Chapter 1286: The Convergence of Clues

From deep within the earth came the sound of a mechanical locking mechanism engaging. The autonomously operated spaceship completed its docking with the automated mothership. Once the two steel behemoths were linked, a low, steady hum emanating from deep inside the ancient vessel gradually faded away—it seemed the ship’s systems were entering a dormant state, now receiving supplies and undergoing diagnostics from the mothership.

After carefully setting down the “passengers” on their backs, Melita shifted back into her human form amid a shimmering light veil. She gazed ahead, about a hundred meters away—that was where the original edge of the ship had been, now seamlessly connected to the mothership’s port. The ship’s shield had fused with the mothership’s own protective barrier, forming a clear, unobstructed path leading directly onto the colossal “mothership,” which resembled an artificial continent.

“Shall we land and take a look now?” she asked, turning to Gawain. “But we don’t know how long this ship will stay docked here. What if it suddenly leaves while we’re exploring?”

“It’ll stay for at least twelve hours,” Gawain replied, shaking his head before Melita could finish. He looked up at the docking point where the ship met the port. A massive holographic projection stretched across the deck and connection interface, displaying a line of flickering characters. Others might not understand it, but he read it clearly—it showed the progress of engine calibration and shield recharging. Although the main system here was damaged, like the still-functioning lighting fixtures scattered around, some basic functions of the mothership were still operational—albeit affected to varying degrees.

Everyone in the group was used to Gawain’s deep knowledge of these Voyager relics, so no one questioned him. Upon learning they had twelve hours to act, the team wasted no time and followed Gawain toward the vast expanse of the mothership.

Around them lay massive, withered branches, broken vines, and leaves as large as rooftops scattered across the steel ground. The “Cycle Great Tree,” larger than a city, leaned over the distant port facilities. Its leafless, skeletal canopy formed a tangled, menacing iron dome that loomed overhead, evoking awe and oppression. Everyone’s eyes instinctively lifted to the canopy that shrouded the entire port. The timid and soft-hearted Mary even trembled slightly until Daniel, unable to bear it, cast a high-level calming spell on his apprentice, finally restoring her composure.

Gawain also stared up at the canopy of the Cycle Great Tree. The withered branches intertwined like a massive cityscape. He imagined the collision between this divine realm and the Voyager relic, marveling at Amon’s legendary feat. But no matter how grand, this majestic divine tree had ultimately died—withered in the silent depths of this dark ruin. Its fragments lay scattered everywhere. Whether due to the Reverse Tide’s corruption or something else, it no longer had any connection to the dead tree.

“Looks like, just like the War God’s realm, the Cycle Great Tree doesn’t pose any contamination risk to us,” Kamail said suddenly, floating nearby. He raised his arm, directing a sculpted energy hand to gather some dried plant fragments into a small floating box behind him, preparing to collect samples. “I wonder if these things will ‘disperse’ like the War God’s realm’s flora once they enter the real world…”

“Amon left his divine status over three thousand years ago. Although his departure wasn’t as complete as the War God’s, after so long, any divine influence he left behind should have faded,” Gawain said casually. “Even if some of his divinity remains, his realm can’t still harbor spiritual contamination—this is a Voyager relic, after all. Any divine artifacts here would be purified almost instantly, making it ‘safe and harmless.’”

“Purified, huh…” Melita mused, looking around. “Maybe the Cycle Great Tree died from an ‘immune rejection’ during the purification process. Look at those massive vines—they seem to have tried to entwine the surrounding structures but withered and died in the process. That means the tree was still alive when it first ‘collided’ with this place. Unfortunately, facing the power of the Voyagers, it didn’t struggle for long.”

Gawain said nothing. His gaze settled on a towering alloy spire at the port’s edge, wrapped in withered vines. Yet, deep within the wreckage, tiny leaves and flowers sprouted, stubbornly showing signs of life in this dead, desolate place. Such small plants were scattered throughout the giant tree’s remains.

They even seemed to form a tiny ecosystem.

Modir, ever the adventurer, was drawn to these plants growing from the tree’s remnants. Ignoring the oppressive atmosphere, he climbed the withered branches and dead vines, carefully examining the flora. Turning back to the others, he said, “These don’t look like plants from our ‘mortal world,’ but other than that, they don’t seem particularly special…”

“They appear to be ordinary flowers and shrubs, sprouting from the nutrients left behind after the divine death,” Melita observed. “The Cycle Great Tree was, at its core, still a tree. After losing its divinity and dying, it left behind vast nutrients—enough to grow new ‘offspring’ from its corpse and even sustain a small-scale ecosystem. But three thousand years have passed; who knows how much longer this vitality can last.”

No one could answer Melita’s question. Perhaps even Amon himself couldn’t explain it. All they could do was observe carefully, record images, collect samples, and keep pace with Gawain as they ventured deeper into the port.

They reached the area beneath the tree’s canopy, where the massive plant debris peaked in density—countless roots, vines, leaves, and dead wood littered the steel ground, forming small hills and valleys. Some withered vines hung like a forest from the canopy, their surfaces crawling with new green “offspring” vines. Death and new life intertwined in an incredible spectacle, all set against the cold, hard steel ground left by the Voyagers 1.8 million years ago.

Most of the port’s original structures were buried beneath the tree’s remains. Only a few floating street lamps still functioned, illuminating what should have been a dark “jungle.” Gawain’s team pressed on through this dense thicket. Fortunately, each member was strong enough that the harsh environment didn’t slow them.

Amber led the way. Though she’d been acting cowardly and terrified all along, when it came to action, she didn’t hold back. Agile and quick, she served as the scout, darting through the shifting light and shadow, constantly bringing back information to Gawain.

Like a sped-up, twitchy little bug.

The thought flashed briefly in Gawain’s mind before he shook it off. Just then, Amber suddenly dashed back, her face twisted in exaggerated shock—as if she’d just seen Rebecca practicing flower arranging.

“Come quick, you’ve got to see this!” The half-elf zipped over, chattering excitedly. “There’s something ahead! I thought I was seeing things! On that clearing…”

Gawain, at the front, was caught off guard by Amber’s sudden outburst. He pulled her aside and quickened his pace, casually asking, “Don’t get so worked up. What is it up ahead…”

Before he could finish, his foot crossed over a wall-like mound of dark brown dead vines. The view opened up beyond the plant debris, and what he saw stopped his words cold.

Footsteps sounded behind him as the others caught up. Several low gasps and sharp intakes of breath echoed. Everyone stared in disbelief at the clearing ahead—and at the small wooden cabin standing quietly there.

A wooden cabin!

“House?!” Even Daniel, who had kept a stern face the entire time, couldn’t hide his wide-eyed surprise as he looked at the simple structure.

The cabin was clearly built from local materials—roughly processed wooden planks and vines, not pretty but sturdy. It sat in a clearing among the Cycle Great Tree’s remains, perfectly exposed, likely to avoid being crushed by falling dead branches and leaves from the canopy above. Nearby, tangled piles of plant debris surrounded clusters of wild berry bushes and other unidentifiable shrubs. Unlike the random growth elsewhere, these bushes seemed once carefully tended—broken fences and crooked wooden posts lay scattered, long abandoned.

But all of it looked deserted for years.

“There’s… evidence someone lived here!” Victoria broke the silence, staring in amazement at the scene. Then she turned to her ancestor, the great adventurer. “Ancestor, you… ancestor? Are you alright?”

Modir stood beside Victoria, his expression suddenly vacant. The old mage stared blankly at the cabin and its surroundings. After a long moment, he seemed to hear Victoria’s voice, clutching his forehead in confusion as he muttered, “I… I don’t know… I feel like I’ve been here before, but I forgot. I forgot something important… I think…”

Modir’s reaction sparked a sudden jolt in Gawain’s mind—lightning-fast connections forming. At that moment, Amber, still scanning the surroundings, tugged his arm excitedly.

“Hey! Look over there! See those tower-like structures and the connecting frameworks in the distance?”

Gawain blinked, his gaze slowly following the direction of Amber’s outstretched finger.

In the distance, beyond the small cabin, he saw a vast open area. Towering metallic structures, resembling spires, rose straight up from steel platforms, piercing the sky. Between these alloy “towers” stretched a complex network of beams and arches, arranged with such intricate precision that the whole formation looked like a massive three-dimensional antenna array—or perhaps some kind of ornamental dome. All of it was partially hidden by nearby overgrown plant debris, so much so that at first, he hadn’t even noticed their presence.

He stared in that direction for a long moment before finally turning back to meet Amber’s eyes. The two of them exchanged a silent look for two or three seconds, then spoke in unison: “A scene from the sandstorm illusion!”

This was exactly the place Amber had extracted from Modril’s deepest memories—the “illusion” that had been shown to them. It was where Modril had met the “Twin Elves.”

And here it was, right here—in the depths of the ocean, within the “home port” of the Voyagers, among the ruins of the “Cycle Great Tree”!

Countless threads of the mystery quietly converged here, revealing an answer no one had anticipated. Even Gawain himself was stunned by the dramatic closure of these clues. His gaze slowly shifted to the small clearing where the modest cabin stood—a simple, unadorned dwelling that now seemed to be the very focal point and heart of everything, stirring ancient truths and future possibilities alike.

“Victoria, keep an eye on Modril,” Gawain said, turning to the “Ice Snow Duchess” standing nearby. Then he stepped toward the silent cabin. Without a word, Amber followed him obediently.

Gawain reached the cabin’s door. The humble abode offered only silence in return. Inside, there was no movement; it seemed the former occupant had long since left. He reached out and ran his hand over the rough wooden door. Though weathered, the door—crafted from the remnants of the sacred wood—was still solid and intact.

Faint carvings were etched into the door’s surface. After brushing away the dust, Gawain made out the images—not grand or earth-shattering, but simple line drawings of plants and animals, alongside modest yet vivid landscapes.

He took a slow breath and pushed the door open.

The interior came into view: sparse furnishings laid bare—a pair of old, plain wooden beds, some wooden shelves and everyday utensils. In one corner stood a low wooden table, atop which rested several bouquets of flowers, long since withered and dried.

Gawain’s eyes swept across the room.

No living soul was present, nor any sign of a body.

Only a single pillar stood in the center of the cabin, wrapped in lush green vines that spiraled upward. At the vine’s tip, two pale pink-and-white blossoms bloomed side by side, gently swaying. Around the base of the pillar, among the roots of the vines, lay a few tattered fragments of clothing, weathered and crumbled with age.

(End of chapter)