Chapter 1338: No Turning Back

In Cecil City, inside a study lined with deep blue velvet carpets, Amber laid out the latest intelligence before Gawain. “These are new leads from the Western Expeditionary Force, found in the area once occupied by the Aberrants. I’ve organized everything—take a look.”

Gawain snapped out of his work, glanced up at Amber as she leaned halfway out from a shadowy crevice, holding a document in her hand. He reached out to take it and casually asked, “What’s it about?”

Amber handed over the papers and, steadying herself on the desk, climbed fully out of the shadow crack. “The ground operations team from the forward research vessel discovered remnants of some kind of artificial object among the ruins of the Aberrant camp on Wolfspine Mountain. Preliminary analysis shows it bears some resemblance to the cubes the Sea Witches salvaged from the Deep Blue Currents, though it’s badly damaged—most of its structure is beyond repair. The sample’s already been sent here by transport.”

“On another front, King Wickliffe, one of the Five Kings of Augrey, provided a clue. He said that during the Aberrants’ assault on Fort Falm, they behaved strangely. They launched a reckless, all-out attack on the high ground where the fort’s northern tower stood and lingered there for a long time. Following this lead, the tech priests of the Holy Radiant Sun battalion searched the tower’s ruins and found an intact rune matrix and mana crystals beneath the rubble. Based on residual energy fluctuations, the technicians suspect the Aberrants—or whoever commands them—conducted some kind of massive energy ritual there.”

Gawain flipped through the files, then suddenly paused, lifting his eyes to Amber. “A ritual with massive energy fluctuations?”

“Like opening a spatial rift to the Deep Blue Currents,” Amber shrugged. “That’s what the tech experts think.”

Gawain’s gaze returned to the documents. After a long, thoughtful silence, he slammed the papers onto the desk and exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair.

The relief of uncovering new clues mingled with the oppressive urgency of realizing a conspiracy was underway. The two feelings intertwined, sharpening his mind more than ever.

“Well…” Amber watched him cautiously, holding back for a moment before finally asking, “What do you think? Those Aberrants…”

“Just yesterday, Aldern sent a report. Rosetta mentioned their frontline commanders noticed unusual behavior from those creatures, suspecting a larger scheme behind their movements. Now we have concrete evidence that aligns with what the Sea Witches found earlier,” Gawain sat up straighter, his expression grave. “Amber, I believe this is what those creatures are really after—their deployment of rune stones into the Deep Blue Currents is ongoing, and this operation is far more critical than any other. In fact…”

He paused, weighing his words carefully before voicing a bold theory.

“It’s possible their massive offensive against the civilized world is just a means to an end. Their true objective lies behind the scenes: placing those ‘cubes’ in specific locations within the Deep Blue Currents.”

Amber’s eyes widened. “You mean all this war, all this destruction, isn’t really about conquering territory or wiping out nations? Most of their actions are just a cover to get those ‘stones’ into the Deep Blue Currents?”

“Deploying cubes into the Deep Blue Currents and ‘wreaking havoc’ aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive,” Gawain said, glancing at the shadowy assault goose beside him. “Our biggest oversight was failing to connect the cubes dropped in the wastelands with this war. We thought they were separate operations, but now it seems they’re one and the same.”

Amber blinked rapidly as the pieces clicked together in her mind. After a moment’s thought, she broke the silence. “So we can at least confirm two things: first, just dropping cubes in the wasteland isn’t enough. If there’s some kind of ‘target’ for this deployment, part of it must be within the civilized world. That’s why they had to launch this war and take desperate measures in certain areas.”

“Second, their deployment plan isn’t finished. No matter how many cubes they still need to place, as long as the targets aren’t met, they have to keep pushing forward.”

“In a way, that’s good news,” Gawain nodded. “Our worst fear was that the Sentinels’ plot in the Deep Blue Currents was in its final stages and the mortal world was out of time to respond. But now we see the Aberrants are still scrambling to find places to drop these cubes. That means their plan isn’t going smoothly—maybe the system the Sentinels are trying to build has strict limits, or perhaps the Sea Witches’ accidental salvage operations have disrupted their efforts. Whatever the reason, it’s a positive sign.”

Amber felt a flicker of relief but quickly realized the hidden pressure beneath the optimism. “But that means our current strategy—‘secure local superiority, use strategic depth, and gradually wear down the enemy’—is…”

“Exactly. We’ll have to adapt,” Gawain’s face darkened as he nodded slowly. “The Sentinels keep placing cubes in the Deep Blue Currents, but we don’t know their criteria. We can’t predict the next deployment point or how many cubes remain. So for now, our only option is to hold every front without retreat. No new losses. Because any breach could let the Sentinels advance their plan. Even if we retake lost ground later, the cubes might already be in place.”

“But that makes counterattacks difficult,” Amber scratched her head. “The wasteland front is a long line. Our forces are stretched thin as it is. Holding every position, especially the hard-won local advantages on the northern and eastern fronts, is a challenge. Not to mention our plan to build a ‘barrier wall’ across the wasteland in the Gondor contamination zone… We just don’t have the manpower.”

“Talrond has sent three expeditionary waves, now holding the frontlines at Augrey, Typhon, and Cecil. The Holy Dragon Duchy, Northern City-States Alliance, even the Dwarven Kingdom have all committed their elite reserves. The southern continent’s situation is unclear, and the Violet Kingdom is a bunch of reclusive hermits—no help there,” Gawain said slowly, his expression growing grim. “But no matter what, unless we can pinpoint the Sentinels’ next cube drop, our only choice is to hold every line. This isn’t optional.”

His gaze drifted to the large map hanging on the wall nearby—a precise map of the entire Loren continent. Red and blue arrows and annotations marked nearly every corner of the land. Aside from sparse information in the south, the wasteland front was a tangled web of allied forces, Aberrant offensives, contested zones, and shattered great walls. The vast civilized world’s heart looked like a dark, broken abyss, with toxic sludge seeping out and poisoning everything around it.

Gawain studied the map, but his mind was already reaching deeper, connecting to a higher vantage point. A satellite view from space emerged in his thoughts.

Through clouds and mist, he saw Loren ablaze with war. Sunlight slanted across the atmosphere, illuminating the land below. The dark wasteland scarred the continent’s center like a hideous wound. The glowing walls that once encircled Gondor were now shattered, riddled with jagged black and crimson cracks. These marks oozed from the wasteland like corrosive scars on the once-green earth. Around each scar, smoke rose or flashes of ongoing battle flickered—or only ruins remained.

The old satellite system couldn’t capture every detail, especially in the most corrupted zones where interference was thick. Still, this bird’s-eye view gave Gawain a rough picture of Loren’s state. Though incomplete, these limited reports had kept him from losing control during the most desperate moments when communications failed and allied lines fell one after another.

Even now, the satellite perspective remained invaluable.

Gawain’s focus shifted to the southern continent—the last major area with serious communication issues with the north. The problem wasn’t just the signal; at least Amorn could now shuttle messages between north and south. The biggest issue on the southern front was lack of support.

Typhon’s mage corps and national knights were strong but depleted after the Winter Fortress battle. Only parts of northern Typhon still held local advantages, unable to send aid south. Augrey had just barely recovered from near collapse and had no reserves. As for Cecil…

It was too far. The Imperial Navy, led by the Winter’s Chill, was still repairing the western continental communication lines. The Dawn of the Mortal World and the forces under Duke Bertram weren’t enough to support the south all the way.

Even without the distance, Cecil’s forces were limited. With the Aberrant legions poised to strike back in the north, Gawain couldn’t spread his troops any thinner.

Yet, the allied armies of the Highland Kingdom and Silver Empire had to hold the entire southern front.

…

Under the sunlight on the eastern Holy Spirit Plains, towering Solin trees stretched their massive branches, swaying gently in the breeze. Deep within the crown of this “miracle tree,” a low, melodious hum echoed through hidden chambers—like the whisper of wind, or the murmurs of a dream.

Inside a spacious chamber, its wooden framework entwined and cloaked in layers of verdant leaves, a soft, gentle glow illuminated the open space. Bioluminescent vines began to pulse with a faint, flowing light along their surfaces. At the chamber’s center, deep within a tangled “nursery” woven from countless vines and roots, a cluster of flowering tendrils suddenly quivered and unfurled. Between the blossoms, Beltira’s figure emerged, her eyes slowly opening.

“…Toxic spores neutralized, advancement halted…” The former Dark Priest murmured to herself in a low voice, her face betraying little emotion. “Hah, true to form for my old ‘kin’—their resistance is stubborn indeed…”

She could feel the warm winter sunlight shining down on the canopy of the towering Sorin tree. Yet, at the same time, she sensed a chill darkness emanating from far to the south—her distant limbs stretching toward that wasteland. Beneath the soil and rocks, at the edge of the Gondor ruins, the root networks of the Sorin tree and those of the dark priests of the wasteland were locked in a relentless war beyond mortal comprehension.

Toxic spores, combat fissile organisms, antagonistic pheromones, and the most direct methods of strangulation and neural parasitism—every second, Beltira employed her own means to breach the “immune barrier” protecting the wasteland’s root network, striving to extend her power deep into the blighted land. And every second, the root system controlled by her former brethren fought back with fierce resistance and counterattack.

This tug-of-war had raged since the war’s dawn, now visibly altering the ecosystem near the northern front. Lush green plants sprouted within the Black Forest, while thorns and rotting vines pushed up from the corrupted soil. Both normal and unnatural flora spread along the borders of civilization, the outcome hanging in delicate balance.

At this moment, a part of Beltira’s consciousness withdrew briefly from the protracted standoff. She rested momentarily, contemplating new formulas for neurotoxins and pheromones, while also savoring the sunlight above the Holy Spirit Plains.

This sunlight was her favorite solace.

Suddenly, a faint rustling sound echoed from the depths of the chamber, breaking her reverie. She lifted her gaze toward the source and saw a “door” formed by leaves slowly parting to either side. A small figure, clad in a simple gray-white cloak, cautiously peeked through.

“Sister Beltira… you’ve ‘returned’? I heard some movement over here…”

Beltira stared in surprise at the tiny elf before her. “Belna? What are you doing here?”

(End of chapter)