Chapter 1260: A Familiar Scene

Beneath the starless sky of the polar night, an iron giant island lay silent for nearly two million years—a relic of an ancient prehistoric civilization. Its weathered steel roads stretched straight into the darkness, flanked by street lamps that had somehow switched on by themselves.

Amber let out a sharp cry and vanished from in front of Gawain. After about half a minute, she cautiously peeked her head out from a shadowy rift in midair, nervously scanning the surroundings while whispering, “Nothing’s come out, right?”

Gawain held the Pathfinder’s longsword in one hand and reached forward with the other to pull Amber out of the shadow crack. Keeping alert, he whispered, “No… but it looks like something here has noticed we arrived.”

Modiir gripped his battle staff, its tip shimmering with faint magical energy. The old mage had just wrapped himself in dozens of protective layers in a split second. Now, the residual power in his staff slowly dissipated into the air as he watched the steel ruins warily. Hearing Gawain’s words, he muttered nervously—or perhaps excitedly—“To think such an ancient ruin could still be ‘alive’… I’ve never seen anything so bizarre in my life!”

Gawain glanced at the old mage, but before he could say anything, Modiir mumbled again, “Well, maybe I have seen it before… many times, even… but I must have forgotten.”

“You’re really experienced at this,” Gawain said casually to lighten the mood, then refocused on the ancient ruins before them. The glowing orbs rising from the metal pillars along the road floated silently several meters above the ground, casting steady light that illuminated the dark path and stretched far into the distance. Gawain scanned the horizon and saw not only the road before them but also distant street lamps flickering on one after another. From here, he couldn’t tell how large an area’s lighting system had reactivated, but one thing was certain: it was no small scale.

Just then, Amber’s communicator at her waist buzzed. Byron’s anxious voice came through: “Your Majesty! What’s happening over there? I see many areas suddenly lit up at the base of the tower!”

“You can see it from your side too?” Gawain’s eyes widened in surprise before he shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’s just some old lighting coming back online. Stay alert over there. I’ll notify you immediately if anything happens.”

With communications to the Winter’s Edge temporarily suspended, Gawain’s group pressed on through the suddenly “stirring” ruins. Gawain led the way, sword in hand. Behind him, Modiir had again layered himself with dozens of protective spells and had done the same for Gawain and Amber. Amber herself had shifted into shadow affinity, her figure flickering in and out of sight as she darted around the group, watching all directions carefully.

Modiir’s gaze was drawn to this half-elf’s terrifying mastery of shadows. In all his years, the old mage had never seen anyone treat shadow jumping as casually as a stroll. His eyes widened. “She’s the most skilled stealth operative I’ve ever seen—she alone could monitor every rustle in the night!”

Gawain glanced at Amber, who was flitting about in his line of sight, and said offhandedly, “Don’t be fooled. She’s running around mainly to get a head start if we need to make a quick escape.”

Modiir blinked in confusion.

Amber clearly heard Gawain’s comment but was so used to it she didn’t even blush. After a bit more darting around, she confidently ran back to Gawain and declared, “I scouted around. Seems like only these streetlamp-like things have activated. No other movement.”

Gawain nodded, keeping watch himself. Everything was as Amber said.

The ancient ruins were deathly silent, save for the distant crashing of waves and the whisper of wind stirring the night. Against this stillness, the sudden glow of the street lamps felt eerie, setting everyone on edge.

“I think we should avoid the areas lit by these lamps,” Amber said suddenly, her expression tense. “Moving around in such an open, well-lit environment doesn’t feel right.”

“All the paths leading to the tower are lit by these lamps,” Gawain looked toward the distant tower. He understood Amber’s unease, but after surveying the area, he realized they’d have to steel themselves and walk beneath these strange lights. “The lighting system centers on the tower. The closer we get, the more complete the coverage. Let’s go—at least we know where we’re headed.”

Amber swallowed her anxiety and followed behind Gawain. They walked along the wide, straight road toward the tower’s base. Modiir’s eyes scanned the surroundings, curiously examining the occasional signposts and the worn, damaged markings on the ground.

“This road is so wide… even wider than Cecil City’s main avenue,” Amber murmured. “Who was this road built for? Were the Pathfinders all giants several meters tall?”

“Maybe their vehicles were just huge,” Gawain shook his head. “Enya said the Pathfinders were about the same size as humans, and looked similar to most humanoids. But they had many massive machines. In their temporary bases, intelligent vehicles outnumbered people. When this facility was operational, most traffic on these roads was probably Pathfinder-built machines—mostly for engineering.”

“Here’s a sign that’s still legible,” Modiir suddenly pointed upward. “But… I can’t read a single word.”

Gawain looked where the old mage pointed. A massive alloy beam spanned the road overhead, holding a large sign and several now-defunct, mysterious devices. Lights beneath the sign illuminated the weathered but still recognizable characters.

The script was strange and unknown—short dots, lines, and elegant curves connected in patterns, with directional arrows alongside. No one on Loren continent today could decipher it—maybe Enya knew something, but she wasn’t here.

Gawain stared at the sign for a moment, then was about to look away when the strange characters suddenly trembled. They seemed to come alive, shifting and morphing before his eyes. As the lines rapidly reassembled, the meaning of the characters flashed into his mind:

“Entrance to Production Center B-17 ahead;

Drive safely, keep this in mind: production zone, slow down;

Speeding here deducts 20 order points and records a level 2 negative behavior.”

Gawain blinked, instinctively rubbing his eyes. Amber immediately asked, curious, “What’s wrong? Getting old and tearing up in the wind?”

Gawain gave her a playful smack on the head, then looked toward the towering base bathed in light. He said thoughtfully in a low voice, “Looks like we’re heading the right way.”

Ahead, besides the increasingly dense and bright lights, no threats appeared. The trio quickened their pace, reaching the final stretch around the tower’s base. As they neared the tower itself, the surrounding structures grew denser. Numerous alloy pillars of various sizes stood on nearby platforms, pointing straight into the night sky. Between the pillars, countless alloy beams connected, weaving a complex three-dimensional framework. Some dome-like curved panels covered the tops of certain structures. Against the polar night, these towering pillars and their interconnections sliced the sky, revealing a certain… “architectural art” of the Pathfinders’ civilization.

“So beautiful…” Amber couldn’t help but look up at these massive, city-like sculptures. In an industrial center like this, they obviously served more than decorative purposes, but those functions had long since vanished into history. What remained for later generations was only the astonishing craftsmanship and unique aesthetic style. “I thought the Pathfinders only built cold machines or powerful weapons—a purely warlike race. Turns out they appreciated art and beauty too…”

“Don’t let prejudice guide you,” Gawain reminded her. “The Pathfinders were an intelligent civilization. Any intelligent civilization develops its own art and aesthetics, even if standards vary wildly. Take these pillars, for example…”

Gawain looked up as he spoke but suddenly stopped mid-sentence. His expression turned serious as his gaze swept quickly over the pillars and connecting structures. Then he lowered his eyes and met Amber’s equally serious look.

“This looks so familiar!” they said almost simultaneously.

Modiir, standing nearby, looked puzzled and asked instinctively, “Huh? What? You’ve seen something like this before?”

Before the old mage could finish, Gawain and Amber both turned their eyes to him. Modiir was startled by their intense gaze and hesitated, unsure whether to speak. He just shrugged in confusion.

But Gawain and Amber had already confirmed something in that brief exchange and recollection.

Their sense of familiarity was correct. Not long ago, they had seen something very similar—pillars and connecting structures like these—and it was connected to Modiir. The shadow dust Amber had taken from the old mage had conjured a “stage” where the old mage and two elf-like twins met in a mysterious place. That place also had pillars and domes much like these.

“The style matches over ninety percent, but it’s not the same location,” Gawain quickly compared memories in his mind, then looked up again at the scene before them. He said to Amber with certainty and rapid speech, “It must be another Pathfinder ruin.”

“Are you sure?” Amber asked, unable to resist confirming. “The shadow dust illusions back then weren’t very clear, and there were many details between the pillars I couldn’t remember well. Maybe I should…”

As she spoke, she raised her hand, ready to summon the shadowy dust once more for confirmation. But halfway through the motion, she stopped herself, shaking her head cautiously. “No, this place is strange. Doing that might trigger some unpredictable reaction…”

Gawain had been about to speak up when he saw Amber’s move, but he hadn’t expected this usually carefree person to be so careful and thorough in this moment. The surprise was tempered by a sense of logic—clearly, it was her inner cowardice kicking in.

“No need to confirm. I trust my memory,” he said, making a mental note of the matter. “Let’s keep moving. This place is getting more interesting by the minute.”

He glanced back at Modir as he spoke. “Keep an eye on yourself. If you notice anything unusual—anything you see or hear that feels off—tell me immediately.”

“I’ll try,” Modir nodded helplessly, falling into step beside Gawain. “But often, when the mind is tainted, it’s hard for the person affected to realize right away that what they’re perceiving is strange…”

“Then take this,” Gawain said, handing something over to Modir. “Don’t look at it too often—just keep it nearby.”

Modir took the object and glanced at it. It was a small amulet, no bigger than his palm, etched with intricate, mysterious patterns. Just one look and he felt a surge of invigorating, uplifting energy flow deep into his mind. But years of adventuring had taught him caution; instead of succumbing to the positive influence, he immediately grew wary. “What is this? It seems to affect my mind…”

“A portable divine protection rune array, a gift from the sea—standard issue for ‘contact-level’ and above operatives of the Theocratic Council,” Gawain explained casually. “The technical terms behind it are complicated, but just think of it as a device designed to counter mental contamination. It’s a case of fighting poison with poison—the protective effect itself is a kind of mental ‘contamination.’ For most people, this ‘contamination’ is beneficial, and any negative side effects can be easily managed. But you’re different. Your resistance to mental contamination is probably much lower than average, which is why I’m only giving this to you now. And you’d better not let this amulet stay in your line of sight too often…”

“I understand,” Modir said carefully, tucking away the “gift from the deep sea.” He muttered under his breath, “Mental contamination, huh… no wonder. Just now, looking at this thing, I had the sudden urge to turn around and dive into the ocean!”

(End of chapter)