Chapter 537: The Elves
On the continent of Loren, it wasn’t only the Duchy of Cecil that was watching the disturbances at the Grant Wall.
Beyond the vast, desolate ruins of Gondor, past the dark, twisted forests and corrupted, mutated lands, in the warm southern regions of the continent—where towering mountains and endless forests stretch as far as the eye can see—the unsettling effects of the Grant Wall’s instability were felt most keenly.
Unlike the natural barrier of the Dark Mountains separating the north, there was no such shield between the Highland Kingdom and the wastelands of Gondor.
This southern kingdom was founded centuries ago by exiles from the old Gondor Empire. With the help of the elves, these refugees carved out a new nation nestled among the mountain ranges. Over the past seven hundred years, elven culture deeply influenced the kingdom. Through long years of cooperation, adaptation, trade, and intermarriage, the Highland Kingdom forged a close alliance with the Silver Empire further south. Due to the direct impact of the Grant Wall, the northern borderlands of the Highland Kingdom—those closest to the Gondor wastelands—were effectively co-governed by elves and humans. Together, the two races had built an unbroken “Forest Line Defense,” a vast green barrier to hold back the threats spilling out from the corrupted lands.
Here, centuries of mutual dependence and the very real dangers from the wasteland had bound these two realms inseparably.
Inside the Forest Line Defense’s first ranger tower, General Romar stood before an oval-shaped window, gazing northward toward the frontline barrier. The endless sea of green forest stretched out before him, ancient trees imbued with magic swaying gently in an invisible magical breeze. Their branches shimmered with a faint emerald glow, making the treetops ripple like waves. Far off on the horizon, the energy shield of the Grant Wall flickered with an unsettling brightness. The low rumble of thunder rolled across the forest, carried on the wind to the ranger general’s ears.
He turned away from the window and looked toward the control console in the center of the hall. “What’s the situation up ahead?”
The hall was oval-shaped, with the control console at its center. Rows of silver-white, lightweight alloy pillars stood neatly on either side, projecting various holographic images. Several elven operators busied themselves among the pillars.
At Romar’s question, one operator immediately activated the pillar before him. Runes lit up, and a projection expanded, showing the northernmost section of the Forest Line Defense: on the screen, a dozen towering ancient trees creaked as they uprooted themselves, stepping forward on massive “feet” made of countless roots. Bright runes floated along their branches, forming layered energy shields beneath their canopies. Behind them, a group of elves in short robes rode giant moonlight stags, closely escorting the trees as they advanced toward the energy barrier, which was on the verge of overload.
“The second group of mages has departed. Sixteen guardian trees are escorting them.”
“And the first group? Have they escaped?”
The operator reported quickly, “They’re still trapped in the tunnel zone. Three have been contaminated by the magical surge and urgently need treatment. The guardian trees brought medicine and healing pods, but it may be too late.”
General Romar’s brow furrowed deeply. He looked out again at the forest—a barrier built by humans and elves together, designed to seal and purify the spreading magical corruption from the Gondor wastelands. The original magical seeds had grown over seven centuries into a shield covering the entire northern border. But could these brave, loyal ancient trees really withstand a direct magical surge?
Whatever the case, the offline Sentinel Tower had to be restarted.
“Order the ranger units to regroup and hold at Sentinel Heights. Once the second team crosses the forest frontline, clear the area around the Sentinel Tower from the east and west flanks, sweeping out the aberrations. We need to buy the mages at least thirty minutes for repairs,” Romar commanded loudly to his deputy. “We cannot lose that tower!”
“Yes, sir.”
No sooner had the order been given than a voice came from another direction: “General, a message from the Star Sanctuary—it’s Her Majesty the Queen.”
The Queen? She was already at the Star Sanctuary? Was the situation that dire?
Romar moved toward the communication platform as he replied, “Connect.”
Runes flared around the platform, and a holographic projection appeared above the elven-style cylindrical communicator—a regal image of Queen Belsethia, the elven monarch, appeared before General Romar. She sat solemnly on the pale golden “Throne of Dominion,” countless shimmering cables and tubes extending from behind the seat, linking to ancient devices surrounding her. Her gaze fixed on Romar as she spoke gravely: “Communications with the entire northern region have been severed.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Romar bowed his head. “The Grant Wall’s communication system was severely damaged during the first overload. We’re working on repairs, but the immediate priority is to restart Sentinel Tower One.”
“How is the progress?”
“The first repair team was attacked by aberrations and forced to take refuge in the tunnels. They remain trapped. The second team has just departed, and I’ve dispatched ranger units to buy them time,” Romar reported without concealment. “The situation is grim, but I’m confident the mission will be completed.”
“Good,” Queen Belsethia nodded slightly. “Once the Sentinel Tower is restored, select the most elite rangers and forest messengers. I want them sent north.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Romar acknowledged, then asked casually, “Is this a warning for the northern kingdoms?”
“The deterioration of the Grant Wall is faster than expected. This threatens the entire world. The other kingdoms must be warned,” the elven queen affirmed. “We must also reassure our people in the northern lands. With communications cut, they need news from home. Additionally… it’s necessary to send envoys to Ansu to assess the situation there.”
Romar paused briefly. “The rumors about Gawain Cecil’s resurrection?”
“Not just rumors,” Belsethia said. “A high-ranking ranger traveling abroad sent a direct report to the Star Sanctuary. He once served in the Northern Expeditionary Army and worked alongside Gawain Cecil for many years. He claims to have confirmed the truth.”
“The high-ranking ranger who served in the Northern Expeditionary Army and worked with Gawain? You mean Solderin?”
“Yes, him.”
“I understand. His word should be trustworthy.”
Romar nodded. He had known Solderin for many years. Though their contact had been infrequent over the past seven centuries, elves were creatures of steadfast character. Even after long absences, Romar trusted that Solderin remained honest and reliable—except for his hair, that was a different matter. But the old friend never lied.
The communication ended.
Queen Belsethia exhaled deeply, tapping her fingers lightly on the golden armrest of her throne. The cables and tubes behind her flickered softly, reflecting the unrest in her heart.
She lifted her gaze, surveying the brightly lit oval hall. Around her, the curved metal framework connected floor and ceiling, runic lights flickering in the gaps. Elven mages moved busily throughout the chamber. She spoke aloud, “How is the anti-gravity unit performing?”
The mage in charge of monitoring the unit responded immediately, “Output is stable, with a seventy percent response rate, Your Majesty.”
Seventy percent…
A thousand years ago, it was eighty percent. Five thousand years ago, ninety.
The Star Sanctuary was a precious heritage passed down through generations of elves. Yet the technology to build it had long been lost. Today’s Silver Elves weren’t even sure if the floating fortress was originally designed by their ancestors or salvaged from some even older ruin. The ancient chaos of the Silver Empire’s distant past had destroyed much of their legacy. Everyone said the elves were the most advanced civilization on the continent, but Belsethia knew the truth: the elves were merely resting atop a pile of ancient relics, relics that were slowly dying. The Silver Empire itself… was slowly dying.
When would the Star Sanctuary fall?
No elf in history had dared to consider that question. In their minds, this ancient, eternal floating fortress would never fall. But sitting on the Throne of Dominion, listening to the strained groans of the ancient, worn machinery, hearing the mechanical spirits in her neural network struggle under the burden, Belsethia felt… she might have to face that question in her lifetime.
Seven hundred years ago, the Silver Empire could build the Grant Wall. But now, after the last vacuum extraction station mysteriously shut down two centuries ago, even repairing a single Sentinel Tower had become a monumental challenge.
As ruler of the Silver Empire, Belsethia did not want other nations to know the terrifying truth of her empire’s decline. But as a member of Loren’s wise races, she had to warn the human kingdoms of one fact:
The Grant Wall might not hold for much longer, and the Silver Empire that built it… no longer had the power to fix it.
A personal attendant stepped forward and bowed beside Belsethia’s throne. “Your Majesty, you should rest.”
“No need. The current load is low.”
Belsethia waved her hand, then lightly tapped the armrest on the other side. A slightly distorted synthetic voice echoed through the control hall: “Command received… switching to automatic return mode…”
The massive Star Sanctuary trembled faintly as it left the skies of the Highland Kingdom, slowly flying toward the vast forests of the Silver Empire. Belsethia adjusted her posture in the throne, leaning back and tilting her head slightly toward her attendant. “Do you still remember Uncle Gawain?”
The attendant, who had grown up alongside the queen, nodded. “You used to love following him around.”
Belsethia smiled. “More like causing trouble with him—dragging him to taverns in the name of the queen.”
Her contact with Gawain Cecil had actually been brief. The Northern Expeditionary Army had established new kingdoms in the north, and the pioneers dealing with the wastelands had little time to travel south. As ruler of the southern Silver Empire, Belsethia rarely left her own lands. Their few encounters were limited to joint human-elf operations—such as the Grant Wall’s groundbreaking and completion ceremonies, and several major treaty signings. But back then, Belsethia was just a young girl newly seated on the throne, with real power held by regents. She had plenty of time to sneak off to the human garrisons during these events.
And so the story continued, the fate of the Grant Wall and the intertwined destinies of elves and humans hanging in the balance.
Back then, her two favorite places to visit were the embassies of the Ansu Kingdom and the Typhon Kingdom—at that time, Typhon was still just one of the many kingdoms in the eastern part of the continent.
“Do you really believe the Duke of Gawain has been resurrected?” her personal maid couldn’t help but ask. “Although it seems there’s now evidence proving it’s true…”
“I do believe it,” Belsethia said softly. “Someone who’s been blessed by the Four Elements—there’s no way they’d just die so easily.”
(End of chapter)