Chapter 1396: Mortal Vigil

As the fiery month of summer approached, the allied forces finally advanced to the outskirts of the central plains of the old Gondor Empire—historically known as the Talash Greenfields. Once the jewel of the entire Loren continent, the imperial capital had been nestled on this vast, fertile land. Seven centuries ago, it was home to the continent’s most advanced magical city, bustling aerial, surface, and underground transit systems, and the largest unmanned hydroponic farms.

Even after seven hundred years, traces of Talash Greenfields’ former glory could still be found in ancient scrolls and the databases of the Ophelia Matrix.

But that was seven centuries past. The plains had long since been ravaged by the overwhelming magical eruption from the Deep Blue Well and the relentless passage of time. Apart from history books and digital archives, no one could glimpse the past amid the poisoned soil and twisted monsters that now roamed the land. When the allied legions entered the Talash Plains, all they encountered was corruption, toxins, rampant magical chaos, and monsters ten times more ferocious than before.

The First Legion of the Cecil Empire from the northern front and the Typhon Winter Wolf Knights from the eastern front crossed into the Talash Plains almost simultaneously. After their train cannons and legion-grade thermal beams swept the land, they were immediately met with a fierce counterattack from the Wasteland Legion—countless monsters swarmed from every direction, the sky and earth filled with warped limbs and grotesque forms. In the eerie mist, aberrations materialized out of thin air, their fighting spirit and agility far surpassing the rabble they had faced days before.

Marianne tightened the leather strap securing her enchanted breastplate. One hand rested on the hilt of her knight’s sword—which, on this battlefield, was mostly ceremonial—while the other gripped a communication crystal etched with intricate runes. She and her soldiers were stationed in a magically erected frontline fortress, a simple structure housing high-powered focal crystals and a complex magical amplification array. This setup could boost, channel, and extend legion-level spells across the battlefield, an indispensable asset for the army’s advance.

On the distant plains, a churning “mud” stirred. From this sludge, countless mutated creatures roared with hostile fury. A strange purple-black fog hovered above the ground, within which shadowy shapes gradually took form—aberrations crossing from the ethereal realm into reality. The vast number of monsters fueled the corrupted environment, which in turn “released” even more creatures. In this core of wasteland power, this terrifying cycle never ceased.

Marianne watched the tide of enemies approach, struggling to steady her heartbeat and breathing. Her soldiers manned their posts, faces taut with tension. These were no longer green recruits; they had seen blood and killed before. Yet even seasoned veterans felt the weight of anxiety in the heart of the wasteland.

Suddenly, the communication crystal vibrated and warmed in her hand. A calm male voice came through: “Guide Point 26, signal confirmed.”

“This is Guide Point 26,” Marianne replied reflexively, glancing back at the half-buried crystal and the runic array surrounding it. “Charge has reached threshold, ready to release.”

“Understood. Battle commencing. Good luck.”

A low hum echoed between the runic array and the crystal as a powerful legion-level spell began to take shape above the fortress. Soldiers manipulated magical nodes, focusing the spell’s energy onto the swarming monsters. High above, a three-dimensional runic array gradually formed, layers of glowing sigils crackling with destructive energy.

Marianne’s gaze shifted back to the plains outside the fortress. She gripped her sword’s hilt tightly, feeling her heartbeat steady and strengthen.

The easy, carefree days of battlefield drills were over. The frivolous skirmishes with cannon fodder aberrations at the wasteland’s edge were behind them. The rookies had tasted blood and fire. Now, they were about to face the true face of this life-or-death struggle.

Far to the northwest, a brilliant red flash suddenly exploded in the clouds. Beneath the rapidly expanding fireball, bursts of artillery fire and rising shockwaves rippled across the land. The thunderous roar rolled over the earth like war drums, shaking every heart—it was the vanguard of the Cecilians, already locked in combat with the Wasteland Legion entrenched on the plains.

Marianne inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. “The real show begins…”

On the 32nd day of the Fire Moon, the northern and eastern allied legions made first contact with the initial waves of aberrations around the Talash Plains, engaging the Wasteland Legion’s main forces in fierce battle. Within a single day, the two imperial vanguards unleashed firepower equivalent to a week’s worth of bombardment on the monster-infested plains. After sustaining some casualties, General Philip’s First Legion and General Andersa’s Winter Wolf Knights finally broke through the aberrations’ blockade, carving out a foothold on the plains with their superior firepower.

Engineers quickly erected purification devices within this narrow foothold. Over the next forty-eight hours, the two legions repelled dozens of enemy assaults and successfully activated the purification towers. At last, the mortal nations extended the blockade wall to the Talash Plains, reaching the gates of the Deep Blue Well. After seven centuries, the artificial lights of civilization once again blazed fiercely in the heart of this ancient land.

Following the successes led by the Cecilians and Typhon empires, the western and southern allied forces also broke into the Talash region. Supported by the mighty firepower of the Dawn of the Mortal World and the Sea Witch Expeditionary Force, these fronts each secured a forward base and erected their own purification devices. Thus, the four legions of mortal civilization had all advanced into the core of the Gondor wasteland, standing watch near the Deep Blue Well.

Though the blockade wall was not yet complete, and the dreadful “Creeping Plague” weighed heavily on every soldier’s mind, countless aberrations and bio-synthetic beasts assaulted the frontline fortresses and trenches like living nightmares. Yet when night fell, the troops could see brilliant pillars of light piercing the horizon, faint halos shimmering in the distance—emanations from the Deep Blue Well and purification towers erected by other legions. Across this poisoned, twisted land, the allied forces had taken up their vigil.

…

The distant battlefield rumbled with thunderous roars. Numerous outlying units vanished en masse, only to regenerate within the ever-compressing wasteland environment. Counterfire from the Deep Blue Well’s direction swept the land relentlessly, adding meaningless casualties to the Wasteland Legion and delaying the collapse of the final defense line.

On this vast purple-black terrain, a massive black structure, mountain-like in scale, slowly crawled toward the Deep Blue Well. Its edges sprouted countless malformed limbs and amorphous flesh tendrils, writhing like a many-legged insect or a soft-bodied creature. Conventional biological concepts lost all meaning here. It—if it could be called that—moved ceaselessly toward the most intense energy source, never pausing.

Mortal artillery tore into its “herd,” but it paid no heed. High-energy beams from the Deep Blue Well left terrible scars on its body, yet it seemed oblivious. Deep within this colossal being, in a “brain chamber” supported by wooden and bony pillars and encased in a chitinous shell, a once-symbolic twisted treant of mortal origin lay completely withered and disintegrated. Its decayed tissues scattered across the dark red “ground.” At the center of this mass, a rune-covered circular platform rose, formed from entwined roots and bones. Atop it pulsed a faintly glowing orb.

Inside the orb, shapes blurred—like a heart soaked in liquid, or a brain adrift in space.

Borken slumbered here, trapped in an unending dream, reliving memory after memory. The “noise” that once howled in the depths of its mind had vanished. The calls that once tried to awaken it had faded into faint murmurs, barely more than sleep-talk. Borken was pleased—just as the elven twins had promised—once assimilation was complete, it would no longer hear those maddening voices.

Half-awake, half-asleep, it crawled up a hill. This hill had once been part of the Deep Blue Well’s outer defenses, but the Wasteland Legion had crushed it. The centuries-old watchtower lay twisted and broken in the soil, its scorching iron core cooling in the mud. Borken gazed toward the end of its crawl and saw a massive crater like a caldera—that was the former Gondor imperial capital.

At the crater’s center rested a towering structure of molten crystal, shaped like a spire. From its apex erupted a blinding white beam of light. The entire crater was shrouded in a thick protective shield, the beam merging with it to form an incredibly resilient barrier.

Borken extended a “hand”—an amorphous limb grown from soft flesh. It reached out to touch the shield, like a greedy insect drawn to light. The next moment, searing pain shot through the limb’s nerves, flooding its consciousness. It felt its limb being annihilated, corroded by some overwhelming energy, and it howled even in its dream.

Then, a voice suddenly echoed in its mind: “Stop, Borken.”

Whose voice was that? It sounded familiar… like a pair of sisters, but Borken couldn’t recall their names or faces.

“Stop, Borken,” the voice repeated, this time with clear command. “Root yourself underground. You should sense an energy rift there—a tributary from the Deep Blue Well. Don’t you want endless power? Then draw from it. Take as much as you can.”

Borken didn’t hesitate. Part of its limbs began to extend deep into the earth, effortlessly piercing through the collapsed, crumbling ancient subway tunnels, communication conduits, and the outer bunkers long abandoned by the Ophelia Matrix. Far, far below, it finally reached the source of that intense, pulsing energy.

It was the planet’s lifeblood—its veins, its bloodstream, its heartbeat—sweet and rich, exactly what it so desperately needed.

Reina stood in a biological chamber beneath the “ventricle.” Part of the chamber’s wall displayed a clear image, divided into a dozen or so panels, each showing scenes from the distant battlefield: the Deep Blue Well barrier, the stubborn Iron Legion holding their ground, and the sprawling tunnels deep underground.

Footsteps approached nearby. Reina didn’t turn around but heard a voice behind her: “It’s begun drawing energy, and it’s starting to use that power as we instructed to pry open the ‘rift.’”

“The control nodes are functioning normally… the barrier between realms is gradually weakening,” Reina whispered. “It’s almost time… the day this foolish cycle ends is drawing near…”

“Too bad it hasn’t gone exactly as planned,” Filna’s tone held a hint of regret, though her smile remained unchanged. “There were so many variables we hadn’t accounted for. According to our original design, this should have ended faster, more thoroughly.”

“But now it’s taken on an interesting course,” Reina narrowed her eyes slightly, as if sensing something intangible. “Do you feel it? That blazing willpower… The mortal armies have surrounded the entire battlefield, launching fierce attacks from every direction. A weak, scattered, ever-changing species is now unleashing a surprising strength we’ve never seen before. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, an intriguing development,” Filna murmured. “A fragile race caught in the whirlpool of fate, trying to seize control of the vortex itself. I’m almost starting to hope they succeed this time.”

Reina said nothing. After a few seconds of silence, she suddenly lifted her head, her gaze piercing through thick biological tissue and the vast battlefield, as if staring into something far away. “Do you feel it?”

“I do. ‘He’ has arrived,” Filna’s smile grew wider, her voice genuinely cheerful for the first time. “Our good neighbor and ‘brother.’ How amusing—he’s come in that mortal shell of his own accord…”

Reina laughed softly, joining Filna in unison: “In one hundred and eighty thousand years, this is the first time we’ve been this close…”

…

At the Alliance’s northern front command center, Gawain suddenly turned toward the direction of the Deep Blue Well.

All he saw was the wall-mounted tactical map, where four bright red arrows pointed straight toward the Deep Blue Well at the heart of the wasteland.

“What’s wrong?” Amber’s voice came from beside him, clearly startled by his sudden reaction. “Why the sudden—”

“Nothing,” Gawain exhaled, turning back to focus on the holographic sand table before him. He gave a slight nod to Philip nearby. “Carry on. We’re just one step away from the Deep Blue Well, but that step won’t be easy… The ‘Creeping Plague’ stands between us and the Well, and it seems… or rather, its ‘Sentinel’ behind it has noticed we’re here.”

(End of chapter)