Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 942 - 941: On the Dragon’s Back

As the dragon soared at a thrilling angle, swiftly ascending and skimming through the clouds, Gawain felt not a single jolt nor the high-altitude strong winds.

This would undoubtedly be an extraordinarily rare travel experience, and he wouldn’t miss observing any details throughout this journey. He noticed that Melita seemed shrouded in a nearly transparent shield during flight—if it weren’t for the disturbance caused by external airflow and mist, he wouldn’t even perceive the shield’s existence—the high-altitude winds and temperature changes failed to penetrate this shield. Its function somewhat resembled a combination of a Wind Shield and a Wind Elemental Blessing, but the effect was evidently far superior to the latter two.

After inquiry, he confirmed that the protective shield was not only for the comfort of the "passengers" on this trip, but also a necessary aid for Melita during her flight.

"I wonder if Maji has similar ’protective talents’ when flying," after breaking through the clouds, entering a zone bright with daylight, Gawain’s thoughts slightly wandered, "The flight height and speed of Dragonkin seem to far surpass that of the Dragonborn, even those equipped with Wings of Steel..."

"Now’s not the time to ponder these brain-draining things, aren’t you tired?" Amber muttered beside him, immediately showing a slightly excited expression, "Ah, speaking of which, it truly feels like a dream! That I could actually have an experience riding on a dragon’s back in my lifetime... Not even bards dare to boast such adventures casually in their stories! That’s the kind of privilege reserved for heroes nearing the climax of a tale..."

"You’ll be bragging about this in taverns for half a year after we go back, won’t you?" Gawain glanced helplessly at the half-elf already starting to lose themselves in their conceit, "Mind your steps, falling from here wouldn’t just be a case of using shadow travel consecutively."

Amber, unaware of their excessiveness and utterly lost in self-satisfaction, became even more boastful: "Half a year isn’t enough, I could brag until three years later during the Funeral Festival..."

"Rest assured, you won’t fall down," a deep female voice came from ahead as Melita slightly turned her head towards the "passengers" on her back, "I’ve already reinforced the edges on my back scales."

Gawain looked towards Melita’s neck, seeing the beautiful scales covering the area and the keratin protrusions located at the side rear of the blue dragon’s head—they appeared majestic, gleaming under the sunlight.

"It seems our treatment is indeed a lot better than Modir Vealt’s six hundred years ago," he couldn’t help but chuckle, "He was carried by you hanging at your claws throughout the flight over the Ice Ocean back then."

"Unfortunately, I don’t remember it," during this monotonous flying task, Melita evidently was in the mood for a chat, "But that’s normal. You all are guests invited by the gods, while that adventurer six hundred years ago barged into the Dragonkin’s territory uninvited—a significant difference there."

As she spoke, the blue dragon lady paused a bit, slightly regretting, and shook her head: "However... given another chance, if I encounter that adventurer from back then again, I do genuinely wish to have a good conversation with him. We could perhaps become friends, and I’d willingly carry him on my back to travel through those fascinating places together. We might even embark on adventures... Ten years, or a hundred years, humans don’t live very long, and for Dragonkin, it’s merely a short-term contract, but I feel it would be quite spectacular.

"After all, from reading that journal, the adventurer seemed quite an interesting fellow."

For a moment, Gawain didn’t speak, simply casting his gaze towards the distance. He saw the clouds rising and drifting under the dragon’s wings, layer upon layer like continuous mountain ranges, with gaps and wide openings between them. As Melita glided through those openings, he could see the distant land below, already quite far away, and the faint outlines of the coastline in the distance.

Human cities dotted those mountains and lakes, shimmering like gems under the sunlight.

This truly is a beautiful world worth an adventurer exploring for a lifetime.

"Indeed, that fellow was really quite intriguing. I do admire him," he broke the silence with a sigh, followed by curiosity, "You mentioned earlier you’d sign a hundred-year contract with Modir, going adventuring and traveling together—is that serious? Do Dragonkin actually engage in such endeavors? Just like in the bards’ tales?"

"...Actually, it’s not that simple. Dragonkin needs very strict application and permission procedures for long-term departure from Talronde," Melita replied, "But such things indeed happen, albeit rarely. Many stories by bards are not completely fabricated, after all... Bards are the profession Dragonkin most favor when traveling the human world, and we excel in dramatizing facts into stories."

"Bards... Some bards really love concocting tales," Gawain instinctively smirked, somewhat at a loss at a "bard Mr. C" coming to mind, before quickly shaking his head to rid himself of some ill-timed associations.

Then he glanced back at the large devices resting on Melita’s back—they were still functioning well, even though they were at high altitude, yet still within the Magic Static Stratum range. These special Magic Web Terminals and non-directional Crystal Arrays could still clearly receive signals from those high-power hubs on the ground, and the recording devices within these should have properly documented the signal strength and interference changes during Melita’s ascent and flight.

To be honest, these aspects weigh as heavily in Gawain’s eyes as the trip to Talronde itself—the precious data isn’t typically obtainable, especially when departing land for the airspace above the seas, the parameters these devices could capture are beyond current Empire technological reach.

Thus, Gawain treasured this opportunity greatly, after all... although he was quite familiar with Melita, under normal circumstances it wasn’t feasible to ask a dragon to carry several tons of experimental equipment just to gather data for humans. In this regard, he also comprehended the measure of benefits.

"Will we stop to rest midway?" Amber casually asked.

"Actually, I could continuously fly all the way to Talronde—but this journey isn’t so pressing," Melita answered, "We will rest a few times on islands along the coastline and in the northern sea. You can get off and stretch your legs—in the end, you are non-flying beings, such long flights can be quite taxing for those encountering it for the first time."

Listening to Melita’s reply, Gawain inevitably drifted to thoughts about long-term hovering craft, long-distance air routes. He instinctively evaluated the current Empire’s antigravity craft’s potential applications, considering establishing a long-distance air route from the wasteland fringe to the Silver Empire. His thoughts wandered quite freely for a while before he gradually pulled back.

He then noticed Veronica resting a short distance away.

The "Saint Princess" has hardly spoken since taking off from Melita—although she usually gives an impression of calmness and tranquility, her silence so far has been somewhat unusual.

She sat quietly there, hands folded on her lap, seemingly in a daze, her gaze unfocused as she stared ahead, and the platinum scepter that she never parted with was not by her side at the moment—Gawain knew that Veronica handed the scepter to Wright for safekeeping before their departure, and he had no doubts about that, but Veronica’s silence along the way still often captured his attention.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Gawain casually asked as he approached, "You haven’t spoken much along the way."

Perhaps it was just an illusion, but he felt that Veronica took a slight moment longer to react before she lifted her head and responded to him in a serene tone: "Thank you for your concern, I am fine."

Gawain subconsciously furrowed his brow—Veronica indeed seemed unusual at this moment. After thinking carefully, he was vaguely able to pinpoint what was wrong: compared to usual, Veronica now lacked a certain human vitality. Although Gawain always felt that this Saint Princess was too perfect to be human, exquisitely like a doll, that was just a vague impression. But now... he genuinely sensed a certain mechanical rigidity and stiffness from her, even devoid of the emotional fluctuations that a human should have.

Frowning, he once again scrutinized her from head to toe: "Are you sure everything is fine?"

Veronica lifted her head, her crystal-like beautiful but inorganic eyes seriously stared at Gawain for quite a while, then she suddenly nodded as if she realized something: "Ah, it seems I neglected some details... Don’t worry, everything is functioning normally with me; there is no problem with bodily functions or cognitive abilities. But indeed, you should be able to sense some anomaly... Do not worry, it’s normal.

"I face certain weakening when away from Loren Continent."

Face certain weakening when away from Loren Continent?

Having noticed the information in Veronica’s words, Gawain’s expression became slightly serious, questions already emerging in his eyes, yet before he could voice any inquiries, Veronica smiled slightly and said quietly, "This is merely the price of surviving till now."

"...I understand," Gawain stared at her for a few more seconds, then relaxed his expression and nodded slightly, "If you don’t wish to elaborate, I won’t press further, but someday I hope you will satisfy my curiosity. As for now... just ensure this ’price’ won’t affect our mission."

Veronica met Gawain’s gaze, still wearing a smile as if it was temporarily fixed in place. She nodded, maintaining her characteristic calm and serene demeanor, "Of course, I have already calculated everything thoroughly before we set off."

...

The polluted clouds swelled and heaved, covering the sky akin to a nauseating, semi-gelatinous mire that pressed down on the earth, the entirety of the world feeling heavily oppressed beneath this low-hanging cloud layer—and more oppressive than the sky was the land, already dead and severely corrupted.

Once the heartland of the Empire, now turned to wasteland by chaotic magic, the black, hardened earth stretched on endlessly, with the folds and radial cracks from an ancient shockwave spreading outward from a central point. From above, it resembled a fierce, bloodshot giant eye, and at the center of this eye was a massive explosion crater, forming a ring-shaped depression with a conical structure created by molten crystal columns at its base.

Seven centuries later, the Well of Deep Blue still operated, incredible energy surging within the remnants of the reactor tower, a towering blue light beam shooting skyward, piercing the clouds, with constant lightning flashing where the light and clouds intersected.

Around the explosion crater of the Well of Deep Blue, many things have emerged that did not originally exist—small fortresses constructed from black polymers, small sentinel towers seemingly a mix of plants and stones growing together, strange, writhing woods, and numerous figures moving between trees, fortresses, and towers.

These figures were several patrol squads, all clad in uniforms of Master Mages from the ancient Gondor era. Every man and woman within the squads possessed incredibly proportioned physiques and faces perfectly crafted as if artificial, patrolling the vicinity of the Empire’s capital as they did seven hundred years ago.

However, when encountering these new fortresses and towers around the impact crater, these patrol squads seemed to see nothing of them, bypassing obstacles as if naturally altering their predetermined patrol routes.

Indeed... they seemed almost as if patrolling to protect these fortresses.

At the edge of the impact crater, in the area of black fortress clusters, numerous plant vines and grey substances resembling fungal mycelium amalgamated covered the ground and surrounding structures. With a rustling sound, a patch of plants at the forefront of the fortress suddenly edged apart, allowing twisted creatures, part human and part tree, with desiccated bark and proliferating branches, to emerge from subterranean tunnels.

The leader of these twisted creatures advanced with his roots swaying, reaching the edge of the impact crater, where an aged face appeared on the wrinkled tree bark, with amber eyes set within the face gazing at the crater bottom—the brilliantly illuminated "hill of crystal columns" reflected within those eyes, exposing an increasingly greedy and longing glint.

"The Well of Deep Blue... we are but a step away from it..."

The Treant leader muttered to himself, shaking his branches, and vines along the fortress boundary instantly received the command, rising high and reaching towards the crater—yet as soon as the vine tips crossed the border, something within the crater reacted instantaneously, with bolts of bright plasma beams flashing and incinerating crossed vines to vapor.

"Damn!! This accursed grave, this accursed coffin, and these damn guardians! Seven hundred years, can’t this damn everything just obediently die?!"

The Treant leader, the current "Archbishop of the Oblivion Association," began to curse vehemently.