Chapter 751: Growth
No matter what changes had taken place regarding the Stormlord’s divine seat, it was clear that Gawain couldn’t get any answers from the deep-sea harmony god before him, who was idly flicking the tip of his tail.
In fact, it seemed the entire merfolk race was still in a state of confusion.
He pinched his chin, leaned back in his high-backed chair, and let his restless thoughts drift.
The news brought by Tyr stirred an irresistible impulse within him—a desire to journey to the deep sea, to the far side of the Endless Ocean, to see the merfolk’s realm with his own eyes, or even to visit the Stormlord’s corpse and verify some of his own suspicions.
But he couldn’t.
Not only because he couldn’t simply abandon the newly established empire, but also because the current Cecil Empire lacked the maritime technology to cross the Endless Ocean.
And speaking of “maritime technology,” Gawain couldn’t help but recall another troubling issue: the Cecil Empire had no suitable seaport.
Most of the empire’s territory was inland. The southern, eastern, and western regions had no coastline at all. The only coastal area lay far to the extreme north, beyond the mountain ranges of the Northern Territories—a region undeveloped for centuries due to harsh climate, impassable mountains, and the inherent dangers of the sea.
But that land couldn’t remain abandoned forever.
Gawain lifted his gaze, eyes passing over Tyr’s swaying tail tip to the large map of the continent nearby.
Beyond the northern mountains of Ansu, the coastline to the far north was not empty.
Across a narrow strait lay a massive island, home to the Violet Kingdom—the fabled land of mages. To its east, the territory of the Holy Dragon Principality jutted out from the Loren continent, shaped somewhat like a horse’s head, curving westward into a peninsula whose tip faced the Northern Mountains.
In the old Ansu era, northern nations were synonymous with mystery and remoteness. The feudal dynasty’s isolation, combined with poor transportation, meant contact between northern countries was minimal. Border nobles maintained basic exchanges, supplemented by a few merchant caravans—this was the extent of “international activity” in those days.
Take the Violet Kingdom, for example. That enigmatic land of mages was separated from Ansu by only a narrow “Northern Strait,” a safe zone of the Endless Ocean free from storms and magical turbulence. Yet there were no regular “flights” between the two. Exchanges depended on a handful of adventurous captains running limited “private voyages,” or on extraordinary individuals crossing the sea directly.
The Holy Dragon Principality was somewhat better off, connected to the Cecil Empire by land. But it was even more secretive and conservative than the Violet Kingdom. Despite the land connection, few foreigners from the Principality were seen within old Ansu territory—though occasionally, visiting mages from the Violet Kingdom could be found among the various magical organizations in the capital.
Most of those mages crossed the strait using their supernatural powers; a few came by private ship.
That was the norm in the old days.
But in Gawain’s new order, with the upcoming boom in international trade, study abroad, and the northern continent’s transportation network, this situation would inevitably change.
He had already begun laying railways in the western Ogure tribal lands and planned to open the tightly sealed gates of the Holy Dragon Principality. The Violet Kingdom, too, was a target for Cecil’s trade activities—he intended to bring it into the “Cecil Settlement Zone.”
Magitek trains could solve land transportation issues, but reopening the seven-century-old Northern Continent maritime route was another challenge Gawain had to face.
Even without considering the Settlement Zone plan or the need to connect nations by sea, mastering the ocean was a step the Cecil Empire had to take.
People couldn’t remain confined to land forever. Besides, the presence of merfolk and dragons constantly reminded Gawain—this world was vast and full of unknowns.
…
“The world outside is huge!”
Byron sat at the dining table at home, wearing an exaggerated expression as he spoke to the girl across from him. A crumb of bread clung to the corner of his mouth. His tone was proud, tinged with a hint of boasting.
“From the Rock heading north, following the Gorgon River all the way to the old capital, the plains there look nothing like the southern lands…
“At the time, I was busy fighting. Monsters were everywhere on the east bank, so I commanded the warships to blast them with cannonballs and beams. You’ve seen those cannons on the training grounds, right? The main guns on my ship are even bigger…
“Saint Suniel has tall walls, and outside them are bastions even higher than those in Tansan and Kant. I saw the Cecil flag raised there with my own eyes… Don’t believe what your Uncle Philip says—I was really there. Though the flagship was a bit far from the walls, I could still see it…”
The girl across the table smiled faintly, leaned forward, and flicked the bread crumbs from Byron’s mouth with her finger, making a small “oof” sound.
A gentle reprimand.
More than four years had passed. The once skinny, plain little mute girl had grown into a graceful young lady. Good nutrition and training under her knight father’s guidance had helped Pea shoot up in height. Her previously rough, unhealthy skin was now rosy and smooth, and her tangled, dull hair now fell softly over her shoulders. Sitting there, she was almost unrecognizable from before.
Yet she still loved listening to Byron’s embellished, self-aggrandizing stories just as much as ever.
“Oh, it’s nothing—no need to fuss over details at home,” Byron waved off casually. “I finally got a day off… By the way, Pea, how did you do on your graduation exams last week?”
Pea smiled proudly, reached for a writing slate nearby, and quickly scribbled a string of words, showing it to her foster father.
“Overall… A+.”
“Not bad at all,” Byron said, slapping his thigh happily. Rubbing his leg, he looked at his foster daughter. “What reward do you want?”
Pea thought for a moment, erased the slate, and wrote another line:
“Everyone comes home safe from now on.”
Byron stared at the slate, paused, then burst out laughing.
“Haha, you don’t need to worry about me. I might not be good at much, but I’m pretty good at staying alive. Your Uncle Philip, though—he’s still stuck at Longwind Fortress, grumbling as he helps build defenses. That guy’s always acting like he’s ready to die heroically. He’ll probably go before I do…”
Byron paused, scratched his chin. “Oh, I just remembered—you’ve finished your general studies at the academy, right? Next up is the Imperial Academy. Have you decided which department to apply to?”
Pea shook her head slowly.
“No worries, take your time. The winter enrollment season is over anyway, and you’re not even an adult yet. You can decide next spring,” Byron said casually. Then he remembered something else. “By the way, you said you were going to South Street with two friends today, right?”
Pea nodded, picked up her slate, and wrote a few lines:
“A new ‘Filmworks Company’ opened south of the Mage District, recruiting people with magitek knowledge.
“Paffy, Bobby, and I agreed to do some part-time work there.
“We’ll go during the day and come home at night.”
“I’ve heard of that company,” Byron nodded. “The Emperor approved it, and it has strong support from the Administration Office. Some heirs from the Northern and Western Territories are among the founders, so it seems reliable. Go ahead, just be careful and don’t stay out too late—the observatory says it might snow tonight.”
Pea smiled, got up to change into her going-out clothes, grabbed her writing slate, and pushed open the door to leave.
The house fell silent, with only Byron left at the dining table.
The imperial navy commander sat there, lost in thought for a moment, then chuckled to himself.
“Finally got a day off, but staying home feels strange…
“Philip’s guarding the border, the army’s holding things down elsewhere, and the fleet’s been pretty idle these past two months…
“Tch, when did I get so laid-back?”
Muttering to himself, Byron stood to head upstairs for a nap. But just as he got up, the bell hanging by the entrance jingled.
He hurried to the door, muttering, “Forgot something? I told you—”
His words cut off. Standing there was not Pea, but a bent, scruffy old man who looked like a dodgy medicine peddler.
Byron thought for a moment, stepped back, and was about to close the door. “No one’s home. Come back tomorrow.”
“Don’t, don’t, don’t. I know you’re joking,” Pittman waved his hand and, surprisingly agile, slipped inside. “I just saw Pea leave, figured you’d be alone, so I came to check on you.”
Byron narrowed his eyes at the little old man. “Observing a middle-aged bachelor sulking all day in the dining room after his only foster daughter leaves?”
Pittman looked surprised. “I haven’t even said anything yet—how did you jump to that conclusion?”
Byron stared at Pittman but didn’t bother arguing further.
This old fellow was almost as shameless and stubborn as he was. In that regard, he was far less entertaining than Philip, who at least took the bait and fell into traps.
Sighing, Byron closed the door and said to Pittman, who was already picking at some snacks on the table, “Since you’re here, I do have something to ask.”
Without looking up, Pittman replied casually, “About Pea’s speech problem, right?”
“Looks like you really came on business today,” Byron said, walking over. “Here’s the thing—Pea still can’t speak, but didn’t you say the bioengineering tech your team dug up from the ‘End of All Things’ nest could cure her?”
“Let me ask you something first,” Pittman finally looked up, crumbs on his beard. “Has her tongue grown back?”
“…Yes, it has. And she’s been awkward with it for several days now.”
“So, from the perspective of flesh regeneration, my team has succeeded. Pea is physiologically a healthy girl now. She has a tongue, vocal cords, and intact nerves—you know all this.”
“But she still can’t speak,” Byron stared at Pittman, his expression grave. “What’s going on?”
Pittman was silent for a moment before answering, “She had her tongue cut out for a full six years… Do you understand what that means?”
Byron’s face darkened.
“Her brain has already forgotten how to control her vocal organs,” Pittman said calmly. “Although her tongue has been reconstructed, her language ability has regressed to that of an infant. That’s our conclusion.”
“But it can still be retrained, right?” Byron asked hopefully. “Like teaching a baby to speak—she might be slow, but she can learn from scratch…”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Pittman shook his head. “I’ve seen similar cases. Rehabilitation isn’t just about effort; sometimes it depends on luck. There are many subtle, inexplicable factors that affect the outcome. Pea might regain the ability to speak, but if she has any psychological trauma, or if her brain stubbornly refuses to open up, she might never speak again… Unfortunately, even with our advanced biotech, we don’t have much research on these issues.”
Byron frowned, locking eyes with Pittman. “You didn’t come to me just to deliver this discouraging news, did you?”
“Of course not,” Pittman smiled faintly. “Actually, we’ve recently developed some new tech in our field… I think it might have some effect on Pea.”
(Recommended a relatively fresh read: I Got Stronger Even After Death. The title alone hints at a wildly imaginative story.
Synopsis in one line: They say sacrificing hair makes you stronger, but Marsha seems to have sacrificed her very life.
In short, it’s a divine power-up story.)
(End of chapter)