Chapter 478 - 438: Rotten Crown

Chapter 478: Chapter 438: Rotten Crown

The convoy set off once more.

On this grand road paved with luminescent moss and smooth white stone, the new yet rather plain black carriages of the delegation from the Duchy of Tidewater seemed utterly out of place.

There was no mud, no charred wood from the ravages of war—there was even a cloying, sickly sweet floral scent permeating the air.

The carriage curtain was abruptly pulled open by a hand in a lace glove.

Caroline stuck her head out and glanced back.

The oppressive dark clouds of the Ironwood Line had long since vanished beyond the horizon, replaced by even more novel sights.

Giant ferns snaked along both sides of the road, and occasionally, an unknown bird with a rainbow-feathered tail would flit overhead.

"No matter how many times I check, that direction is north."

Caroline pulled back into the carriage, irritably tapping a folded fan against her palm.

"Velin, we’re heading deep behind enemy lines. That ’pass’ from Duke Angry Wind might save us from being turned into pincushions by their rangers, but it doesn’t mean we can just waltz in and tour their capital."

Velin sat opposite her, still holding that sheepskin notebook.

As the carriage moved forward, the light filtering through the window was no longer natural sunlight, but a dreamlike magic glow with a faint purple hue.

"The Duke is a pure soldier."

Velin didn’t even look up, his quill tracing a winding, upward curve on the paper.

"Soldiers only care about strength and threats. In his eyes, humans are weaklings unworthy of an alliance. It’s impossible to persuade a stone, so we can only bypass the stone and find the hand that holds it."

He closed his notebook and pointed to the silhouette gradually emerging outside the window.

"The Evergreen Council isn’t a monolith. The front lines are bleeding while the rear indulges in pleasure. As long as this disconnect exists, there’s room to maneuver. The Duke refused our offer because he has principles. But for those bureaucrats living in the clouds..."

Velin paused. Through the purple halo of light, his wine-red pupils reflected the incredible city that lay ahead.

"Principles usually have a price."

Silvania.

In the elven tongue, it means "The Land of Eternal Vows."

As the carriage emerged from the last tree-lined path, the city, which seemed to be built from myth itself, finally revealed its true form.

It was a tree.

A colossal tree, large enough to carry a civilization.

Its roots rose like mountain ranges, and its trunk pierced the sky, disappearing into the depths of the purple clouds. Countless exquisite white buildings clung to its massive branches like fungi sprouting from bark.

Thick vines formed stairs and bridges connecting the various levels. A clear waterfall cascaded from ten thousand meters high, turning into a fine mist midway and refracting a brilliant halo of light.

There were no ramparts built of common brick and stone here, but rather a barrier of Magic Power barely visible to the naked eye.

It was the outward projection of the World Tree’s will, its rhythmic breath creating an absolute domain over this core region of Magic. Any creature with malicious intent would have its life force drained by the overload of natural Magic Power the instant it touched this layer of air.

"This is simply..."

Caroline’s merchant instincts had her calculating the city’s value, and her throat went a little dry. "This entire city is built from Magic Power. Just the water flowing from that fountain on the roadside could sell for ten Golden Suns an ounce on the human black market if it were bottled."

The convoy slowly drove into the reception area on the city’s lower levels.

There were no soldiers here to conduct inspections.

Only elven civilians in silk robes, holding harps, strolled along the streets. When they saw the human convoy, they didn’t show the same naked hostility as the soldiers on the front lines.

They simply stopped, elegantly covered their mouths and noses, and whispered among themselves.

"Look, it’s the short-lived species!"

"So these are humans? They look so strange. Their ears are round, like gophers."

"What are the female human’s clothes made of? They look so coarse. Wouldn’t they chafe the skin?"

A few bold elven children even came closer, reaching out to touch the horses pulling the carriages, only to be pulled away with a smile by their parents, like children being kept away from stray dogs.

The expression on Caroline’s face froze.

If given the choice, she would rather face the hateful stares on the Ironwood Line.

Not this innate condescension and curiosity, like a higher being observing a lesser one.

"This is the ’hand that holds the stone’ you were looking for?" Caroline pulled the curtain shut, blocking out the nauseating gazes. "They’re just a bunch of people living in a dream."

"It’s because they’re in a dream that they’re easy to fool."

Velin adjusted his collar and pushed open the carriage door.

"Let’s go. Time to pay a visit to the nominal masters of this nation—the Emerald Throne."

However, reality was harsh.

Three days.

Three whole days.

Velin and the others were lodged in a luxurious hotel called "Cloud-Top Dew."

The accommodations were impeccable. The beds were filled with the down of some giant swan, so soft that once you sank in, you never wanted to get up. The room was supplied around the clock with fresh fruit and spring water imbued with faint Magic Power. Standing on the balcony, one could even overlook the stunning nightscape of half of Oath City.

But that was all.

Ever since they had submitted their state letter requesting an audience with the Lord Speaker, it was as if a stone had sunk into the ocean.

There was no reply whatsoever.

Every morning, a single aide would arrive with a fake smile, putting them off with the same empty diplomatic platitudes: "The Lord Speaker is occupied with important matters, presiding over the Autumn Festival. We ask for your patience."