Chapter 1225: The Matrix Hall

Victoria was actually quite tempted to ask how hiccups could possibly injure one’s throat, but the unspoken understanding forged over years of friendship stopped her just in time—she even came up with a plausible excuse for herself.

After all, Maggie was a dragon. When their kind hiccupped… the temperature might be a bit higher.

In a way, Victoria’s guess wasn’t entirely off the mark…

As the awkward moment quietly dissolved, Maggie seemed to relax slightly. Then, before Victoria could bring up another question, Maggie looked her in the eye and spoke first: “How’s your interaction with Mr. Modir been?”

What Victoria had mentioned earlier—being chased by ancient gods, the “samples,” and so on—were all matters for official report. Now Maggie was asking about Victoria’s personal feelings.

The Duchess of the North fell silent for a few seconds, as if recalling her encounter with the old man earlier that day. After a brief moment of reflection, she spoke softly, her tone oddly hesitant: “I don’t know…”

“You don’t know?” Maggie’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s not like you at all.”

“No one can script their first meeting with an ancestor, not even me,” Victoria sighed lightly, her voice tinged with complexity. “I used magic to confirm our blood relation—over ninety-nine percent certainty. But beyond that factual connection, everything else about him—from his manner of speech and temperament to his habits, his way of thinking, and his personality—felt utterly unfamiliar. I tried to understand him as much as possible, but the more I learned, the more I saw an ancestor who differed significantly from the family records and history books… It’s like facing a ghostly illusion—knowing it’s real, yet sensing something deeply off.”

“We talked about this before we left, didn’t we?” Maggie said with a hint of concern. “You expected this—any living person will differ from the written record. Especially since Mr. Modir has been missing for nearly six hundred years. No one knows what he went through during that time, and those experiences could have reshaped him entirely. Ultimately, we didn’t come to Talrond to find a ‘Modir Wilde’ who matches the history books exactly.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t get hung up on these details,” Victoria nodded. “I just thought of Lady Hetty… She must have faced similar confusion, but she seemed to have adapted well.”

Maggie glanced at her friend, hesitating for a moment before speaking: “I have a somewhat untimely thought, but I believe you’ll understand this obvious truth: Lady Hetty faced a different situation. The difference between the Gawain Cecil she met and the legendary pioneer recorded in history was probably even greater. She wasn’t exactly ‘well adapted’—the Cecil family at that time needed a resurrected ancestor. As for the later harmony between King Gawain, her, and Princess Rebecca… that came afterward.”

Victoria’s expression shifted slightly. She couldn’t help but glance at Maggie. “That’s more than just an ‘untimely thought’—in another place, saying that could get you arrested.”

“So I don’t say it in front of outsiders,” Maggie shrugged. “Just giving an example. Now, tell me more. Aside from these ‘confusions,’ what else do you feel about your adventurer ancestor? Did you talk about anything else?”

“…Most of the time, we talked about his adventures,” Victoria recalled. “He was cheerful and optimistic, carefree—quite unlike the Wilde family’s usual demeanor. He really did travel to many places. Even though his memories were often fragmented or confused, he still remembered countless strange stories and many long-lost folk legends. He admired our sovereign greatly, though he no longer recalled his voyage to find the king’s ‘secret route’…”

“Did you ask about the Violet Kingdom?” Maggie looked into Victoria’s eyes. “I hope you didn’t forget that.”

“Of course not,” Victoria nodded immediately. “I steered the conversation toward Violet without asking directly—I was afraid it might trigger his ‘consciousness reset.’ But through subtle hints, I confirmed he doesn’t remember whether he ever visited that mage realm. I also asked about his earliest adventures, but unfortunately, he didn’t mention Taimulin or the northern city-states… His earliest memories were of a coastline on the far western continent, near the dwarven kingdom… a world away from Violet.”

“Looks like figuring out what happened to Mr. Modir won’t be easy,” Maggie sighed softly, shaking her head. “Alright, tell me in detail about this ‘being chased by ancient gods’ thing, and the ‘samples’ too. I’m leaving tomorrow—heading back to Loren first…”

…

Deep within the vast wasteland shrouded by thick, polluted clouds, dry, howling winds swept across the jagged ruins of the old imperial capital and the endless layers of hardened rock beneath. Around the massive crater left by the Deep Blue Well’s catastrophic explosion, a dozen crystalline conduits rose from underground vents, quietly pulsing with pale blue streams of energy. This pure magic, sourced from the planet’s core, still saturated the land and sustained the last legion of the Old Human Empire.

Amid the low hum of arcane machinery, a tall figure clad in the robes of a Gondorian mage descended from above, landing beside one of the large conduit vents. The iron soldier quickly scanned the surroundings, completed routine data collection, then reached out toward the vent. The ancient power device immediately recognized the operator’s credentials; a silver-white armored panel slid open silently, revealing a complex, gleaming crystal array.

Pressing her palm against the center of the crystal, the iron soldier’s hidden interface linked seamlessly with the device, accompanied by faint clicks.

“Begin reading perimeter fluctuation records… Uploading to Iron Network… Initiate comparison with Deep Blue Conduit historical monitoring data…”

At the heart of the Deep Blue crater, a towering “cone-shaped mountain” formed by hundreds of clustered crystal pillars rose. Layer upon layer of alloy domes and energy shields enveloped the ancient underground structures. Beyond a dozen gates and connecting shafts lay the last “Rebel Fortress” of the Gondorian Empire.

The trapezoidal ancient corridors stretched deep underground, connecting vast halls shaped like flat-topped pyramids and enormous caverns stabilized by massive support structures. These caverns, built by human hands in ancient times, ranged from halls capable of holding thousands to spaces large enough to contain entire castles. Countless automated systems operated between these halls and caves, drawing energy from the Deep Blue Well to power the iron legion, run laboratories, and maintain the fortress’s outer defenses.

Near the original source of the Deep Blue Well, a magical automaton hummed as it crossed a brightly lit but deserted suspended bridge. Its inverted conical body floated alongside two arcane-formed hands, and atop its mechanical frame sat a large crystal “eye.”

As the automaton glided over the bridge, the crystal eye reflected the magnificent streams of light rushing overhead.

Suddenly, it stopped mid-bridge, emitting a soft hum before turning its gaze toward the vast space beyond—

A massive cavern, crisscrossed by several alloy bridges and supply chutes. The cavern’s dome and parts of its walls were supported by awe-inspiring ancient structures, from which crystalline conduits and energy vents extended. Between them flowed immense streams of magical energy.

This was the upper half of the cavern—already spectacular, yet nothing compared to the bizarre scene below.

The cavern’s lower half was the “mapping aperture” of the Deep Blue Conduit. Thick rock and metal layers appeared sliced open by an invisible blade, revealing an endless chaotic void inside. Within that space surged torrents of raw magical power, as if the planet itself had been hollowed out, exposing a vast internal network—the Deep Blue Conduit—pulsing like the planet’s lifeblood.

The automaton silently observed the breathtaking scene below, its mechanical voice echoing hollowly: “Comparing monitoring records… No abnormal fluctuations detected within Deep Blue Conduit… Expanding surveillance to adjacent tributaries…”

Beyond this bridge, several more gates barred the path to the fortress’s deepest laboratories and control center. Loyal and formidable iron soldiers guarded the ancient passages behind those gates. And the highest authority of the entire facility lay dormant in the deepest chamber—the Matrix Hall.

A gray-haired iron soldier in ancient mage robes strode through the deep corridors and entered the top-secret Matrix Hall. The roughly hexagonal chamber was brightly lit, its white and gray ancient stonework lending the space an extreme sense of sterile monotony. Inside, towering silver-white pillars rose toward the vaulted ceiling.

These pillars, forged from unknown metals and embedded with crystals, bore faintly glowing grooves. A deep yet pleasant hum resonated from their cores, as if the pillars were ringing like wind chimes in harmonious rhythm, filling the hall with a melodic drone.

“Commander,” the iron soldier said, stopping before the matrix formed by the pillars, her voice flat and emotionless, “inspection of all tributaries has been completed.”

As the Iron Soldier’s words fell, the silent silver pillars in the hall seemed to come alive in an instant. Their crystals brightened and flickered, a low hum rising into a steadily intensifying buzz. Complex holographic projections appeared on many of the pillars’ surfaces, displaying automated surveillance records of every magical ley line around the Rebellion Fortress. A pleasant mechanical voice sounded from the matrix: “I have received the transmitted data—what are the direct observations from the external patrol units?”

“Everything is normal,” the Iron Soldier replied meticulously. “Perimeter fluctuation records remain within normal parameters; the overall variation curve aligns with the historical fluctuations of the Deep Blue Ley Network…”

“Everything is normal…” the mechanical voice repeated softly, echoing the subordinate’s words. “In this situation, ‘everything is normal’ is the greatest abnormality of all.”

“Elemental rifts in Talrond already show turbulence in the Deep Blue Ley Network. Newly hatched wyrmlings bear traces of Deep Blue magic corruption. Even the Dragon God suspects the Deep Blue Network is about to ‘surge’… Yet my readings say everything is normal. It seems certain restless aberrations lurking deep in the wasteland are deliberately avoiding all tributaries monitored by the Deep Blue Well.”

The Iron Soldier listened quietly to Ophelia’s matrix analysis. When the resonant voice between the pillars fell silent, she said expressionlessly, “Those cultists know more about the Deep Blue Well than we expected. They even understand the limits of our surveillance.”

“Yes, because they have ‘advisors’—very professional ‘advisors,’” Ophelia’s matrix replied calmly. “It’s truly regrettable. The once resolute rebels now stand opposed to mortal civilization… I am genuinely curious what ‘they’ have endured on the other side of the border. Alas, that will likely remain a mystery forever.”

The matrix paused briefly before continuing: “Maintain surveillance on all tributaries. Keep patrols strong around the blast crater perimeter. Those cultists may know how to evade the Iron Legion’s watch, but as long as they remain mortal, there will be moments of carelessness. Do not overlook any clue.”

“Yes, Commander.”

The Iron Soldier acknowledged the order and turned to leave the brightly lit matrix hall.

The hall returned to its previous stillness—massive metal pillars standing silently in the glow. Within these cold, ancient nodes of thought, Ophelia Norton’s consciousness flowed quietly, as it had every day for the past thousand years.

After a moment, a clear holographic projection appeared near one pillar, showing a bustling, prosperous street lined with shops brimming with goods.

Next to it, another projection emerged by a different pillar—a modest church where young priests devoted to the Light gathered inside, listening to a senior pastor teaching them hand-to-hand combat.

More projections flickered to life beside pillar after pillar: vibrant city districts, peaceful countryside, babbling streams and green nurseries, towering clocktowers and majestic city gates.

These were scenes from afar, beyond the desolate wasteland—images of a kingdom growing ever more prosperous and strong.

Ophelia Norton’s consciousness quietly drifted through these distant landscapes.

(End of chapter)