is very mysterious, but in truth… most Dragonborn live lives not so different from humans.”

“Humans don’t strap themselves into barrels and roll down mountainsides, nor do they free-fall off cliffs,” Byron muttered with a strange expression. “By His Majesty’s words, your Dragonborn lifestyle is way too hardcore…”

“Ha!” Asalina laughed heartily, her joyous sound carrying far into the night. After a few seconds, she quieted down, exhaling softly with a sigh. “Honestly, talking about this now is pointless. Things haven’t gone according to the old plans. The dragons have passed their coming-of-age rites, and Talrond hasn’t been completely destroyed… The future seems brighter than expected, and the Dragonborn who were supposed to be the ‘disaster backup’ now have the chance to choose their own paths.

“His Majesty Balrogar is reportedly working on ways to remove the genetic imprints from Dragonborn. My father is actively involved in this as well. I’m not too concerned about it… The innate ‘callings’ might feel like a burden to many Dragonborn, but on the other hand, having a natural gift from birth isn’t necessarily a bad thing in my eyes.”

Byron listened quietly, offering no judgment. This was a matter of survival and culture, and every race had its own way of life. It wasn’t his place to judge Asalina or her people through a human lens. Silence was the wisest response.

Asalina was a little surprised by Byron’s quietness but quickly smiled and shook her head, setting the topic aside. She withdrew her gaze from the distant horizon and turned toward the barren hill behind them. A solitary tombstone and a lone bouquet lay silently under the stars. A narrow path stretched from the grave down to the foot of the hill. After a long moment, she spoke softly, “What’s in that grave?”

“Empty hopes of the living, two rusty broken swords, and a clumsy eulogy,” Byron’s voice was low. “Originally, I buried a few comrades outside Old Cecil at the Serin Gate, but that place became the main route for the aberration attacks during the disaster. Then came the dragon’s breath—it’s all gone now. I went back once, dug up what I could from the ruins, and barely managed to build this tomb here… But His Majesty said something true: the best way to honor the dead isn’t with grand funerals or coffins, but by remembering that they lived. I think that’s right.”

“Sounds like you really trust your king.”

“Of course. Anyone who’s fought alongside him trusts him. And when it comes to life and death, I trust his judgment above all,” Byron smiled. “He’s experienced.”

Asalina’s lips twitched slightly, but the darkness hid it. Then, as if to change the subject, she said, “Old Cecil… I remember I loved the roasted wild boar legs and honey mead from there. By the way, is it still a ruin today?”

“It’s being rebuilt now—that ruin I mentioned was from a few years ago,” Byron nodded. “The place was heavily corrupted by the magical tide. Even after being purified by dragon’s breath once, harmful elements still leach from the soil’s depths. It’s not suitable for crops, so we don’t plan to build a town there. The government plans to turn it into an industrial zone, moving some heavy factories from the south bank of the Whitewater River.”

He fell silent, feeling the quiet of the late autumn wind. Only when the low hum of a dragonrider’s patrol passed overhead did he snap out of his reverie. Glancing at the brightly lit city, he said to Asalina, “Let’s head back. It’s late, and Pea will be worried.”

Asalina nodded and followed Byron down the path. Passing the hilltop tomb, she couldn’t help but stop and gently pat the cold stone.

“Leaving already, huh?”

…

In a large house on Knight Street in the heart of the imperial capital, bright magestone lamps illuminated a spacious dining room. Steaming dishes were laid out on the table. Pea sat at the table, blinking her big eyes at her just-returned father and the red-haired woman beside him—“Sister” Asalina.

Compared to her father’s graying hair, the beautiful redhead looked very young. But Pea knew that many years ago, these two, despite their apparent age difference, had fought side by side as comrades.

“Uh… Aunt Asalina is having dinner with us tonight,” Byron said awkwardly, scratching his messy hair under Pea’s curious gaze. “We just came back from the outskirts, so we’re late…”

Before he could finish, Asalina kicked him under the table. “Not auntie. Sister.”

Byron looked at her in surprise. “But you’re already…”

“Sister,” the Dragonmark Witch said flatly, her tone firm.

Byron gave in with a helpless sigh. “…Fine, whatever you say. As long as Pea doesn’t mind.”

Pea said nothing the entire time, just watching the two adults with wide eyes. She didn’t mind her father coming home late—every year on this day, he visited the small hill outside the city to pay respects to the uncles and aunts he had fought alongside. And on this day, his mood was never very good…

But today seemed different. Her father’s mood was noticeably better than on previous years.

Now grown, Pea pondered this quietly.

Byron, ever thick-skinned, hadn’t noticed any of this. His spirits were high—warm food, family company, and the return of old comrades made today feel special. Glancing at the steaming dishes, he suddenly stood up. “Oh, wait here a moment. I’m going to the cellar to get a few bottles of my prized wine—Asalina, you have to try it. It’s from Saint Suniel…”

As soon as the words left her mouth, he stood up and walked out of the dining hall. At the table, only the red-haired Dragonmark witch and the seemingly well-behaved Pea remained. Asrelena immediately sensed the atmosphere had turned strange—this wasn’t her first time spending time with the little girl, but this overly “private” setting was a first. She hesitated for a moment, finally ready to break the silence, but before she could speak, a pleasant, mechanical synthesized voice came from the speaker near Pea’s spine:

“Sis, are you trying to hit on my dad?”

Asrelena’s carefully prepared words instantly evaporated, leaving only a stunned expression and a short, sharp gasp: “…Huh?”

Pea’s face remained expressionless, her mouth closed, yet the voice from the speaker kept chattering away: “I can tell. You’re definitely trying to hit on my dad. Maybe you’ve been planning this for decades. I know this kind of story well—men and women fighting side by side years ago, then ending up together later. Mr. Philm’s scripts have this plot all the time, plus the stories Sister Gipri told me, and those knight novels Lady Hetty keeps hidden away all say the same thing…”

Asrelena, a high-ranking dragonborn who’d seen her fair share of storms, suddenly panicked. She waved her hands frantically and spoke quickly, “Wait, no, I’m not, I didn’t, you don’t—”

But her words couldn’t keep up with the speaker controlled directly by Pea’s neural link. Besides, no one could stop Pea once she’d started talking. The little girl’s voice kept pouring out: “Hey, don’t be so quick to deny it, sis. It’s not a bad thing, after all, my dad’s been single for so many years…

“But I gotta tell you, you’ll have to work hard. My dad’s tough to win over—he’s slow to react and kind of clueless about this stuff. Other ladies have shown interest in him, since he’s a general in the empire and single for so long, but none of them succeeded. Actually, he doesn’t even realize it most of the time…

“If you want to make a move, you gotta be obvious. If that doesn’t work, just talk to him directly. He’s pretty weak when it comes to resisting this kind of thing. Don’t let his bragging fool you—he always says he was popular when he was young, but I checked with Uncle Philip, and that’s just not true…

“Oh, and one more thing you need to know—if you really want to go after my dad, you can’t have me call you ‘sister.’ It’s better if I call you ‘auntie’ instead. That way, the family hierarchy is easier to manage, and my dad will accept it more easily. But that’s a minor detail. The emperor said that when long-lived races and short-lived races live together, it’s best not to fuss over age or rank. Everyone just agrees on something, otherwise figuring out who’s whose uncle would take dozens of pages of calculations and still be confusing…

“By the way, why is it taking my dad so long to get the wine? He’s probably sneaking a drink downstairs again… I’m telling you, he does that all the time because he promised me he—”

The synthesized voice kept going nonstop, while Pea herself maintained a calm, silent expression. Even after witnessing this a few times, Asrelena felt a bit overwhelmed. What was even harder to handle was the flood of words coming from the girl—her ears buzzed as the endless babble hit her like a rain of arrows. Finally, she caught a brief pause in Pea’s thoughts and seized the moment, waving her hands urgently: “Stop, stop—hold on a second. What did you just say? You’re telling me there are actually people trying to court Byron, that slow, clueless blockhead?”

“Yeah, lots of them. Even though my dad doesn’t know, the middle-aged women in the imperial capital—”

Pea babbled on again, while Byron, just emerging from the cellar carrying two bottles of red wine, suddenly felt a shiver run through his body…

(End of chapter)