Chapter 603: Daily Life on the Edge of the Wasteland

Inside the camp built by the Typhon people, the audience hall of the palace—shaped by magic and adorned with tapestries, oil paintings, and murals—was filled with a solemn atmosphere. High King Gawain and Empress Rosetta Augustus sat opposite each other at a grand golden oak table, jointly reviewing the documents laid out before them. Knights stood respectfully behind their respective lords, their expressions grave as they witnessed the proceedings.

Gawain’s gaze briefly flicked to Rosetta Augustus. The dark-haired Typhon sovereign was deeply focused on the manuscript in her hands. He withdrew his eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes swept slowly over the documents before him.

Opening trade routes, establishing commercial outposts, the Duchy of Cecil pledged to actively promote road construction in the eastern White Sand Hills, laying down railways. Should negotiations with Ansu’s eastern border falter, roads would be developed on the small plains north of the Dark Mountains—an area widely recognized as a “no man’s land,” thus falling under the “permanent development rights” clause, with any additional costs borne by the Duchy of Cecil…

The mutually agreed low tax rates and merchant incentives…

The first phase of cotton textile procurement from Typhon, including undyed cotton cloth, mid-grade colored fabrics, and premium-grade textiles…

Orders for alchemical potions and synthetic crystals from Typhon…

Purchase orders for “magical vehicles” from Typhon, along with intentions to acquire “magitek trains”—formal contracts to take effect only after Typhon dispatches observers to study the train concepts and prototypes, and after Rosetta Augustus personally signs off…

Beyond these, a series of long-term trade clauses and mutual commitments to sincerity and contract fidelity.

As his eyes reached the end of the documents, Gawain looked up with a smile and met the gaze of the Typhon emperor across the table. “This will be a historic moment. Perhaps we are pioneering a whole new concept of trade, giving rise to countless new industries and professions. The prosperity of our nations and the wealth of our people will stem from this—and it all begins on these few thin sheets of paper.”

“Thin paper, heavy contracts,” Rosetta quoted a Typhon proverb with a slight smile. “Honestly, I never imagined we’d sign such an agreement under these circumstances—on the edge of the wasteland, during an impromptu meeting. But I know the Ansu have a saying: seize the opportunity as if seizing life itself. I think we’ve just done exactly that.”

The two leaders, each representing their own power, exchanged a knowing smile. Then, in the presence of their witnesses, they swapped the documents, signing their names and stamping their respective seals.

A high-ranking mage clad in a starry robe approached the table. Before him floated two smooth, polished plates of mythril, shimmering with countless glowing runes that danced and intertwined as if containing infinite secrets and knowledge.

According to the protocols of the supernatural world, when two transcendent beings—representatives of two powers—sign such a significant contract, it must be recorded and backed up magically for permanence and symbolism. If necessary, they should also invoke their deities to witness the pact.

However, aside from church saints capable of invoking divine oracles, the binding power of “divine witness” is usually limited—more symbolic than absolute.

“Would you like to request a specific deity to witness this?” Rosetta asked calmly, glancing at Gawain.

At that moment, Gawain recalled historical records: he himself had no clear religious faith.

“The gods are busy. Let’s not trouble them with this,” Gawain smiled and countered, “What do you think?”

“The gods are indeed busy…” Rosetta nodded slightly, smiling. “Then let our ancestors and the Lady of Mysteries, Mylmina, bear witness.”

The Lady of Mysteries, Mylmina—the goddess of magic—rules over the arcane and is regarded as the witness to all secrets and hidden knowledge. When contracts lack a specific divine witness, she is often considered the “natural witness.” Merchants typically invoke Baofar, the god of commerce, as a natural witness for purely commercial contracts. But since Baofar’s domain is limited to fairness and fulfillment of commercial terms, he is less suitable for complex political or state-level agreements like today’s.

This was theological knowledge. Gawain did not believe in gods, but he understood.

The high mage conducting the ceremony traced the symbol of the Lady of Mysteries on the two mythril plates. Rosetta placed her hand on the document she had just signed and swore an oath in the name of the Augustus family ancestors. Gawain did the same, invoking the ancestors of the Cecil family—those even older than hers.

Finally, under the magic ritual’s power, the contents of the documents were imprinted onto the mythril plates, blessed and solidified by elemental forces.

For ordinary people and most lesser transcendent beings, such magically infused contracts carry real power. Breach of contract would undoubtedly trigger magical backlash, even divine punishment. But for figures like Gawain and Rosetta, who wield immense power themselves, and since the contract was signed on behalf of their nations, the ritual magic’s binding force was mostly ceremonial.

Even the peace treaty signed between Francis II and Rosetta Augustus at the Treaty Fortress was no different.

Everyone present understood this well.

After storing the original contracts and the “mythril oath plates,” Gawain and Rosetta clasped hands, their eyes meeting with matching smiles. In unison, they declared, “For peace and prosperity.”

The knights and guards surrounding the table erupted into applause, celebrating this momentous occasion.

Just then, a sudden, urgent bell tolled outside the palace, abruptly cutting short the customary post-signing pleasantries.

A familiar feeling stirred deep within Gawain. Rosetta tilted her head, listening to the bell’s rhythm, then frowned slightly and shook her head. “Looks like even the monsters roaming the wasteland want to witness this special moment—they’re arriving earlier than usual.”

At that moment, a Typhon knight clad in black armor burst into the hall, shouting a report: “Your Majesty! Mutants approaching the defense line! Approximately two hundred, from the southwest!”

Rosetta nodded slightly. “Understood. Respond as usual.”

She glanced at Gawain. “If you’re interested, we can go up to the walls and take a look.”

“Of course,” Gawain replied immediately.

In the safe heartlands of the kingdom, mutant attacks were the stuff of bard tales—thrilling stories embroidered with exaggeration and romanticized clichés of knights rescuing princesses. But beyond the Black Forest, on the wasteland’s frontier, mutant and monster assaults were an everyday reality.

On the southwestern section of the Typhon camp’s walls, soldiers clad in black armor and battle mages in robes stood ready.

Massive ballistae were positioned between battlements, their mechanisms glowing faintly with magical energy. Rune stones shimmered behind the walls, their stored power being channeled by the mages. Soldiers adjusted the ballistae’s angles while mages coordinated the rune stones’ magic, maintaining their own focus. Heavily armored warriors in specially forged steel plate formed battle formations along the walls—groups of three: one shield-bearer in front, a steel spear-wielder behind, and a swordsman ready to flank or support.

Gawain and Rosetta ascended the walls together. Amber scanned the distance, spotting a horde of red-hued monsters shrouded in ominous smoke surging across the corrupted plains beyond the grand walls to the southeast. The earth beneath them was increasingly blighted.

Gawain’s attention was drawn to the disciplined Typhon soldiers—their ballistae, their battle rune stones, and their distinctive three-man formations.

Facing mutants whose innate abilities far surpassed ordinary humans, these Typhon soldiers and mages remained remarkably composed. Clearly, they had faced such situations many times before. The unique three-man formation was an effective countermeasure—at least by cold weapon standards.

The shield-bearer could hold off the mutant’s assault briefly, giving the spearman a chance to strike critical blows at obvious targets. The swordsman could flank the mutant’s weak points or support the shield-bearer if overwhelmed. These triads were spaced out along the walls, ensuring that even if many mutants climbed up, they could be delayed, divided, and surrounded, gradually eliminated with mutual support.

All soldiers carried spare heavy crossbows. Though these weapons inflicted limited damage on mutants, their sheer volume, combined with the large ballistae and the mages’ spells, posed a serious threat to monsters relying on ranged magic.

Such a force would be formidable even against human foes. With sufficient numbers and the aid of city-level shields and enough battle mages, they could pose a significant threat to Cecil’s magitek legions.

As Gawain observed and contemplated, the mutants entered Typhon’s attack range.

At the commander’s order, battle erupted instantly.

The ballistae, charged with power, thundered with deep booms. Massive bolts, capable of severely wounding low-level transcendent knights, flew swiftly, tearing through the mutant ranks in clouds of blood. Amid the relentless volley of bolts, mages unleashed fireballs, lightning, and ice spells. The robed Typhon mages stood by the rune stones behind the walls, drawing on extra magical energy to maintain a continuous barrage of deadly attacks on the monsters’ heads. Whenever a mage’s concentration faltered, a backup caster immediately took their place, ensuring uninterrupted magical suppression.

On the distant plains, the crimson monsters howled and raved, falling one by one. Yet some, fueled by fierce vitality, pressed onward. A few raised their hands high, forming terrifying arrows of corruptive energy that, after a brief delay, blasted fiercely toward the Typhon camp.

A faint, shimmering magical shield rose from the city walls, blocking the corrupting energy of the aberrations. As the shield trembled ever so slightly, the distance between attacker and defender shrank further. The Typhon soldiers wielding heavy crossbows as secondary weapons immediately cocked their bows, and bolts enchanted with holy water and other blessings rained down like a storm upon the remaining monsters.

It seemed the invaders couldn’t even scale the walls. The Typhon “three-man battle formation” didn’t even get the chance to raise their shields or draw their swords—after all, there were only a few hundred of these creatures. Given how close this was to the ruins of Gondor, this was already a relatively “easy and comfortable” assault.

Gawain and Rosetta August quietly stood atop the walls, watching as the desecrating, corrupt beasts were one by one reduced to nothing but scattered remains on the plains, quickly evaporating and dissipating. Neither of them showed any intention of taking action themselves, and those around them remained calm and composed.

This was just a “routine” level attack. On this land, such raids happened every few days. Whether Typhon or Ansu, everyone had long since grown accustomed to it.

As he watched the monsters being gradually wiped out, a sudden instinct stirred within Gawain. He lifted his gaze to Rosetta August standing beside him.

The Typhon emperor was quietly staring into the distance. His eyes had already passed beyond the battlefield, beyond the nearly destroyed aberrations. He was fixed on the direction of the Gondor wastelands, unmoving, unwavering.

His gaze was deep and restrained, his entire presence like a heavy, solemn obsidian statue.

(End of chapter)