Chapter 304: The Elf Monitoring Station
The biggest headache for Jenny and Kamail was the so-called “technical black box” in the realm of magic.
Jenny’s rune logic was a powerful tool when it came to optimizing and reconstructing traditional magic arrays. Grounded in mathematical principles, it could simplify a magic array purely through calculation—eliminating unnecessary interference nodes, boosting the array’s effective power, or lowering its operational requirements. Best of all, this process didn’t require the operator to have any innate talent for sensing mana. But rune logic had its limits. To reconstruct an array, you first had to “segment” it—that is, identify the distinct functional zones within the array, figure out which runes belonged to which interference zones, and which had to remain independent and intact.
Only by effectively segmenting the array first could you proceed with optimization and reconstruction.
And that’s where the “technical black box” became a major stumbling block.
The origin of the technical black box was tied to the dawn of magic itself. When the first mortal pioneers mimicked the primitive magical patterns found on ancient beasts and natural minerals to cast the very first spells, the black box was born. Over the centuries, countless spellcasters studied those complex, ancient symbols and patterns. Many spells were eventually deciphered and became “fully parsed spells,” but nearly half of all magic remained locked inside the black box.
Almost all black box magic was vague and convoluted, preserving the most primitive spell structures. Neither the spell models nor the rune arrays had been fully analyzed—you couldn’t tell how many functional zones the runes formed, which runes grouped together, or which operated independently. In such cases, simply applying formulas might arrange the runes neatly on a mathematical level, but the array’s actual structure would be utterly destroyed in the process.
Simple, low-level arrays didn’t have this problem because they usually had very few functional zones—sometimes just one complete zone, like a single cell in a honeycomb magic network. But from mid-level arrays upward, the functional zones—what Jenny called “rune domains”—became increasingly complex, and the technical black box phenomenon grew more prevalent.
Kamail and Jenny were tackling this problem head-on. They were trying to develop a reliable set of rules for “disassembling” most arrays by organizing the basic elemental language, fundamental spell models, and basic rune units. Others had attempted this before but failed due to flawed research approaches and inadequate mathematical tools. Still, Kamail and Jenny were confident—and they’d already made some initial progress.
Gawain believed in their abilities. With mature technical samples from the Eversleepers, he was sure they’d find a breakthrough to crack the communication spell’s technical black box. Such a breakthrough would be invaluable not only for magical research but also for the practical development of their territories…
Deep within a valley on the northwestern frontier of the Typhon Empire.
This valley was a special place for the Typhon people. In fact, each of the four great human kingdoms had one or two similar “special sites” within their borders. These places lay within human realms but were administratively part of the distant Silver Empire. Some covered entire mountain ranges; others were just towns. What they all had in common was that their inhabitants were almost exclusively Silver Elves.
These were the locations of the Silver Empire’s “monitoring stations.”
Seven centuries ago, during the Cataclysm, the elves led the construction of the Grant Wall, which ultimately halted the disaster’s spread and sealed away the chaotic magic and monstrous armies in the continent’s center. But the unique elven magic controlling the wall could only be wielded by elves themselves. The sentinel towers they built required elven spells to operate. So, to monitor the Grant Wall’s barrier, the elves established multiple monitoring stations around its perimeter—stations that, given the history of the human kingdoms, had to be located within human lands.
The seal over the Gondor Wasteland was a matter of national survival. The human kingdoms had no choice but to accept this arrangement—even proud Gondor descendants had to set aside their pride for the sake of reason after the Cataclysm and the empire’s fall.
Fortunately, relations between elves and humans had always been good, and elves were a race that honored their promises. These “permanent colonies” within human realms coexisted peacefully with the outside world. Seven centuries on, the elves at the monitoring stations had developed a smooth understanding with the local humans, maintaining it to this day.
Solderin walked alongside an elf druid who called herself “Belna,” making their way deeper into the valley. Ahead, elegant spires and magical glows in the distinctive Silver Empire style came into view.
Solderin looked up at the tall tower nestled at the valley’s heart and exhaled softly.
That tower was the monitoring station’s core building—the “communication tower” used to connect and exchange data with the sentinel towers. At its peak was a massive resonance crystal crafted by mages from the Starfall Sanctuary. When powered, it could transmit signals over hundreds of kilometers—enough to reach the sentinel tower on the opposite side of the valley.
Solderin glanced back toward the other side of the valley, where a darkened line marked the border—the direction of the Gondor Wasteland.
The monitoring station’s purpose was to watch the wasteland and assess the Grant Wall’s status. But it was obvious the monitors couldn’t set up permanent facilities right beneath the sentinel towers. Though the Grant Wall blocked most chaotic magic, deadly radiation still seeped through each year, seriously harming anyone stationed too close. So all monitoring stations operated remotely: they built communication towers at safe distances to receive real-time data from the sentinel towers. This was the safest and most reliable method.
Of course, if a sentinel tower ever malfunctioned, the nearest monitoring station would dispatch personnel to handle the situation on-site. Each station kept an engineering team ready for such emergencies. Though these teams might go centuries without a real mission, the elves never slackened in this regard.
After all, they lived a long time.
Belna walked briskly beside Solderin, clearly in high spirits. The young elf seemed genuinely excited to see more of her kin.
Along the way, Solderin had learned quite a bit about Belna. This lively elf girl seemed unable to keep her mouth shut—ask her a question, and she’d babble on about herself. Compared to her, Solderin was tight-lipped.
After all, he was still undercover. The less he said, the lower the risk of exposure.
He hadn’t dropped his disguise just because he’d passed through human checkpoints. Staying alert was a hallmark of a skilled ranger—especially since he’d only brought women’s clothing with him on this trip…
After Belna’s third silly giggle, Solderin glanced at her. “You’re really happy, huh?”
“Of course! We’re almost at the monitoring station!” Belna beamed. “This is the largest monitoring station in the northern continent. There’s even a city around it! Once we get settled, the first thing I’m doing is finding a tavern, downing a big mug of fruit mead, and stuffing myself with dried fruit and Sumini pies! I swear, humans have some good things, but their food is just awful. I’m so sick of their flatbreads and cheap beer…”
Solderin listened quietly as Belna rambled on. Before he knew it, the city gates appeared not far ahead.
Just as Belna said, this was the largest monitoring station in the northern region. The elves occupied the entire valley and had built a sizable city centered around the communication tower deep within. Seeing the elven-style spires and walls, and the kin guarding the city gates, Solderin couldn’t help but smile faintly.
At the city entrance, guards stopped them for routine identity checks and questioning.
Solderin pulled out a Silver Empire badge to prove his identity and casually asked, “Any recent activity at the sentinel towers?”
“Everything’s normal—sentinel towers, monitoring station, and the city,” said the guard, clad in silver-white elven light armor and holding a spear. Taking the badge with one hand, he added, “How’s life traveling in the human world?”
Solderin smiled slightly. “Still fresh. Their society changes so fast.”
No kidding—the ancestors who’d been sealed behind the wall for seven centuries suddenly crawling out on their own? Who’d ever seen that before?
“Hm?” The guard examined the inscription on the back of the badge and looked at Solderin with a puzzled expression. “Solderin, male, Frostleaf family—you sure this badge is yours?”
“Oh, I forgot about that,” Solderin said, patting his head. Then he cast a small spell on the badge, causing it to resonate and prove he was its rightful owner. “It is.”
The guard sized up Solderin’s female hunter outfit. “So… got into trouble in human society? Wanted?”
It was clear this guard had seen a lot.
Solderin didn’t want to explain too much. Even among kin, some things were better left unsaid. He muttered quietly, “Just trying a new style.”
The guard nodded knowingly. “Ah, then no problem.”
Yeah, definitely a well-traveled guard.
(End of chapter)