Chapter 1413: Friends from Afar
Every newcomer arriving at the Talash Plains would immediately notice the towering anti-gravity fortress hovering above the Deep Blue Well—majestic and cloud-like, resembling a city suspended in the sky. Surrounding it were a dozen Gorgon-class aerial fortresses, floating in formation like islands guarding a vast ocean.
The Dawn of the Mortal World hung there like a symbol born from myth, silently overlooking the entire plain. Its sheer scale was so immense that even from outside the plains, one could look up and see it clearly. At times, it even outshone the towering flame jet that shot straight up from the Deep Blue Well. During the fiercest battles of the Wasteland War, this airborne fortress was the greatest hope and most reliable support for all mortal armies gathered on the Talash Plains. And now, after the war’s end, for the leaders and delegates arriving from across the nation, this flying fortress unmistakably represented… supreme authority.
Any intelligent observer could see that at a glance.
In the southern sky above the Talash Plains, a flying vessel escorted by the Giant Eagle Guard was gradually slowing as it approached the Dawn of the Mortal World. Belsethia moved to the viewing window at the front of the ship, gazing through the high-strength polymer glass at the colossal metallic silhouette suspended among the clouds. Wisps of cloud drifted like silk between towering spires, turrets, and domes, while faint blue particles scattered from beneath the clouds, like delicate snowflakes falling onto the plain below.
Her personal attendant, Ilian, stood quietly beside her, also staring into the distance. Her expression was complicated, tinged with a subtle melancholy. Though she knew she shouldn’t show such feelings before the Empress, Ilian couldn’t help but sigh.
“I know what you’re sighing about,” Belsethia said softly, her voice calm and gentle as she glanced at Ilian. “We used to have one too—actually, it was even bigger than this. But saying that out loud just feels awkward.”
“They don’t just have one—they have a whole fleet,” Ilian replied, gesturing toward the dozen floating fortresses surrounding the Dawn of the Mortal World. Though the Gorgon-class flying fortresses were smaller than the sky fortress, they were still engineering marvels. Their distinctive chapels, factories, and medical facilities clustered around the central fortress like islands surrounding a mainland, creating an impression very different from the old Star Sanctuary.
The sky battle fleet was a military force—standardized, mass-produced. It wasn’t a “sanctuary” to be revered or worshipped as a divine miracle or a glorious heritage. Its creation could be reported in newspapers, its promotional materials posted online, and sister ships were already waiting to be assembled in factories. Ilian could even imagine that, years from now, when the Dawn of the Mortal World reached the end of its service life, the Cecil government might open it to the public, selling tickets for people to queue up and visit.
Only Uncle Gawain could pull off something like that—after all, since his resurrection, he had a knack for turning what others considered priceless heirlooms into something as common as cabbage.
“Yes, they have a whole fleet,” Belsethia suddenly laughed, “and one day, they’ll build a second fleet.”
“Your Majesty, why do you sound so pleased?” Ilian was a little stunned by the Silver Empress’s sudden laughter. “I thought you’d be feeling… sentimental, like me.”
“I am a little sentimental,” Belsethia admitted, “but more than that, I feel joy—the kind of joy that comes from breaking free of centuries-old chains.” Her laughter faded as she looked into the distance, her expression growing serious. “Ilian, do you remember what the Grant Astrologers and Library Scholars at the royal court always say?”
“They say a lot of things, Your Majesty.”
“They always say, ‘The Star Sanctuary is a miracle that cannot be replicated.’ Year after year, century after century, generation after generation,” Belsethia smiled faintly. “Now, I finally don’t have to listen to that tiresome refrain anymore.”
Footsteps approached from behind, and a respectful voice sounded: “Your Majesty, we have received navigation signals from the Dawn of the Mortal World. We are about to land on the main deck.”
Belsethia nodded, adjusted her impeccably tailored attire and composed expression, then gave Ilian a slight nod. “Let’s go see the new era Uncle Gawain has brought us.”
A dragonrider craft from Cecil smoothly touched down on a landing platform at the edge of the Dawn of the Mortal World’s main deck. The hatch opened quietly, and a tall figure climbed out. Tyr stepped onto the deck, stretching and looking around curiously. Soon, she spotted Rebecca waiting by the platform.
Rebecca was accompanied by several attendants, none of whom Tyr recognized.
“Welcome!” Rebecca smiled brightly upon seeing the familiar face. She grabbed Tyr’s hand and led her away from the landing pad. “You finally made it! I thought you’d be here this morning. Oh, by the way, the Ancestor is currently receiving Chief Camilla of the Ogure Tribe Nation. You’ll have to wait a bit before you can see him.”
“No wonder I didn’t see him…” Tyr yawned out of habit, then suddenly remembered her role as ambassador and tried to stifle a second yawn—but the third slipped out anyway. “I guess I’m still early, right? After all, I flew here…”
“Actually, no,” Rebecca said as she guided Tyr toward the temporary ‘Diplomatic Residence’ lounge. “Several representatives from other nations were already on or near the Talash Plains, fighting in the war. They were brought directly aboard the Dawn of the Mortal World. The elves flew here too—they arrived even earlier than you. So, how was your first ride on a dragonrider craft?”
As one of the earliest designers of the dragonrider, Rebecca sounded proud. Tyr thought for a moment and answered seriously, “It was pretty smooth, better than I expected. But mostly, it was just new to me—I’d never seen the inside of a dragonrider cockpit before. You know, before this, I only ever clung to the undercarriage and never got a good look inside…”
Rebecca’s proud expression froze for a moment, then she let out an awkward chuckle. “Ahaha… heh…”
It seemed only a sea witch with 300% unpredictability could handle the kind of nerve damage that made a ‘steel-headed roe deer’ twitch at the slightest touch.
Tyr didn’t seem to notice Rebecca’s embarrassment. Instead, she looked up, curious, at the fortress. The Dawn of the Mortal World was so vast that no one standing on the deck could see it all at once. But from what she had seen before landing and what was visible now, Tyr quickly formed a clear mental image of its true scale. She watched clouds drift slowly through the upper structures, sunlight shimmering over the distant sea of clouds, and quietly murmured, “It’s really something…”
“Huh? What’s really something?” Rebecca blinked, then caught on. “Oh, you mean the Dawn of the Mortal World? Yeah, it’s definitely the coolest thing we’ve built so far! But I heard you live on a giant ‘ship’ that used to travel through hyperspace, so I guess this fortress doesn’t seem that big to you…”
“True,” Tyr said softly, a rare seriousness and wistfulness crossing her usually sleepy sea witch face. “Antavien is much, much bigger. But it’s been stranded for many years… still under repair, but no one knows if it will ever awaken again.”
“It will fly again,” Rebecca said immediately. “Someday, it will. Didn’t you tell us last time that the deep-sea witch named ‘Hathaway’ successfully ignited the ship’s power core using a rainbow generator? If she could do that, she can do other things too…”
“Well, thanks in advance for your blessing,” Tyr smiled, no longer dwelling on the sadness. Instead, her attention shifted to the groups of people crossing the connecting bridges at the deck’s edge—clearly not Cecil soldiers.
She had already seen two or three groups like this. They wore different styles of clothing, each marked with insignias denoting their status. Guided by Cecil staff, they walked across the bridges. Though each tried to maintain composure, their eyes betrayed awe and shock as they took in the facilities around them.
Tyr quickly guessed who they were, pointing with the tip of her tail. “Are those the representatives you mentioned who arrived early?”
“Yeah,” Rebecca looked in the direction Tyr indicated. “The ones up front are from the Northern City-States Union, then a few from the Kingdom of Seward, and those with cat ears and tails are envoys from the Ogure Tribe Nation. Their chief, Camilla, is chatting with the Ancestor right now.”
“So everyone came in groups!” Tyr suddenly realized. “I’m the only sea witch envoy here by myself?”
“Seems like it,” Rebecca scratched her head. “From what I’ve heard, most delegations come with several people—at least a spokesperson, advisors, and recorders. But I guess it’s not a problem. You sea witches are in a special situation, so far away. The expeditionary forces fighting on the Talash Plains were wiped out, and you’re the only one who could make it here in time and qualify as an ambassador. But don’t worry—if you need help, just tell me. I’ll arrange everything.”
Rebecca patted her chest, and as the empire’s chief technologist and princess, she actually seemed quite reliable in that moment. But Tyr didn’t seem to notice. The deep-sea sea witch and ambassador simply continued to watch the foreign delegates pass by, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, in a reception room in the upper levels of the Dawn of the Mortal World, Chief Camilla of the Ogure Tribe Nation sat across from Gawain.
Gawain was no stranger to the orcs, this alien race. Long before the reopening of the Ring Continent trade routes, when the Cecil Empire signed a cross-national trade agreement with the gray elves of the Timberwood Forest, some orcs from the western continent had already begun visiting the rising human empire via the Timberwood trade line. Orcs were neither shrewd merchants nor avid travelers, but they made excellent mercenaries, bodyguards, and adventurers. Most orcs who came to the Cecil Empire served as bodyguards for gray elf traders, while a smaller number came seeking education—an image that clashed with many people’s shallow stereotypes of orcs. In truth, this race never shunned learning or absorbing knowledge; they just preferred to solve problems with an axe when possible.
From Gawain’s perspective, the orcs of this world were… surprising.
This ruggedly named race wasn’t the crude, ugly “humanoid monsters” he remembered from his past life, nor were they the “cute” half-orcs with just a pair of animal ears tacked on. They looked very much like humans, with faces that were far from unattractive and limbs proportioned similarly to humans. Yet they also bore many rough, primal features: their bodies were covered in tough fur, their ears, tails, and eyes resembled those of large felines, and their facial features leaned toward feline traits. They were generally taller and stronger than humans—neither repulsive nor weak and easy to bully.
Some said they were the result of an ancient evil race splicing human and beast genes together, but no one could prove it.
As for the orc chieftain before him, Kamira, she displayed all the typical orcish traits: cat-like ears, tail, and eyes, soft pale yellow fur, and a physique nearly as tall as Gawain’s. Beyond these features, she was a striking woman—at least by orc standards, she was considered quite beautiful.
Kamira shifted in her chair, adjusting her posture as if she were used to human furniture. After a few tries, she found a comfortable position and carefully pulled her tail out from the side of the chair. Then, blunt as ever, she said, “Could you arrange for a more comfortable chair during meetings? Maybe one with a hole near the tail area?”
“Uh… of course,” Gawain replied, scratching the bridge of his nose awkwardly. “Actually, I can get you a new chair right now.”
“No need, no need. I’ve adjusted fine for now,” Kamira waved her hand dismissively. Her gaze then dropped to the small round table between them. At its center sat a wooden box, its lid open to reveal a pale green crystal that shimmered softly in the sunlight. “This crystal was mined deep within the Ancestor’s Peak. It’s the same variety we use in the magic network hub at the summit. We wanted to show it to you earlier, but the sudden outbreak of war threw everything off schedule…”
Listening to Kamira’s explanation, Gawain nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving the crystal. A thoughtful expression crossed his face.
He spoke slowly, “You mentioned that after replacing the local crystal from Ancestor’s Peak, the ‘starry sky signals’ captured by the listening station at the summit increased in both strength and density by more than double, and that new details previously undetected have appeared?”
(End of chapter)