Chapter 1420: Restoration

In the days that followed, the postwar conference proceeded smoothly according to plan—one proposal after another was put forward and debated. Most of these centered on postwar economic recovery and multinational aid programs. As the discussions deepened, more sensitive issues—such as the division of the war-ravaged wastelands and rights to new territories—gradually surfaced.

These were extremely delicate “dividing the pie” matters, yet surprisingly, the process remained remarkably stable. Many had already realized that when it came to the fundamental order of the alliance, the three great empires had long since set the tone behind closed doors.

Whether it was Typhon, Cecil, or Silver reigning over the continent’s far south, none of the empires wanted the alliance to fall into chaos. With this overarching premise, all potentially disruptive issues had been “cleared” before the Tarash conference even began. As the saying went: major matters were settled in small meetings, while the big conference dealt only with minor details. The truly foundational questions never made it to the grand negotiation table; what was discussed publicly were merely the “fine points” left over after the three empires had agreed on the broad strokes.

Bersethia Morningstar stood on a high terrace, quietly gazing out over the night sky above the Tarash Plains. From this vantage point, she could see beams of light piercing the dark earth like a chain stretching into the distance. At the base of each beam were sparse artificial lights—faint and scattered compared to the radiant glow of the Elven royal court. Yet on this land shrouded in darkness for seven centuries, even the faintest light was precious beyond measure.

Footsteps approached from behind. Without turning, the Silver Empress spoke softly, “Today we finally finalized the grain aid plan for the Gaoling Kingdom and the Ogure Tribe. The Alliance Grain Committee should be busy soon.”

“The weather’s starting to cool,” Eileen’s voice came from beside her. “The southern and western regions of the continent, hardest hit by the war, have lost half their arable land. Although the chaotic magical pollution has faded, the destroyed farmlands won’t regenerate. Before the next planting season, many areas will face severe food shortages. I worry whether the Grain Committee can really handle such a massive problem—after all, the Gaoling Kingdom itself used to be one of the alliance’s largest grain producers.”

“Yes, the pressure is immense,” Bersethia nodded. “Especially since the Loren nations had already sent much of their reserves to support Talrond. No one expected the next famine to hit so soon.” She shook her head. “But from what Uncle Gawain says, the situation isn’t as dire as feared. The massive Sorin Tree Sea in northern Tarash is accelerating its absorption of the biomass left by the End of All Things cult and converting it into edible matter. That should ease some of the food pressure.”

“The fruits borne by that forest…” Eileen’s expression twisted slightly. “I heard the Sorin Tree Sea feeds on the remains of biochemical beasts and dark root systems. Even though the food produced this way is supposedly non-toxic, it still feels… unsettling.”

“But starving refugees won’t care,” Bersethia glanced at Eileen. “When life and death hang in the balance, they won’t worry whether their food grew from monster corpses. Besides, the land itself is a resting place for countless strange things. Every patch we till is already buried with all manner of oddities. It’s better not to dwell on such details.”

“True,” Eileen nodded, then grew curious. “But I also heard the yield of Sorin Tree fruits isn’t very high. Can relying on that forest’s produce really ease the continent’s food crisis?”

Bersethia thought for a moment before replying slowly, “Apparently, the newest leaves and some roots of the Sorin Giant Trees have become edible. By this winter, over seventy percent of their new growth can be processed into safe food—enough to serve as a staple.”

Eileen’s eyes widened bit by bit until she finally exclaimed, “You mean turning the main body itself into food?! That’s… not just fruit growing… Sister Beltera…”

“She’s still the same as ever,” Bersethia gently interrupted, shaking her head. “You know, when we learned this, it was already her decision. Sister Beltera has always felt a certain… responsibility for the mess left by the End of All Things cult, even though that branch of the wasteland no longer concerns her. In this, she’s almost obsessive.”

“…We can’t make decisions for her, nor for the refugees,” Eileen sighed softly. “If Uncle Gawain agrees, then we have no right to object.”

“Yes, Uncle Gawain has agreed.” Bersethia nodded, then her expression grew serious. “Speaking of which, what do you think of the ‘plan’ Uncle Gawain proposed? About those rune stones in the Deep Blue Conduit…”

Eileen frowned slightly, uncertain. “I don’t know if it’s ultimately good or bad. But as Princess Ophelia said, it’s something that must be done—the bomb is already there. Since it can’t be dismantled, we can only try to turn it from an uncontrolled bomb into a controlled one. But if we really find a way to control this ‘planetary terraforming system,’ who knows if it might trigger another wasteland crisis in the future? After all, human nature is unpredictable, and most people don’t have Uncle Gawain’s foresight and resolve.”

Bersethia rested her hands on the terrace railing, staring into the darkness ahead. “From a human perspective, it might be premature to think about these things now. But from an elven viewpoint, many ‘premature’ problems loom just over the horizon. Uncle Gawain can’t be unaware of this, yet he still chose to launch the plan. That can only mean the benefits outweigh the risks—or rather, that given the risks are inevitable, this way is the lesser danger.”

“Sometimes, when I think about it, this world really seems to bear ill will toward us,” Eileen sighed helplessly. “The apocalypse always seems to follow close behind, yet most of us just want to live in peace.”

“Every day we survive is a small victory over the civilizations that perished young.” Bersethia lifted her head, gazing at the star-studded sky. Above this land so lacking in light, the recently purified heavens were clearer than anywhere on the Loren continent, the stars more numerous. Between those twinkling lights, a certain longing for the distant unknown drew the Silver Empress’s gaze. “Sometimes I wonder if the civilization sending us those signals… do they face the same hostility from their world, carefully preserving each day as we do?”

“They’ve advanced enough to send signals across the star sea,” Eileen answered seriously. “Perhaps they’re a civilization far more robust than ours. But advanced doesn’t mean friendly. No one can be sure if the civilization sending those signals is benevolent. So far, their messages show no hostility…”

Bersethia nodded softly. “The alliance is already discussing the alien signals. Tomorrow, the ‘Star Sea Project’ will be formally introduced. Though we’re not ready to step into the stars ourselves, these continuous signals and discoveries at the Vipland Observatory have thrust the vast cosmos before us. Other civilizations exist out there, and our pioneers have painstakingly cracked the ‘code’ to communicate with them. We cannot ignore this reality.”

Eileen fell silent, lost in thought for several seconds. Bersethia smiled. “What are you thinking, Eileen?”

“I was just thinking… amidst the heavy, serious topics of food crises, medical aid, and postwar interests at the Tarash conference, this topic about the stars feels like the only bit of romance in the air,” Eileen smiled. “Maybe Uncle Gawain added the ‘Star Sea Project’ to the agenda for that very reason?”

“Sounds nice, but I doubt he thought that far ahead,” the Silver Empress sighed. “He probably just had the idea and added it on the spot. Uncle Gawain is a pragmatist—his kind of romance is hard for us to understand.”

…

“That’s far enough.” Diana turned to the guards who had accompanied her.

The Typhon supernaturals bowed their heads and silently stepped back. Diana withdrew her gaze from them and looked ahead. The corridor before her, unmistakably in the style of Gondor, seemed to stretch endlessly. A row of dim lights illuminated this underground space directly beneath the source of the Deep Blue Wellspring. At the corridor’s end stood a heavy-looking door, while along the walls on either side, rows of metal gates made of alloy were neatly arranged.

As Diana’s eyes settled on the orderly gates, suddenly a light above one of the doors flickered on. A bright guiding path appeared on the floor, and a mechanical voice echoed through the cavernous space: “Soldier, your repair bay is ready. Follow the indicated path to room R-635.”

How long had it been since she last heard that prompt?

The familiar yet distant system notification caused a faint warmth in Diana’s mental core. Those ancient memories still lingered in her data storage, though even for an ironclad artificial mind, recalling them felt like faded sepia tones. She stepped forward, following the glowing trail toward one of the rooms. Amid the soft whir of machinery, the alloy gate slid open smoothly before her, revealing a compact repair chamber.

Inside, seven or eight “repair bays” were neatly arranged. Each was a silver-painted metal platform about the size of a single bed, with a recessed center. Around each platform were various maintenance devices on standby. All the bays were empty, their edge lights dim—except one, which glowed faintly, clearly prepared for her.

“Soldier, please remove your clothing and step forward. Your repair bay has been assigned.”

The prompt sounded in her ear. Diana steadied herself, pushing aside the tangled thoughts swirling in her mind, and began to prepare as instructed. Throughout the process, she could feel a presence—an “awareness” here in this room, in this base, throughout the entire Deep Blue Wellspring complex.

Diana knew this was “her” watching over her. Long ago, she had been a node under this consciousness’s control. But now she was no longer that. And the gaze of this awareness upon her… seemed tinged with curiosity.

The repair facility was situated at the edge of the Ironman production and maintenance array, nestled within the “shallow zone” of the Deep Blue Fortress. Between it and the deepest layer—the Ophelia Matrix—lay over a thousand meters of earth, rock, steel, and concrete. Yet that vast barrier couldn’t block the gaze of Ophelia Norton, transmitted through countless data links and sensory devices.

Diana settled into the repair pod assigned to her. The cool touch of the synthetic skin beneath her felt strange but oddly comforting. She sensed her cognitive core gradually stabilizing, while the work machines arrayed around the pod began to hum softly—each one activating in turn. These machines were tasked with inspecting a base body that had been transformed and repaired beyond recognition over seven centuries, and now they were attempting to devise a viable restoration plan. It was no simple feat.

With some time before the equipment was fully ready, Diana’s eyes drifted upward to the ceiling. Directly above the pod hung a ring-shaped structure, from which numerous cables and dormant mechanical arms were suspended. At the center of the ring, a device emitted a faint, dark red glow—its edges flickering subtly, resembling a strange, watchful eye.

And indeed, it was an eye. Diana quickly understood what it was—the eye of Ophelia Norton herself. Long ago, the Gondor Princess who oversaw the Ironman legion had monitored her soldiers through countless magical devices like this one. Every production array, every maintenance unit, every storage or transfer facility, even each Ironman’s body, was linked to this system’s “extension units.” The Ironmen were so accustomed to it that it felt almost like a comforting presence. But now, looking at that eye, Diana felt… uneasy.

Sensing the soldier’s discomfort, Ophelia Norton’s voice echoed softly through the room. “You seem a little tense, Diana.”

“…Sorry,” Diana replied quietly. “It’s been many years since I last lay in a repair pod.”

“Perhaps it’s more than that,” Ophelia’s voice was calm and gentle. “But that doesn’t matter—I will first fix your body, which is already pushed to its limits.”

“…Yes, thank you very much.”

(End of chapter)