Chapter 1221: Found

That lazy yet majestic voice echoed through the vast expanse, resonating between heaven and earth. Hidden in the shadows, Modir could sense from that voice a power beyond mortal comprehension, accompanied by a heavy aura that seemed to seep from the depths of ancient time itself. Yet, the owner of the voice appeared far more peaceful and friendly than Modir had imagined—at least, she was willing to casually discuss matters of adventure with someone who seemed to be “another Modir.”

This unexpected friendliness emboldened Modir bit by bit. He recalled the words of the dragon leader and began to suspect the identity of this “lady”—a deity from the ancient era, long disconnected from the present world, a “true god.” Was she truly benevolent? Perhaps she wouldn’t attack an unwitting intruder like himself. Maybe she had known of his existence all along. Was the voice really another version of himself? Or was this somehow connected to his lost memories?

A whirlwind of thoughts swirled in the great adventurer’s mind. His whole life had been devoted to venturing into the unknown, and now, the greatest unknown he had ever faced stood right before him. The itch of curiosity grew unbearable, making him restless. Finally, when the conversation by the throne resumed, he made up his mind. Using the cover of nearby buildings, he cautiously crept closer toward the throne.

He didn’t forget to layer protective spells and conceal his aura, nor to remain hidden in the shadows, avoiding any prying eyes from above. He suppressed his presence until he was as insignificant as dust by the roadside. Yet, he also knew that if the being opposite him was truly a god, all these precautions were probably laughable.

“Great adventurer, what are you thinking now?” The lazy, majestic voice sounded again. Then, the “other Modir” by the throne replied, “I’m wondering how long I’ve been here with you in this strange place… My sense of time has greatly diminished, but I guess it’s been a very long time—certainly more than a year or two.”

“Ah, pondering such things is pointless. This is the deepest part of the Deep Realm, a folded dream, a divine kingdom out of sync with reality. Here, ripples from the mortal world are so faint they barely affect us—time flows the same way. Relax your nerves; it’s rare that the annoying intruder is quiet for once.”

“Thank you for the reminder, but I am still mortal—I even feel my memories of early adventures fading,” the other Modir said helplessly. “I can’t be as carefree as you gods when it comes to these ‘mundane’ topics. But tell me, how long have you been asleep here? Do you even know? I mean, relative to the mortal world’s timeline…”

“Who knows? Probably only those pioneers who have left this planet could unravel such mysteries,” the lazy voice chuckled faintly. “No one knows how long they’ve slept in a dream—not even gods.”

Between the shadows of the buildings, Modir’s steps quickened. The voices by the throne echoed clearly in his ears, but louder than that was the roar inside his mind:

“Madness… I must be mad… This isn’t just any danger—that’s a god who has survived since ancient times! One glance from her and I’m dead! No need, absolutely no need. Adventuring isn’t blind suicide. Getting close to an ancient god to ask questions—is this some death wish? That voice may sound like me, but that’s no reason to risk my life. I’ve seen stranger things in ancient ruins before… Be cautious, more cautious. I can’t win this.”

Warnings and doubts flooded his mind like a tidal wave, turning into low murmurs in his throat. Yet Modir’s feet didn’t stop. He sensed something was wrong. As he neared the straight boundary carved out at the end of the street, the strangeness grew more intense.

He was being drawn by a deadly force—emanating from the voice beside the throne, the one that sounded almost exactly like him. He felt an uncontrollable urge to move toward that voice, like a frenzied, possessed follower chasing a dangerous fate.

He recognized the danger. Experience—though he couldn’t recall when exactly—told him that such an impulse, born from within but beyond his control, was eerie and lethal. It was usually the result of spiritual corruption or the lure of an evil spirit!

But now, the legendary mage’s once unbreakable willpower faltered for the first time. His mind was clear, yet he couldn’t stop his steps from quickening. Eventually, he stopped hiding in the shadows and broke into a sprint down the street toward the throne.

In mere moments, Modir reached the street’s end. Before him lay a boundary, as if sliced by an invisible blade. Beyond it stretched a desolate, faded desert, and in the distance, the towering throne loomed like a mountain. He could almost smell the aura of “that place.” Without hesitation, he took a step forward, ready to cross…

Suddenly, a thunderous roar exploded in his mind. The world spun wildly. Just as he was about to fall into an abyss of no return, an immense force—seemingly from nowhere—grabbed him, yanking him out of the deadly whirlpool. Then he felt the presence of that force, someone clutching his arm, fully awakening him from his slumber.

The old mage’s eyes snapped open. He finally saw the familiar, vibrant world and felt a gentle shaking on his arm.

He looked up in surprise. A flash of white caught his eye—a silver-haired woman stood beside him, dressed in a white velvet dress with a snow fox fur shawl, her expression cold yet elegant. One hand rested lightly on his shoulder. He was certain he didn’t know her, yet her gaze was not that of a mere passerby.

Who was she? When had such a distinguished lady appeared at the adventurer’s camp? She didn’t look like a rough adventurer at all.

Modir frowned. Her eyes shimmered with magical light, like frozen crystals. He found himself staring a little longer than he intended. For some reason, those eyes stirred a strange sense of familiarity and warmth. At the same time, he noticed other figures nearby: the black dragon girl who served as Heragor’s messenger, and a young woman with long black hair he didn’t recognize.

Suddenly, it all clicked.

As Victoria Wilde’s gaze fell on the seemingly ordinary, aged man before her, she realized she had been standing there for several minutes. When Coretta, the dragon girl, had brought her here, the old mage was deep in sleep. Whether or not he was her ancestor, out of respect she hadn’t disturbed him.

Only when his aura suddenly fluctuated wildly, as if some obscure force was losing control inside him, and nightmares seemed to invade his mind, did Victoria step forward to try to wake him. Not knowing what was happening, her “awakening” was simply a gentle shake of his arm, combined with magic to soothe his mental turmoil. To her surprise, this simple method worked almost instantly. The old man awoke, and the strange symptoms quickly subsided.

“We meet again, Mr. Modir,” Coretta, the black dragon girl, finally stepped forward, breaking the awkward silence. “I’ve brought you a guest—though it’s sudden, I believe you’ve already guessed who she is.”

“Wait… this really is…” Modir had suspected, but now that it was confirmed, he couldn’t help but widen his eyes, glancing repeatedly at Victoria. “This really is her?”

“You are Mr. Modir, the great adventurer who has traveled all known frontiers of the civilized world?” Victoria finally reacted. She took a half step back, trying to compose an appropriate expression for the elderly man before her. But this was not her strength, and her face remained stiff, as if reciting a script. Standing beside her, Maggie immediately sensed her friend’s deep embarrassment and frustration, her gaze wavering like never before.

She had messed up—the wise, dignified, and rational Duchess of the North had very rarely made a mistake, but she had just botched the first meeting with her ancestor. Maggie could now imagine how Hetty and Rebecca must have felt when they saw Gawain Cecil rise from the family crypt.

“Uh… I don’t know what those lofty titles or honors mean, but yes, my name is Modir,” the great adventurer said awkwardly, a strong sense of unreality enveloping him, as if the dangerous, strange dream had spilled into the waking world. “What’s your name?”

“…Victoria. You can call me Victoria, or Vicky for short. This is my…” Victoria blurted out, then stopped awkwardly, feeling she shouldn’t be so informal before her ancestor.

Modir, however, didn’t overthink it. He simply spoke the words that came to mind: “Ah, Victoria, then. Miss Victoria… no, I guess I don’t need to be so formal—so I’ll just call you Victoria. You must know the dragons arranged this meeting… So you really are my… descendant?”

The old mage’s thoughts finally steadied. His gaze grew serious as he looked at Victoria. Almost simultaneously, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Then she raised her hand, casting a dozen layers of “Mechanical Mind” and “Cold Logic” spells on herself. The wavering emotions that had surfaced moments ago instantly froze into unshakable composure.

A twitch flickered at the corner of Modir’s eye—though everything still felt surreal, this habit of slapping on a dozen layers of magical effects at the drop of a hat was starting to look oddly familiar…

“Mr. Modir,” Victoria’s mind had already settled into a calm, clear focus. Her eyes were like the unyielding ice of the northern mountains, her voice steady and precise. “There are many clues suggesting a blood connection between us. But whether this bond truly exists, we need proof—please forgive my bluntness, but I require a sample of your blood.”

As she spoke, she swiftly traced several pale blue runes in midair. At the same time, she pulled from her side a palm-sized device made of mithril, its surface etched with intricate runes and grooves. The moment it was drawn out, the floating runes shot toward it, seamlessly filling in several missing key points on the device’s surface. The complex magical array inscribed on the mithril began to glow steadily. Modir instantly understood what this “Victoria” intended.

“Not a problem.” The old mage nodded without hesitation, casually drawing an enchanted dagger from his belt. The sharp blade sliced his fingertip, and a few drops of blood hovered in the air before settling precisely into the grooves on the mithril device. At the same time, Victoria conjured a sharp ice spike, piercing her own fingertip. Her blood likewise floated toward the increasingly radiant rune array.

The blood seeped into the grooves coated with arcane materials. The genetic markers within the cells were instantly deconstructed and reassembled, forming a stable informational feedback loop within the finely tuned magical field. This was an ancient technique dating back to the Gondor era—one of the few still usable today. Victoria flipped the mithril device over, revealing a mirror-smooth surface where several bright runes now shone brilliantly.

At that moment, even her layers of mechanical intellect and cold logic nearly failed to suppress the flicker of emotion stirring within her.

“Uh… Miss, any conclusions yet?” Modir looked a little nervous, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He craned his neck, watching Victoria’s expression closely—which, to his frustration, remained utterly unchanged. “Don’t worry too much. This is all pretty sudden—I wasn’t prepared for this. If it turns out we’re not related, that’s fine too. Blood or not, family’s about loyalty…”

Victoria suddenly lifted her head, her serious, solemn expression cutting off Modir’s words mid-sentence.

“Ancestor…” In the next moment, before Modir’s astonished eyes, the current Duchess of the North bent deeply, her voice heavy with unprecedented reverence. “We have finally found you.”

“Finally? Found me?” Modir looked genuinely taken aback. “You’ve been searching for me all this time?”

“Yes,” Victoria slowly raised her head, her tone quietly complex. “For many, many years.”

(End of chapter)