Chapter 1410: Aftermath and Reestablishing Contact

The blazing sun poured its golden light from the sky, piercing through the thin clouds above the ancient lands of Gondor. Several magical flying vessels, unmistakably crafted in the elegant elven style, glided gracefully between the clouds. Sunlight danced across their aged metal plates and crystalline nodes, casting a dazzling, almost hypnotic gleam. The low, melodious hum of their anti-gravity engines filled the air, accompanied by the sharp cries of giant eagles nearby—the eagle knights assigned to escort duty had emerged from the clouds, forming a protective formation flanking the flying ships as they advanced.

Beneath this convoy stretched the vast, boundless expanse of the Gondor wasteland—or rather, what had once been the wasteland of Gondor.

The era of desolation had come to an end. Thanks to the sprawling Barrier Wall that stretched for thousands of miles, the chaotic energy fields that had plagued the land for centuries had finally been quelled. Though the hills and plains still bore an unsettling black-purple hue, the toxic energies had been confirmed to be dissipating. The deadly anomalies and mutated creatures had ceased their activity. As the poisonous substances—dependent on chaotic magic to remain stable—gradually decomposed and vanished from the soil and groundwater, this darkened land would soon transform into fertile fields. The mineral deposits sealed beneath Gondor’s surface, along with magical materials accumulated over seven centuries in this arcane environment, would finally be available for extraction.

The alliance nations, which had suffered tremendous losses during the war, would reap rich rewards from this vast, fertile territory. The blood spilled would be replenished swiftly through the grand development projects to come—provided, of course, that the alliance’s fragile order remained intact.

Belsethia gazed through the polymer window of the ship’s cabin, her eyes tracing the distant sky and land. Another flying vessel appeared alongside, its sleek, almost fish-like streamlined hull moving with elegant agility through the clouds.

“…When the Star Temple fell, only a dozen or so lifeboats managed to escape the enemy’s anti-air defenses,” her attendant, Eliane, spoke from across the cabin, clearly noticing the queen’s gaze. “Now, these flying ships are being retired one by one… We’ve lost all our production arrays for them, and the remaining maintenance facilities can’t keep these relics running forever.”

“Flying ships haven’t been our air force’s mainstay for many years,” Belsethia replied calmly. “The giant eagles trained by the Druids long ago replaced these ancient, intricate machines. The flying ships were always destined to be phased out of Silver Elf history. My father believed this would happen during my reign, just like with other ancient machines… The fall of the Star Temple only accelerated the process.”

“Master Verania is leading the engineers in retrofitting the Cecil-style anti-gravity engines, hoping to integrate them into the flying ships’ power systems,” Eliane said, sitting upright opposite Belsethia. She spoke less like a servant and more like a sister casually chatting with the empire’s ruler. “They’ve reportedly made great progress—the Cecil engines share many technologies with ours, so adapting them only requires adjustments.”

A faint smile finally appeared on Belsethia’s face. “That sounds promising… After stagnating for so long, the proud Silver folk are finally willing to set aside their pride and move forward.”

“There are many who feel uneasy about it,” Eliane admitted with a shake of her head. “At first, we gave the large anti-gravity engine technology to the Cecilians, who then magically enhanced it to create a stable version that runs on rune arrays. Now we’re taking their engines back to study again…” She sighed. “Even Lord Valendian lamented this.”

Belsethia smiled. “Learning and improving is never shameful. We’ve just stood on the mountaintop for too long and aren’t used to climbing back up from the foothills. But even the dragons of Talrond are rebuilding their civilization. Sooner or later, more Silver Elves will understand this. But enough about that—I want to hear your thoughts on the post-war situation.”

“You mean the upcoming conference on the Talash Plains?”

“Of course—we’re on our way there now.”

“I’m just your personal attendant; analyzing international affairs isn’t really my forte,” Eliane sighed. “But one thing I’m sure of: Uncle Gawain won’t allow the alliance to fall into chaos. Given that, I expect a lot of the Gondor wasteland will become… ‘neutral zones’ or ‘joint development areas.’ The era of grand exploration and development is coming, but elves… aren’t exactly a pioneering people.”

“See? You’re sharper than you think,” Belsethia smiled at Eliane. “You’re right—Uncle Gawain won’t let the alliance nations spiral into a deadly ‘land grab’ conflict. Aside from some border enclaves historically belonging to the four frontier nations, most of the wasteland will either be neutral, jointly developed, or remain disputed but frozen. He hinted at this in his last message. Elves aren’t good at settling far from the forests, nor do we have the population to fill such vast undeveloped lands. But if it’s done through multinational investment and partnerships… the Silver Empire still holds advantages.”

With a calm, gentle smile, Belsethia shared her thoughts with her most trusted “sister,” speaking of the future and the possibilities ahead. Outside the window, the clear, bright sky and the endless land stretched infinitely, as if countless roads led toward an unknown tomorrow—

For the first time in centuries, the Silver Elves seemed to have earned the right to think about the future.

…

The towering sky fortress, as imposing as a city, hovered steadily above the Talash Plains. Clouds drifted like floating veils around the armored plates at the fortress’s edges. Twelve Gorgon-class aerial fortresses, like islands adrift in this sea of mist, patrolled slowly near the Dawn of the World, their steel surfaces gleaming.

Rebecca stepped onto the deck, stretching deeply in the fresh breeze, a rare look of relaxation softening her features.

Many soldiers who had fought on the front lines had returned home as victors, but the Dawn of the World still needed to hold its position here, bearing the heavy responsibility of maintaining stability. As the chief engineer of the Dawn and the highest technical officer of the entire aerial battle group, Rebecca naturally remained aboard. For this empire-born “steel ball,” accustomed to life on a sky fortress and fond of tinkering with machinery, this life wasn’t so bad.

At least here, she wasn’t constantly under her aunt’s watchful eye. Though the “Ancestor” nearby was intimidating in his own way, he was far kinder than her aunt…

Lost in these thoughts, Rebecca suddenly heard familiar footsteps behind her. She turned quickly to see a tall figure standing beside her, gazing out into the distance—the Ancestor had arrived.

“Good afternoon, Ancestor!” Rebecca snapped to attention, feeling inexplicably nervous but bowing nonetheless. “Out here enjoying the breeze too, hehe…”

“Standing on a flying fortress drifting among the clouds, looking down on the land… it’s an incredible feeling,” Gawain nodded softly. Though he had gazed upon the earth countless times from space, the limited satellite perspective was nothing like standing on the Dawn of the World and seeing the land below—especially with the Deep Blue Well nearby, its radiant pillar of light bursting forth. The grandeur stirred something deep within his soul. “Rebecca, you truly have created an engineering marvel.”

“Hehe, it wasn’t just me…” Rebecca scratched the back of her head instinctively, then quickly withdrew her hand, realizing the gesture was rude. “And if it were only the Dawn of the World, we wouldn’t have won this war…”

Gawain smiled, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “How’s the Dawn holding up now?”

“Well… ‘surface repairs’ aren’t too difficult. We’ve already started fixing the outer layers—the decks, armor plates, and so on. The factories inside the Dawn can produce prefab panels for these areas, so swapping them out is no big deal. The tricky parts are the main structural damage and the core systems. Like I told you before, those repairs might not finish until next spring,” Rebecca stuck out her tongue. “And that’s if everything goes smoothly.”

“The good news is the Dawn is huge and highly resilient. It can still float here just fine. As long as it doesn’t face another Crawling Plague or some god suddenly going mad and descending, it remains the most powerful war machine in the world. The ongoing repairs won’t stop it from carrying out its missions.”

Rebecca glanced cautiously at Gawain’s expression before carefully adding, “Also, Ancestor, while I said the outer damage is easier to fix, it’ll still take until at least autumn or even winter. If you want to hold the post-war conference on the Dawn, there’s no way the damaged decks and buildings will be ready in time—not even enough to slap on a temporary shell. I heard the Silver Queen is arriving soon.”

“Why don’t you consider holding the conference on one of the medical or cathedral ships?” Rebecca suggested. “Those two Gorgon fortresses—one has a great environment, the other looks impressive. Both would make fitting venues… Actually, holding it near the Deep Blue Well wouldn’t be bad either. We could have Veronica crank up the magical flames to liven things up…”

“No,” Gawain interrupted firmly as Rebecca’s ideas began to spiral. “The conference will be held on the Dawn of the World. And there’s no need to repair or decorate the damaged decks and buildings—leave them as they are, so everyone can see.”

“Huh?” Rebecca, a genius in engineering and logic but a bit of a scatterbrain otherwise, didn’t immediately understand. “Isn’t that… well, using your word, kind of shabby?”

Gawain gave her a long, steady look, then turned his gaze toward the purification towers stretching across the plains. His voice was low and resolute: “Holding the conference on the Dawn isn’t just about showing off military might or wealth. We’re here to discuss the future with the comrades who fought alongside us.”

“I need them to witness the strength and advanced technology of the Dawn of the Mortal World, to see the Cecil Empire’s unwavering resolve and capability in maintaining the Alliance’s order. They must also understand what we’ve all sacrificed for this victory. They shouldn’t rush into basking in the joy of triumph and dividing the spoils; instead, they need to calmly reflect on the kind of world we truly live in.

“Everyone attending this meeting is intelligent, but as the saying goes, ‘Even a sage needs a lantern when walking at night.’”

The war to reclaim the wastelands had ended, leaving countless aftermath issues to resolve. Naturally, the Alliance’s leadership needed to hold a special meeting to address everything. Given the meeting’s unique nature, Gawain proposed the Tarash Plains as the venue—a suggestion unanimously approved by the Alliance’s leaders. As for the exact location, after careful consideration, Gawain ultimately chose the Dawn of the Mortal World.

This towering flagship was clearly the perfect place to lay the foundation for the “Third Age of Expansion.”

Of course, the Alliance nations had no objections to the Cecil Empire designating the meeting venue. After all, under the current circumstances, only the Cecil Empire could prepare a safe and comfortable environment on the Tarash Plains.

Rebecca understood the old patriarch’s reasoning. Just as she was about to say more, a “mainframe terminal device” at the edge of the deck suddenly activated. It looked like a silver-white metal pillar, housing sensors, speakers, image generators, and a small neural network inside. The mainframe’s neutral voice came through: “Your Majesty Gawain, Creator Rebecca, incoming communication from the Imperial Capital. Sender: Miss Tyr.”

“Tyr?” Gawain was momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t expected Tyr, so far away in the capital, to reach out now. “What’s the matter? Put her through.”

“Yes, connecting now.”

As the mainframe’s voice faded, a slot opened at the top of the silver pillar, and a gleaming crystal emerged, projecting a live image from the capital before Gawain and Rebecca. Tyr was swaying in the center of the frame—this perpetually sleepy sea witch actually looked quite alert.

“Tyr?” Gawain asked curiously. “What’s going on?”

“The communications with Antavien have been restored!” Tyr said excitedly. “The elemental fractures surrounding the Loren Continent have disappeared!”

Gawain blinked—he had almost forgotten about that…

But he skillfully masked his slight embarrassment behind his stoic expression and quickly asked, “Have General Vanessa and the Sea Witch Expeditionary forces returned to the Deep Sea Kingdom?”

“Ah, yes, most of them are back. A few are still unaccounted for—probably dead somewhere in some forgotten corner,” Tyr said with a carefree wag of her tail tip. “But don’t worry, they’ll all swim back eventually.”

Gawain: “…”

Rebecca, still worried, asked, “Is General Vanessa alright? And how are the Sea Witches who have returned to Antavien doing now?”

Tyr thought for a moment, propping her chin on her tail tip as she casually replied, “I heard they won a collective creativity award. The Queen even plans to have them perform again at the year-end cultural gala…”

(End of chapter)