Chapter 779: The Second Exploration
Changfeng Fortress Defense Line, Rail Hub No. 3.
With a crisp chime echoing across the platform, a massive, imposing iron-black steel train slowly rolled into the hub station, coming to a smooth stop beside the platform.
Barriers near the platform rose, merging seamlessly with the track’s own shields to block the biting winds sweeping across the plains. Flickering light and dark stripes projected onto the shield’s surface disrupted any prying eyes, effectively thwarting potential eagle-eyed magical surveillance from afar.
At both ends of the platform stood tall watchtowers manned by soldiers. Alongside the platform, dark bunkers protruded with the barrels of rail-accelerated cannons and scorching energy emitters peeking out. Fully armed troops patrolled every corner, and covert sentries—some visible, some hidden—turned the entire hub into a fortress bristling with weaponry.
“The Iron Throne—Worldly Serpent,” Mariland said from the platform, watching the heavily armed black train settle in. Technicians hurried forward to inspect the train, and a faint smile crossed his face. “With a second armored train reinforcing this defense line, the Changfeng Fortress’s defenses can finally breathe a little easier.”
“Even the Iron Throne Zero could use some downtime,” Philip, standing beside Mariland, smiled as well. His short golden hair gleamed beneath his knightly armor. “The overload damage from last year still hasn’t been fully repaired. Every time it accelerates, the rear’s second armory section shakes like it might jump off the tracks.”
He paused briefly, then continued, “Once these two standard armored trains are delivered, the heavy factories in the rear will temporarily shift their focus to civilian train production. The secondary factories in the Kant and Grant regions will handle the manufacture of those ‘downgraded armored trains’ you mentioned earlier. They should be able to produce those much faster than the Iron Throne.”
“Also, the higher-ups have finalized the design for these lighter armored trains. Corresponding to the Iron Throne, they’re named the ‘Iron Scepter.’ Since there will definitely be many more Iron Scepters than Iron Thrones, and they’re more prone to modifications and variants, they’ll likely only be assigned numbers rather than individual names—unless special circumstances arise.”
Mariland nodded thoughtfully as he listened. The construction of the Changfeng defense line had been progressing smoothly, easing the middle-aged knight’s burden considerably. Yet, as the pressure lessened on one side, he couldn’t help but face the changes on the other side of the border—the Winter Wolf Fortress’s transformation since last winter.
The “Wolf General,” once forced to retreat and recalled to Aldern for accountability, had long since returned. Not only that, she seemed unshaken by her previous defeat. She still firmly commanded the Winter Wolf Legion, controlled the entire defense line, and was actively strengthening Winter Wolf Fortress.
“That little Wolf General… is even more troublesome than I imagined,” Mariland frowned. “When she returned to Aldern last time, she must have brought back a lot of critical intelligence and secured substantial support. Now, Winter Wolf Fortress is seeing more and more magical vehicles and advanced machinery. The Typhon people are using them to build fortifications and reinforce the defense line. And it seems that Wolf General intends to use these new technologies to upgrade her troops—she’s never seen tanks, but she must have seen intelligence on them. With the Typhon’s magical foundation and that general’s sharp mind, they’ll find a tank alternative sooner or later.”
“Technological progress is inevitable,” Philip shook his head. “To quote His Majesty, the Typhon have been preparing for an industrial boom for over a decade. Their fuel acid factories predate our alchemical plants by five years, their literate workforce by seven, and their agricultural reforms by ten. Under these circumstances, it’s a miracle we’ve caught up so much in less than four years relying on magical technology and the administration system. At this point, hoping the Typhon are slow or foolish is less realistic than hoping their emperor drops dead tomorrow.”
Mariland looked at the army’s top commander in surprise. “It’s rare to hear you joke like that.”
“I’m not joking,” Philip said seriously after a brief pause. “I’ve heard the Typhon royal family suffers from a hereditary disease—most descend into madness and die in old age. Rosetta Augustus is already middle-aged. Statistically, his chance of dying suddenly tomorrow is higher than millions of Typhon people suddenly losing their intelligence…”
Mariland was speechless.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, realizing the topic was going nowhere, Mariland shook his head and forced the conversation elsewhere. “According to the plan, the Typhon delegation will arrive at Treaty Fort in two days… Any other arrangements on your end?”
“Just follow the previous plan,” Philip replied casually. “Prepare the reception, escort the delegation safely onto the train—make sure to have the two Iron Thrones stationed at Paramel and the Northern Hills in advance, and keep the military zones strictly confidential.”
As he spoke, the young army commander turned to meet Mariland’s gaze.
He smiled. “Typhon and Cecil are rivals. All the more reason for us to show our knightly grace—we’ll receive them politely and send them off politely. Your job is to make sure they see nothing during the process.”
…
At Cecil Palace, Gawain received a secret message from Daniel.
The Sleeper had finally completed a series of preparations—strengthening the sandbox and analyzing the previous “Phantom Town” exploration report. Today, they would launch a second exploration of that mysterious, deserted town projection!
After settling affairs in the real world, Gawain wasted no time. He calmed his mind and connected to the Sleepers’ psychic network.
As the creator of the network’s security system—and ironically, its biggest source of vulnerabilities—he was well versed in the entire process.
After a flicker of shifting light and shadow, Gawain arrived in the dream city, forever preserved in perfect condition. Following Daniel’s coordinates, he reached the Sleepers’ assembly point.
It was the same circular plaza surrounded by fallen leaves and decorative pillars as before. The three main figures—Daniel, Yuri, and Selina Gelfin—stood as familiar as ever. Daniel was a refined middle-aged mage; Yuri, a young man with a scholarly air; and Selina, a gentle woman in white holding a lantern. But this time, Gawain also noticed a stranger:
A towering man stood beside Daniel. He looked to be around thirty, wearing a black robe embroidered with intricate patterns. His short red hair gave him a commanding presence.
His name was shown as Archbishop Magnan, a high-ranking Sleeper based in Typhon territory.
Gawain studied the red-haired archbishop and quickly matched him to the intelligence Daniel had submitted—an older Sleeper archbishop reputed to have a fiery temper and unique insights into the realm of consciousness.
Gawain couldn’t judge the temper, but the name certainly sounded imposing…
Suppressing a mental snicker at the name, Gawain glanced at the man’s height—almost as tall as himself. The giant-like figure in a caster’s robe reminded him instinctively of Leight in his priest’s habit.
Such a physique hardly seemed that of a spellcaster, but these were all avatars within the psychic network. What the “big name” archbishop looked like in reality was anyone’s guess.
Gawain’s thoughts wandered as his gaze swept over the six owl-masked senior servitors behind the four archbishops. Compared to last time, the Sleepers were clearly taking this exploration far more seriously and cautiously. Not only had the number of robed, masked priests increased to six, but each robe bore a distinct, prominent emblem.
Was this to prevent another “extra person” incident?
But would such emblems really help in a place like Phantom Town, where judgment could be distorted and thoughts tampered with?
A flicker of doubt crossed Gawain’s mind. Meanwhile, in the few seconds he spent observing and pondering, the ten-person exploration team completed their final preparations and negotiations.
As before, Archbishop Yuri took charge of opening the “portal” to Phantom Town. He spread his hands, and pale golden runes traced a complex circular array on the plaza floor. Daniel and the others stepped into the center of the array. The red-haired Archbishop Magnan spoke up: “This time, stay alert. Don’t trust your first impressions too much.”
“Of course,” Yuri said, golden runes flickering in his hands. The refined young man smiled as his gaze swept over the ten explorers. “Not only will we be more vigilant, but the monitoring team behind us will conduct more active and effective surveillance. No more extra people sneaking in.”
The Sleepers had upgraded their monitoring technology?
Gawain, still haunted by memories of the last “extra person” incident, felt somewhat reassured hearing Yuri’s words. He smiled and stepped into the rune circle, taking his place as the eleventh member.
As the teleportation light began to shimmer, Gawain’s eyes shifted to Selina Gelfin.
The serene Lantern Saint simply stood quietly, holding her lantern, gazing forward without any reaction to the attention.
Gawain’s thoughts stirred—had Selina truly been part of that mysterious voyage seven centuries ago? If so, how much did she know? Did she know about Gawain Cecil’s “deal”? Did she know the truth about the “Outsider”?
If she already knew the Outsider had taken over Gawain’s body, then why had she remained silent all this time? What was she waiting for?
The scene blurred, and when the chaotic light settled again, Gawain found himself standing in the empty Phantom Town.
He and the other ten Sleepers stood in the town square—the exact spot where they had left last time.
Dark, murky clouds hung over the town as always, eerie mist rolling in the distance. The vast town was deserted, with no residents or lights.
No church bells rang, and the square’s church was nowhere to be seen. The previous anomaly had vanished completely, leaving the town as it had appeared on their first visit.
“There’s definitely a strange atmosphere here,” Archbishop Magnan said, looking around and nodding. His booming voice echoed startlingly in the empty silence. “An empty, deserted dream… Psychologically, that could symbolize some form of avoidance? Or extreme loneliness?”
The others seemed accustomed to Magnan’s loud voice. Archbishop Yuri frowned. “If this were the dream of a single mind, perhaps psychology could explain it. But this is likely a collective projection formed by countless minds within Sandbox No. 1. That makes it much harder to interpret.”
“Then it’s group psychology,” Archbishop Magnum waved it off casually. “At its core, dreams driven by this kind of tendency usually boil down to a few key points: fear, avoidance, intense desire, or extreme aversion to something.”
“It’s still too early to analyze these in depth,” Selina shook her head. “So far, we’ve only encountered one mind connected to Sandbox One—that strange, possibly malevolent elderly cleric. That alone isn’t enough to conclude that Sandbox One operates according to the psychological laws of the real world. But what’s happening in this town does seem to reflect reality to some extent. According to the sandbox management team’s report, the legend about being ‘deleted’ if you don’t hide when the bell tolls likely corresponds to an early timed reset function in Sandbox One’s operation…”
Gawain immediately perked up at the mention of this new term.
“Timed reset?” After exchanging a glance with Gawain, Daniel wore a perfectly timed look of confusion. “What’s that?”
Since Daniel had only recently been promoted to archbishop, it was understandable that he wasn’t familiar with some of the early details of Project Zero. Yuri didn’t suspect anything and explained offhandedly, “In the early days of the project, Sandbox One was still incomplete. Every ten days, it required a partial reset that deleted the virtual residents generated within the sandbox, leaving only the ‘world’ itself intact.
“We suspect that fragments of memory from those deleted virtual residents lingered on, stored in the brains of certain brain servants even to this day. These memory fragments influenced the collective subconscious of Sandbox One, giving rise to the strange custom of the ‘day the bell tolls.’”
Daniel nodded, eyes lighting up with understanding. “I see now.”
Nearby, Gawain listened quietly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.
(End of chapter)