Chapter 670: On the Edge of the Whirlpool
Eastern Territory, White Sand Hills, Mining Station.
A makeshift watchtower stood atop a nearby rise overlooking the platform, where vigilant sentries and armored vehicles guarded the station. At Platform One, a special freight train was stationed. The rear half consisted of several open flatbed cars—some already piled high with cargo, while the single empty flatbed in the middle awaited loading.
Amid the low hum of machinery, a large tractor, guided by a spotter, rolled onto the elevated loading dock. The heavy pallet it towed was covered by a massive tarp, concealing its contents. Judging by its enormous size and vague shape beneath the cover, it was clearly no ordinary ore or machinery.
On the platform, Pittman watched the final stages of the cargo transfer. The hoist’s hook had latched onto the pallet behind the tractor, while engineers energized the weight-reducing runes on the pallet. Half the escorting soldiers had already boarded the train, and two officers led the rest in inspecting every car to ensure nothing was left to chance.
Beside Pittman, Holm, the head of White Sand Mining, clicked his tongue. “Honestly, this might be the one cargo in the world no one would dare try to steal…”
“But we still have to be on high alert,” said a young female knight with a single ponytail, a fit figure, and a commanding presence. Her tone was serious. “There will always be madmen like the End of All Things cultists. Especially since the cargo has to be transferred mid-journey, we can’t be too careful.”
Pittman smiled and glanced at the knight. “Miss Margarita, you don’t have to be so tense all the time—men don’t like ladies who are as stiff as stone.”
Margarita’s expression remained stern. “I am a knight first, a woman second.”
“…Sounds like Philip,” Pittman muttered under his breath, “No fun to talk to.”
Margarita had just arrived in the White Sand region today, tasked with escorting this crucial cargo all the way to Saint Suniel. It would be a long journey. Though advanced transport had shortened travel times, the limited reach of the mana-powered rail meant she and her team would first take the train to the Grant region, then transfer—cargo and all—onto a freight ship. They would travel by water through Cecil, Kant, and the Rock region, cross the entire Holy Spirit Plain, and finally reach Saint Suniel. The route was far from short.
Her mission was a vital part of the emperor’s coronation.
The pressure of the task, combined with her personality, made Margarita always seem a bit tense. For Pittman, talking to someone like her was rather dull.
His whispered grumble was caught entirely by Margarita’s keen ears. She turned to him, serious as ever. “Master, if my manner of speaking displeases you, I apologize—I’m not a very entertaining person. We’ll be working together for quite some time; I’ll try not to affect your mood.”
“No, no, no, it’s worse when you say it like that… That’s even more Philip-like,” Pittman waved his hands emphatically, then sighed. “But come to think of it, there aren’t many ‘standard’ knights like you left in the Cecil Legion. Most knights promoted on the battlefield don’t have time to learn your kind of stuff…”
“Those battlefield-promoted knights deserve respect,” Margarita said earnestly. “Their loyalty and courage earn their titles. I once heard General Philip say this is a time of upheaval—old ways will be discarded, new ones will replace them. That’s inevitable. As for the ‘old ways’ you mentioned… some parts may be outdated, but loyalty and responsibility are always necessary. They will continue in the new generation of knights.”
Pittman appraised Margarita quietly, then sighed softly. “Young lady, you must be proud of your status, right?”
Margarita straightened, offering a modest smile. “Many think being a knight just means good birth, but I believe proving yourself worthy through effort is something to be truly proud of.”
She didn’t hide her pride but expressed it with restraint—fitting the knightly code. A proper knight must not deny or conceal their virtues; even humility requires a measured display of one’s strengths.
Hearing this, Pittman stared at her for a moment, his usual playful demeanor fading. He seemed lost in thought, as if suddenly caught in a memory.
Margarita blinked in confusion, glanced down at herself to check her posture, then asked, “Master? Did I say something wrong?”
“No… I just remembered an old friend,” Pittman said softly, sighing. “Years ago, when I first met him, he said something similar.”
“You knew a knight when you were young?” Margarita’s curiosity and hope sparked. “Someone who said similar things… I’d like to meet him. He must have been a respectable man.”
“Too bad he never got to meet a beautiful lady like you. He died many years ago,” Pittman shook his head. “And he only said similar things—personality-wise, he wasn’t very serious. Even if he were alive today, don’t expect him to be an old man version of Philip—he was more like Byron.”
Margarita ignored the teasing and pursed her lips in regret. “He’s gone… I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“It’s fine… that was a long time ago. An old man like me won’t hold it against you,” Pittman smiled wryly, then turned to watch the loading. He sighed deeply. “But more than those who have died… it’s the living that are truly troubling.”
The clank of hinges echoed nearby as the weight-reduced cargo was settled into the train’s middle flatbed. Soldiers pried the locks on the flatbed, securing the pallet tightly to the train chassis.
A breeze swept in from the plains, lifting a corner of the tarp. For a fleeting moment, the glimpse of a massive skull’s structure flashed through the gap.
A whistle blew on the platform. The commander ordered the soldiers to assemble and the remaining personnel to board.
“The Age of the Empire… the thing that terrified that man half his life is finally gone.”
Pittman muttered softly as he strode toward his carriage.
Several apprentices immediately stepped forward, taking the old druid’s staff and supporting his frail, stooped frame.
Margarita stood still, watching the old druid’s retreating figure with a hint of puzzlement. But she quickly set aside such unrelated thoughts. The knight from Kant adjusted her uniform, then turned to Holm. “Mr. Holm, we’re ready to depart—thank you for your assistance. I wish you success in your upcoming tasks.”
Holm smiled faintly, doffing his hat. “Safe travels, Miss Knight.”
With a sharp whistle and the low hum of runes, the massive freight train slowly pulled away, accelerating westward along the platform.
Holm watched the special “cargo” disappear before turning to leave the station.
He still had much to do—
The sampling of the false god’s remains was complete. Valuable experimental specimens had been sent back to Cecil City in batches days ago. The remaining flesh and bones were thoroughly dissected. The skull would be transported to Saint Suniel as an offering to the emperor. The rest of the skeletal remains would be sent south, divided among several research facilities and secret warehouses for long-term study.
When he first learned the truth behind those remains, the former slave-turned-mining chief had felt a chill run down his spine. He spent sleepless nights after returning to the mine. But after seeing the dissected flesh and bones, his fear faded, replaced by a deep sense of awe—
The power of gods stolen by humans, replicated by humans, and ultimately destroyed by humans. This world… was truly on the brink of upheaval.
As a man who didn’t believe in gods, Holm now had to deal with the site left behind after the false god’s body was removed.
An assistant in a black short jacket approached. “Sir, did the superiors say how to handle that huge pit?”
After the false god’s body was taken away, a massive sinkhole had opened between the mine and the river. Its size was so vast it posed a headache. Filling it in was impossible, but no one could think of a use for it either.
“We’ll first survey the soil and terrain around the pit. Tomorrow, Mr. Bruce will lead the engineering team here,” Holm nodded. “The administration has plans—to divert the Whitewater River into the pit, creating an artificial lake. It’ll make water access easier for the mine, and residential areas can be built around it. The Eastern Territory is ours now; we no longer need to consider the development agreement with the Loren family. It’s time to expand this mining area.”
The assistant’s eyes widened in surprise. “An artificial lake?”
“Yes. It even has a name—White Sand Lake,” Holm glanced toward the excavation site and shrugged. “I thought it’d take three to five more years of blasting to make a lake here. Didn’t expect our friends from the deep sea to help us dig a pit ahead of schedule…”
…
Gentle waves lapped the shore, brushing against the massive alloy barrier lining the beach. Bright sunlight bathed the white sand, starships, rocks, watchtowers, and the scattered deep-sea friends among them.
The deep-sea friends sprawled across the beach, as lazy as the afternoon sun.
Thousands of merfolk lay sunbathing on the sand—a spectacular sight.
Amid this languid atmosphere, a siren’s voice echoed from speakers scattered along the beach: “Thirty minutes up. Everyone, flip over!”
A few sirens lifted their heads, a handful stretched, then slapped their tails on the sand and flipped over. But most didn’t even bother to raise their heads, simply basking in the sun’s warmth, too lazy even to turn.
The siren giving the broadcast fell silent—apparently too lazy to remind them again.
On the engine platform at the rear of the starship, which now extended onto the land, the Sea Witch Queen Petia glanced down at the scene on the beach. Her long serpentine tail swayed gently as she said, “Dividing the sisters into three groups to feed in shifts was the right call… The impurities mixed in with the new food require more energy to filter and purify. They amplify the ‘inertial effect’ we experience after eating.”
For the sea witches, basking in the sun after a full meal wasn’t laziness—it was a necessary physiological process. To convert those unfamiliar energies and substances, they had to rely on the magical radiation from the giant sun, since they themselves lacked the innate ability to process such energies.
In fact, even the act of sunbathing to convert energy and matter was a result of their hard adaptation and evolution after arriving in this world. Before coming here, the sea witches had no concept of “sunbathing” at all.
Their original homeworld had no sunlight—only endless oceans, and storms that raged ceaselessly with thunder, lightning, and howling winds.
“The impurities in the new food are indeed significant, but they provide us with precious energy supplements and entirely new samples of primal energy,” said a sea witch nearby, her long blue hair framing a face marked with prominent scales on her cheeks. “After practical testing, once we absorbed these new energy samples and underwent adaptive transformation, all the sisters showed varying degrees of improved adaptability to this world. Coupled with the pure arcane energy supplied by the iridescent technology, many sisters can now faintly perceive what is called ‘magic.’”
“Magic, huh…” Petia murmured softly, lowering her head and rubbing her fingers together.
A small cluster of arcane sparks flickered briefly and brightly at her slender fingertips.
“This world is hardly hospitable to sea witches, but finally… we can slowly begin to call it home.”
“As you say.”
“Hecate, when you next make contact, inform Tyr to elevate the human group ‘Cecil’ to Level Two Contact,” Petia instructed. “We would be glad to share the knowledge of the ocean with our friends on land—if they ever find the courage to challenge the seas.”
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(End of chapter)