Chapter 1342: The Barrier Wall Plan

Winter was drawing to a close, yet the thick, lingering fog still clung stubbornly to Aldenor. The rolling mists blurred the cityscape of Typhon’s capital—known as the “Millennium City”—turning its towering spires and tightly packed rooftops into eerie silhouettes and ghostly illusions. Rosetta Augustus stood atop the highest point of the Obsidian Palace, gazing down at the city shrouded in haze. The dense fog before him stirred thoughts of the war now steadily engulfing the entire civilized world.

This war would not end quickly. After the initial bloodbath—like a violent storm—and the near-collapse of the frontlines, the borders between the civilized realms and the wastelands had settled into a tense stalemate. Along the long battlefront encircling the ancient Gondor Empire, forces of order and chaos ebbed and flowed, deeply entangled, with no sign of a decisive shift. As winter waned, the fighting along the border was poised to flare up again with the coming of the Rebirth Moon.

Yet, amid this deadlock, scholars of the Cecil Empire seemed to have discovered a way to end it all.

“A barrier wall cutting through the Gondor wastelands…” The ruler of Typhon spoke in a low voice, almost to himself. “Diana, what’s your take on this?”

As Rosetta’s words faded, a tall figure emerged from the shadows beside him. The black-haired maid who had served the Augustus family for centuries lowered her eyelids, her voice soft and respectful. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but my knowledge is insufficient to fully interpret this matter. My understanding of the wastelands isn’t much deeper than that of an ordinary scholar, and I cannot judge whether the theoretical model proposed by the Cecil scholars is accurate.”

“That model… is probably correct,” Rosetta said gravely. “Its main proponent is Lady ‘High Tower’—we all know who she really is. The key question is: what are the chances of successfully building the barrier walls? According to the data from Cecil City, we need to construct two walls running north-south and east-west across the wastelands to halt the operation of that ‘chaos domain.’ For the allied nations, barely recovering from the massive mutant onslaught, this is already an extremely difficult task. And the dark priests in the wastelands, along with their ‘Sentinels’ behind them, will never let us complete it without a fight…”

“Indeed,” Diana nodded gently. “Those dark priests aside, the ‘Sentinels’ possess the knowledge of the Voyagers. They will surely react swiftly once we begin construction. The deeper we venture into the wastelands, the greater the resistance we will face.”

“…But if Lady High Tower’s model is correct, then this is the only way to end the disaster,” Rosetta said in a low voice. “From the start, reclaiming the ancient Gondor and breaking through the wasteland contamination zone has been the ultimate goal of the alliance’s ‘Counterattack the Wastelands’ plan. You know well—we have never abandoned this plan.”

“So, you’ve already made up your mind,” Diana said calmly. “But you need a stronger reason to justify this decision.”

“…The Typhon Empire cannot afford a second mistake. We must mobilize the entire nation to support this plan. As Gawain Cecil often says, ‘Once the bow is drawn, there’s no turning back.’ That means I must carefully consider whether this plan is worth risking everything. More importantly, most allied nations are barely holding the line. Only we and Cecil can advance into the wastelands and push back. Once we start building the barrier walls, all the pressure will fall on us. How much help can the others realistically provide? That remains unknown…”

“You don’t want to gamble Typhon’s fate,” Diana said, looking directly into Rosetta Augustus’s eyes with frank calmness. “That’s a logical judgment. Would you like to hear my opinion?”

“More than ever.”

“Seven hundred years ago, when the Deep Blue Well exploded, we didn’t even have the right to gamble,” Diana began slowly. “Your Majesty, we won’t always have the luxury to choose the ‘best plan.’ Sometimes… when there’s no other choice, the only path available is the best one.”

“…Connect me to the Cecil direct line,” Rosetta said after a long pause, finally exhaling softly. “I want to speak directly with Gawain Cecil.”

…

The glow of the magic crystal lamps illuminated the deep, endless corridors of the elven border fortress Fabuti. Tall, intricately carved narrow windows were set high in the walls, faintly revealing the dim yellow light outside. The silver-haired queen Belsethia, clad in full armor, strode briskly down the hallway, the sharp click of her heels echoing on the stone floor.

Her handmaiden, Eliane, followed closely, head bowed slightly, quickening her pace to keep up. She spoke softly, “We successfully repelled the mutant horde besieging Greta Fortress, but the southern highlands briefly fell, held for over four hours. The mages are now examining the remnants to determine if the creatures left any rune stones nearby.”

Belsethia didn’t look back. “Is there a natural mana nexus there? Any local legends about forest spirits or supernatural phenomena?”

“Yes. The southern highlands contain a powerful natural mana focus. Half of Greta Fortress’s magic towers rely on it to maintain their automated functions.”

“Then let’s assume the creatures succeeded. Post-event investigations have limited value… No, let the mages continue. Perhaps they’ll find something useful,” Belsethia said quickly. “How is King Audris?”

Eliane answered immediately, “The king was injured but is out of danger. He’s resting back in Highmount Castle. Prince Lorin and Ranger General Karl have taken over Greta’s defense. The Highland Kingdom has sent reinforcements, and we dispatched a Millennium Warrior regiment to assist. It should be stable.”

“Holding the line is one thing—the real problem is the source of these mutants. Their numbers exceeded expectations, and their route is troubling,” Belsethia frowned. “Do you remember the scouts’ report from the northwest? They found signs of massive mutant gatherings along the Highland Kingdom’s northwest border… but the grand wall there has no breaches.”

Eliane’s steps faltered, her expression darkening. “You mean…”

“That was the western front originally attacking the Ogure tribes,” Belsethia said seriously, glancing at her handmaiden. “We had intelligence that a Cecil Empire expeditionary force entered Ogure and halted the mutants there. The intel was accurate, and now… that mutant force originally attacking Ogure is moving south.”

Eliane’s eyes widened. She quickened her pace to keep up, about to speak, but then noticed Belsethia’s steps slow and her expression shift.

“Your Majesty?” Eliane asked instinctively. “What’s wrong?”

“Eliane, have the attendants and guards stand down,” Belsethia said quietly but firmly. “Come with me to the room beside here.”

Eliane hesitated briefly, then quickly ordered the others to withdraw. She followed the silver queen to a nearby wooden door—an unassuming, somewhat worn door leading to what should have been a storage room.

But as Belsethia reached the door, her expression turned solemn. She took a steadying breath and nodded to her handmaiden. “Open it.”

Eliane inhaled deeply and gently pushed the door open. With a creak, the door swung wide—but behind it was no storage room, nor any sign of the Fabuti fortress.

Instead, an unusually vast clearing appeared, inexplicably nestled within the fortress walls. A fresh, gentle breeze brushed their faces, carrying the faint, almost unreal scent of moist earth and grass. Towering ancient trees ringed the clearing, their branches filtering the distant sunlight into a dazzling, fragmented glow.

Belsethia and Eliane stepped forward, crossing the threshold of this “barrier” and onto soft grass. Almost immediately, a rustling sound came from the nearby woods, as if a massive creature was moving through the foliage, about to emerge before the elven queen and her attendant.

Belsethia showed no surprise. She was well accustomed to what was coming. Composing herself, she turned toward the sound. In the next moment, a colossal figure bathed in holy white light appeared: the great stag Amon, stepping gracefully along the forest path into the clearing. He gave a slight nod toward Belsethia and Eliane. “I’m glad to see you both safe. I have returned.”

“Greetings, Lord Amon,” Belsethia said politely. Once a god, now the “Messenger” linking the northern and southern continents, his presence was of immense significance to the Silver Empire holding the southern front. But she quickly noticed something different about the holy stag’s form. “Ah, you seem… a little smaller than before?”

She was certain she wasn’t mistaken. Though still enormous, Amon’s form was noticeably reduced compared to their last meeting. It felt odd to focus on such a detail now, but she couldn’t help asking.

“Ah, that’s a deliberate adjustment,” Amon glanced down at himself and explained casually. “You see my avatar, and I’ve been experimenting with changing its shape recently… Nothing to worry about.”

Belsethia wanted to ask why, but felt the moment was inappropriate. Forcing herself to focus, she adopted a serious expression and asked, “Do you bring important news this time?”

“Yes, but first I need to understand the situation on the southern front,” Amon lowered his neck. “How are things there?”

“…The front remains stable, but I must say the situation isn’t good and could worsen at any time,” Belsethia answered without hesitation. “Greta Fortress on the Highland Kingdom’s northwest border just faced a ferocious attack far beyond expectations. A massive mutant horde surged from the north. We paid a heavy price to destroy them—and this may only be the beginning.”

Amon’s tone shifted immediately. “A massive mutant surge from the north?”

“Yes—our assessment is that those must be the aberrant legions that previously attacked the western front,” Belsethia said. “After briefly scattering, those monsters have regrouped fully, and now… they’re moving south.”

“…This is critical intelligence,” Amon said gravely, then shifted his tone. “Which also means… the pressure on the southern front is about to escalate rapidly.”

“Yes, that’s a predictable development.”

“…If the western front’s pressure eases as a result, the Western Expeditionary Force and the Dawn of the Mortal Sky fleet should be able to redeploy forces southward. The Imperial fleet under the Winter’s Hand will also soon enter the ‘Sacred River’ to support the northwest border of the Gaoling Kingdom,” Amon said after a brief pause. His words sounded reassuring—something the Silver Empress desperately needed to hear right now. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he continued, “Also, I’ve come to deliver a plan—one devised jointly by the Cecil Empire’s Gawain Cecil and the ‘Master of All Magic,’ Mylmina.”

“Uncle Gawain and… the Goddess of Magic?” Belsethia’s surprise was evident. “What are they planning?”

“To permanently halt the ‘cycle’ of the Wasteland,” Amon said deliberately. “To bring this disaster to a complete end.”

Perhaps the idea was too staggering to grasp all at once, or perhaps after centuries of searching and struggle, the Silver Empress simply couldn’t believe this moment was actually here. She instinctively asked, “…Is that true? How do they intend to do it?”

“It’s true. Mylmina has uncovered the mechanism behind the Wasteland and the aberrations’ existence. I’ve brought detailed information for you and your scholars to study at your leisure. As for the plan itself—we need to construct at least two ‘barrier walls’ within the Wasteland to interrupt the energy cycle in that chaotic domain. The most critical components of these ‘barrier walls’ are the purification technologies originally provided by the Silver Empire to the continental nations.”

“Currently, within the Alliance, only Cecil, Typhon, and the Silver Empire—the original source of this technology—have the capacity to mass-produce these purification devices.”

When Amon finished speaking, the clearing in the forest fell silent for a moment. After a few seconds, Belsethia spoke with a complex expression, “Indeed, we still maintain many production lines capable of manufacturing those purification devices. But given the current situation on the southern front… even if we manage to produce them, I fear we no longer have the resources to deliver them into the Wasteland, much less fend off the counterattacks that the Dark Priests will surely launch.”

(End of chapter)