Chapter 777: Confusion Brought by Memories

Gawain was almost certain that those shadowy figures shrouded in black mist appearing in the fragmented memories—the ones who had once set sail alongside Gawain Cecil—were a group of Stormborn cultists who had not yet been completely consumed by madness and fanaticism.

Back then, they were still called “Storm Priests.”

This fit perfectly with his earlier reasoning: seven centuries ago, when all advanced human magical technologies had failed, the only ones capable of aiding Gawain Cecil in that mysterious voyage would have been the Storm Priests, masters of various oceanic divine arts.

Judging by the timeline, when Gawain embarked on that voyage, the three major sects had likely already completed their ritual atop Ancestor’s Peak and had descended into frenzy.

So who had preserved the sanity of some Stormborn followers, enabling them to complete Gawain Cecil’s secret expedition?

The lantern…

Only one name came to Gawain’s mind: Selina Gelph.

The image of that lantern in his memory was vague, yet it carried a strong sense of familiarity and warmth—an impression originating from Gawain Cecil himself, indicating that the symbol of the “lantern” had left a deep mark in his recollections. Selina Gelph’s figure was absent from the small boat, but since the lantern hung at the prow… perhaps it symbolized that Selina’s “power” accompanied Gawain Cecil in some surreal form.

Rubbing his temple, Gawain recalled a piece of intelligence Daniel had passed to him earlier—

Though the exact time and circumstances of Selina Gelph’s death were unclear, records accessible to archbishops and high priests confirmed that the “Dream Saintess” died shortly after the Ancestor’s Peak ritual. She had become a martyr, sacrificing her life to protect a large number of Dream Church clerics and believers.

Without her martyrdom, the remnants of the “Sleepers” order might never have survived: the Dream Church specialized in psychic powers, and due to the nature of their divine arts, their connection to the gods was more intimate and direct. Moreover, Meigore III was the first to enter the divine realm and confront the gods face-to-face, so the Dream Church members suffered far more severe spiritual shocks than the other two sects.

Since Selina had protected most of the Dream Church’s members, it was plausible that if she had any strength left, she might have “incidentally” sheltered some Storm Priests as well.

The exact timing of Gawain Cecil’s voyage was uncertain, but it definitely took place after the establishment of the Ansu Kingdom, when the southern defenses were stable and the rear secure.

By then, Selina Gelph had likely already died a martyr. The only thing that appeared in the memory was that lantern, without Selina’s physical presence—perhaps because Selina herself had not appeared before Gawain Cecil at that time.

She had protected the expedition in the form of a spirit, and the lantern was probably just a symbolic impression lingering in Gawain Cecil’s subconscious.

Gawain’s eyes darkened with thought: if this was true, then things became very interesting.

He had been searching for clues about that mysterious voyage, looking for records left by those who sailed with Gawain Cecil or their descendants, but had found nothing. He had assumed those companions had been completely erased over seven centuries, their legacy severed. But now it seemed the greatest witness was still “alive”—living within the spiritual network.

Did Selina Gelph know the secrets of that time? If she did… did she know about the connection between Gawain Cecil and Gawain? About the possible “soul bargain”?

Gawain Cecil had made a soul transaction during that voyage. If Selina had truly accompanied the ship in some form, she would surely know something.

She probably knew long ago that the soul inside Gawain Cecil had been replaced—long before the term “Extradimensional Wanderer” surfaced, even before Gawain rose from his coffin.

Yet, according to intelligence from within the Sleepers order, she never showed any sign of this knowledge. She acted as if completely unaware, calling Gawain the “Extradimensional Wanderer” along with the other cultists… Was this deliberate? To conceal something? Or was she waiting for something?

Moreover, in the final fragment of memory, a Storm Priest said, “Anyway, everyone will forget soon enough.” Gawain guessed that this memory of the voyage had been sealed by Selina herself: as the most powerful extraordinary soul and dream domain expert after Meigore III, she was fully capable of doing so.

But why did she seal this memory? And it seemed she sealed the memories of every member of the expedition—what risks would preserving this memory pose? A leak? A leak to whom? Who could glean these secrets from the memories of a legendary figure?

Gawain had vague suspicions but lacked evidence to take them seriously.

Victoria waited patiently across from him, knowing he was deep in thought about something important. Interrupting now would be unwise.

Finally, Gawain broke the silence.

“The harbor at the border between the Holy Dragon Principality and the Empire’s northeast—do we currently control it?”

Though the memory of the voyage was sealed, fragments had surfaced from the darkness, triggered by Victoria Wilde’s mention of that harbor. To further investigate this mysterious past and for practical maritime needs, Gawain needed to understand the current situation there.

After all, seven centuries had passed. The country had endured two civil wars, upheavals beyond measure. A small, remote harbor on the frontier might no longer be what it once was.

“Nominally… it’s still Imperial territory,” Victoria nodded. “But it’s been neglected for years. As of the last year of the Ansu calendar, only a few dilapidated villages remain. The harbor officially belongs to a poor viscountcy, which has since been reassigned to the Basul province.”

“Nominally,” Gawain sighed, feeling both relief and a growing sense of urgency.

The Empire’s overall situation was stabilizing, but the aftermath of the wars still needed healing.

Border regions were volatile; disputed areas could be encroached upon by neighbors, or disputes might arise during border surveys and fortification efforts.

If trouble broke out here, it would be a return to “ancient times.”

“We’ll build a harbor at Dragoncall Bay as a foothold for future ocean exploration,” Gawain said slowly, looking at Victoria. “At the same time, the northern coastline port project remains unchanged. We’ll establish the ‘North Port’ to restart the northern circumnavigation route.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Gawain thought a moment and added, “The harbor at Dragoncall Bay must be built to military standards. We’ll also add facilities for testing ocean-going warships…”

Victoria raised her eyes. “Warships… magical warships designed for naval combat?”

“Yes,” Gawain nodded, a hint of emotion in his voice. “We’re not the only ones eyeing the seas. Typhon has a far longer, better coastline than Cecil, with many natural harbors and offshore resources. Sooner or later, they’ll turn their gaze to the ocean. Maybe they already have.”

Victoria’s usually impassive face shifted slightly.

A sense of urgency welled up.

After giving his orders, Gawain’s thoughts drifted:

Dragoncall Bay was still Imperial territory, but its location made it sensitive between the Holy Dragon Principality and the Empire.

Establishing a military port, large R&D facilities, even stationing troops and warships there would not go unnoticed.

It seemed wise to use this diplomatic opportunity to strengthen ties with the Holy Dragon Principality.

Victoria’s good news had come just in time.

…

A chaotic darkness seemed to envelop the entire world. Above a flat, colorless plain, a woman in a white dress holding a lantern stood silently in midair, gazing at a deserted town lying dormant in the night.

This was the “Imaginary Zone” outside the Dream City—a region unmarked on the spiritual network, unreachable by direct address. Ordinary Dream City residents (the Sleepers) couldn’t even perceive this area without authorization—even if they stood where Selina Gelph now was, all they would see was a void of darkness.

This unique nature of the Imaginary Zone effectively prevented contamination from spreading.

But the eerie town was beyond imagination—it seemed to possess thought and reason, actively seeking ways to break through the blockade, trying to infiltrate the core of the spiritual network.

After a long, quiet watch, Selina suddenly turned her head toward the dim sky beside her.

A man in a white robe, refined and scholarly in demeanor, materialized from the void.

“Archpriestess Selina, are you still personally monitoring this area?”

“No one is better suited for this task—the ghosts in the network don’t need rest,” Selina nodded slightly to Yuri. “Has something happened?”

“The preparations for the second exploration are complete. I’m here to ask about the timing of the next operation.”

“Next week, day nine,” Selina replied.

“I understand,” Archbishop Yuri nodded, then his gaze followed Selina’s to the distant deserted town. “Any changes in that phantom town?”

“As always, quiet and empty, as if time itself is frozen,” Selina said calmly. “The church there hasn’t reappeared, and no bell has rung—according to the cleric inside the church, the bell should have rung yesterday.”

Yuri speculated, “Perhaps… it only ‘comes alive’ when we enter the town.”

Selina was silent for a moment, then asked, “Any changes in Sandbox One?”

“No changes. No progress.”

“…No news is good news.”

“Indeed,” Yuri sighed, then took a half step back, his figure gradually fading. “I’ll return now. The sandbox control team still has work.”

“Safe travels.”

After Yuri’s presence vanished, Selina lowered her head, staring quietly at the lantern in her hand for a long time.

After what seemed like an eternity, she softly broke the silence as if speaking to herself:

“Could you be the last hope…?”

…

A cold wind swept over the hills southeast of Winterwolf Castle. The biting chill of late winter was intimidating—even the soldiers stationed year-round in this northern fortress couldn’t help but shiver when the wind blew.

Yet despite the cold, sentries inside and outside the main keep stood as straight as possible, braving the wind to maintain the dignity and spirit of the Imperial Army.

Because a special guest was visiting this border stronghold.

Inside the great hall of the castle, Andersa Wendel stood rigidly before the steps. Her long silver-gray hair framed a face set with steely silver-gray eyes, filled with solemn resolve. Clad in a woman’s armor and bearing the family’s heirloom sword at her waist, she was the very image of steadfast duty.

Before her stood a delegation from the imperial capital, Oldern. Leading them was a striking woman dressed in an elaborate, elegant black court gown. Her skin was pale and flawless, her tall figure graceful. Her straight black hair fell to her waist, adorned with delicate golden chains inlaid with tiny rubies that shimmered between the strands. Her deep, liquid-like eyes reflected Andersa’s determined expression.

Though a faint smile played on the woman’s lips, an air of calm nobility radiated from her, commanding respect from all around while maintaining an almost untouchable distance.

“Princess Mathilda,” Andersa said, bowing deeply before this imperial rose, “welcome to Winterwolf Castle.

“Beyond this point lies the land of the Cecilians.”

(End of chapter)