Chapter 1524: The Future and the Present

The Ogure Tribal Nation had made a tremendous sacrifice for the Alliance—perhaps one day, this sentence would be recorded as a concluding remark in some history book, become a test question on an exam paper, or mark the difference between a passing and failing grade for a student at the Imperial Academy. But here and now, in this very moment, this sentence was a living reality unfolding across that land, shaping the present and future of the Ancestral Plains and the entire Ogure territory, home to millions.

Thanks to the advanced communication systems, High Lord Gawain had witnessed everything happening on the Sacred Mountain with his own eyes. He had seen the sensor towers scattered across the plains, the steel and concrete frameworks enveloping the entire mountain, the energy fountains crisscrossing the sky, and the engineering convoys and mage guilds shuttling between city outskirts, villages, and wilderness. To call the scene “spectacular” and “thrilling” would be no exaggeration. Yet, these inspiring images were meant for the general public. For strategists like Gawain and the five kings of Ogure, what they saw was the harsh reality behind it all—

Ogure had lost their Sacred Mountain forever. The mountain was now cleaved by dozens of fissures carved by the energy fountains. Nearly two-thirds of its structure was undergoing slow but relentless reshaping under orders from the Observer’s Chamber. In the future, several peaks would be leveled, ravines filled in, and the Alliance’s engineering legions would sheath the mountain in steel and concrete armor to install one energy station after another, along with data processing nodes. The sacred Pilgrim’s Cavern would be reduced to a mere symbol in history books. The thousand-year-old Pilgrim’s Path was already melting away under the flowing deep-blue energy streams…

Even if one day the long winter ended, the natural disasters ceased, and the need for the magical tide observation device vanished, the Alliance would never return the Sacred Mountain to the Ogure.

But the Ogure’s sacrifice was more than just a mountain—it was an energy fountain rivaling the Deep Blue Well itself. To build the magical tide observation device, Myrmidia had completely restructured the energy veins beneath the Ancestral Peak to fit the blueprint’s requirements. This transformation was inseparably linked to the mountain’s overall reshaping and was irreversible. The newly forged deep-blue energy conduits were no longer suitable as a conventional power source. This was a devastating blow to the Ogure, who had pinned their hopes for economic recovery and national revitalization after the Wasteland War on this very resource.

During the Wasteland War, all Alliance nations suffered varying degrees of damage, but none as severe as Ogure. Due to misjudgments by the Alliance’s leading powers—including Cecil and the Silver Empire—regarding the Wasteland front, insufficient defenses were deployed on the western line. This oversight allowed the Wasteland Legions to strike the Ogure Tribal Nation head-on early in the war, capturing a third of their territory. Later, during the counteroffensive, the vengeful Ogure warriors were always at the forefront, exacting brutal retribution but also suffering the highest casualty rates throughout the entire campaign and the Tarash battle.

Now, with the flames of revenge cooled and victory secured, the triumphant soldiers and surviving civilians faced a series of sobering realities.

The deep-blue energy source hidden within the Ancestral Peak was one of the few remaining assets after the Wasteland War—a capital they had hoped to leverage over the coming decades to rebuild their economy and restore national strength. But now, that asset had become the foundation of the magical tide observation device—a device that, given the entire cycle of the magical tide and societal development, was essentially a one-time use.

“The Alliance is already offering Ogure various ‘preferential treatments,’ including trade tax breaks and energy quotas drawn from the Deep Blue Well,” Gawain’s voice was low and somber. “But in my view, all these concessions are temporary. The price Ogure has paid is permanent.” He had foreseen this as early as the day the Sacred Mountain’s transformation began, the very issue Amber had raised today. “The current global unity against the magical tide will fade sooner or later. When the magical tide crisis ends, that will mark the beginning of Ogure’s crisis…”

“Could it really be that serious?” Bellatila, who had been quietly listening all along, finally spoke up. Unlike Gawain, who excelled at big-picture analysis, or Amber, who had accumulated invaluable experience through years of intelligence work, Bellatila found it hard to imagine that this grand act of saving the world would one day become a source of instability within the Alliance. “I mean, isn’t resisting the magical tide a century-defining feat? Shouldn’t it bring the Ogure lasting honor and prosperity?”

“Absolutely not. The situation may be even worse than I’ve described,” Gawain said calmly, glancing at Bellatila. “Disasters end. But the unity forged in disaster, if not properly managed afterward, becomes a heavy burden for everyone. It can even become a source of moral and public division—especially among humans. Bellatila, you were once human yourself. You’ve witnessed centuries of human change firsthand. You know better than anyone how fleeting and fickle humanity can be.

“Can you imagine this scene? An aging Ogure veteran who survived the Tarash Plains, sitting beside a street where construction has halted due to budget cuts. His living allowance has been repeatedly reduced, and this winter’s heating subsidy hasn’t come through yet. His house behind him is as cold as the street. He hopes to find work, but the city has no spare jobs…

“Why is this happening? Because the magical tide is over, and the Wasteland War is a distant memory. Citizens in other Alliance nations increasingly refuse to have their taxes turned into infrastructure aid and trade subsidies for another country—especially the young. They don’t even remember when the Tarash battle took place or how many died building the magical tide observation device. More exciting and advanced entertainments distract them, and they believe these historical test points can be made up for in other ways.

“But that old veteran waiting for his subsidy and heating allowance is different. The memories of war and disaster never left him. He remembers crawling back from the Tarash Plains, remembers the Sacred Mountain, remembers the last pilgrimage he and his comrades made before heading to the front lines—those once proud and glorious experiences are fading into a hazy blur.

“His government can no longer afford the high social costs because the nation’s wealthiest region is occupied by a massive machine that can’t be moved or dismantled. The country’s energy reserves and environmental capacity for the next several decades have been overdrawn to save the world. The government wants to dismantle the sensor arrays on the plains and clean up the pipelines that are beginning to leak pollution, to restore some farmland and mining areas. But the cost of removing those giant facilities is even higher than building them. And the Alliance… the new generation in the Alliance has already refused to pay these ‘bills that don’t concern them.’

“If we don’t properly handle the aftermath of the magical tide observation device, this situation will become the norm in the future, eventually causing irreparable fractures within the Alliance.

“Bellatila, right now we are united, and all nations are helping Ogure recover from the war’s wounds. But half of that aid is just to finish building the magical tide observation device as soon as possible, to keep most of the tribal nation from focusing on the mountain’s changes or thinking about the long-term future. The other half comes from an unavoidable sense of debt. But this generation will grow old, and their successors won’t accept supporting a nation drained dry for a lifetime.”

Bellatila hadn’t heard such sharp and cold analysis from Gawain in a long time—not even Amber, who sat quietly beside her.

The current unity of the Alliance against the magical tide and the glorious victory in the Wasteland War had given many a false impression—that this peace and close alliance was natural, even a sign of civilization’s advancement, and that this temporary “state” was a new “form” of social evolution. Bellatila and Amber often felt this way, let alone ordinary people.

But now it seemed that Gawain, the very architect of the Alliance, was the most pessimistic about its internal vulnerabilities.

“To hear such harsh and unyielding judgments from you, especially when everyone is so inspired by our united stand against the apocalypse…” Bellatila broke the silence, pursing her lips. “I thought you’d be the most confident in the Alliance’s order, since you built it all…”

“Precisely because I built it, I know better than anyone why it will collapse,” Gawain exhaled slowly, his expression still calm. “The Alliance was never a mountain strong enough to last forever. It’s a wooden house built on a delicate balance of pressure, piles of contracts, and shared practical interests. We need it now because the storm rages outside, and everyone needs shelter. But if one member inside this house feels the same cold as outside, it will be the first beam to pull away—and its departure will chill others, triggering a chain reaction.

“At present, if Ogure’s problems aren’t handled properly, they will be the spark that ignites this chain reaction.”

“What do you suggest then?” Bellatila asked, curious. “Honestly, this topic isn’t comfortable… While everyone is united against the magical tide, we’re already discussing the Alliance’s vulnerabilities and future moral rifts. If a naive young person heard this, they might lose all faith in humanity.”

“Anyone who loses faith in humanity over a few words probably does so every three days when bored,” Gawain chuckled, shaking his head. “What disappoints them isn’t humanity itself, but their own hearts.” He paused. “Regarding Ogure, I’ve privately discussed it with Belsathia and several dragon leaders.”

“Dragons and elves…” Bellatila mused. “Long-lived races. That’s a promising idea. As long as they maintain influence within the Alliance, acting as ‘historical anchors’ in its development, what you mentioned might not happen—or at least not become so severe…”

“No,” Gawain shook his head. “Belsathia and Heragor believe it’s very likely to happen. No matter how many long-lived races are in the Alliance, they can’t stop it. The decline of the Grant Wall proved one thing: when the short-lived species start to slack off, no amount of ropes tied by the long-lived can stop the whole cart from speeding toward the abyss.” He sighed. “Besides, one of the Alliance’s principles is non-interference in members’ internal affairs, which limits the influence long-lived races can wield.”

Bellatila’s eyes widened. “Then…”

“So all we can do is, within the limits of what this generation can manage, do our utmost to compensate the Ogure Tribe Nation for their losses. We need to find alternative economic paths for them. Once the magical tide has ended, while the enthusiasm of the allied nations is still fresh, we must immediately launch environmental restoration and redevelopment projects around the Peak of Ancestors. While there’s still momentum, we can transform that massive site into a tourist attraction, or restore farmland and mining zones, or even convert it into industrial facilities—whatever it takes. The key is not to let this world-saving feat become a ‘gray memory’ for those of us in our twilight years. At the very least… we must ensure that ninety-nine percent of the old heroes can pass away peacefully.”

“But someday in the future, the Peak of Ancestors will still pose a threat. Maybe because the Ogure Tribe Nation’s economy declines, or a global financial crisis hits, or some other disaster—natural or man-made. Then someone will bring up this century-old project again and blame the current crisis on the unfairness of the Alliance’s order. But that will be a problem for a whole new generation.”

Amber listened to Gawain’s words and suddenly paused at the end. “Wait, so you won’t care then?”

“Of course I will—forever and ever. But can I really manage it? From where we stand, ensuring one generation of heroes can enjoy their twilight years, two generations live without worry, and a nation still has a future—that’s already more than enough.” Gawain shot a sharp glance at the shadowy assault goose. “Besides, I might not even be in this position by then. Maybe I’ll be in the box—though according to some, I might not die that soon. In that case, I might have already passed this mess on to someone else, like Rebecca or whoever…”

Amber’s surprise deepened. “Wait, weren’t you planning to posthumously crown her queen someday?”

“That was just something I said at the time—and it still is,” Gawain waved his hand dismissively. “My view has always been to look at the world with a developmental perspective. Any predictions about the future based on current experience are just that—predictions—not unchangeable rules to live by. Especially since the Alliance is a temporary coalition for mutual support; who knows, it might dissolve one day. You can’t just assume it’ll last forever…”

He was halfway through when a sudden series of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

A familiar presence appeared at the door.

After a knock, Hetty’s voice came through: “Ancestor, may I come in?”

Gawain immediately ended his casual chat with Beltrila and Amber, straightened up, and looked toward the door. “Come in.”

Hetty pushed the door open. She paused briefly when she saw Amber sitting across the desk and Beltrila’s figure hovering over the communicator, then nodded slightly to them before quickly approaching Gawain.

“Ancestor, the Theocracy Council has reported an anomaly at the Church of Baphomet, the God of Commerce.”

(End of chapter)