Chapter 1057: Chapter 1056: The Thaw

In the following minutes, there was only silence in the abandoned and collapsed hall, with three pairs of eyes fixated on the metal plate with its strange texture, until the writing on the metal plate gradually disappeared, and even the metal plate itself dissolved into the air bit by bit—it turned into specks of light dust, slid from Heragor’s hand, and left no trace behind.

Balogar finally couldn’t resist breaking the silence, "What does the third story mean?"

"...When Gawain Cecil visited Talronde, ’He’ told him two stories, two stories about the gods and mortals," Heragor rubbed his fingers, as if still feeling the solid touch of that metal plate, "’He’ said at the time that there was a third story, but that story has not yet happened..."

Balogar looked into Heragor’s eyes, "So do you understand what ’He’ meant?"

"I don’t understand," Heragor shook his head, "and until now, I still don’t... I’ve spent over a million years trying to decipher every metaphor ’He’ spoke, but in the end, I’ve managed to understand only a part of them. Some things... are destined not to be understood by us."

"Then what ideas do you have about the previous ones?" Balogar asked again, "Are these really things left by ’Him’? Why would ’He’ leave these things?"

Heragor did not answer. He just remained silent, pondering for a long time, before finally speaking as if talking to himself, "Perhaps... this is the knowledge ’He’ could only tell us once the shackles were broken."

"Clearly, ’He’ also wanted to speak to that human named Gawain Cecil," Andar finally broke the silence at this moment, the elderly Dragonkin turned back to glance at the dragon egg in the center of the hall emitting a faint golden glow, speaking in a somewhat complex tone, "Heragor, you decide what should be done."

"...Go ahead," Heragor took a full ten seconds of silence before speaking, "In the end, the fate of Talronde has already become inextricably linked with the trajectory of that human being. The turning points of history and his actions are closely related. Perhaps this connection will continue for a long time to come, and ’He’ might have foreseen all this, so arranged these things in advance."

"Alright, since this is your judgment," Balogar spread his hands, "anyway we’ve decided to return to the mortal world, establishing such a link with one of the most powerful nations in the human world is a decent start."

Andar’s gaze always remained on the dragon egg, and he couldn’t help but say, "Heragor, do you think this dragon egg is safe? Could it be... a sign of some dangerous return?"

"Do you remember the ’first’ and ’second’ we just saw?" Heragor didn’t answer directly but instead asked Andar a question, to which the latter thought briefly and then nodded, "Of course, I remember—the first, the ’gods’ as a natural phenomenon, their essence never perishes. The second, the ’gods’ in the eyes of mortals, are merely the ripples generated by the interaction between the aforementioned natural phenomenon and this ’observer group’ of mortals."

"I believe in these two, so we need not worry about this dragon egg," Heragor said slowly, "For the Dragonkin, the gods we once knew have already departed."

"Then how do we handle this? Speaking of which... do you think this egg can hatch?" Balogar looked at the dragon egg with a somewhat peculiar expression. As a scholar, he found himself at a loss as to which theory to use to face such an odd situation, "Ah, another question comes to mind—the message just now said, ’Hand all this to Gawain Cecil,’ does this ’all this’ include this egg?"

The vast abandoned hall fell quiet for a moment, and after a long silence, Heragor’s voice finally sounded, somewhat muffled, "...You got me there."

...

The wind from the plains blew across the vast land, and although the breath of winter had not completely left the northern regions, there was already a hint of warmth in the air. From St. Soniel to the outskirts of Pompeii City, from the Gorgon River to the Sorin Region, the fertile land was gradually appearing with a tinge of green as the weather warmed, and the blooming of light-colored Windflower was bringing good news to the people of this land:

The long and cold winter was finally over, and the steps of Revival Month were approaching the Northern Lands.

In the Sorin Region, under the cover of the giant tree, the everlasting spring-green land remained as lush as ever.

The "miraculous" power emanating from the giant tree blessed the entire region. Within the coverage of the Sorin Giant Tree, the changes between spring and winter were not particularly pronounced. Even when the wind from the plains blew into Sorinburg, the breath in the wind would be purified, immersed by the giant tree, aligning with the local environment. But even so, those living in the Sorin Region could still feel the changes brought by the arrival of the Revival Month on the Plains of the Holy Spirits: At the fringes of the tree canopy, the wind carried the scattered flower leaves of the light-colored Windflower, while seeds like cotton flew from the south on the wind, landing beneath the window sills of the outpost outside Sorinburg.

Andresha Wendell, with her gray-white long hair, stood in the gardens of Sorinburg and took a deep breath of the fresh air. Hearing the sound of flapping wings coming from the sky, she looked up to see several pretty little birds with emerald feathers flying past the edge of the castle roof, heading toward the direction of the Plains of the Holy Spirits.

These beautiful birds were not "local inhabitants" of the Sorin Giant Tree, merely sheltering here temporarily to escape the winter.

The adaptability of wild animals is always astonishing. Nowadays, many animals in this area have adapted to the presence of the Sorin Giant Tree and regard this mild-climate area as a winter sanctuary. During the snowy days on the Plains of the Holy Spirits, countless beasts and birds would gather in the canopy above Sorinburg and the shrubbery beneath the castle, and when the temperature of the plains warmed, these little animals hurriedly left this sanctuary to return to their habitats on the plains.

Andresha’s gaze followed those little birds until they disappeared in the pale blue sky at the edge of the tree canopy, before withdrawing her sight. Then, she took a deep breath, stretching her limbs, and picked up a branch from the ground to use as a practice sword, beginning her exercises just like in the past decade or so—after a long period of rest and recovery, her movements were a bit awkward at first, but after about ten minutes, her actions gradually became smooth.

Midway through her practice, footsteps approached from nearby, causing Andresha to stop instinctively, looking toward the corridor on one side of the courtyard—Bard Wendell, dressed in a researcher’s uniform, was standing at the edge of the corridor, smiling slightly as he looked over, and clapped his hands with appreciation, "Good, full of energy."

"Father," Andresha lowered the branch in her hand, "Good morning."

"Looks like you’ve recovered quite well," Bard Wendell came over, "I thought it would take you a few more days to feel this spirited."

"Actually, I’ve been able to for a few days now," Andresha smiled—it was already quite natural for her to smile in front of her father, "I’ve recovered quickly; the air here seems imbued with the essence of life."

"You can remove ’seems,’ every inch of air here is indeed soaked with the essence of life," Bard also laughed, "Sorinburg is the best place for convalescence in the entire Cecil domain. Just lying in bed here is equivalent to receiving an endless blessing of rejuvenation, and compared to conventional healing spells and medicines, this slow yet comprehensive healing truly leaves no hidden dangers."

"Yes, thanks to the life atmosphere here, I feel completely recovered," Andresha said, glancing down at the branch in her hand with a slight shake of her head, "but given the limited conditions, I can only use branches for practice here... I doubt General Margarita would allow me to handle a sword here."

"Believe me, she’s more concerned about your health by not letting you handle a sword—a person who survived a bombing should not be too confident about their body," Bard said, stepping back half a step, and also picked up a branch from the ground, "If you feel this exercise is not effective enough, I can accompany you for a few minutes."

Andresha was startled, looking somewhat surprised at the branch in her father’s hand, and only after a moment did she speak, "Father, are you really going to..."

"Does this require such deliberation?" Bard flicked his wrist, getting used to the balance and length of the branch, "Do you think just because I’m wearing a robe, I’ve forgotten how to wield a sword?"

"No, that’s not what I meant," Andresha shook her head, then quickly focused, adjusting her stance into one of combat formality and nodded slightly, "In that case, I’m honored."

Bard stepped forward.

At this moment, a faded scene seemed to appear before his eyes—he saw the family manor in his memory, saw the courtyard blooming with pale yellow flowers, and saw his young daughter clumsily rushing towards him, holding a branch in her hand back then as well.

That was the only time in Bard’s memory he practiced "sword fighting" with his daughter as a father.

The courtyard was filled with the sound of air being sliced and the rhythmic tapping of footsteps on the ground. This brief sparring lasted for less than ten minutes, and with a crisp sound, the branch in Andresha’s hand was finally knocked to the ground—without using extraordinary power, relying solely on pure sword skills, she still couldn’t beat the former Wolf General.

She vaguely remembered going through this scene many years ago.

"You won," Andresha looked dazedly at the fallen branch for a moment, then sighed and shook her head, "It seems I wasted a lot of time during my recuperation..."

"You did quite well," Bard shook his head, pulling away from long-past memories, and tossed the branch aside, "My experience and skills naturally surpass yours. In fact, years ago, I even used pure sword skills to spar with His Majesty Gawain Cecil. Even against such a legendary powerhouse, I managed to hold my own for quite some time and still retreat safely—in that context, losing to your own father is nothing shameful."

His tone was calm, but in the end, he couldn’t help but carry a trace of pride—despite the many unspeakable details of that past, being able to cross swords briefly with a legendary hero like Gawain Cecil and retreat unscathed was a remarkable feat indeed, one that probably few in the world could replicate. Anyone with a normal sense of honor could boast about it for a lifetime.

However, Bard was a reserved and well-mannered person, so he decided to boast only for half a lifetime—which demonstrated the strong self-control of the former Wolf General.

Andresha was visibly surprised by her father’s words, even to the point of skepticism: "Really? You... actually crossed swords with that pioneer? And retreated unscathed?"

Bard paused for a moment of recollection, quickly skimming over memories of being knocked through walls, face hitting grenades, and running with a severed arm, then lightly coughed, "Ahem, it’s true."

After all, that grenade was thrown by Byron afterward; when he withdrew from the castle, he still had all his limbs. From a rigorous mathematical perspective, that counts as a safe retreat.

"Let’s not talk about this topic," Bard shook his head, his gaze falling on Andresha’s face, her hair falling beside her cheeks with a gray-white eyepatch over her forehead, "Compared to being rusty in swordsmanship, what really affects you is this eye... I’ve already discussed a treatment plan with Madam Beltira. Using the new flesh regeneration technology, we might be able to heal your eye."

Andresha instinctively touched the eye she lost in the battle, feeling no pain there now, but when her fingers brushed over it, she could still sense the illusory heat and sting.

After a brief silence, she laughed, "Alright, I’ll look forward to it then."

"I thought you would refuse, like last time," Bard said, somewhat surprised as he glanced at Andresha, "Do you no longer mind the flesh regeneration technique and the potential entanglement it might cause with the Cecil Clan?"

"As you said, it’s all trivial matters," Andresha shook her head, "Times have changed, many things have changed, and stubbornness isn’t a virtue. I should learn to be more adaptable."

Bard gazed into his daughter’s eyes and finally breathed a sigh of relief, revealing a heartfelt smile, "That’s quite the growth."

"I’ve been an adult for a long time, father. Yet, your tone seems as if you’re talking to a child who hasn’t gone through a coming-of-age ceremony," Andresha looked at Bard somewhat helplessly, suddenly falling silent as if remembering something, and after two or three seconds, she spoke softly, "The peace talks are happening soon, aren’t they?"

Bard was a bit surprised, "How do you know?"

"... Father, there are newspapers and Magic Web broadcasts everywhere," Andresha said, even more helpless now, "did you think I live in some secluded mountain cave?"

"Oh, right," Bard awkwardly touched his nose, then cleared his throat, "Ahem, the talks are indeed going to happen, but strictly speaking, it will be a ’conference’ to redefine order. The ceasefire agreement and initial peace talks were completed by the generals at the border last month. What we’re preparing now is an international conference to be held at Elf Outpost No.112."

"It makes little difference to me," Andresha said, "Father, I suppose I won’t be staying here much longer, will I?"

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