Chapter 788: A Foreign Land
This had been a strange and fascinating journey.
At least, so far, it still was.
Matilda sat with impeccable poise in the spacious, comfortable seat, quietly watching the mountains of the Cecil Empire recede outside the window. The wind and snow had lessened considerably, and the landscape beyond was opening up, becoming clearer and more vivid. Inside the carriage, a gentle melody played, released by some magical device. The beautiful scenery, the music, the perfectly tempered environment, and the ample provisions on board all combined to make this long winter journey remarkably pleasant.
So pleasant, in fact, that one could almost forget they were riding inside a massive steel beast, hurtling across the cold wilderness of Cecil at speeds far beyond that of a galloping horse.
Opposite her sat a young man with short blond hair, youthful features, but an unusually mature and steady demeanor. Noticing the foreign princess seemed in good spirits, he offered a faint smile, pride evident in his voice. “How do you find traveling by magi-powered train?”
Matilda withdrew her gaze from the window and looked at him.
This young man, named Philip, held a surprising position. Despite his youth, he was already one of the military commanders of the Cecil Empire, leading its most formidable ground legion—the very force now stationed at the Longwind defensive line.
Having such a high-ranking military leader personally receive and escort the delegation led by Princess Matilda of Typhon was both a matter of protocol and a sign of respect.
Matilda smiled slightly.
“It’s been a wonderful experience,” she said with a smile. “And we’ve seen some of the finest scenery.”
Philip smiled in return.
Thanks to the careful arrangements by General Mariland and the efforts of various units in the Longwind region, the princess had indeed seen little else but scenery since entering Cecil territory.
“To be honest, this kind of travel isn’t new to me,” Matilda continued. “What’s novel is that it’s all powered by magi-machines. In the past, relying on mages’ power, it wasn’t difficult to make such a massive vehicle speed across the wilderness or maintain a comfortable environment in harsh conditions. But magi-technology using lifeless steel to achieve what was once the domain of mages—that’s something I never imagined.
“In Typhon, most nobles accept the power of magi-machines and warmly welcome the new magi-powered trains and factories. Yet some conservative mages dislike them—they always say machines lack a soul.”
“That’s where we differ,” Philip chuckled. “We believe machines have a different kind of soul, hidden in the spinning gears and moving pistons. With lubricating oil and surging magical energy, they become humanity’s loyal friends.”
“…So magi-technology first appeared in Cecil and has developed fastest here,” Matilda said with a hint of admiration. “I’ve always been fascinated by it—I love it even more than traditional spells. Unfortunately, Typhon still has a long way to go.”
This was a practiced modesty, and Philip knew it well, so he merely smiled faintly without directly responding.
After all, exchanging commercial compliments wasn’t his forte.
A middle-aged noble with black hair sitting beside Matilda joined the conversation. “I’m also interested in magi-technology. To be frank, I’m investing in and researching it myself. It’s an expensive endeavor, and from that perspective, I admire the Cecilians—they dare to pay the price for profit. They have the spirit of adventurers.”
Matilda glanced at the man—Count Duller, one of Aldern’s most enthusiastic “progressive nobles” in the field of magi-tech. He owned the largest plantation in the north and had invested in several large textile and spinning factories. His role in the delegation represented the Aldern nobles who were keen on magi-technology and eager to explore its commercial potential.
Nodding in agreement, the Typhon princess said, “Building factories and developing machines is indeed costly, but the returns are remarkable. That’s why more nobles and merchants are becoming investors. Is it the same in Cecil?”
“…Of course,” Philip smiled and nodded.
The train sped across the wilderness. Outside the window, the jagged mountain ridges were nearing their end, and ahead lay what appeared to be a vast plain.
Matilda couldn’t help but ponder Philip’s final answer—the simple “of course.” For some reason, she instinctively felt there was more meaning behind that word, though she couldn’t quite grasp its source.
Just then, the train burst out from behind the mountains. After passing a massive rock face, the view suddenly opened up to an endless plain.
At the junction where the plain met the mountains, a huge stone monument stood beside the railway on a natural plateau. It was surrounded by what looked like walls, and nearby was a maintenance and monitoring station for the railway.
Matilda had just noticed the unusual structure and was about to wonder why such a conspicuous monument stood in the wilderness when a loud, clear whistle sounded from the top of the carriage, echoing across the vast plain.
She was startled. Why the sudden whistle? Was there a station or another train nearby?
As confusion rose in her mind, she and the Typhon envoys around her were surprised to see the Cecilians inside the carriage rise simultaneously—including the young army commander. These noble knights and officers all turned toward the window, their gazes fixed solemnly on the massive monument at the mountain’s edge, as if paying their respects.
The Typhon envoys were startled when the Cecilians stood, some tense, but now only bewildered. The solemn expressions left them unsure whether to speak or remain silent. They waited for several seconds until Philip and the others sat down, and then Matilda couldn’t help but ask, “General Philip, may I ask what this is…?”
“You noticed the monument, didn’t you?” Philip asked calmly.
“Yes, I did—and I was just about to ask.”
“This railway beneath your feet was urgently extended and built after the Crystal Cluster War, based on the original White Sand mining railway,” Philip explained slowly. “Its purpose was to quickly transport food and security forces to the eastern territories, to prevent widespread famine and chaos caused by the war’s aftermath. The construction had to be completed before winter ended.
“To swiftly cross the most difficult terrain of the Baithsel Mountains, the Third Construction Corps employed large-scale geological shaping spells, including mage squads urgently dispatched from the Old Capital, as well as massive engineering machines capable of turning fossils into mud.
“When breaking through the Karlin Pass, a hidden magical focal point caused the spells to go awry, triggering a rockslide.
“Thirty-seven people were buried—seven mages and thirty workers.”
Matilda’s eyes widened slightly. Count Duller instinctively spoke up, “So this monument is to honor the fallen mages…”
“It commemorates all who died,” Philip said, looking Duller in the eye. “The collapsing rock swallowed the victims, and the magical aftereffects fused flesh and stone together, making it impossible to separate them. We transported those blood-fused boulders out of the pass and shaped them into a monument, placed at the very end of Karlin Pass—the place they tried but failed to break through—facing away from the Baithsel Mountains, gazing toward the eastern plains.
“The train whistles after passing Karlin Pass, and soldiers salute the monument as a tradition on this line.”
Matilda listened quietly and attentively, her expression calm.
The Typhon envoys were silent, some puzzled, others thoughtful.
Count Duller, the major investor from Aldern with black hair and beard, glanced out the window toward the now-distant monument. The fading whistle still seemed to linger in his ears as he muttered, “Such a huge monument… Even with mages’ help, it must have been difficult to build.”
Perhaps enough to build another textile factory.
Matilda listened to Duller’s muttering, watching the Cecil plains rush past outside the train.
A foreign land indeed…
The northern winds swept over the towering mountains, stirring the snow between the peaks. The Dragonborn banner fluttered high atop the heavy spires of Dragon’s Reach, its tail pointing south, waving endlessly.
“The envoy team has been selected and will depart soon,” Grant Duke Balogur stood on the broad stone terrace of Dragon’s Reach, overlooking the snow-covered realm. He spoke to the courtier beside him, “Sir Gorosh, you will lead the team. I trust this will be foolproof.”
“Your Majesty, the mission will be accomplished,” Sir Gorosh bowed deeply.
Balogur nodded, his tone leisurely. “We have indeed been sealed within these bitter mountains for too long. The world beyond the peaks is worth seeing.
“Consider yourself the eyes of the duchy—go observe the Cecil Empire carefully and see what makes them extraordinary.
“Let it be our way, as ‘exiles,’ not to have wasted Talrond’s goodwill.”
“Talrond…” Sir Gorosh’s eyes flickered slightly. “How much longer must we wait…?”
“From the start, this has been an almost eternal wait,” Grant Duke Balogur said slowly. “Only by maintaining hope with hopelessness can our patience endure.”
“…Yes, Your Majesty.”
Balogur was silent for a moment, then withdrew his gaze and looked at his trusted courtier, suddenly smiling faintly. “By the way, you haven’t seen your daughter in a long time, have you?”
“…I caught a glimpse of her from afar five years ago,” Sir Gorosh said with a mix of helplessness and embarrassment. “That reckless child… causing trouble in the human world, utterly undisciplined.”
“Young people are naturally reckless or rebellious. Didn’t you jump off Dragon Leap Cliff when you were young?” Balogur chuckled, shaking his head. “Think of it as a brief journey in the human world. After a few decades or a century of wandering, she’ll probably come back once she’s had her fill.”
Sir Gorosh was silent for a moment, then sighed, “…I hope so.”
A cold wind blew. Maggie, walking beside the flight testing grounds, suddenly sneezed loudly, feeling a strange chill wash over her.
Rebecca, walking beside her, looked curiously at her dragonborn friend. “Hey? What’s wrong? Catching a cold?”
“No… I don’t think so,” Maggie rubbed her nose hard, feeling puzzled. “I just suddenly felt cold and couldn’t help sneezing.”
“Are you sure it’s not just the cold weather?”
“Definitely not,” Maggie said firmly, shaking her head. “Dragonborn bodies are incredibly tough, especially when it comes to cold. I grew up somewhere even colder than here. In the dead of winter, we’d sometimes just wear light clothes and play ‘Ice Barrel Racing’—it’s a pretty intense cold-weather game.”
Rebecca’s eyes lit up instantly, her curiosity piqued. “Ice Barrel Racing? What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s a popular game among Dragonborn kids,” Maggie said, smiling as the memory of her childhood came back to her. “Basically, you cram yourself into a sturdy barrel and roll down an icy track carved into the mountain. The goal is to be the first to stand up at the bottom. But if you throw up, you’re disqualified—even if you’re the first to get up.”
Rebecca: “…Wow!”
On the other side, Sonia stared wide-eyed at Maggie, her expression a mix of disbelief and amazement. “You people from the Holy Dragon Kingdom… really played stuff like that as kids?”
Maggie thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Of course not all the kids played it.”
Sonia finally relaxed a bit. “I thought so…”
“It’s mostly the girls who play that way—the boys don’t use barrels.”
Sonia: “?”
Truly, customs from a foreign land… hard to imagine.
(End of chapter)