Andresha leaned on the railing of the terrace, squinting in the breeze, looking over the outskirts of the Sorin Giant Tree. From here, you could vaguely see the scenery of the Plains of the Holy Spirits—a long, narrow curtain illuminated by the heavenly light seemed to stretch endlessly along the horizon. The base color of the curtain was pure white, which must be the snow from the plains, right?
She did not turn around, softly breaking the silence: "I know it’s not easy for you to say this in front of me—from your perspective, it must be that you believe this matter indeed benefits both the Cecil Clan and the Typhon Empire, right?"
"That is indeed the case," Bard said, "Our greatest threat now is the ’Divine Calamity’, and the soldiers capable of bating the Divine Calamity are the key to influencing the battle. The most important thing is for the two nations to face this mon threat together."
"And after we get through this crisis?" Andresha turned around, her remaining eye quietly gazing at Bard. "Will the Cecil Clan and Typhon bee eternal allies and partners, and live together peacefully and happily without holding grudges?"
"...No," Bard looked at his daughter, and after a few seconds said calmly, "From my analysis, even if this crisis is resolved peacefully and the two countries form some kind of post-war balance or alliance, this balance and alliance would only be temporary. petition will continue indefinitely, and once a fatal weakness is discovered on either side, war will loom once again. There are no eternal allies or partners in the world, especially not on the national level."
"The mass-produced superhuman technology is one of Typhon’s core strengths. As for the future, I dare not say, but at this stage, it is a guarantee of our military power. Perhaps the Cecil people really do just want to train a batch of soldiers to fight against the pollution of the gods... but after the Divine Calamity is over, will they still think only that? And with mass-produced superhumans bined with mass-produced war machines, how will Typhon resist that kind of power?" Andresha shook her head. "I am a person with a narrow vision and inflexible thinking—maybe Gawain Cecil truly stands at the height of all humanity, and perhaps His Majesty Rosetta does too, but I do not.
"I stand only in my position, so from my point of view, there is no room for negotiation in this matter.
"Maybe in my current status, I am not qualified to say this, but I still have to say it—why should all good things fall into the hands of the Cecil people?"
Bard quietly looked at Andresha. It was a long while before he slowly revealed a slight smile: "Your grandfather raised you well."
Andresha did not respond. She simply gazed quietly at the distant view for a long time in silence before suddenly speaking softly: "From the grand scheme, the Cecil Clan and Typhon pletely joining forces to resist this disaster is the most correct choice, isn’t it?"
"If things were truly that simple, it would all be much easier," Bard laughed slightly, "Unfortunately, not even two mighty rulers can simply ’mold’ two countries together like clay."
"Therefore, whether the Cecil people want Typhon’s technology, or want to trade it for their own technology, or if the two countries want to engage in more thorough cooperation and exchanges... none of this should start with me," Andresha said slowly, "As a soldier, regardless of any grand, noble reason, handing over those things would be treason—there are things that our Majesty can do, but I cannot."
Bard was silent for a few seconds before he spoke with a trace of emotion: "Andresha, you truly have grown up..."
"Your sigh came many years too late," Andresha looked at her father, her always stern face now showing a slight smile. Then she took a deep breath in the healthful breeze of the Sorin region, "I have been outside for too long. I should head back to my room before Sister Marian takes any drastic measures."
Bard instinctively stepped forward slightly: "Should I escort you back?"
"No need, I’m not that weak yet." Andresha waved her hand, then slowly turned around, a bit unsteady in her steps, as she headed towards the terrace’s exit.
Only when her figure pletely disappeared at the door did Bard slowly retract his gaze, while a tiny voice came from a crack in the bricks somewhere nearby: "Your conversation really didn’t sound like it was between a father and daughter—it was more like two officers seriously discussing wartime strategies."
Bard glanced sideways at his feet, seeing a small flower bud swaying in the breeze from the crack in the brick. He raised an eyebrow: "Didn’t you say you were going to avoid this conversation? Crawling into a corner to eavesdrop is your idea of avoiding things?"
As soon as he finished speaking, a multitude of vines appeared out of nowhere at the edge of the terrace, from which Beltira’s form materialized. The latter walked steadily onto the terrace, her slightly wooden face showing no expression: "I did avoid it, a ceremonial avoidance—you’re all standing on my body, so how can I pletely avoid it? I even crawled into the brick joints."
Bard felt his eyebrows twitch: "...How e I didn’t notice over the past ten years that you were such a debater? Is this change also thanks to the ’brain’ you crafted for yourself?"
Beltira did not answer Bard’s question. She just glanced in the direction Andresha had left, seemingly saying offhandedly: "Looks like this matter can’t be negotiated—I thought the words of you as a ’father’ would sway the young lady."
Bard sighed: "It’s a pity; Andresha is more steadfast in her stance than we imagined. His Majesty Gawain seems to be in for a disappointment."
"That result was probably within his expectations..." Beltira said with a hint of wistfulness, "Andresha... Your daughter is actually a very clear-headed person. Although many intelligence reports and subjective judgments from third parties claim that the current Wolf General is a stiff, stubborn, inflexible warmonger with blind hostility towards the Cecil Clan, in my opinion, she may understand the changes in the world and the relationships between nations better than many politicians who boast within their mansions.
"It’s just that she remembers her duty as a soldier."
"Earning such high praise from you is no easy feat," Bard glanced at Beltira, "but let’s focus on the issue of the special soldiers... The fighting on the Winterwolf Fortress front is getting increasingly intense. The Typhon army is now filled with carriers of mental pollution. Every day, our soldiers must face those things, and the neural network has started detecting War God’s pollutive information in the frontline nodes—if we don’t find an effective means of resistance, the front line will have to shrink."
"I inspected the bodies of those Typhon bat mages in the prisoner camps—in the name of medical examination," Beltira said casually, "The vast majority of them indeed relied on alchemical potions and continuous external stimuli to alter their neural structure... Frankly, this kind of alchemical potion that forcibly stimulates magical talent is not unmon in other places, but it almost always has severe side effects, such as weakening physical fitness or causing permanent damage to the nervous system. The best ones would result in the permanent lock of spellcasting talent, but the catalyst technology used by Typhon appears to have solved these aftereffects...
"Those bat mages have very healthy bodies, and their personal strength can actually be improved to a limited extent through normal learning and training, apart from their relatively low ceiling and difficulty in growing later on, there’s not much difference between them and true mages.
"I isolated the blood samples of these people and scanned their neural structures, hoping to reverse engineer their transformation process, but there are no clues... this clearly isn’t that simple."
"In other words, that path is a dead end," Bard frowned, summarizing Beltira’s string of technical descriptions into a simple conclusion, "I don’t know if His Majesty would attempt to contact Aldernon, but under the current circumstances, it’s unlikely for the two countries to establish a channel for technical exchange even while at war..."
"So, I’m considering other solutions..." Beltira said leisurely.
"Alternative solutions?" Bard paused for a moment, then looked surprised at the former Archbishop before him. "Have you thought of a method?"
"A technical route that takes a different path; perhaps we can enhance ordinary people’s magic power adaptation and control abilities through other means, such as an additional nervous system... Nariteer told me some knowledge about neural networks, and there’s a concept called ’wetware puting nodes’ that’s quite intriguing..."
Bard looked at Beltira and suddenly felt a chill for some unknown reason. Despite the mild climate of the Sorin Region, he rubbed his arms instinctively. "Damn... Don’t carry out any bloody experiments again, or I’ll be the first to report you."
Beltira gave him a glance. "Of course not; my every move is under the surveillance of the Magic Web. Not to mention, I’ve long lost interest in those foolish experiments—I’ll submit applications and reports to Minister Rebecca according to the proper procedures."
...
Aldernon.
The snow that lasted for several days finally began to cease, but the fog that followed once again shrouded this imperial capital on the plains. Aldernon’s sky remained gloomy, yet pared to the previous days of wind and snow, today at least there was a trace of sunlight and warmth.
A tall, thin man, clad in a black Earl’s cloak and adorned with ribbons and insignia, walked through the deep and long corridors of the Obsidian Palace. His face was slightly cold, with a high nose and slender eyes—typical features of someone from northern Typhon.
Guided by the maid, he passed through the corridors of the Obsidian Palace, arriving in front of Emperor Rosetta Augustus’ most monly used reception room. He pushed open the heavy oak door decorated with plex gold-threaded emblems and stepped inside. Emperor Rosetta Augustus was seated in a high-backed chair near the fireplace, raising his head from his book due to the motion at the doorway.
"Earl Clement Darte," Rosetta acknowledged the tall, thin man appearing at the door with a slight nod, "You’re very punctual."
"Punctuality is a tradition of the Darte family." The man known as Clement walked toward Rosetta as the reception room’s door closed behind him. As the wooden door made a sound upon closing, he bowed to the empire’s ruler before him, "I e to bid farewell as a matter of legal formality."
His etiquette was impeccable, his words perfectly standard, yet it was all mechanical—precise, but devoid of emotion and warmth.
Rosetta evidently did not mind this.
"Tomorrow at dawn, you will take the first train to the front lines," he nodded, "I wish you a safe journey and bravery in battle—may you earn honors."
Clement Darte straightened up, his slender eyes locking onto Emperor Rosetta for several seconds before withdrawing his gaze, calmly saying, "Thank you for your blessings."
With this, all the necessary etiquette had been fulfilled.
He stepped back, preparing to bid farewell and leave, but before he could speak, Rosetta suddenly asked, "Is there anything else you wish to say? We may not have the opportunity to converse like this again."
Clement stared at Rosetta for a long moment before speaking, "Are you having doubts now?"
"I am unwavering."
"Good, I understand," Clement nodded, turning his gaze to the reception room’s door, "Then I will watch you from the soil of Winterwolf Fortress, I will keep watching until you truly achieve the grandeur you once depicted—or plunge into the abyss, never to return."
After saying this, the Typhon aristocrat briskly walked out of the reception room without pausing.
In the spacious room, Emperor Rosetta Augustus sat quietly in his chair. Once the room’s door closed again, he glanced at the nearby mechanical clock.
"Two minutes was alright."
He murmured to himself, casually playing with a small gem—it was about the size of a thumb, shaped like an eye, entirely black with starry specks sparkling and wandering on its surface, as if it contained a miniature starry sky.
The "Starlight Flicker" gem rolled lightly in Rosetta’s hand for quite a while before he suddenly halted his movement, and the specks of light on the gem seemed to quiver as if with inertia, gradually settling and solidifying. A tiny image began to emerge from the depths of the gem’s darkness.
It gradually became clear, finally revealing details—it was the face of Malm Dunite, vacant and unseeing.
Rosetta Augustus gazed dispassionately at the face appearing on the gem’s surface for a long time before smiling slightly, "Are you pretending to be an unconscious shell?"
The vacant-faced Malm Dunite inside the gem suddenly "came to life," glaring at Rosetta with malice, his mocking voice resonating the air around the gem, "All you have trapped is a mere avatar! The true me is already unified with the Lord’s radiant glory. You will never prehend that great realm beyond mortal understanding—keep boasting here, as a mortal, you aren’t even qualified to stand against the Lord—this war itself will swallow you and your pathetic family!"
Rosetta quietly watched the face emerging from the gem. He was not the least bit angry, his voice continually calm, "Yes... you make some valid points, as a mortal, reaching the divine above truly is a difficult task... solving such a conundrum is immensely enjoyable."
His fingers exerted a slight force, and powerful magic poured into the gem. As a faint snap sounded alongside an indistinct roar, the gem along with the spirit trapped inside instantly vanished amid smoke and ashes.
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