Chapter 538: Brain-Computer Interface

At the highest observation post in the Dark Mountains.

The telescope array aimed at the Magnificent Wall shifted by a fraction of a degree. Through the lenses, the towering light barrier in the distance shimmered with a faint, hazy ripple. Beyond the glowing screen, a thin veil of mist drifted over the vast Black Forest and the corrupted plains, curling and swirling like an ever-changing illusion.

A tall monitoring officer turned around and reported to Gawain, who stood behind him. “The Magnificent Wall’s brightness is normal. Signs of overload have clearly subsided.”

Hedwig stood beside Gawain, while Amber, ever curious, had already slipped behind the telescope, peering through the lenses at the distant barrier. Hearing the report, she couldn’t help but exclaim, “Looks like it really has stabilized!”

“The barrier has been restored for over forty-eight hours now,” Hedwig said, glancing at Gawain. “No further signs of overload, and that strange howling sound is gone too. Ancestor, it seems the wall has indeed recovered.”

“Recovered? It doesn’t recover. It only keeps deteriorating. This is just a temporary lull,” Gawain said, though relief softened his tone. He wasn’t as optimistic as Hedwig. “Repairing the Magnificent Wall is nearly impossible for the nations today. Even the elves… I doubt they still have the ability to build a new Sentinel Tower. Right now, the barrier is holding, maybe because the elves managed to reboot some critical systems with special methods. But the overall decay and damage are irreversible.”

Gawain spoke calmly, memories from Gawain Cecil revealing the cold truth: long before the elves completed the last Sentinel Tower, the elven archmages who designed the barrier had warned the human leaders—the barrier was built using ancient elven relics, its core components nearly impossible to replicate. Once damaged, they could not be replaced.

For seven centuries, the barrier has been like a battered, patched-up ship sailing through a stormy sea—no spare parts, no safe harbor to dock and repair. It could only age and break down, with engineers applying patch after patch to its failing engines and cracking hull, merely delaying its inevitable sinking.

Those who built the barrier, those who lived through the Second Expansion, all knew this truth. Yet no one expected that even as the barrier neared its limit, humanity would still fail to find a permanent solution to the magical tide, nor would the pollution of the Gondor Wastelands ever fully dissipate. No one imagined that this barrier, forged by the combined might of many nations, might not even last through its first millennium.

Worse still… humanity, a short-lived and ever-changing race, has likely forgotten what kind of apocalypse this wall is truly holding back.

“Continue monitoring. Lift the alert in twenty-four hours,” Gawain decided firmly. “This observation post will be a key station. Add an extra shift to keep constant watch on the Magnificent Wall.”

Hedwig bowed her head deeply. “Understood.”

No matter what, life must go on.

Back at the lord’s manor, Gawain entered his study. From a stack of letters, he pulled one out and began writing a personal letter.

Amber leaned over curiously. “What are you writing?”

Gawain shot a glance at the half-elf, who had no sense of discipline. “Could you show some respect? Even though we’re close, this is a confidential letter personally written by the lord. You don’t just barge in and read it like that.”

Amber waved her hand carelessly. “Hey, if it really was secret, you’d have thrown me against the wall by now.”

Gawain: “…”

Why did she seem proud of the idea of being thrown against a wall? Was she like Rebecca, proud of being tough?

Amber’s eyes caught the opening lines of the letter, and she raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Ah, it’s addressed to Saint Suniel?”

Without looking up, Gawain replied, “There’s been unusual activity at the Magnificent Wall. I have to warn them.”

Amber’s expression twisted. After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Do you think they’ll listen? Last time you warned them, they barely reacted. Now with their civil war tearing them apart, I doubt anyone in the south cares about what’s coming from here.”

Indeed, Cecil had just struck a major deal with the kingdom’s army, and the rising Cecil family had effectively returned to power in Ansu. But the inertia of the nobility was a formidable thing. Would they really heed Gawain’s warnings?

Before the fire reached their own doorstep, every noble believed they were safe. That was their nature, shaped by the feudal system.

The rise of the Cecil family might make them pay more attention to Gawain’s every move, but that attention was more caution than trust. They wouldn’t take seriously any warnings he issued about the wastelands. In fact, precisely because the Cecils had risen and unified the southern lands, they would be even more wary and suspicious of any warnings from Gawain, spinning conspiracy theories out of thin air.

“To be honest, I never expected them to care,” Gawain shook his head at Amber’s words. “But it’s my duty—I am the Guardian Duke.”

This letter was his way of fulfilling that duty, of honoring the responsibility he inherited with Gawain Cecil’s body. There was another reason he didn’t voice: he wanted to ensure that all his future actions would be beyond reproach, leaving no excuse for his enemies to attack him.

Amber looked at Gawain with a strange expression. She couldn’t understand this old man’s mindset—then again, it didn’t really matter. His head was full of strange ideas few could grasp.

If she herself had slept in a coffin for seven hundred years, her mind would probably be even stranger than his.

Gawain finished the letter, carefully sealing it in a lacquered tube and closing it with wax. He handed it to Amber. “Send this to Rockhold Fortress. Have Sir Wald dispatch it to the capital.”

“Why not just send a copy through the magic network?” Amber asked, taking the tube. “This will take days.”

“Such letters must be handwritten originals for security reasons. Besides… those Saint Suniel folks might not accept a copy with the duke’s seal,” Gawain sighed. “The administration took ages to adapt to the document transmission system, and they still haven’t fully embraced it. You can’t expect Saint Suniel to be better.”

“Tch… those old stubborn fools. Compared to them, I think you’re the one who’s been lying in a coffin for seven hundred years.”

Gawain thought about it and felt Amber’s compliment was somehow off—but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Just then, Betty, the young maid, called from outside the door, interrupting their conversation. “My lord! Master Pittman is here to see you!”

Gawain paused, a vague premonition stirring in his mind. “Send him in!”

The study door opened, and the bent, smiling old druid entered. The little old man wore a triumphant grin and said as soon as he stepped inside, “My lord—I bring good news.”

“So the neural cord testing is complete?” Gawain smiled knowingly. “Looks like the recent panic and emergency haven’t slowed your research.”

“The lab door closes, and who cares if there’s a flood outside?” Pittman said dismissively. “If a researcher can’t keep their focus, they might as well go home and plant potatoes.”

He paused, then added, “I’ve installed the new neural cord on the device Kamail has been tinkering with. Would you like to see it?”

“Of course,” Gawain stood up promptly and looked at Amber. “You too…”

Before Gawain could reach out to pull her along, Amber spoke up eagerly, “I’m coming with you, of course—I’m really curious about this ‘mind network’ you’ve been working on!”

Soon, Gawain and Amber arrived at the Arcane Technology Research Institute. In the lab dedicated to “neural interactive connection technology,” the brand-new interface device sat on a circular platform at the center.

Kamail and Rebecca stood beside the device, while a dozen white-robed technicians busied themselves around, inspecting the device and the connected rune arrays.

Even Jenny, who rarely left the Rune Research Institute, was present. Though her specialty wasn’t applied magic, her crucial work in deciphering the Sleeper’s spells and reconstructing rune arrays had been indispensable. She deserved to be here to verify the finished product.

Gawain nodded to Jenny and Kamail, then his gaze fell on the chair behind Rebecca. “So… this is the finished product?”

The device looked nothing like the magical apparatus he had initially imagined. It didn’t resemble anything from this era’s magic at all. Instead, it looked like a futuristic artifact, as if it had crossed time and space.

A silver-white cockpit was fixed atop a large, sturdy base. The backrest extended outward with a hollowed-out design, and several faintly glowing, metal-like “tendons” connected the backrest to the base below. Inside the cockpit, streamlined leather padding was studded with numerous metal contact points arranged like a spinal column.

This unique design was clearly not the style of contemporary mages. Kamail, a mage from the Gondor Empire, had once again infused his own remembered aesthetic into Cecil’s arcane machinery.

It was pure magitech punk.

It was a device that looked completely different from anything else.

Gawain didn’t care about style—nothing on the land of Cecil, from people to things, ever looked normal. As a pragmatist, he only cared if it worked.

“We’ve completed all offline tests and some networked tests—connecting through the magic communication network,” Kamail’s body hummed with a soft blue glow, showing his good mood. “Using the Sleeper’s mental illusion techniques, we created a ‘connection interface’ for this device. It runs stably when linked to the magic network and protects the user’s consciousness.”

Pittman added, “I helped with that interface—luckily, my skills haven’t gotten rusty.”

Gawain knew exactly what Pittman meant by “craftsmanship,” but Amber was completely lost. “Craftsmanship? What craftsmanship? Old man, besides forging fakes and fortune-telling, what other skills do you have?”

“Don’t joke around. I’ve got plenty of skills,” Pittman waved her off, ignoring Amber’s words entirely. Then he pointed to the three “tubes” beneath the chair. “These are the new neural cords, made using the data you gave me. Honestly, if I ever get the chance, I want to meet the person who designed this. That’s a real talent—I never imagined artificial neural cords could actually be modified into a non-implantable form. Pulling that off takes more than just a flash of genius; it requires an intimate understanding of the nervous system and how neural cords function. To be honest, if someone like that joined our institute, they’d be far more valuable than working solo out there.”

“If someone has suffered the aftereffects of implanted neural cords for over a decade, they’d naturally gain an unparalleled understanding of how those cords work,” Gawain sighed. “Don’t worry—with this device, you’ll soon have the chance to meet the person who developed the non-implantable neural cords. But I doubt they’ll have much opportunity to join our research system—their tasks over there are no less demanding than yours.”

(End of chapter)