Chapter 948: Something’s Off About This Vibe
A colossal dragon soared over the city, and the breathtaking wonders of Tal’Rond—far surpassing anything in human civilization—unfolded beneath Gawain’s gaze.
Melita had mentioned that this land lacked change. As a member of Tal’Rond’s society, she had clearly been watching these magnificent sights for many, many years, so it was natural for her to feel a bit bored. But for Gawain and the others, seeing Tal’Rond for the first time, the scenery was still astonishingly fresh and awe-inspiring.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Gawain said. “I’m just marveling at how advanced your civilization is. Maybe you’ve seen these views for years, but for the races of the Loren Continent, this level of development is still beyond reach.”
“Absolutely spectacular, unbelievably prosperous,” Veronica broke the silence, her voice sincere and filled with admiration. “Maybe the old capital of Gondor could barely compare, but Gondor’s glory was confined to one city. Tal’Rond’s splendor stretches across the entire continent…”
She paused, choosing her words carefully before continuing, “Which makes me wonder—why would a race as powerful as yours choose to remain hidden in this far northern land? You just said dragons aren’t naturally fond of the harsh Arctic environment, and the Loren Continent’s conditions are clearly much more comfortable. You wouldn’t even need to build ecological domes there.”
It was an obvious yet oddly unsettling fact: dragons were undeniably powerful. Even ignoring their advanced civilization, their sheer strength and seemingly abundant numbers could easily dominate the entire world. Yet, for tens of millions of years, they had remained confined to this frigid northern realm. Meanwhile, “weaker” races like humans, elves, and dwarves occupied the most hospitable lands, and dragons had become almost mythical creatures in stories.
Veronica found this “low profile” baffling. She didn’t believe the dragons’ self-restraint and isolation could be explained simply by some “noble spirit.”
Melita fell silent for a moment after hearing Veronica’s question. A few seconds later, she shook her head. “You’re right. By all logic, a race like ours could rule the world, and if we did, the native civilizations on other continents wouldn’t have had a chance to develop. But we can’t do that. The High Council and the Elders strictly forbid dragons from interfering with other continents’ development. Even our gods prohibit it. So, this is how things are…”
“As for the deeper reasons? I don’t know. I’m still relatively young among the dragons, and while I have some standing, I’m not close enough to the higher powers to know their true intentions.”
“But if you’re really curious—especially you, Gawain—maybe you should ask our gods directly. They might give you some answers. After all, you are a guest invited by them.”
Gawain simply nodded. Most of his attention was already absorbed by the sights of Tal’Rond as he tried to gather intelligence about this realm. He attempted to piece together useful information about dragon civilization from the stunning, dazzling, and almost surreal scenes before him—everything here was so different from what he had imagined.
Melita arced through the night sky, flying over the cityscape toward a nearby mountain crowned with towering palaces and castles. Halfway up the slope, smaller houses clustered, seemingly stretching from the city below, all brightly lit.
As they passed a floating light, a massive holographic image suddenly appeared before Gawain and the others. It showed a red dragon streaking across the sky, inhaling deeply before unleashing a torrent of blazing fire downward. Another dragon rose from below, meeting the flames in a dance high above. A cheerful, uplifting voiceover played, but Gawain couldn’t understand a word—it was ancient dragon tongue, utterly unrelated to the common languages of the Loren Continent.
“Damn…” Melita seemed startled by the sudden hologram, her flight faltering briefly before she muttered, “Can’t they control the number of these roadside ads?”
“Advertising?” Gawain asked, curious. “What was the voiceover about?”
“Oh… some kind of breath enhancer. Inject it, and your breath turns into sweet orange flavor—there are other fruit flavors too,” Melita said casually. “Honestly, it seems useless to me. Most of the time, our breath is for fighting enemies or roasting meat, and neither cares if the dragonfire tastes like orange or strawberry…”
Gawain and Amber exchanged bewildered looks.
Veronica, still stunned, muttered, “…Why does such a thing even exist?”
“Tal’Rond probably has many things you can’t understand,” Melita said with a hint of a smile. “But that’s mostly because human legends about dragons are full of misleading myths. If you see us as a living, breathing race with normal lives and social needs, maybe you wouldn’t be so surprised by things that don’t fit your expectations. I think you get what I mean.”
“I do… though it’s still a bit strange.” Gawain thought for a moment and nodded. He understood Melita’s point: the dragons of Tal’Rond were a real civilization, with a daily life full of diverse, sometimes un-dragonlike, sometimes unlegendary details. But it was precisely these details that made their society authentic.
Real dragons didn’t spend every day lounging on piles of gold, counting coins like in fairy tales—that would drive any sane intelligent being mad with boredom. And honestly… they probably didn’t have that much gold anyway.
From subtle clues, Melita herself seemed not to be very wealthy—a dragon who loved money but didn’t have much. Maybe that was the real dragon life.
Just then, Amber, who had been looking around curiously, suddenly asked, “By the way, where are we headed next?”
“We’re going to that mountain ahead—see the domed palace? That’s the Council’s headquarters. The Mithril Treasury is a department under the Council, so that’s where I usually report,” Melita said, tilting her head up. “In Tal’Rond, the Elders handle internal dragon affairs, while the Council deals with intelligence from ‘outside.’ So, the Council is responsible for hosting foreign guests. The Speaker and senior councilors are already there, preparing the welcome ceremony. We’ll land directly on the upper platform of the headquarters. After that, it’s up to the Speaker’s arrangements.”
Amber gave an “oh” and glanced up at the sky. “I really can’t get used to this place… Seeing all those stars makes me feel like I should find a place to sleep once we land.”
“It’s going to be night here for several months,” Melita smiled. “Right now, if you convert the time to Cecil’s, it’s actually noon. Yeah… it’s hard for outsiders to adjust.”
The rest of the flight was brief. Amid Amber’s chatter and Melita’s patient explanations, Gawain soon saw the grand domed building atop the mountain. Part of its outer wall smoothly opened like a massive mechanical door, revealing a large landing platform at the edge of the slope, lit and dotted with moving figures. Melita headed straight for it.
As they descended, Gawain tensed instinctively—partly from lingering trauma of a past plane crash, partly from a recent strange incident, and partly because he’d witnessed Melita’s breathtaking landings before.
But in the end, Melita landed smoothly in the center of the circular platform. The three riders barely felt any jostling.
“We’ve arrived.” The agent lowered one wing to form a gentle ramp beside her and said casually.
Gawain finally relaxed. Even Melita Pernia couldn’t crash twice in one flight.
He stepped onto the wing-ramp and saw the figures waiting at the platform’s edge. He couldn’t identify the officials’ uniforms or ceremonial displays, but the orderly reception line and the “guards” on either side—dragons in full form, heads bowed low—showed that Tal’Rond’s dragons were giving due respect to their “guest personally invited by the gods.”
Dragons might not care much for a human king, but they clearly revered divine commands.
Gawain walked up the ramp, with Veronica poised and elegant behind him. Even Amber, usually giggly and carefree, straightened up, adopting a serious expression and determined demeanor, stepping alongside Gawain—because even the “shame of all creation” knew when to uphold the dignity of the “human representative.”
Though she wasn’t human.
As Gawain dismounted Melita’s back, a classical melody—unheard in the human world—began to play.
The moment Gawain’s foot touched the platform, an elderly man at the front of the welcoming party stepped forward with several attendants to greet him.
The dragons guarding the passageway let out a low, synchronized roar. Across from the platform, the building’s lights pulsed rhythmically, and welcoming messages appeared in the common human script.
It was a solemn ceremony, but Gawain couldn’t shake a strange feeling. Since arriving in Tal’Rond, this odd sensation had crept up on him from every angle. If he had to pinpoint it… these dragons were nothing like the dragons he’d imagined, and this dragon realm was nothing like the one he’d pictured.
Still, he kept those feelings buried deep, maintaining a calm, smiling expression as he approached the elder, who stood about two meters away, ready to receive him.
The elderly dragon, now transformed into human form, wore a long robe of a pale golden hue—its material impossible to discern. Embedded in the skin of his forehead were several silver-white diamond-shaped metal plates, faintly shimmering with a soft glow that seeped through the seams. Some of this light traced delicate paths across the old man’s face before converging into his right eye socket. When High King Gawain looked closer, he was stunned to realize that eye was a mechanical prosthetic. Within the eyeball, intricate machinery was clearly visible, and the focal point of the pupil subtly adjusted itself in real time.
…Mechanical augmentation?
Gawain blinked in surprise, then his gaze shifted to a dragon standing guard at the platform’s edge. The creature’s lower jaw revealed obvious mechanical components, with pipe-like conduits extending from the back of its skull all the way down to its shoulder blades—an unhidden fusion of flesh and machine, openly displayed for all to see.
A cheeky thought immediately popped into his mind—what on earth was this?
What kind of cybernetic dragon had jumped out of some alternate timeline?!
Sure, these dragons lived in dense cities filled with blinding lights and massive factories, but why were they tinkering with mechanical parts on their own bodies?!
Gawain had always thought that by sparking a magitech industrial revolution in this medieval world, he’d already twisted the natural order of things. But ever since arriving in Talrond, he’d begun to doubt himself. And now, at this very moment, his doubts reached their peak—he suddenly realized that when it came to style clashes, he was no match for these dragons who’d been trapped on this planet, evolving for tens of millions of years…
After a brief moment of shock, an inexplicable sense of relief washed over him—
From this day forward, he no longer needed to worry about whether he was distorting the world’s aesthetic.
Because in terms of style, he simply couldn’t out-weird these cyber dragons…
Just then, the elderly man with the mechanical eye extended his hand toward Gawain, his voice cutting through the whirlwind of thoughts: “Welcome to Talrond, legendary hero of the human world, High King Gawain Cecil—I am Andal, the High Chancellor of the Talrond Council. You may call me Andal.”
(A friendly recommendation: a book titled The Legend of the Spirit Tablet, a game-themed novel by one of my fans. Honestly, the author’s perseverance during serialization reminds me of my own early days writing solo, so I wanted to give them a little encouragement. Feel free to check it out and show some support!)
(End of chapter)