Chapter 269: Those Without Talent
The monsters’ assault had been broken.
Yet the fear and unease they left behind would linger for some time.
Andersa strode steadily along the battlements of Winterwolf Fortress, her sword hanging at her side as she inspected the defenses after the battle. The scene before her furrowed her brow deeply.
Those blood-red giants, whose origins were unknown, had never set foot inside the fortress. The brave Typhon soldiers had repelled the terrifying foes atop the walls. Still, the monsters’ reckless ferocity and the strange corrosive power of their “erosion” attacks left a chilling impression. The battlements bore massive scars where corrosive energy arrows had eaten through the stone. Soldiers struck directly by those arrows either died gruesomely or were left severely wounded. Ordinary metal armor offered almost no protection against such bizarre attacks; only enchanted armor or gear forged from magitech metals could effectively resist the monsters’ onslaught—but how many in the entire army could afford a full set of magical equipment?
Andersa glanced down from the wall. The massive stone surface below was marred by countless pockmarks and corrosion marks, some so large they stretched nearly to the height of the battlements. In the final stages of the fight, a few of the blood giants had grown exceptionally large and resilient. Even a volley of attacks from the mages failed to halt their advance. Those creatures unleashed strange magical lightning that shattered the mages’ defenses, then climbed the walls despite falling logs, rolling boulders, and a hail of arrows. Though ultimately slain, they left behind terrifying damage.
A deputy officer approached from behind, handing Andersa a report. “General Andersa, the casualty count is complete. Please review.”
She took the report with a heavy heart. The attack had come suddenly, and the soldiers had never faced such enemies before. The victory had not come easily. The numbers in the report were grim.
“Take it away. Follow protocol—compensate the families of the fallen, treat the wounded, and send those unfit for combat back home. Make sure they receive certificates of valor; at least that way they can survive after returning,” Andersa said irritably, handing the report back. Then she turned her gaze toward the bloodstained plains beyond the fortress. “Tell me… where do you think these monsters came from?”
The plains before Winterwolf Fortress had once been blanketed in snow, a pristine white. Now, the giants had stained the earth a foreboding dark red. The slain monsters lay sprawled across the land, their blood and innards melting like sludge, seeping into the soil and rising as thick, choking smoke. Soon only massive skeletons would remain—an awe-inspiring and dreadful sight. Andersa had faced many foes, but nothing like this.
The deputy hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “The initial sentry reports said the monsters surged from the pass in the Dark Mountains… that should be the direction of Ansu.”
“Ansu?” Andersa’s expression darkened. “That nation…”
“But it might not be Ansu,” the deputy added cautiously. “General, the Dark Mountains border the ruins of Gondor…”
“You suspect these monsters came from the ruins of Gondor?” Andersa raised an eyebrow, surprised at the boldness of the usually cautious officer. “That’s a daring theory.”
“We received intelligence that Ansu has been attacked by ‘unknown creatures,’ rumored to have wandered out from the ruins of Gondor,” the deputy reminded her. “If more monsters are emerging from the wasteland and moving along the natural barrier of the Dark Mountains, they could indeed reach this side…”
“But Gondor’s ruins are protected by the Great Wall,” Andersa frowned. “The border watchtowers reported the barrier is intact, didn’t they?”
“Those watchtowers are practically useless—they’re too far from the wasteland.”
“…Prepare the griffons,” Andersa said after a moment’s thought. “We must inform His Majesty the Emperor of what’s happening here!”
Having given her orders, Andersa lifted her head, unease shadowing her face as she stared toward the hazy mountains in the southwest. Though her eyes could not pierce the mist, she knew the ruins of Gondor lay beyond, along with the magnificent Great Wall built by the elves.
Thinking of the Great Wall and the sentinel towers that upheld it, Andersa felt a pang of envy. Those ancient magical towers were said to possess powerful communication abilities, capable of transmitting messages instantly along the entire border back to the Silver Empire’s heartland. The elves maintained the entire barrier system with this incredible ancient technology. Seven centuries ago, during Gondor’s era, humans had similar capabilities.
But now, those technologies had severely declined and fragmented. Existing communication magic was either prohibitively expensive or ineffective. Most magical signal towers could only transmit messages a few kilometers, and building even one tower was exorbitantly costly. The few main fortresses along the border could communicate by magic, but sending messages all the way back to the capital still relied on traditional griffon messengers.
Proposals to build hundreds of magical towers along the route had been repeatedly discussed in the noble council for years. Yet every time, the conclusion was the same: no money, no manpower.
The cost of hundreds of magical communication towers would drain the empire’s entire annual tax revenue. The strategic reserves of magical materials in the treasury would be severely depleted—after all, communication spell arrays were extremely complex and required the rarest, highest-grade materials. Using all those resources to build immobile towers was simply impossible.
Moreover, even if built, who would maintain and operate them? Only mages could control magic, and complex large-scale magical devices required multiple casters to sustain. Hundreds of permanent communication towers would mean half the empire’s mages would become “tower guardians.” The manpower cost was even less acceptable than the financial one.
Andersa’s mind churned with all these thoughts. As a young noble officer entrusted with military command and steeped in her family’s legacy, she understood better than anyone how crucial information flow was in war. Yet she was powerless.
After all, she had no magical talent.
In the land of Cecil, Jenny Perrot, director of the Rune Research Institute, set down her blueprints and rune tablets, stretching lazily.
She looked up from her desk at a few apprentices nearby, heads bent in calculation or huddled in discussion, and smiled.
These apprentices were the new additions since the institute’s founding. Their numbers were small, but far better than when she had been the sole occupant.
Half of them came from Cecil itself—former rune craftsmen or rune mages from the territory who had “retrained.” They already had a foundation in practical runes and showed aptitude in logic and mathematics. After a talent assessment, they were assigned as Jenny’s assistants. The others were down-on-their-luck scholars and mage apprentices recruited from elsewhere by the lord, sent here because of their potential.
To be honest, all of them needed training at first. Rune logic was a brand-new field; aside from Jenny, Rebecca, Hetty, and Gawain, no one else understood it. The apprentices’ thinking was initially stuck in traditional magical theory, and it took Jenny considerable effort to shift their perspectives. But after some time, they were beginning to prove useful.
Once they became professionals in rune logic, Jenny planned to have them take turns teaching at the General Academy. By then, Mr. Santis would have completed the children’s foundational courses in rune basics and magical theory. With a solid base, learning rune logic would fit perfectly.
In time, the children of the territory would grow into a new generation equipped with knowledge and skills, which would continue to spread. With the lord’s support, everyone would have the opportunity to learn.
Teaching, learning, spreading—once knowledge transmission begins, it rarely stops. It continues until everyone has the right to access knowledge, to think, and to seek truth. This, Jenny thought, was probably what Mr. Ravencrest hoped to see.
She lowered her gaze again, studying the complex rune arrangements and the inscrutable formulas and charts that looked like arcane script to outsiders. She was deep in thought.
These were not ordinary magic circle designs but a special “observation record” given to her by Master Kamail. They included the control and output unit structures of the Arcane Obelisk, as well as readings of magical energy leaking from it, observed through the “Arcane Eye.” The data showed regular fluctuations of magical power and a series of complex diffusion and decay patterns.
This was no easy matter. It went beyond anything Jenny had encountered in rune logic research. Even Rebecca, with her strong mathematical skills, had suffered headaches when first confronted with this. These were no longer simple rune arrangements or problems solvable by comparing interference values. The massive, pure data overwhelmed Jenny, leaving her unsure where to begin. Yet she knew mathematics would not fail her.
Hidden within this data might be the very essence of magical power. The lord awaited these findings to unveil the mystery of “long-distance magical transmission” and hoped to use it as a breakthrough to simplify communication arrays. So, after steadying herself, Jenny picked up her pen and paper once more, diving back into thought and calculation.
Pen and paper were her bridge to the path of magic. Only by crossing that bridge could she advance further into this mysterious realm than anyone else.
After all, she had no magical talent.
(End of chapter)