Chapter 1407: The First Night
The united stand of all mortal realms against the apocalyptic counterattack on the wasteland was, without a doubt, an epic event. The ancient kingdom of Gondor, fallen for seven centuries, had been successfully purified—a glorious chapter destined to be etched into the annals of history. Countless historians, playwrights, and bards would come to record and celebrate this triumph. Yet, as the leader of an empire, Gawain had to turn his mind to more pragmatic concerns.
Here lay a vast land, more expansive than any empire currently known, awakening and waiting to be developed and colonized. A power source born from the planet’s core—a wellspring of energy beyond measure. The long-term benefits were incalculable, but the question of rightful ownership was far from clear. If these issues weren’t addressed now, the alliance, united today, might descend into chaos tomorrow.
He lifted his gaze to the sensors hanging from the ceiling. Though he knew that Ophelia’s true self was not these “cameras,” nor were they her sole means of perceiving the outside world, this setup at least gave him the feeling of a face-to-face conversation.
“Honestly, I was a bit worried you might not support this decision,” Gawain admitted. “After all… this is your territory. You don’t have to listen to my arrangements here.”
“This is the best arrangement for now,” Ophelia’s voice came calmly. “I need a place to exist without disturbance, and you need the alliance’s order to remain stable. From a rational standpoint, the Iron Legion and this underground base clearly cannot exhaust the vast magical power of the Deep Blue Well. Such an enormous energy source should be used wisely—whether to rebuild the wasteland or to help the nations recover after the war. In this process, the alliance must have a relatively fair and enforceable ‘distribution plan.’ Likewise, the Iron Legion and I need a ‘backbone.’”
“Besides the support of the Cecil Empire, the very existence of the Iron Legion will be a crucial guarantee for maintaining the Deep Blue Well’s postwar neutrality. The immense energy output from the Well is the source of influence and voice for this small ‘neutral city-state’ within the alliance,” Gawain nodded thoughtfully. “Neutrality requires capital. There’s no such thing as a paradise without reason—especially when that paradise sits atop an inexhaustible gold mine.”
“I understand that perfectly,” Ophelia replied.
“Speaking of which…” Gawain stroked his chin, a hint of concern in his voice. “How is the Iron Legion holding up?”
“Three-quarters of our forces were lost. By the end of the battle, our stock of cognitive cores was depleted. Many soldiers still lie in the recovery bays,” Ophelia said matter-of-factly, revealing the staggering losses. “Fortunately, the base’s production facilities were largely intact. I’m gradually restarting the manufacturing lines and creating new cognitive cores. Given enough time, the Iron Legion can be restored.”
“That’s a relief,” Gawain exhaled softly, then chuckled wryly. “There’s a mountain of problems to consider… Honestly, I didn’t come here to discuss such heavy matters. I just wanted to say hello… and maybe catch a glimpse of your true form.”
“The capable bear more responsibility, Your Majesty,” Ophelia’s voice carried a faint smile. “Besides, I think we’ve already ‘said hello’ quite well.”
Gawain nodded gently, then his gaze returned to the platform before him. There, in a container, lay the true Ophelia Norton—the historical princess herself—sleeping in suspended animation. He remained silent for a long moment. Ophelia’s matrix seemed to sense this, and after a few minutes of quiet in the hall, her voice returned.
“Regrettably, I am not truly her. I cannot ‘step out’ to greet you. Though I once considered creating a special Iron Legion body to serve as an interactive interface for our conversations here, in the end… I chose to have you come to this place.”
“No, I don’t feel regret,” Gawain shook his head, withdrawing his gaze from the sleeping princess. “I don’t really care whether you are the ‘real’ Ophelia Norton—I never knew her. I never spoke with her or understood her life or temperament. Though I know she must have been a great and admirable person, to me… she remains a stranger.
“And you, you are the only Ophelia Norton I know. We have worked together for a long time, and will continue to do so. On that basis, I don’t mind whether my ally is human or artificial intelligence.”
“That’s very much in line with your character,” Ophelia’s matrix responded coolly, then sighed with a hint of helplessness. “Unfortunately, I still don’t know if I truly am… her. My personality data and initial memory bank are a one hundred percent copy of Ophelia Norton herself. My cognitive model even includes her full brain scan. The moment I awoke, I believed I was Ophelia. Yet another clear voice within the matrix reminds me… I am only the ‘Ophelia Matrix.’”
“Why can’t you be both? You can be the Ophelia Matrix and Ophelia Norton herself,” Gawain smiled and shook his head. “Maybe it’s easy for me to say, but I don’t think you need to get hung up on this. Remember the life segments you mentioned earlier? Those weren’t preloaded data—they were your real experiences. You are a living, breathing, tangible individual. No one dictates who you must ‘become.’”
Ophelia’s matrix was silent for a moment. “…Your perspective is certainly worth considering.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gawain laughed. “Let’s set this topic aside for now. Next, I want to learn more about the Deep Blue Well and your observations of the surrounding regions over the years…”
The elevator shot swiftly down the shaft. Gawain and Amber stood inside, watching the protective barriers of reinforced concrete and alloy domes rush past their view. Two silent Iron Legion soldiers stood like statues beside them.
“I never thought you’d be giving psychological counseling to an ancient AI,” Amber muttered, glancing at Gawain with a strange expression. “And I certainly didn’t expect an ancient AI to agonize daily over ‘Who am I really?’ Seriously, this is practically philosophy. Veronica always looks like she’s about to snap, but turns out she’s hiding some deep psychological turmoil.”
“If my few words could solve a problem that’s been on Ophelia’s mind for centuries, I’d have to admire myself,” Gawain shrugged. “I figure she’ll keep wrestling with it. No psychologist or philosopher in the world could help her; she has to figure it out herself. Maybe one day she’ll just suddenly understand.”
“True,” Amber scratched her head. “No one else could analyze her situation. It’s so unique—one of a kind…”
“…That’s not how you use ‘one of a kind,’” Gawain corrected.
“Huh? How do you use it then?”
Gawain ignored her. At that moment, the elevator jolted—their ride was over.
Retracing their steps, led by the two Iron Legion soldiers, they walked once more along the long, crystal-encased ramp leading to the surface. The icy, crystalline landscape calmed Gawain’s restless thoughts. Even Amber, unusually quiet, seemed subdued. In the rare silence, Gawain glanced upward.
His eyes seemed to pierce through the thick crystal “mountain,” reaching out into the distant depths of space.
A strange thought suddenly surfaced in his mind—after all he had been through: the crossing, the fusion, the rebirth; after inheriting the satellite’s data and Gawain’s memories; after this long and incredible “life”—who was he really?
Was he a soul from Earth who had crossed over? A malfunctioning satellite? The resurrected Gawain Cecil? Or some fusion of all three?
He was no longer the “self” he once believed himself to be. Yet perhaps, from beginning to end, he had always been himself.
Gawain slapped his forehead, forcibly banishing the tangled thoughts. Amber jumped at the sudden noise.
“Hey! Why’d you just slap yourself? No mosquitoes here, right?”
“…Nothing. Just almost got sidetracked by an ancient AI,” Gawain’s lips twitched, unsure how to explain his fleeting mental journey. Meanwhile, the ramp was nearing its end.
The door to the outside shimmered faintly ahead. Beyond it, night had fallen, and a sky full of stars blanketed the plains. Farther off, faint beams of light pierced the darkness, stretching endlessly into the night.
“This is as far as I go,” Gawain said with a smile, turning to the two Iron Legion soldiers. “Thank you for escorting me.”
One soldier did not respond. Her body stiffened briefly, then a faint hum emanated from within. Her eyes momentarily lost focus before settling on Gawain and Amber. She spoke, her voice carrying Ophelia’s matrix tone: “Please wait.”
Gawain was surprised. “What is it?”
“Please inform the Iron Legion soldier named Diana—her repair bay is ready.”
Gawain paused, then smiled. “…She’ll be glad to hear that.”
Night had fallen, stars glittering brilliantly. Seven centuries later, the brilliant night sky once again shone over the Talash Plains. Under this long-missed starlight, the wilderness lay silent.
Vast mortal armies still gathered on the plain. Organizing such a massive force for an orderly withdrawal was no simple task. Legion commanders and their leaders were already discussing the logistics of retreat, stationing, and handover. Exhausted frontline soldiers rested under the night sky, while sentries and patrols remained vigilant. The sensors of the war machine scanned the battlefield continuously, and the mage’s eyes summoned by spellcraft drifted slowly overhead.
The war was over. The horrors wrought by the dark priests had been dispelled by the force field of the barrier wall. The wasteland was healing. Yet no one dared to lower their guard.
After all, this was a land that had languished in darkness for seven centuries. The barrier wall could not instantly erase all dangers.
The alliance, this colossal entity, crouched on this first peaceful night like a wary beast licking its wounds.
To the northeast of the Deep Blue Well, where the “Countercurrent” had last fallen, a vast quarantine zone had been established. Patrolling sentries and automated sensors sealed off the entire area.
At the center of the quarantine zone, faint wisps of smoke still rose from the trench, mingling with the night breeze carrying a sharp, acrid stench. Dark fragments of shattered debris stretched deep along the trench, a gruesome scar of flesh and blood. At the far end of this haunting wreckage stood two towering figures before a massive, chilling ruin.
One was the imposing Master of All Laws, shrouded in mysterious mist like a bell tower come to life. The other was a white giant stag, its sacred form bathed in a soft halo of pale light.
After a long moment of observation, the Master of All Laws, Mylmina, finally spoke with a grave tone: “Honestly, I’ve seen plenty of brutal deaths back in the Divine Realm, but this… this is by far the worst I’ve ever witnessed.”
“To be fair, the blood loss is staggering,” Amone replied in a low voice. “Yeah, the blood loss is really something else…”
“You’ve been obsessing over the blood loss, haven’t you?” Mylmina glanced at her “roommate” with a hint of amusement. “You’ve mentioned it at least ten times since we got here.”
“I’ve been bleeding out for the past two weeks straight. There’s nothing else on my mind,” Amone shook his head. The white glow around him had dimmed slightly, but the two small white flowers entwined around his antlers looked much livelier than when they were first “transplanted.” “And I had to do it myself… you know how much courage that takes?”
“Obviously. It’s not like you had a choice—you needed to implant the signal into the Sentinel. And if you didn’t do it yourself, what else could you do? You’re tough as nails. The ‘blood collectors’ the Council sent used industrial-grade cutting beams on you for two hours straight just to carve out a palm-sized hole. Before they could even get the vial close, you’d already healed it up. You can’t seriously expect them to smash you with an Oblivion Strike, can you?” Mylmina’s voice was thick with exasperation. “And it’s not like you insisted on doing it yourself… I offered to help, but you wouldn’t let me. If I’d stepped in, I’d have had the samples ready in no time.”
Amone immediately shrank back at that. “Do you think I’d let you? You stabbed me with a 140-meter-long light spear! At that point, I might as well have asked for an Oblivion Strike.”
Mylmina looked a little embarrassed and quickly waved her hand. “Alright, alright. We didn’t come here to argue about this. Let’s get down to business… Something this huge is going to give us a headache.”
Amone nodded and turned his gaze toward the “Reverse Tide Wreckage,” deeply embedded in earth and stone, with a third of its structure already buried.
“…Let’s start by filing the death report.”
(End of chapter)