Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 1227: Chapter 1226: The Pages Have Turned Yellow

In the vast matrix hall, the buzzing sounds of ancient machinery resonate between silver-white metal pillars, sometimes coming together like the peculiar melody of wind chimes—a sound Ophelia vaguely remembers hearing when someone visited her long ago, describing the mental sounds she emitted as "wind chimes" in the days before this underground facility was sealed.

But that was long ago, so long that even tireless machines have stored the relevant data in the deepest part of databases, and now no living person will knock on these ancient, dust-covered doors. In this vast underground facility, only soulless Iron Soldiers and cold magical mechanisms accompany her, this sleepless ancient ghost.

The resonance between pillars gradually becomes low and slow, and the holographic projections that clearly depict scenes outside the wasteland extinguish one by one. The Ophelia Matrix ends its brief rest state and transfers the active terminal named "Veronica" to spare threads. Meanwhile, in the hall, the metal pillars rapidly adjust their heights and orientation angles, with each matrix node completing self-checks and coming online, starting to take control of the information networks of the laboratories and factory facilities within the base.

As these matrix nodes undergo changes, a metal platform in the center of the hall rises with a slight hissing pressure sound, and the covering device above slides open silently to the sides, revealing the precise container placed at the platform’s top. This is an ellipsoid protective capsule made of crystals, with countless pipes and cables connecting to the metal structure of its base, although more than half of the magic symbols on the base are currently in an extinguished state. Inside the ellipsoid capsule, a slightly petite and slender figure floats quietly in a thin golden liquid.

The figure is a young woman, with long hair of pale gray mixed with metallic sheen cascading like a waterfall behind her. She wears a classical dress from a bygone era, adorned with exquisite decorations that, alongside her extraordinary appearance, signify the special identity of this "sleeper." Despite her beauty, the woman floating in the faint golden liquid does not exhibit any signs of life, seeming like a delicate doll floating in a coffin sealed for hundreds of years.

The matrix observes the figure floating in the container and routinely completes today’s surveillance record:

"XX year X month XX day, 266455 days since Ophelia Norton’s brain death, matrix continues operation, inner base situation normal, no higher instructions received, continuing to execute initial system tasks..."

...

In the valley surrounded by a vast wasteland, a thicket formed by interwoven giant plant structures has grown into a solid and dense wooden dome. This dome blocks the turbulent filthy winds of the wasteland and prevents dry sand grains and ash fragments from unknown origins carried by the wind from entering. Inside, the environment of the valley has fully stabilized.

Glowing plants embedded in the dome and surrounding rock walls provide ample lighting for the settlement, while vines extending deep into the rock layers and underground supply clean water to the valley through filtration. The substances needed for plant growth are supplied by the corrupted soil filled with chaotic magic residues. Numerous dormant Treants cling to the rugged rocks and slopes, while dense paths between them showcase abundant yet twisted flora.

If one were to overlook the terrifying twisted thorns on the dome and the secret hidden behind the valley, the environment inside could be described as "vibrant"—should an outsider visit, they might never guess such a lush place exists at the heart of the Gondor wasteland.

Soft rustling sounds come from the forest as an elf sister duo steps out from the trees. Their pale green priestess robes brush against the low bushes along the path, and light from the dome illuminates their delicate faces. Fyrna pauses, looks up at the fully enclosed dome, then turns to her "sister" and suddenly laughs, "Does this scene remind you of lingering impressions in your mind? In southern forests, beautiful elves bathe in sunlight, emerging from the trees, breathing in the slightly damp and earthy morning breeze..."

Lelena immediately shakes her head, "Those lingering impressions in my mind are fragmented, and I don’t believe the scene you describe applies to this forest catalyzed by twisted forces of nature. Consider the lush plants’ state before they transformed into their current forms—by mortal standards, it’s truly repulsive."

"Mortal standards..." Fyrna softly says, a faint perpetual smile on her face, then she shifts her expression and gazes at the surrounding woods, "But it’s undeniable that these followers indeed achieved unexpected results; they reshaped a suitable ecological environment on a small scale—in a sense, they ’healed’ this wasteland..."

At that moment, a hoarse, deep voice suddenly sounds from nearby, interrupting Fyrna’s statement: "Sadly, ’healing’ the wasteland is just a secondary outcome of the plan. Our pursuit is to return the entire world to the correct path."

The Elven Twins simultaneously shift their gaze towards the voice’s source, nodding gently to the slow-moving Treant Leader: "Look who’s here—our Archbishop, Bolken."

"I sometimes wonder whether you’re one being or two," Bolken disregards Fyrna Sisters’ perpetually provocative demeanor and merely scans the two elves with brown eyes, "If the former, playing dual roles with one soul and conversing with yourself... isn’t that tiring?"

"Quite the contrary, it’s utterly enjoyable," the elf sisters say in unison with faint smiles, then Fyrna speaks alone, "What brings you, the busy Archbishop, to concern yourself with how we sisters interact? Haven’t you abandoned your unrealistic plans and intend to conduct photosynthesis like a normal plant in a sunny spot?"

Lelena immediately adds, "Or perhaps the erosion of The Deep Blue Webway has finally caught the ghost at the wasteland’s center’s attention. An Iron Soldier army has located this tiny hideout, and the Archbishops are already preparing to gather their belongings and flee..."

"One day, I will teach your toxic tongues how to interact with allies," Archbishop Bolken stares at the two elves fiercely. His brown eyes briefly reveal undisguised malice and anger, but he quickly collects those emotions, his tone becoming pleasant and relaxed, "Say what you will, my subordinates have achieved tremendous success within The Deep Blue Webway. The control rune stones have been set; several veins running through the entire planet are gradually entering our grasp—I wanted to inform you that my plan is one step closer to success."

"Ah, we’re grateful for your kindness and transparency, remembering to inform us insignificant allies about your plan’s progress..." Fyrna Sisters intentionally speak in exaggerated tones in unison, then Lelena looks at Bolken, "However, we assume you’re not just here to report good news, right?"

"Certainly not. You better not play dumb," Bolken instantly replies, his twisted crown above emitting a series of rustling sounds, "Don’t forget your previous commitments—we must deploy node rune stones into several fissures outside the wasteland to achieve sufficient ’control’. For that, the ’wasteland great barrier’ poses a necessary obstacle that must be addressed."

"Oh, sure, we remember, we remember," the Elven Sisters purposefully draw out their words, Fyrna raising her gaze towards the direction shielded by rock walls and domes, her sight seemingly piercing through obstacles and distances to observe the majestic towers standing at the Gondor wasteland’s edge, "sentinel towers... we truly bear significant responsibilities, providing knowledge of The Deep Blue Webway, assisting you in infiltrating Iron Soldiers and the Ophelia Matrix’s external power systems, and now tackling those ’sentinels’ at the wasteland’s fringe... Archbishop, cooperating with you is indeed no easy feat."

"This is part of the contract, gentlemen," Bolken said in a deep voice, his tone surprisingly devoid of all "anger" and "impatience," instead becoming unusually grave and solemn. "I know you have always had your own little plans, things you want to do in private, but I have never truly pursued them—because on the larger scale, we share a common goal. This world needs true, lasting security, not any compromise of merely surviving; we must completely end the threat of the chaotic wave and the gods to this world—for this, the world must choose some sacrifices.

"Now, our long-term efforts have finally reached the most critical moment. The Deep Blue Webway that spans the entire planet is about to fall into our hands, so at least until the plan is completed, let us both show some sincerity... Even if one day we truly need to part ways, I hope it will be after the plan’s success."

"... A wonderful speech, Archbishop," Fyrna said unhurriedly after Bolken’s words fell, her elusive gaze hiding all her true emotions. She extended her index finger and thumb, gesturing a very small distance in front of Bolken, "Of course, it’s only a very small bit of emotion."

"Nevertheless, we will still abide by the contract," Lelena said immediately, "We’ll find a way to deal with those sentinel towers—you can trust us, after all, a few years ago we successfully infiltrated the sentinel towers..."

Bolken’s amber-brown eyes scanned the Elven Twins several times before the dark Druid leader, now transformed into a Warped Treant, slightly swayed his canopy. From the friction of leaves came his aged, deep voice: "Good, then I look forward to your outcome."

"You can expect it—though don’t hope for it too soon," Lelena said lightly, "After all, cracking the sentinel towers is not an easy task, even for us, it still requires a long preparation."

"Of course, I can wait," Bolken said in a deep voice, "After all, I’ve already been waiting for many years..."

Accompanied by the rustling sound emitted by the twisting and rubbing of wooden structures, the ancient, twisted Treant slithered away its roots from the forest path, its figure gradually disappearing from the sight of the Elven Twins. Lelena and Fyrna watched the direction in which the Druid leader’s figure vanished, their profound eyes hiding unintelligible intentions.

Then they lifted their heads, quietly gazing towards the direction obstructed by the wooden dome and rocky layers—their seeming gaze penetrated these impenetrable barriers and the distant wasteland, watching the huge sentinel towers standing at the end of the wasteland, supporting a grand barrier.

Fyrna’s lips moved, suddenly singing softly a folk ballad that has been passed down from ancient times in the Silver Empire—

"The wind blew through the deep forest, the sound of the wind hollow and empty... A lonely sentinel tower stands in the wind, the sentinel cannot see the familiar bird flying across the sky..."

Lelena softly joined in—

"How long has the empty wind blown, the ancient trees in the forest cannot remember... That bird never flew across the sky again... A sentinel went mad...

"The bird never flew across the sky again, a sentinel went mad...

"A sentinel went mad..."

...

"The bird never flew across the sky again, a sentinel went mad..."

Queen Belsetia sat on a bench by the garden path, somewhat entranced as she gazed at the star-filled night sky. The tune hummed softly by the Silver Empress lingered in the serene courtyard, finally dissipating into the cold night breeze.

"I heard this tune before, it seems you were singing it as well," Gawain cast a curious glance at the Silver Empress beside him, yet somewhat puzzled, "But I remember the words I heard then were ’the bird never flew across the sky because the sentinel cooked a pot of pigeon soup’..."

"... That was my impromptu revision back then, Uncle Gawain," Belsetia awkwardly pulled at the corners of her mouth, "After all, I was young then... Forget about it, the one I sang just now is the ’authentic’ version."

"Alright, I suspected that was your fabrication," Gawain sighed helplessly and then thoughtfully stroked his chin, "But the authentic lyrics sound strange... Rather, the whole song sounds strange. What’s the origin of this song? Some kind of sacrificial tune?"

"Sacrificial tune? Of course not," Queen Belsetia was startled and immediately waved her hand, "It’s just a folk ballad sung among the silver elves, often sung by children. When I was little, I liked to venture out of the Elven Royal Court and wander around, learning to sing with the kids from the countryside outside the city..."

"Sung by children..." Gawain blinked, his expression becoming somewhat peculiar, "How should I say, the Silver Elves truly live up to their reputation for artistic talent—you certainly made even a rural nursery rhyme sound deep, complex, and mysterious."