Chapter 862: New Growth

From the fertile woodlands to the valley corridors, from Giantstone City to Sorinfort, from the Gorgon River to the mountain passes at the eastern border, lands once ravaged by war and frozen through a harsh winter were now rapidly coming back to life.

A warm southern breeze swept across the vast fields of the Sorin region, rustling the young green shoots in the fields and billowing the banners atop Sorinfort’s walls. The blue flags, embroidered with golden patterns bearing the Cecil family crest, fluttered proudly in the wind.

A young officer clad in a dark blue and black uniform strode briskly along the semi-open corridor connecting the city walls to the fortress. He passed through a recently repaired passage, crossed beneath the brand-new main gate, and walked through the inner keep’s corridor—two hundred and thirty-four years old—before gently knocking on the wooden door of the Construction Corps’ command office.

After receiving a response, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Behind the desk sat Margarita, dressed in her knight’s uniform, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. Her demeanor was sharp and commanding. She looked up at the officer standing before her. “Report.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young officer snapped a crisp salute, speaking with precise formality. “We’ve received messages from Giantstone City, Red Maple City, and the Fertile Woodlands. The magic network hubs required for Phase Two have all been successfully activated. The main network backbone in the eastern plains is now fully established.”

Margarita nodded. “How’s the Sorin main hub?”

“Operating smoothly. All data matches expectations. Lady Beltira also submitted a detailed observation report on the central crystal array. The expert team has approved it. The materials will be compiled and sent to you for review.”

A soft breath escaped Margarita’s lips. “All our efforts haven’t been in vain… We’re one step closer to His Majesty’s nationwide network plan.”

“Besides the Southern region, we seem to be the fastest progressing district,” the young officer said with a hint of pride. “We’re building on ruins, yet we’re moving faster than most—next is the West Coast, then the Western and Eastern borders. The Northern region only just began preparations for Phase Two.”

“That’s because the Empire has allocated over half of its engineering resources and countless manpower and materials to us,” Margarita said, glancing at her subordinate with a shake of her head. “And precisely because the eastern shore is a reconstruction zone, we can advance so quickly. The Construction Corps bases its work on rebuilding camps, setting up hubs as they establish the camps, and we have the Sorin Great Tree as a convenient ‘infrastructure’—conditions other regions lack.”

“…You’re absolutely right.”

“Enough of that,” Margarita waved her hand. “The backbone network is only the first step—and the easiest one at that. Connecting the major cities into a network isn’t difficult. The real challenge lies in the countless towns and villages surrounding those cities. That’s all part of His Majesty’s plan and must be completed.

“While we wait for other districts to catch up, there’s still much to do. Prepare for a meeting tomorrow morning.”

The young officer saluted and left. Margarita exhaled softly, calming her thoughts before rising from her desk. She strolled over to the nearby floor-to-ceiling window.

Sorinfort, gradually regaining its vitality, basked in the brilliant midday sun. The relocated residents bustled through the slowly repaired city streets, busy with their daily lives.

A group of merchants from the Eastern border were unloading goods in the square beneath the fortress. They brought the region’s most popular sweets and spices and were preparing to ship the local specialty—the Sorin tree fruit—to distant markets.

From another corner of the square came lively music: performers from the North had arrived today. Colorfully dressed dancers twirled on a makeshift stage, while two young men at the edge of the platform conjured mist and drifting snowflakes with magic terminals, adding a touch of wonder to the otherwise simple performance.

Even in a world with magic network broadcasts and magical newspapers, traditional entertainment still held its place—especially in relatively remote or unique regions where limited network infrastructure couldn’t meet everyone’s needs. Bards and traveling performers remained warmly welcomed.

These people, active in the new era, were finding their own ways to engage with and explore a rapidly changing world—adapting, learning, and striving to survive.

The town grew livelier by the day.

A female knight from the southern Kant region sighed softly but couldn’t help smiling.

She had been born and raised in a small village—a “country knight.” She never imagined she would one day stand here, holding the position she now did. The role of Sorin Construction Corps commander was beyond what her late father could have dreamed. That old, rigid man had spent his life guarding the Kant family farmstead. Even as a knight, his knowledge likely paled compared to an ordinary citizen of this era. Yet suddenly, Margarita recalled a phrase her father once told her:

“Margarita, the world doesn’t always bring good things—often, bad things outnumber the good. But as long as the sun rises tomorrow, we might as well hold some hope for the future, just like the common folk hope for next year’s harvest.”

Her gaze drifted beyond the city, past the walls, to the fields outside. From her vantage point atop the fortress, her enhanced sight as a gifted individual allowed her to clearly see the green waves rippling across the farmland.

Seeds cultivated jointly by the Druid Research Institute and Lady Beltira were thriving here. They boasted higher survival rates, greater resistance to cold and wind, and were said to yield more abundant harvests. Margarita didn’t understand farming, but she knew what those rolling waves meant—they were the hope of the entire plain for the year.

The Empire had secured enough grain from multiple sources to sustain the reconstruction zones until the next harvest. The Construction Corps and builders of the various camps had not wasted this opportunity. Assisted by soil purification agents, the reconstruction zone had already exceeded the spring planting plan. Now summer had arrived, and hope surged through the wheat fields.

Soldiers patrolled the villages and towns daily. Margarita had ordered sentries in all grain-producing areas. Fully armed soldiers and militias guarded the fields like dragons protecting treasure, day and night. Nothing—whether remnants of bandits or wild beasts—was allowed to touch a single grain.

When her father guarded the Kant farmstead, he did the same. Though some joked he’d end up a knight wielding a pitchfork, he never let bandits or beasts damage the land under his watch.

“In the end, I did ‘inherit the family business,’” the female knight murmured with a smile, the waves of wheat reflected in her eyes. “Looks like it’ll be a good harvest…”

…

This year should bring a good harvest.

A young government official with sun-kissed skin, sturdy limbs, and short brown hair crouched at the field’s edge, carefully plucking a stalk of wheat. He examined the plant’s health, then placed it into a specially designed crystal glass tube, nodding slightly.

Several others busied themselves nearby—collecting soil samples, recording data, and conducting on-site tests with alchemical potions on the land and plants.

“Looks good,” the brown-haired official said to his companions. “These seeds seem to be growing well.”

“The Type II wheat used in the Western district is reportedly not doing well—though not terrible, it’s below expectations,” another official shook his head. “Fortunately, all other new seed varieties are meeting expectations. Production plans won’t be affected.”

“The soil purification was the most successful part. All purification projects exceeded their goals,” the soil sampler stood, a hint of emotion in his voice. “I never expected the alchemy factory in Saint Suniel to play the biggest role, filling the gaps in purification agents…”

“The old capital’s nobles built a bunch of factories during the ‘New Policy Reforms,’ but most were soon abandoned for various reasons. Though the factories were deserted, at least their equipment was high quality, purchased from the southern regions. After some tuning, they’re usable. Unfortunately, some machines were dismantled during the war to forge weapons and reinforce defenses.”

“Nothing we can do about that, Romlin. At least the nobles who chose to hold the old capital are beyond reproach,” the soil sampler shook his head, then looked at the wheat sample in the brown-haired man’s hand. “Let’s take the samples back to Minister Norris. He’s waiting.”

Romlin, the young official, glanced down at the transparent container. The vibrant plant lay quietly inside, lush and green.

…

A gentle breeze drifted through the open window, stirring the curtains. Norris slowly opened his eyes. He saw a figure nearby, and the scent of fresh plants filled the room.

“It’s time to bloom…” the old man murmured to himself. “So soon…”

The soft rustling of vines came from beside him. A cluster of flowering vines approached his bedside. Surrounded by blossoms and tendrils, Beltira looked down at the old man, her usually stern face softening with a trace of helplessness. “Now’s not the time to worry about that. Resting well is your current duty.”

“I am resting,” Norris replied, smiling faintly at the woman entwined in flowers. “I’ve never rested like this in my life.”

Beltira frowned, and a stronger gust of wind swept into the room, causing the shell wind chimes hanging by the window to jingle loudly.

Suddenly, a vine slithered silently along the floor, walls, and windowsill, swiftly closing the window.

Norris gave Beltira a resigned look. “The druids say fresh air is good for me.”

“Fresh air doesn’t mean constant wind—especially not this strong,” Beltira said coldly. “And do those druids compare to me? When I first took up my oak staff, their great-great-grandfathers weren’t even born.”

Norris paused, then burst out laughing—perhaps too hard, as his laughter quickly turned into a coughing fit.

Beltira’s healing magic stopped the coughing.

“Is that really something to laugh about?” The former Archon of the End of All Things, once the Pioneer Saint, and former Princess of Typhon frowned, a hint of displeasure in her voice.

“I just remembered His Majesty. He says similar things,” Norris said slowly, catching his breath. “I’m curious—do people like you, who’ve lived so long, enjoy joking about age and seniority?”

“We’re just stating the facts, though the fact itself sounds like a joke,” Beltira said casually. “But rather than dwell on that, why not think about yourself? So, what do you say—will you accept my offer? Aging is one of the hardest laws of life to reverse, but we do have methods. I can improve the technique I once used to make it less harmful, and among your younger peers, I’m sure more than one would be willing to donate a small part of themselves for you…”

“Ms. Beltira, I appreciate your kindness,” Norris interrupted, “but you already know my answer.

“I cannot accept extending my life at the expense of others’ health.

“Even though I understand this is the best you could do to refine the forbidden art, we both know that this level of modification still violates the Empire’s laws… even if volunteers are involved.

“The Empire’s laws and order… were won at a great cost. I don’t want to see them compromised, especially not with a precedent set by me.

“Because… I love all of it.”

(End of chapter)