Chapter 1321: The Focal Point

Duke Bertram still remembered the last time he met Lady Wenna—the proud and spirited leader of the Grey Elves. That was shortly after the Alliance’s transcontinental trade route officially opened. At the time, she represented the Timberwood Forest in negotiations with the Empire over trade quotas. Back then, she embodied the shrewdest merchant clan in the world, holding the reins of an ancient kingdom’s rise in this new era. Though petite in stature, her confidence and fighting spirit radiated so strongly that no one dared to overlook her during the talks.

But today, she looked unusually haggard and worn out. As one of the “Five Kings” of the Ogure tribes, it was clear she hadn’t had a proper rest in a long time. Bertram couldn’t help but worry about her health.

“You should really get some rest first,” Duke Bertram said, having personally led troops to reinforce the front. “Our scouts haven’t returned yet, and the main forces are still assembling. You could lie down for a while.”

“I’ve rested,” Wenna waved him off, her voice hoarse, “but it’s hard to fall into a deep sleep. Grey Elves are a sensitive race—stress affects us easily. But physically, we’re quite resilient. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She moved over to Bertram’s side, struggling slightly as she climbed onto a chair by the tactical table. Her gaze fixed on the magical crystal projecting a topographical map of the forested mountains. She spoke casually, “I brought troops from Windsong City, including my orc mercenaries and Grey Elf rangers. Our soldiers might not be the strongest fighters, but if you want to operate in the central and southern Ogure mountains, you’ll need locals.”

“That’s exactly the kind of help we need,” Bertram replied immediately. “The situation south of the mountains is still unclear. We’ve set up high-powered communication stations on the mountain passes, but we can’t reach the relay in Sainthelm City. Scouts have been dispatched, but both ground and aerial reconnaissance have only just begun. No reliable intel has come back yet…”

Wenna nodded slightly. She had already grasped the peculiar “holographic sand table” the Cecilians used. The map displayed an overview of the terrain stretching south from Timberwood Forest into Ogure’s southern region. Except for the mountain pass where the main forces were stationed—marked clearly in color and shape—the rest of the southern terrain was rendered in gray-scale models. This meant maps existed, but real-time conditions were completely unknown.

“We’re here,” the Grey Elf leader pointed to a green triangular camp labeled “Crossroads Plain” on the map, then traced a finger along a stretch of open road heading south. “This is the ‘Ancient Trade Route’ I mentioned. For centuries, it’s been the main artery for Grey Elf merchants and Ogure tribes traveling between Timberwood and the central mountains. In recent years, with the rise of new commerce, we Grey Elves initiated a renovation and widening project on this route. You may have noticed the straight, wide new road extending south—that’s the unfinished ‘Tribal Road’…

“This road can reach the Klin Mountain Pass. Beyond that lies an old mountain path, still unrepaired. Your war wagons can’t get through there, but regular infantry and your light artillery can. One of the ‘Five Kings,’ the human King Wickliffe, is supposed to be stationed on the eastern defensive line in this area—at least, that was the case before communications went down.

“There’s also a branch off Klin Mountain Pass heading southeast. That road leads to Ruby City, the orc capital and the largest city in the central region after Sainthelm. East of Ruby City lies the orcs’ ‘sacred ground,’ the Ruby Forest Sea. Beyond that is the main depth defense line facing the wastelands, composed of multiple natural barriers: Wolfspine Mountains, Echo Valley, Darkstone Pass, Wind-Eroded Gorge, and others. These defenses rely on natural ridges, mountain paths, and extensive tunnel and cave systems. The main border between Ogure and the Gondor Wastelands lies at the eastern edge of this depth defense. Guarding it are Big Cat and her companions…”

“Big Cat?” Duke Bertram blinked in surprise, instinctively asking.

“Ah, sorry, I got a bit mixed up,” Wenna immediately slapped her forehead, as if suddenly realizing she was speaking to Duke Bertram Franklin. “I meant the orc chieftain Lady Camilla, one of the ‘Five Kings.’ Big Cat is her nickname—what I call her privately. Please don’t mind.”

“Oh, I see—I’ve heard of that fierce chieftain,” Bertram nodded. “So, what’s next? Anything else?”

“I don’t know how long Camilla and her mountain warriors can hold that line… but if Ruby City still stands, it can serve as a stronghold,” Wenna continued. “We can rebuild the defenses there and then push eastward…

“…To the west from here lies the Ancestor’s Peak. The Fairy Queen Stella and her golem legions have guarded the sacred mountain for generations. It’s also the home of the Spirit Folk. The entire sacred mountain is easy to defend but hard to attack. Sainthelm City lies just west of the sacred mountain. Even if Camilla’s line falls, those monsters won’t be able to reach Sainthelm…”

Wenna’s expression grew grave as she laid out all the intelligence she had gathered and deduced over the past two days. Duke Bertram listened intently, hanging on every word. When she finished, he mused thoughtfully, “It sounds like the terrain east of Ogure is naturally well-suited for defense…”

“Yes,” Wenna sighed, shaking her head. “A natural barrier. The rugged mountains would exhaust even the mutated beasts trying to climb them. For centuries, we’ve grown accustomed to this ‘protection from the mountains.’ No one expected that after the Grant Wall was breached, the scale of monsters pouring out would be so overwhelming.” She paused, bitterness creeping into her voice. “A single splash can’t break the grooves in the sand, but a tidal wave doesn’t care how many ridges it crashes over. And now, that tidal wave has someone directing it…”

There was an unmistakable self-mockery and frustration in the Grey Elf’s tone. Her complex thoughts were difficult to voice—her frustration wasn’t just about the stagnation brought by centuries of peace in the Ogure tribes.

As Cecily rose rapidly in the north, and the two human empires underwent earth-shaking changes under new pressures, as elves, dragonborn, and even dragons appeared on the continent’s stage, the Ogure mountains remained sluggish as ever. But the Grey Elves were not oblivious. Neither were the humans or fairies of Ogure. She and the other “Kings” had begun importing technology, purchasing advanced equipment from the northern empire, learning modern military organization and tactics. They joined the Alliance, the transcontinental trade routes, and multinational land trade circles…

Yet none of it stopped the natural disaster unleashed just days after the Grant Wall’s fall. The advanced equipment wasn’t fully deployed on the border defenses. Foreign experts couldn’t save the orc battalions in the eastern mountains. The limited prosperity and modernity in Sainthelm and a few tribal capitals couldn’t change the overall backwardness of the tribal nation. Now, with communications down, the entire nation was at a loss—from top to bottom. Over 80% of the magical network’s spare parts depended on imports; none were produced domestically.

You can’t buy national defense and livelihood. A costly lesson, indeed.

“Lady Wenna?” Duke Bertram’s voice suddenly broke through her reverie, pulling her back from her daze. “Are you alright? Do you feel unwell?”

“I… no, nothing. I just zoned out for a moment,” Wenna quickly regained focus, casting a clearing spell on herself. Her eyes locked back onto Bertram’s face. “Sorry, where were you?”

“About the current communications situation in Ogure,” Bertram said, glancing at her before continuing. He pointed to a magical network terminal at the edge of the tactical table. “We’ve confirmed that a large area south of Timberwood is under ‘communication interference.’ The powerful energy released when the Grant Wall fluctuated still reverberates among the mountains. Though it’s weakening, the interference won’t disappear completely for some time. Our technicians just discovered that the interference is strongest near the ground and weakens with altitude…

“Therefore, we plan to set up a temporary aerial relay system—deploying a series of floating communication stations at high altitude to restore communications in Ogure. But we’ll need your permission first, or at least yours…”

“Is that really possible?” Wenna’s eyes widened as she listened to the Cecilian Grant Chancellor’s bold plan. “Setting up a communication network in the air—and in such a short time? Ah, I know you have dragonriders, but dragonriders seem…”

“Not dragonriders,” Bertram chuckled. “Something else. These can float in the air for long periods as sky outposts, and if needed, land to serve as ground fortresses. They also have a central hub that remains permanently airborne…”

Bertram described the “Dawn of the Mortal Realm” as the core, supported by numerous Gorgon combat platforms forming an “aerospace battle group.” To Wenna, who had never seen such machines, it sounded like a fairy tale. “…Ah?”

Bertram considered how to explain further but quickly realized it was unnecessary.

Above the holographic sand table, a golden shadow suddenly appeared at the map’s edge, specially marked. A low, eerie hum—like a giant beast moaning in the night sky—echoed into the command post from somewhere high above. Wenna’s ears instantly perked up.

She vaguely sensed a massive presence, an undeniable magical system. The immense magical circulation, as vast as a city, stimulated her keen mage senses. Her eyes snapped wide open as she looked at Duke Bertram sitting beside her. He simply smiled warmly and said, “Ah, here it comes—Lady Wenna, perfect timing. Let me show you the main force supporting the Ogure front: the Empire’s most powerful aerospace fortress.”

Wenna, still confused, stood up and followed the duke off the chair. They left the command post and stepped into a clearing in the camp. The cold winter night wind blew in from afar, making her shiver and sharpening her mind. The next moment, she turned her gaze toward the distant northeast.

A city emitting a faint glow slowly drifted through the night sky, heading toward the mosswood forest.

It was massive, mountain-sized, yet clearly not a floating “mountain.” Its outline roughly formed a hexagon, with a steel frame as its core. Beneath it, dozens of enormous glowing rings were neatly arranged, supporting the protruding structures of its anti-gravity engines along the central axis of its underside. These rings cast a dim light into the night. Surrounding this floating “steel landmass” were countless menacing giant cannons, orderly arrays of launchers, and, hanging beneath the support structures on either side, tiny objects that looked like birds clinging to a colossal beast.

Wenna squinted into the darkness, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It took her a long moment before the horrifying realization struck her: those tiny objects dangling from the edges of the “steel land” were densely packed dragonrider fighter ships.

Her mouth fell open in shock. Meanwhile, the colossal behemoth continued its steady approach. From the ground, she couldn’t make out the upper structures clearly, but she could see towering spires and walls standing on its surface. Lights danced across the giant’s steel body and the buildings on its back, illuminating the jungle and plains below. A deep, resonant hum emanated from within the creature’s core.

The sheer scale of the giant was awe-inspiring, its presence in the night sky utterly commanding. It drew Wenna Whitebloom’s gaze so completely that it took her a long while to notice something else—

This massive entity was not flying alone. Floating nearby in the night sky were a dozen or so smaller anti-gravity platforms—still enormous, each many times larger than the usual dragonrider ships, some ten or even dozens of times their size.

Each platform bore different installations: modular steel buildings, bizarre weapon systems, towering communication towers, and massive factories and barracks.

On this cold winter night, the leader of the Grey Elves was deeply shaken.

At the same time, deep within the eastern defense zone of Ogure, the acrid stench of gunpowder and the nauseating scent of corruption once again spread through the mountains.

War drums thundered, lightning and flames ran wild across the land, and the mountains were about to be engulfed in fire. The filthy monsters had returned.

The mutants who had once retreated had regrouped and reorganized under the command of their leaders. Before the morning sun could shine again on the mountains of Ogure, these ancient enemies of civilization from the wasteland launched the largest offensive since the war began.

Battle reports streaming in from all fronts revealed to the commanders behind these monsters the greatest breach in the wasteland defenses. They were concentrating their overwhelming forces on the western front, and the ancient mountains and forests of Ogure had become the most succulent feast in their eyes.

(End of chapter)