Chapter 1392: The Dust Has Yet to Settle

The gentle voices of the elven twins sounded distant to Bolken, as if coming from another world entirely. This vast hall lay at the very heart of the flesh-and-bone construct, countless neural links converging here from every corner of the monstrous alien body, funneling an ocean of data into Bolken’s mind. These signals included not only the construct’s own sensory input and battlefield surveillance but also the dark priests deep within, undergoing fusion. Though the dark priests had been adjusting their mental assimilation for some time, they remained distinct minds—far from a true “oneness.” Integrating and organizing them into a single consciousness was a daunting task for Bolken.

Then came the attack from the Deep Blue Well—the ancient specter hiding within the iron fortress had launched a counterstrike. High-intensity energy beams focused on the top of the construct, aiming to destroy the organ that released the “Calamity Demon Bomb.” Several shield-generating organs activated energy barriers just in time. Though they quickly burned out from overload, the attack from the Deep Blue Well was successfully repelled.

Damaged tissues began self-repairing immediately. An astonishing volume of biomass was transported from deep underground to the upper layers, transformed into additional layers of armor. Bolken executed these operations with machine-like precision—powers and abilities unimaginable to his former human self, now fully at his command. In fleeting moments between half-sleep and wakefulness, he pondered his current existence… feeling almost godlike.

A wave of psychic communication arrived from afar. Bolken intercepted signals of massive casualties among the aberrants and bio-synthetic beasts, along with the unmistakable shockwave unique to the “Heaven’s Fire Falling” event.

It was the Cecilian forces. They had advanced into the northern scorched plains and were erecting purification devices there. The wasteland legions left behind possessed only the most basic killing instincts and lacked heavy units. They held out less than a day against the mortal armies’ assault—an expected outcome, as they were cannon fodder from the start. The only regret was that this cannon fodder had been less effective than anticipated.

A dim red glow pulsed from a neural node somewhere within the “ventricle.” Bolken’s will transformed into a psychic wave, rapidly traveling through the underground root network toward the north—where no dark priests remained capable of command. The network’s terminus connected only to a large neural node with rudimentary intelligence, buried deep underground. This node could exert basic control over aberrants and bio-synthetic beasts within a limited range—essentially just enough to prevent those basic units from going completely feral.

Thus, the wasteland legions deployed in remote areas could still serve as a minor obstacle, a delaying force against the mortal armies.

After issuing orders to regroup and adopt delaying tactics, Bolken refocused on the battlefield before him. The cult had abandoned all previous external gains, relinquishing over seventy percent of the wasteland, sacrificing everything possible for this one battle. Yet in truth… this was not the future Bolken had envisioned.

He had wanted to tame this planet, to build an isolated “Eternal Sanctuary,” to let the Deep Blue Network eradicate the current civilization and transform it into a planetary shield. But he had never imagined paying such a price. He never wished to confront the ancient specter at the heart of the wasteland head-on—the cost was unbearably high, even for him. When the elven twins proposed this plan, he had intended to refuse. But looking around the wasteland, he realized there was no other choice…

How had the situation deteriorated to this point? Amid the constant roaring “voices” in the psychic realm, Bolken briefly entertained this question. But before he could focus on it, neural signals from across the construct interrupted his thoughts. He had to keep his mind on maintaining the battle and integrating those fractured minds. A powerful sensation arose—wielding immense power, transcending all things—dampening his urge to question his current state.

So… powerful. Like… a god.

Good. This was good. Though he had sacrificed the cult he had painstakingly built over centuries, he had gained this invincible power and an immortal body. Such strength—at a mere thought, he could unleash cataclysmic might. As long as his will endured, this body could regenerate endlessly… If the world was to be consumed in the Deep Blue Network’s cataclysm, he would undoubtedly be the sole survivor. And after that, the Eternal Sanctuary would descend upon this planet. As its strongest and only lifeform, there would be much for him to do…

Bolken smiled, plotting that grand future. When the day came, should he first create loyal servants? Or build a magnificent palace for himself?

Leilna stood beside the ugly plant in the hall’s center, watching the shriveled, twisted bark that seemed to wear a grotesque, smiling expression. A smile crept onto her face as well. From her fingertips, nearly transparent strands spread through the air, weaving and intertwining around Bolken’s canopy, his roots plunging deep into the hall, wrapping around the bony arches and chitinous domes—dense, layered, like a spider’s web.

Since earlier, Bolken had ignored these webs growing within his “ventricle.”

“He’s slipped into a dream—a very pleasant one,” Leilna whispered, her smile widening. “Beneath that tough exterior, our High Priest is still just a weak mortal. Seems he’s not as great as he thinks.”

“As a mortal, his will is surprisingly strong,” Filna’s voice came from nearby. “Until just now, his subconscious was still resisting, trying to bring his reason back… For him to still question and think at this stage—that’s beyond what we expected, isn’t it?”

“…There’s some merit to that,” Leilna said lightly, then lowered her gaze, as if trying to see through the thick bony and wooden barriers, through the biomass chambers, into the deepest, darkest, most terrifying part of this flesh construct. “The final fusion process of the last dark priests has begun… but their resistance is fierce, and they keep trying to awaken Bolken’s primary consciousness.”

“The clever ones realized the moment they entered the fusion chamber,” Filna murmured. “But their resistance is meaningless. This construct has long since grown beyond mortal will. Their screams in the neural network are probably just howling winds and annoying whispers to Bolken… if he’s still ‘Bolken.’”

Leilna twitched her fingers, tightening the webs throughout the hall. Then she frowned. “…But these ‘noises’ do have some effect—they’re limiting the construct’s power. The mortals’ footsteps are very close now. We must break through the Deep Blue Well’s barrier before they arrive. The construct isn’t strong enough yet… Find a way to quiet those voices.”

“I’ll handle it,” Filna said calmly, turning toward the hall’s exit.

…

The allied armies advanced faster with each passing day. After pouring the full might of the Loren continent into this land, the mortals’ war machine revealed astonishing power—giant cannons flattened hordes of aberrants, war vehicles crushed the wasteland legions’ remains, mighty legion spells steamed the earth in scorching heat. Warriors of every nation and race swept like a gale across the plains and mountains of the former Gondor Empire. Behind the armies, purification towers rose like spires, and barrier walls stretched like veins through the wasteland, converging from all four directions toward the Deep Blue Well.

Gradually, the barrier walls’ effects became evident. Though far from complete, many wasteland regions were already undergoing environmental change.

Toxic clouds dissipated, poisonous substances in the air lessened, chaotic magical energies above the surface calmed. In some areas, observers found hardy plants sprouting from cracks in the stones—seeds carried by winds rushing in after the grand walls’ collapse had taken root in the cleansed earth, beginning to grow in this season of renewal. They were the first “inhabitants” of this land after seven centuries of desolation.

At the wasteland’s edges, beneath the grand walls, in the traditional buffer zones once deemed polluted, observers even discovered vast tracts of fully restored land—where ordinary people, without protective gear or special powers, could live safely and cultivate fertile fields.

The war was far from over; the fate of the mortal realm remained uncertain. Yet even as the dust had yet to settle, the world was moving forward.

Kari Perlo dashed through the courtyard like a gust of wind, her long skirt billowing along the flowerbeds and lawns. The butlers and maids nearby spotted the young lady racing toward them from afar and quickly retreated under the colonnades. Some attendants familiar with Kari shook their heads with helpless smiles.

Miss Kari was naturally optimistic and kind-hearted, her lively personality a stark contrast to her stern father. But her one flaw was a lack of composure and ladylike grace. When Viscount Perlo sent her to study in Cecile, partly due to imperial orders for young nobles, but also hoping she would mature through living among other noble youths abroad, the results were mixed…

Though Kari had grown in many ways upon returning, her manners had notably regressed—she had even picked up many “Cecilian” behaviors that seemed strange by Typhon traditional standards. It made one wonder what exactly was taught at that so-called “Imperial Academy” in Cecile…

“Kari!” Viscount Perlo’s voice suddenly rang out from the front of the courtyard, tinged with displeasure. “Running through the garden like that—what do you think you’re doing?”

Dressed in a sharp formal suit, sporting a beard, and tall and lean, Viscount Perlo frowned as he watched his daughter running toward him. His tone was tinged with frustration but also helplessness. It had been some time since she returned from studying abroad, yet when it came to planning her future, this impulsive young woman still seemed utterly clueless. Her mind was full of restless, radical ideas. She neither wanted to enter Parliament as a legislator nor did she have much luck with men—so marriage seemed a distant prospect. As for inheriting the title and family estate… that was far too premature.

When it came to worrying about their children’s futures, Viscount Perlo was no different from most ordinary fathers.

But Carly seemed oblivious to the dissatisfaction in her father’s voice. Clutching a newspaper tightly in her hand, she thrust it toward him. “Father, look at this!”

“What’s all the fuss about…” Perlo muttered as he took the paper. His eyes quickly landed on a black-and-white image on the page—a plant, just an ordinary wildflower by the roadside. Yet the accompanying text made his gaze shift subtly. “A plant discovered in the wasteland… pollution receding… a purified zone found on the frontier?”

“This photo came from the 27th Forward Base of the Winter Wolf Knights!” Carly beamed, an inexplicable pride shining through her voice. “It’s the unit where Marianne serves—that flower was discovered by her. The article even highlights it!”

“Marianne… Marianne, daughter of Count Raven?” Perlo quickly found the name in the noble lineage records. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he frowned. “She’s already making a name for herself, even having her deeds sent back home to be celebrated. And you—you’re still her classmate! You…”

“Father, there’s something else I want to tell you,” Carly interrupted before he could finish. “I heard today about a pioneering project in the southwestern enclave of Winter Wolf Castle…”

“A pioneering project? That enclave in the southwest?” Perlo was taken aback. “Isn’t that still a polluted zone?”

“It’s no longer polluted!” Carly’s smile was radiant. “The Obsidian Gazette published news today confirming several border areas have been completely purified. What happens next with the Gondor Wasteland is uncertain, but those border enclaves are definitely imperial territory. Now that the pollution has receded and the army has pushed the front deep into the wasteland, pioneering efforts there will begin soon. I spoke with Dana today—her father, Count Yuwen, already mentioned this to her. I want to go to the frontier with her…”

Perlo’s expression gradually grew serious. He fixed his eyes on Carly’s and spoke slowly, “Carly, do you understand what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I do,” Carly’s smile faded, replaced by a seriousness she had never shown before as she stood before her father. “I want to do what our ancestors did. Father, my classmates at the academy are all pursuing what they believe is most important and right. Findel Wilde joined the Wasteland Expeditionary Force and fought in the first battle. Eleven Franklin recently went to the Western Front as a research assistant. Marianne is fighting under General Andersa… Father, I can’t fight, and I’m not outstanding in magic or arcane studies, but I understand pioneering and managing lands. The Perlo family has been excellent pioneers for generations—you told me that once, and you were very proud.”

“I don’t want to be a legislator who just raises her hand in Parliament—there are many smarter people there, and I’d be insignificant. I don’t want to marry so soon—I haven’t met the right person yet. Nor do I want to simply inherit the family estate and live an ordinary, mediocre noble’s life, spending my days at balls and banquets… As His Majesty mentioned in his recent speech, we are facing a special and difficult time. The Empire needs every citizen to fulfill their duties and contribute their value…”

“Didn’t you just say Marianne is already making achievements? Now I want to do the same…”

“Very well, I agree.”

Viscount Perlo’s voice came quietly, cutting off the rest of Carly’s carefully rehearsed words before she could say more.

(End of chapter)