Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 1120: Chapter 1119: Welcome Home

The study fell silent for a moment as Gawain sank into thought behind his desk—these sudden pieces of intelligence brought to him created some pressure, but from another perspective, none of this was entirely beyond his expectations.

Ever since he learned that a remnant of the Oblivion Association cultists were still active in the wastelands, he knew he would have to face this trouble one day. However, compared to the sudden activities of these cultists, the intelligence Veronica revealed about the Well of Deep Blue, Iron Soldier Corps, and the remnant base was even more unexpected for him.

All of this further solidified his determination to counterattack the wastelands—this target, secretly set in his heart not long after his awakening, suddenly had even more reason to strive for it.

"In any case, whatever those cultists are planning, their goal certainly isn’t for world peace and unity," Gawain broke the silence in a low voice as he contemplated, "The more energy they steal from the Well of Deep Blue, the more dangerous their scheme becomes... we cannot sit idly by."

"But they are deep within the wastelands," Veronica said quietly, "It’s a vast zone of contamination, with countless aberrations wandering about—the dire lands outside the great walls are comparatively as peaceful as gardens compared to the Gondor wasteland. Those cultists hiding in the contamination zone means they have near-absolute safety."

Gawain said nothing for a moment, just leaned gently back as the wind outside his ears grew louder.

What Veronica mentioned was indeed the biggest problem at present—a vast wasteland. For the kingdoms living in clean zones, the wasteland is an extremely perilous territory, but for the cultists who have adapted to the wasteland environment through biological reformation, the fearsome chaotic magic pollution and roaming aberrations are their natural barrier. Even though Gawain and Veronica now know where those cultists are hiding, they can almost do nothing about them, after all... seven hundred years have passed, and the kingdoms surrounding the Gondor wasteland have only just managed to maintain their borders, with no one ever truly raising the banner of counterattack.

But just because it was impossible in the past doesn’t mean it can’t be done now, and it certainly doesn’t mean it can’t be done in the future.

Gawain curled his fingers and lightly tapped the armrest of his chair twice, his gaze falling on the distant wall where the flag of the Commonwealth Alliance now hung alongside the continental map, gleaming in the afternoon sun with its silken fabric.

"I’ve never brought up such matters with you before because I judged the time wasn’t right," Veronica’s voice came from the side, "You had more significant and urgent crises to face, and even the slightest distraction posed the risk of everything crumbling, and even if I had told you about the wasteland matters back then, neither you nor your allies could have done anything about it. But now... I believe we have some leeway to consider internal threats before the great walls."

Gawain couldn’t help but glance at her. What she said seemed reasonable, but thinking carefully, he realized these judgments only calculated rigid data without considering the variability of human beings. This way of assessing situations didn’t quite align with human thought habits... is this the effect of time too prolonged on her?

Veronica noticed his gaze, "Is there a problem?"

"No, there isn’t," Gawain shook his head, his eyes returning to the alliance flag not far away, and he said with a contemplative expression, "To this day, we are still not ready to counterattack the wasteland, whether from a technical reserve or a resources and manpower perspective. It’s not something the Cecil Empire can solve independently at this stage, but from another perspective... we have now established an alliance, and with it, we have the chance to mobilize unprecedented power to do great things, so..."

"So this is no longer an unattainable thing," Veronica stated calmly, "If all the nations on the continent can recognize the threat in the wasteland growing restless, then even if we still can’t reclaim the wasteland, at least we can do something, even if it’s just advancing a kilometer towards the great walls, or establishing a few sentinel towers at its border."

Gawain pondered as he slowly spoke, "I think your ideas are too conservative—if several stronger nations are genuinely willing to do this together, what we can achieve might not be so limited."

Thoughts surged in his mind, as he spoke, he listed potential countries that might actively cooperate in this matter like an inventory. As those allied countries emerged in his mind one by one, he gradually realized how effective this force could become, and suddenly realized that this "counterattack on the wasteland" had unconsciously already acquired some foundation.

Counterattacking the wasteland is indeed difficult for the Cecils alone, but if Typhon and the Silver Empire are willing to contribute, and border countries like Augari and the Highmountain Kingdom are willing to actively cooperate, then this matter... might not be so distant?

But even so, this matter is not something achievable overnight, even if the conditions are met now. Planning a counterattack on the wasteland will still require long and careful planning—after all, the mortal nations have been distant from that ancient rotting land for far too long.

With no reservations, Gawain shared his thoughts with Veronica, and finally said, "I will promptly send out messages to Typhon and the Silver Empire; no matter what, they need to be warned, but no matter how, entering the Gondor wasteland isn’t a simple task, as it requires a lengthy preparation."

"I understand," Veronica nodded, "But please make it quick—I’ve once again lost track of those cultists. They are preparing unknown plans in everyone’s blind spot. Only by finding them early can I truly be at ease."

Gawain remained silent, sitting behind his desk with a stern expression, nodding slowly.

...

When the wind of the last week of the Revival Month blew across the plains, all the Golden Dalia Flowers would bloom at Long Branch Manor. These pretty little flowers with pale golden petals weren’t particularly eye-catching in the plains area, but their resilient vitality always endeared them to the Wendell clan—they were planted along every pathway in the estate, extending from the high ground of the red windmill to the edge of the small woods, from the direction of the farm to the main house designed by Bard Wendell himself. When the warm wind blew, a scent mixed with the smell of soil wafted from the flower clusters, filling all the avenues and paths.

A Magic-guided Vehicle bearing the crest of the Wendell clan drove along the wide, flat "National Boulevard" and entered the main gate of Long Branch Manor via a cobblestone path. Servants were already waiting at the estate’s entrance for the master who had been away for too long—the car halted in the open area, and once the car door opened, the tall, gray-haired Andresha Wendell finally stood once again on the land she knew best.

This young Wolf General had shed her military uniform, wearing a springtime casual dress that looked more like that of an ordinary woman. The high-quality yet simply styled white long dress fluttered lightly in the breeze, somewhat tempering her icy, rigid military aura, though the sharp, brisk quality she possessed remained conspicuously evident.

Andresha Wendell nodded in response to the servants welcoming her, and then her gaze involuntarily swept over the familiar sights in her view—she saw the main road winding towards the direction of the main house, a Mage tower standing on a nearby hill, and further away, she could see lush orchards, nurseries, and stables. A small river, originating from the distant woods, meandered its way towards National Boulevard.

This was her own estate, a small part of her titled land, a considerable distance from the imperial capital. Many years ago, the estate’s owner was her father, and after her father’s "disappearance," her grandfather soon transferred it to her. For Andresha, it encapsulated almost all her memories, both good and bad, from childhood to girlhood, and compared to the family residence in the imperial capital, this somewhat remote estate felt more like her "home" in memory.

Andresha inhaled gently, letting her emotions gradually settle. Perhaps having gone through too many upheavals, when she finally returned to this familiar land, she found her feelings so complex that even she found it hard to comprehend.

At that moment, the butler of the estate stepped forward timely, bowing before the mistress, "Miss, Duke Ferdinand Wendell has arrived, he is waiting for you in the hall on the first floor of the main house."

So Grandfather is already waiting for me here?

Andresha blinked, showing little surprise on her face. She nodded, signaled the butler to dismiss the assembled servants, and then walked steadily towards the nearby main house.

Inside the main house, the white-haired Duke Ferdinand Wendell was quietly standing before the north wall, gazing at a large painting hanging on the wall—if according to the ’regulation’ of most Typhon aristocratic estates, this spot should display the portrait of the estate’s owner, which would be Andresha’s ’formal portrait’ painted when she became an adult. But the one still hanging here is the full-body portrait of Bard Wendell from many years ago.

On the wide canvas, a young Bard Wendell stands there with an awe-inspiring presence in the armory, fully armored, draped in a cape, a sharp sword standing before him, eyes as sharp as a wolf’s. Although the subject of the painting is long gone, a certain spirit of the former Wolf General seems deeply etched in the painting. Under the brush of the renowned masters of the imperial capital, this spirit even radiates outward, making every observer feel that awe-inspiring aura—yet the white-haired Duke Ferdinand stands here, looking at the painting with a gentle and reminiscent expression, like any elderly father.

The sound of a door opening and footsteps came at this moment, and Duke Ferdinand turned his head to see Andresha Wendell standing at the doorway.

Sunlight poured into the hall from behind Andresha, with the texture of thin fog, shimmering with a golden glow on the shoulders of the young lady who had taken off her military uniform.

After a few seconds of mutual silence, Duke Ferdinand finally broke the silence softly: "Andresha, you’re back."

"Yes, Grandfather," Andresha walked into the hall, with a kind of indescribable restraint and sense of distance, "I’m back."

She looked at Duke Ferdinand; this man, who was incredibly strong in her memory, had aged much more than just a few months ago. His hair was already fully white—although the Wendell family’s gray hair was always close to white, Duke Ferdinand’s hair now had none of that gray texture left, only a near-silver plain white. His once broad and sturdy frame was now slightly hunched, still tall, but no longer towering over her.

Andresha’s gaze passed over her grandfather to the full-body portrait of her father on the back wall. The military figure in full uniform stirred something in her heart, and a new set of memories began to surface in her mind, another image emerging before her eyes and gradually overlapping with the image of her father in the portrait—

Slightly chubby, wearing the uniform of the research institute, beard and hair unkempt due to research devotion, holding a clipboard, always able to come up with a hundred questions, skilled at snatching chicken legs from the mess hall with colleagues, then urging her to drink medicine upon returning.

Tried folding it for ages, couldn’t get it right.

At the last moment, Andresha controlled the change in her expression—such a serious occasion, in front of her grandfather, required attention.

Duke Ferdinand, completely unaware of what Andresha was thinking at this moment, merely first noticed the eye hidden beneath her bangs, that eye tinged with blood and noticeably different from a normal eyeball: "Andresha, your eye..."

"In the bombing by the Cecil Clan... it was injured," Andresha subconsciously touched the corner of her eye, her expression tinged with a hint of shame, "After their treatment, my vision recovered, but the eyeball underwent some changes—I voluntarily requested to keep this mark as a reminder to myself."

Duke Ferdinand looked at Andresha, then softly sighed after a moment: "You’ve... suffered a lot."

This could probably be the softest, most caring words this "Steel Duke" could express, right?

Andresha thought to herself, softly shaking her head: "The physical injuries are not important, my performance in the Battle of Winterwolf Fortress... did it disappoint you?"

Duke Ferdinand said nothing, merely quietly watching his granddaughter until the gaze almost became a tangible pressure, he finally spoke: "Why should I be disappointed? Because you chose to surrender? Or because you couldn’t hold the fortress?"

Andresha remained silent.

"Andresha, you indeed failed to hold Winterwolf Fortress, and you were indeed the first Wolf General to surrender on the battlefield, but for all of Typhon, what you held was more than just a Winterwolf Fortress," Duke Ferdinand said solemnly, "At the right moment, making the right judgment, with the mission to protect the nation’s interests, did you achieve these two things?"

Andresha did not hesitate: "I did."

"Then that’s fine," Duke Ferdinand finally showed a faint smile, "That’s all I’ve ever asked of you."

The elderly man opened his arms, still as broad as Andresha remembered:

"Welcome home, Andresha."

...

A chilly sea breeze blew from the coast, carrying a slightly salty scent, as Melita Ponia made her landing on the large coastal landing platform amidst the turbulence. Only upon seeing the distant camp still operating in an orderly manner, with her fellow compatriots busily occupied, did she exhale softly in relief.

She transformed into human form, descending the landing platform—though called a landing platform, it wasn’t anything like the former industrial products with precise navigation systems and intelligent lighting and self-cleaning functions. It was merely an open, flat highland outside the camp, its ground etched with glowing lines made from magic-conducting materials to aid in landing—a figure in a white dress stood at the end of the slope not far away, and upon seeing Melita appear, this figure quickly rushed forward.

"Welcome back!" Nuoletta cheerfully greeted her friend, looking Melita up and down, "Not bad—you seem to have managed the long journey without your injuries acting up."

"It was just a round trip to the Loren Continent," Melita waved it off indifferently, "I wasn’t going to the elemental world to pick a fight."

As she spoke, she glanced in the direction of the camp and asked casually: "Is everything here alright?"

"As you can see, everything is progressing orderly, and the camp has expanded considerably since you left," Nuoletta replied, "We now have more helpers—Agondale successfully restarted two factories, our logistics supply is stabilizing, at least... the source and reserve of basic supplies are no longer as perilous as before."

"That’s good," Melita exhaled deeply with heartfelt relief, "So, any more good news?"

"As our ’ambassador,’ you should theoretically be reporting the outside situation first," Nuoletta laughed and said, "But it doesn’t matter, you can report after meeting Speaker Andar. For now, come home with me—I’ve prepared a surprise for you."