Chapter 876: The Land Once Forsaken

When High Lord Gawain cast a quick, discreet glance at Noretta, the senior agent from the Mithril Vault temporarily filling in for Melita Pernia, she returned his gaze with a bit more interest. This human intrigued her—resurrected from death, a legendary pioneer who had overturned a kingdom and established a new order… Throughout her long life, Noretta had encountered many so-called “legends” in the human world, and even among them, Gawain was quite exceptional.

She controlled her expression carefully, offering a faint smile. “So, what would you like to inquire about?”

“Strictly speaking, it’s not really an inquiry,” Gawain replied, waving a hand with a serious look. “I want to confirm something with the dragons behind the Mithril Vault. Recently, a large magical device we set up on the Holy Spirit Plains picked up some mysterious signals. After extensive comparison, neither humans, elves, nor even the sea-folk could identify their source. So now I suspect these signals might be coming from the dragons.

“Given the development of arcane technology, to avoid any future misunderstandings between humans and dragons, I thought it necessary to verify this with you.”

“Mysterious signals?” The woman in the white dress, who called herself Noretta, raised an eyebrow, her expression turning more serious. “What kind of signals?”

“We haven’t decrypted them yet. They’re a series of very brief tremors and echoes, structured in a way never seen before, leaving scholars baffled. But we recorded a copy using a mana crystal.” As he spoke, Gawain casually gestured to a nearby shelf, and a small, pale blue crystalline tablet, no larger than a palm, silently floated into his hand.

This was a recording medium improved by Kamail after the traditional memory crystals commonly used by mages. With optimized etching structures and advanced standardized production, such media were increasingly used in arcane network terminals and immersion pods.

“It’s all stored here,” Gawain said. “But I don’t know what devices dragons usually use to read such things. It might require some conversion…”

“No need,” Noretta interrupted, reaching out to take the crystal tablet. Her fingers lightly traced the delicate runic engravings along one edge. Immediately, her pale eyes shimmered like starlight. In that brief moment, Gawain felt the magic around her surge with incredible vitality and complexity, as if a high-level spell had been compressed into that tiny space and instantly completed.

Within moments, Noretta finished reading and recording the data. She handed back the faintly warm crystal tablet. “I’ve logged the information and will forward it to my superiors for further analysis. Thank you for your timely report and sincere attitude. This will greatly benefit the good relations between us.”

Gawain took the crystal, studying the woman in white intently. “Exceptional magical skill—Melita never showed me anything like this.”

“Actually, she’s not skilled at this either,” Noretta smiled slightly. “I usually handle paperwork or command support from behind the scenes. These are just some ‘tricks of the trade’ I use in my work.”

“Looks like the Mithril Vault has a complex and effective organizational structure. I’m a bit curious about it,” Gawain said with a smile. “So, I just wait for your message then?”

“You won’t have to wait long,” Noretta nodded. “We’ll complete the signal analysis and comparison as soon as possible. Although I can’t give you a definite answer yet, from what I just read… it’s probably not from Tal’Rond.”

“…Not from the dragons?”

“We use a different communication technology that wouldn’t produce signals like this,” Noretta confirmed. “But this world is vast, with many corners and secrets even dragons barely understand. Some things only my superiors know. I’ll report this to them—perhaps the Vault’s Grant Treasurer and High Councilors can trace the origin.”

“Thank you very much.”

…

The Courage had been anchored along this desolate, bleak coastline for nearly a week.

Apart from some wild beasts uncommon on land and unafraid of humans, there was little here but lush vegetation, the warm, humid sea breeze, and the ruins of a town overgrown with bushes and vines.

Count Owen Dyson stood on a rocky outcrop by the shore. As the blazing sun rose halfway into the sky, he pulled a gilded mechanical watch from his pocket, flipped open the cover, and glanced at the time.

Around the same moment, several figures appeared along a narrow path leading inland from the coast. A handful of sailors emerged from the bushes and tall grass.

“Half an hour late from the scheduled meeting,” Owen said calmly as the sailors approached. “Any trouble?”

A sailor wearing a red bandana snapped to attention and saluted crisply before reporting meticulously, “Captain, we encountered a massive python on the return trip. It may have mutated due to the magical environment, but it’s been dealt with.”

“Hm,” Owen nodded. “Any findings?”

“Only an abandoned manor. Like the town center, it shows signs of having been refurbished once,” the sailor said, pulling something from his pocket. “Also, we found this inside the manor.”

Owen took the item—a heavily worn amulet. The emblem on its front was completely faded, but judging by the material, it was once a magical artifact—something Owen Dyson had seen recently.

“It belonged to the Sons of the Storm… It’s probably been discarded here for over a decade,” the Typhon noble quickly deduced. “Looks like at least ten years ago, the Sons of the Storm still held these islands near the boundary between coastal and deep waters. But afterward, they abandoned these outposts close to the human world and moved further into the open sea…”

“Those cultists occupied what rightfully belonged to the Empire, treating the islands’ facilities as their own,” the Courage’s first mate muttered with disgust behind Owen. “They left their mad graffiti all over the town, then just vanished. I wish the deep sea had swallowed them whole, sacrificed to the monsters lurking beneath for their fanaticism.”

“I don’t care about the cultists’ fate,” Owen said casually, pocketing the amulet and turning to the first mate. “How’s the Courage holding up?”

“We’ve repaired the anti-magic hull, shield array, and two arcane engines, but the transmission system connected to the engines still has issues. The engineers say those big components need specialized port facilities for full repair. On this barren beach, they can only ‘fix one leg.’”

“How much can it handle? Is it seaworthy?”

“It can sail, but at about two-thirds of its previous speed. And if we encounter another ‘chaotic turbulence’ like before, the entire drive shaft will snap,” the first mate said frankly, emphasizing for effect, “It will break, one hundred percent.”

“If that’s the best the engineers can do, then so be it. We have to return. I believe the Courage can overcome this, and our luck won’t run out with two chaotic turbulences in a row near the coast,” Owen said, glancing back at the ship anchored not far off. The sleek, advanced arcane vessel rested quietly among gentle waves, its hull of arcane metal and the powerful magnetic storm crystals at the prow gleaming under the sun. After a brief look, the count withdrew his gaze. “Notify the mechanics to make final adjustments. We set sail in three hours.”

The first mate nodded, drawing a short staff inlaid with numerous gems from his belt. As the gems lit up one by one, he cast a message spell, transmitting the captain’s orders to the crew on watch aboard the Courage.

After watching the first mate finish, Owen nodded and looked toward the island’s interior. “Take a few men with me. We’ll make another trip to that town.”

The first mate glanced at him but asked no questions. He quickly selected a few sharp-eyed sailors and followed Owen onto the path leading to the island’s center.

Treading the old stone road, clearly repaired but now abandoned again, Owen Dyson ventured deeper into this former imperial territory. The sailors who had scouted ahead had cleared the obstructing bushes and vines with spells and blades. Since the island of Tasos wasn’t very large, he soon passed through the tree-shrouded path and reached the edge of a silent, lifeless town.

This was the largest human settlement on Tasos Island. Seven centuries ago, it was the Empire’s first stepping stone into the coastal seas. During that brief, prosperous era, countless diligent builders, ambitious captains and merchants, and dream-chasing adventurers gathered here. Spices, gold, precious minerals from the deep sea, and rare treasures from the land all flowed through this place, turning the unremarkable Tasos Island into the once-glorious “Golden Land.”

But after that fleeting golden age ended came a far longer decline—the once-protective seafarers quickly became mad cultists. The Golden Land turned into the domain of the Sons of the Storm. The Empire’s wealth fed the cultists’ growth, and those who hadn’t fled in time…

Owen raised his eyes, scanning the abandoned houses and towers. The faded, cryptic runes of the Sons of the Storm were everywhere, and the original Typhon or Dyson family crests were nowhere to be seen.

At the end of the road, in a modest square, Owen spotted a pile of smoldering ashes. Among the ashes were fragments of broken statues and ritual implements—the dark cult relics the sailors had gathered from around the town. With the cultists gone, the sailors had no choice but to burn what was left behind.

Owen skirted the ash pile and the square, arriving before the town hall.

On the steps lay a tattered deep blue banner, discarded on the ground. The banner bore the twisted emblem of storms and lightning.

Owen glanced down at the flag, then stepped forward. He and the sailors climbed the steps, passed through the open main doors, and entered the empty assembly hall. Finally, he stopped before the farthest wall, where only two empty hooks remained, surrounded by patches of moss creeping along the stone.

The count looked up for a moment, then lowered his head and began searching inside his chest. Soon, he pulled out a neatly folded piece of fabric and carefully unfolded it.

It was an extremely old flag—so old that its colors had faded—but because it was woven with magical threads and had been meticulously preserved, it had remained intact for seven hundred years. Against the solemn black background, the emblem of a shield and crown, though dulled, was still clearly visible.

After studying it closely, the count raised his hand and solemnly rehung Typhon’s banner in the town hall of Tasos Island.

Next, he unfastened another item from his waist—a family heirloom sword passed down through generations.

The sword’s hilt was engraved with a faint golden harpoon pattern, the crest bestowed by Typhon’s founding monarch to the first Count Dyson seven centuries ago. This sword symbolized the Dyson family’s legacy and the honor of Tasos Island’s original founders.

Both the sword and the flag were relics the ancestors had taken when they evacuated Tasos Island long ago. That forebear left no final words about returning these items to the island—he had perished at sea during the second evacuation—but since then, these heirlooms had become a lasting responsibility for the Dyson descendants.

After placing the sword beneath the flag, Count Owen finally exhaled softly. He returned to the sailors, turned around, and together they quietly gazed at the sword and banner on the wall—just as those in this hall had done seven centuries before.

A few minutes later, they left the town hall and set off back toward the Courage.

The blazing sun shone over the ruined town. Unknown birds and beasts called out from the dense nearby forest, while lush plants continued to grow quietly on the land. From the distant shore came the clear, melodious whistle urging the crew to gather on the beach.

…

In Aldernon, inside the obsidian palace’s study, Emperor Rosetta Augustus set down the documents in her hands and looked up at the two mages seated opposite her, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“After many hardships, the Courage has finally sent word that they’ve successfully set foot on Tasos Island—today is a day worth celebrating, Masters.”

(End of chapter)