Chapter 860: Revival

The Dragonborn had departed, carrying with them a document formalizing diplomatic relations between the two nations, along with a series of proposals for commerce, diplomacy, technology, and cultural exchange.

News of the official establishment of ties with the Principality of the Holy Dragon soon spread through every street and alley of Cecil City. It reached every province and city covered by the Empire’s new communication network, appeared on magical broadcasts, and was printed in newspapers held by citizens. For the coming days, it became the topic of casual conversation; for merchants, a source of investment inspiration for months ahead; and ultimately, it would shape the work of the Empire’s governors and clerks for many years to come.

As the days grew warmer, the fields outside the city were blanketed in green. The winds blowing from the plains and hills no longer carried a chill, and the approach of summer was becoming more and more palpable.

A gentle breeze swept across the open landing field as a massive black dragon streaked across the sky, smoothly descending into a zone marked with white reflective paint. The black steel armor along its side shimmered with flowing light. Waste energy accumulated from various extreme tests was continuously released into the air through the lattice structure, forming an unstable, heat-wracked vortex around the dragon.

As the vortex gradually dissipated, Rebecca, wearing a white short robe over her skirt, and Sonia, dressed in a fitted pale green hunting outfit, stepped forward to approach Maggie, who was bent over inspecting her equipment.

“Beautiful flight, Maggie!” Rebecca said with a bright smile. “Especially that final burst of acceleration!”

“But I still couldn’t break through the ‘missile limit,’” Maggie shook her head with a hint of regret. “I feel like I’m just a little bit short, but the magic always dissipates during the last phase of acceleration…”

“Yeah, just a little bit more,” Rebecca scratched her head. “It worked fine back at the Origin Lab… Why can’t we get past that speed limit?”

Sonia, from the Silver Empire and currently serving as the liaison ambassador between Cecil and the Silver Empire as well as an advisor on the Cecil flight project, listened to Rebecca’s rambling and shook her head with a sigh. “The maximum speed of flying objects… it’s been a puzzle for elves for many years.”

“Except for instantaneous magic like rays or lightning spells, and ‘pathless’ magic like curses or illusions, all spells that require physical flight—missiles, fireballs, ice cones—have a speed ceiling,” Maggie shifted her large frame slightly, settling into a comfortable conversational distance on the ground. “The name ‘missile limit’ is actually pretty fitting.”

“We elves usually call it the ‘physical flight speed barrier,’” Sonia added. “Because it’s not just magical projectiles that hit this speed limit. According to thousands of years of observation, no natural flying creature can surpass it either. Even dragons seem unable to break it. Our conclusion is: anything with a physical form has a speed limit.”

Rebecca blinked, a little troubled, and hugged her head.

Testing the limits of current flight technology in terms of altitude and speed, and seeking ways to break through—that was the next frontier for the Institute of Arcane Technology’s flight division. Rebecca’s team had already launched a series of tests, and today’s trial was to push the Steel Wings to their maximum speed. The results, as usual, were disappointing.

“If we can’t produce results soon, the ancestors will be angry… At least we need to find the cause.”

“Let’s try again,” Maggie suddenly perked up, tilting her head back as she gazed toward the distant, verdant wilderness and the even farther dark mountains. Her tone lifted slightly. “One more flight!”

Rebecca looked at her with concern. “Don’t you want to rest a bit?”

“I’m already rested—Dragonborn recover much faster than humans, and besides, most of the work during flight is done by the machine,” Maggie said with a smile. “And I want to fly again—the Month of Revival is almost over. I see the giant woodlands in the distance have grown lush. There’s some beautiful scenery over there. I want to fly and see it for myself.”

Rebecca’s mood brightened instantly at the description—her spirits were always quick to lift. She gazed toward the distant landscape, smiling happily. “It really is all green now. No wonder it’s the last week of the Month of Revival… Alright, let’s test again. Oh, I just had an idea!”

“An idea?” Maggie was startled by Rebecca’s sudden exclamation but quickly remembered how her ideas were always fresh and interesting. Curiosity sparked. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you bring a magic network terminal that can record video? You can film the giant woodlands and the dark mountains from the air,” Rebecca said excitedly, gesturing animatedly. “Even though we have dragon riders now, ordinary people still rarely get to experience flying or see what the land they’ve lived on for generations looks like from above. You record it, and we send it to the magic network broadcast center. Miss Jipri will definitely be thrilled.”

“Magic network footage, huh…” Maggie paused, then quickly caught on to the idea and smiled broadly, revealing twenty-eight fangs spanning half a meter. “Great idea!”

…

On the east bank of the Gorgon River, a convoy bearing the sword-and-plough emblem rolled along the Imperial Avenue between the river and the plains.

“We’ve already left Cecil City far behind—so far that even the mana trains haven’t reached this area yet,” said Asalina, the red-haired Dragonmark witch, glancing at Sir Gorosh sitting by the window with a hint of helplessness. “If you really miss her, you should have spent more time talking with Maggie while you were still in Cecil City—not just chatting a lot, but sitting down like a father and daughter, sharing meals, playing chess, living like a normal family instead of just meeting as superior and subordinate.”

“I…” Gorosh withdrew his gaze from the window, opened his mouth, but in the end just waved his hand. “I tried…”

“Well, it shows. I can tell you made an effort,” Asalina shook her head. “You’ve spent years learning how to joke and chat with others, and from what I know, those few days you spent with Maggie in Cecil City were probably the most harmonious you’ve had in decades.”

“Maybe,” Gorosh said with a mix of helplessness and relief. “She even smiled at me.”

“That’s courtesy… never mind,” Asalina waved her hand. “It’s already very good. Everyone’s situation is different.”

Sir Gorosh fell silent for a moment, then seemed somewhat relieved. He smiled faintly and looked out the window again, but no longer toward the south left behind. His gaze swept over the vast plains on the east bank of the Gorgon River, over the sunlit fields and gentle breezes, the rivers and lakes brimming with water, and the distant rolling mountains. Between the rivers and the wilderness, smoke rose from chimneys, and metal-forged towers gleamed in the sunlight.

He had stayed in the imperial capital of the Cecilians for half a month, a period that coincided with the most dramatic seasonal change in the human realm—the temperature rising steadily, plants flourishing, and all social activities and construction projects bustling with energy. When he first looked out at the Holy Spirit Plains from the carriage window, a lingering chill of winter still hung in the air. Now, the same wilderness was bursting with life.

He couldn’t help but reflect, “The seasonal changes in the human world are so distinct—the Principality of the Holy Dragon is almost always winter, but here, two seasons feel like two different worlds. I remember last time these plains were bare, and now the same place is full of farmland.”

“Perhaps we should be more amazed that this land was once ravaged by war,” Asalina said softly, shaking her head. “We’re passing through the main contamination zone from the Ansu Civil War. The Cecilians are rebuilding here. Those fields and settlements were constructed within the past year. They’re building roads on this side of the river to transport materials and personnel to the reconstruction zones. What’s transforming this land isn’t just the seasons—it’s the Cecilians’ firm belief that they can rebuild their homes.”

“…Maybe that’s one reason Duke Balogur considers the Cecil Empire worth befriending,” Sir Gorosh said quietly after a brief pause. “Since Gawain Cecil established that new order, the people of this country dare to challenge anything to live well.”

Asalina said nothing, following Gorosh’s gaze out the window, watching the plants and streams on the plains recede, and a camp built by the rebuilders over the past winter slowly disappear into the rolling wilderness…

…

Far off on the Imperial Avenue, a convoy passed by, and even farther away, iron towers and cranes lined the riverbank.

A tall man stood silently on a hill at the edge of the camp, staring toward the distant riverbank. He wore the gray-blue work uniform common among the Holy Spirit Plains’ rebuilders. His exposed arms, neck, and part of his cheek were wrapped in white gauze bandages.

Where the bandages didn’t cover, scars remained from the crystal cluster infection, and some crystals had yet to fully fade.

The gray-blue uniform was issued by the engineering team—plain in style but made from high-quality industrial fabric from the Typhon Empire. In the old days, poor people might go years without a new garment, so receiving such new clothes was a great blessing for many.

The bandages served to conceal and treat the lingering “aftereffects” of the crystal cluster infection. Though the terrible infection no longer spread, the scars and crystals left behind still affected many survivors’ lives. The Empire’s druids were working to alleviate these symptoms, and now they could reduce the residual crystals and scars on the body by half. To support treatment, the bandages had become a distinctive feature among the survivors in the reconstruction zone.

Suddenly, footsteps approached from the side. The tall, silent man turned his head to see a dark-skinned man in the same uniform walking toward him.

“Number Thirty-Two!” the newcomer waved. “So you really are here?”

“Isn’t it time to start work yet?” Number Thirty-Two replied gruffly. “Got something else for me?”

“You’re all work, no play,” the dark-skinned man teased with a smile. “You forgot you have half a day off this afternoon?”

Number Thirty-Two was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “…I forgot.”

“What are you looking at?” The dark-skinned man came closer and followed Number Thirty-Two’s gaze toward the distance. He clicked his tongue. “Not bad… The railway engineering team on the other side of the river has pushed this far. Looks like they might finish the road to Saint Suniel before autumn…”

“That’s fast… It used to take years just to build a road from Taren to Solinfort.”

“Sounds like you’ve done repairs before,” the dark-skinned man glanced at his work partner, then patted him on the arm. “Stop standing around here in the breeze. Let’s get back to camp—there’s something good happening this afternoon. I’m telling you now, or you’ll miss out.”

“Something good?” Number Thirty-Two frowned, a hint of doubt flickering across his face, which was barely recognizable beneath bandages, scars, and crystallized patches. “What kind of good thing?”

“Hey, what’s the fancy word for it… welfare! The higher-ups managed to get us some perks!” The dark-skinned man grinned happily. “I won’t spoil it for you—come with me, you’ll see for yourself.”

He tugged on Number Thirty-Two’s arm, leading him toward the camp. The latter could only follow, curiosity growing with every step. They crossed the open ground outside the camp, passed through the rebuilt gate, and headed toward the large assembly hall beside the residential area.

The hall was big enough to hold everyone. The camp’s managers gathered people there for meetings, to announce work plans or supply updates. A “teacher” sent from Pompeii held classes there, teaching workers literacy, arithmetic, and “social order.” Everyone knew the hall well—it was the camp’s most important place after the warehouse.

Many people were already gathering there.

Number Thirty-Two walked alongside his partner, puzzled but following the crowd. He overheard someone muttering about a “magic shadow play,” another mentioning “new technology from the south.” Finally, his cheerful partner stopped teasing and explained with a smile, “They’re showing a magic shadow play today. You know what that is? It’s a play performed using magic tech—back in the day, only noble lords could watch these! Now we get to see them too, and for free…”

Number Thirty-Two listened half-understanding, half-confused. He was sure this guy hadn’t actually seen one of those magic shadow plays either—most likely he’d just heard about it from someone else a little while ago.

But the boasting wasn’t annoying.

He nodded along, a small gesture to encourage his partner’s enthusiasm. Then he looked up toward the assembly hall’s outer wall, where shadows flickered behind thin iron sheets. A large, brightly colored canvas hung there.

Number Thirty-Two’s gaze froze.

On the canvas stood a young man clad in old-era armor, hands resting on a long sword. Behind him stretched a dark, fallen plain, but a shaft of sunlight broke through, illuminating his face and casting a gleam over the distinctive armor.

The painting bore the unmistakable style of the south—realistic figures combined with bold, abstract, and symbolically rich landscapes.

Huge letters were stamped across the image. The painting’s title seemed to be “Beacon Fire.”

The artist who created this must have been a true master.

Every detail of the figure was rendered with exquisite precision.

(Highly recommend a book called The Daily Life of a Code-Writer Savior. The author’s been around since the Hilling era, and many early readers probably know him—Old Shen knows him too. It’s a good read =.=)

(End of chapter)