Chapter 1219 - 1218: Dragonborn and Pea

Chapter 1219: Chapter 1218: Dragonborn and Pea

The weather had been growing colder by the day, and it was even more so in the outskirts under the night sky, but for a powerful supernatural Knight and a Dragonborn, this bit of chill clearly meant nothing.

Asharena stood quietly on the starlit hill. The imperial capital, illuminated by ten thousand lights, was like a jewel set on the banks of the White River, shining in her eyes with a radiance far more brilliant than the stars above. Several winding bands of light stretched out from the city, extending beneath the night into the depths of the dark plains, connecting to those more distant clusters of lamps—that was the highways and railways, busy day and night, like arteries carrying the blood of the Empire across this land.

After the topic of Talronde, she and Byron Kirk had not spoken again for a long time, letting the silence slowly close in from all directions. She did not know how much time had passed when she finally heard that familiar, low voice beside her: "...If only they could have lived to see this day..."

"If they were all still alive, then you would most likely still be that mercenary Leader muddling through the grey zones. If you were still a mercenary Leader, then when old Cecil Clan was hit by the aberration assault, Heidi and Miss Rebecca would not have had your strength at their side. Without that strength, the last spark of Cecil Clan would have had a hard time surviving that disaster. In that case, even if Gawain Cecil still came back to life, the fate of this land would be utterly different from what it is today..." Asharena turned her head to look at Byron Kirk, her eyes gleaming with a faint dark-red sheen in the night. "I know this sounds a bit cold, but Leader, fate is a chain of interlocking links."

"...Yeah, fate is a chain of interlocking links," Byron Kirk sighed softly, then looked at Asharena with a slightly odd expression. "But in the old days you would never have come out with this kind of... mystical chatter. My deepest impression of you is you hugging a beer barrel bragging with people—if bragging didn’t work, you’d pull a knife and throw down, then keep bragging after the fight. You never lost an argument, and you never lost a fight."

"Bringing up those things in front of a lady is not what a mature gentleman should do—but it does fit your style perfectly," Asharena laughed, a trace of reminiscence in her eyes. "So that’s the impression I left you back then... I don’t really remember it that clearly, but those were indeed my freest, most carefree days."

"Actually, I’ve always been curious," Byron Kirk couldn’t help letting his gaze travel up and down Asharena. "Dragonbranded Witch... what do you actually do? From the sound of it you seem to have a very special role in the Sacred Dragon Kingdom—far more than just a simple envoy for foreign exchanges."

Asharena hadn’t expected a rough-and-ready fellow like Byron Kirk to pay attention to such details; she blinked in slight surprise, then the corners of her mouth lifted a little. "Indeed, I’m not just a diplomatic envoy. The ’Dragonbranded Witch’ has her own duties—in the Sacred Dragon Kingdom, everyone has such an inborn ’duty’. Some are born craftsmen, some are born warriors, some have extraordinary abilities when it comes to memory, some can naturally sense or decipher the knowledge hidden in Dragon Language Runes...

"These things are carved into our genetic imprint, carved deep into the soul-memory of every Dragonborn. Among these ’duties’ quite a number, in this current age, actually have no practical function, but they are still preserved, waiting for the day they might be called upon. And this is precisely the original meaning of the Sacred Dragon Kingdom’s existence: we are Talronde’s ’disaster backup’, the seeds meant to rebuild dragon civilization after the pureblood Dragonkin are wiped out...

"As for me, this ’Dragonbranded Witch’... my duty is to record and master dragon language magic. I am also born with the ability to recognize the bloodlines of other dragon descendants, and to use psychic resonance to establish contact with other Dragonbranded Witches in distant places—Dragonbranded Witches are somewhat like the ’index’ and ’nodes’ of that ’disaster backup’. If dragon civilization collapses, the number of Dragonbranded Witches who survive directly determines the speed and upper limit of the civilization’s reconstruction."

Byron Kirk widened his eyes in surprise. He watched Asharena calmly speaking of these things and subconsciously knitted his brow. "Didn’t expect you to be such a big deal... Do all Dragonborn know about what you just told me?"

"All Dragonborn? Of course not," Asharena smiled and shook her head. "Only the upper-tier Dragonborn who live in Dragonwatch Keep know about these ’missions’, and only after they come of age. Most Dragonborn have no idea what mission they bear; everyone just lives the familiar, ordinary days on the land they are familiar with. I know the outside world has always seen the Sacred Dragon Kingdom as an extremely mysterious place, but in truth... most Dragonborn lead lives very similar to you human beings."

"Human beings don’t stuff themselves into wooden barrels and roll halfway down a mountainside, nor do they play free fall along sheer cliffs," Byron Kirk muttered at once, his expression turning odd. "In His Majesty’s words, you Dragonborn live your everyday lives far too hardcore..."

"Ahaha..." Asharena was amused by Byron Kirk’s remark; her cheerful laughter carried far beneath the night sky. A few seconds later she slowly let the laughter subside, exhaled lightly, and spoke with a sigh: "In fact it doesn’t mean much to talk about this now. Events have not unfolded according to that ancient plan. The Dragonkin passed their coming-of-age rites, yet Talronde did not completely perish... The future seems brighter than expected, and the Dragonborn who were supposed to serve as ’disaster backup’ now have the chance to choose their own way of life.

"It’s said His Majesty Balogar is trying to find a way to dissolve the hereditary imprint on Dragonborn, and my father has also been actively involved in this. I myself don’t care all that much... For many Dragonborn, these inborn ’duties’ may be a kind of shackle, but on the other hand, to possess an innate talent from birth doesn’t strike me as a bad thing at all."

Listening to Asharena’s account, Byron Kirk did not offer any comment—this concerned the way Dragonborn live, and every race has its own way of living. He had no way to judge Asharena and her people through human eyes; in a moment like this, keeping his silence was the wisest choice.

Asharena was a little surprised by Byron Kirk’s silence, but she quickly smiled and shook her head, setting the matter aside. The Dragonborn withdrew her gaze from the distance and turned to look at the bare hillside behind them. The symbolic gravestone and the solitary bouquet of flowers stood silent in the starlight, a small path running from that gravestone all the way down to the foot of the hill. After a long while, she finally spoke in a low voice: "What’s in these graves?"

"Just the hollow longings of the living, plus two rusted broken swords and a clumsy eulogy," Byron Kirk’s voice was low. "Originally I buried a few people outside old Cecil Castle at Sellin Crossing, but in that disaster the place where they were laid to rest became the main corridor of the aberrations’ assault—and then came the Dragon Breath afterwards. There’s nothing left there anymore. I went back once, dug out some remnants from the ruins, and barely managed to raise a mound here... But His Majesty said one thing that was right: the best way to commemorate the dead is not with lavish funerals or coffins, but by making sure someone still remembers that they once lived. I think that’s very true."

"Sounds like you trust your King quite a bit."

"Of course. Everyone who has once fought side by side with him will trust him, and when it comes to matters of life and death, I trust his judgment all the more," Byron Kirk said with a smile. "He’s experienced."

The corner of Asharena’s mouth seemed to twitch, but in the night it was hard to see clearly. Then, as if to change the subject, she said: "Old Cecil Clan... I remember back then what I liked best there were the roast wild boar legs and the mead. By the way, is it still a ruin to this day?"

"They’ve already started rebuilding—it’s the ruins from a few years ago I was talking about," Byron Kirk nodded. "That place was heavily corrupted by the chaotic wave. Even though it was later purified once by Dragon Breath, harmful elements deep in the soil still kept seeping out. It’s not very suitable for crops, so we don’t plan to establish any towns there. The Administrative Office’s plan is to turn it into an industrial zone and move some of the heavy factories on the southern bank of the White River over there."

Then he fell silent again, feeling this brief stillness in the chill wind of late autumn, until a patrol Dragon Cavalry flew past in the distant sky and the deep humming from them jolted him from his memories. He glanced at the brightly lit city and said to Asharena, "Let’s head back. It’s late—if we don’t go Pea will start worrying."

Asharena nodded and followed behind Byron Kirk toward the nearby path. As they passed the mound on the hilltop, she couldn’t help stopping. She reached out and patted the cold gravestone.

"We’re leaving."

...

In a big house on Knight Street in the center of the imperial capital, bright Magic crystal lamps lit up the spacious dining room. The steaming dishes had already been set on the table. Pea sat by the dining table, blinking her big eyes at her father, who had just come home, and at the "big sister" Asharena sitting beside him.

Compared to her father, whose hair was already graying, that pretty red‑haired lady really did look very young—but Pea knew that many, many years ago, these two people who now seemed to be worlds apart in age had actually fought side by side as comrades.

"Uh... Asharena Auntie is having dinner at our place tonight." Perhaps it was his daughter’s gaze making things awkward, but Byron Kirk couldn’t help scratching his messy hair, clumsily offering an unnecessary explanation. "We just went out to the suburbs, so we got back late..."

He hadn’t even finished when Asharena gave him a straight kick under the table: "Not Auntie—sister."

Byron gave Asharena a surprised look. "Wait, you’re already..."

"Sister." The Dragonbranded Witch’s face stayed blank, her tone rock‑solid.

Byron surrendered helplessly. "...Alright, have it your way, as long as Pea doesn’t mind."

Pea, sitting on the opposite side of the table, hadn’t said a word from beginning to end. She simply kept her big eyes on the two "adults" in front of her. She wasn’t bothered at all that her father had come home very late today—because it was like this every year on this day. Her father would go to a little hill in the outskirts to visit the uncles and aunties who had fought side by side with him, and on this day his mood was never very good...

Only this year the situation seemed a bit different. After coming home, her father’s mood was clearly better than on this date in previous years.

Now grown into an adult, Pea found herself mulling this over.

Thick‑skinned Byron obviously hadn’t noticed any of this. He was in a great mood—the smell of dinner, the company of family, and the return of an old comrade who had once fought shoulder to shoulder with him all made today feel like a very special day. He glanced at the steaming dishes on the table, suddenly remembered something, and stood up: "Right, wait for me a bit, I’ll go down to the cellar and bring up a couple of my treasured bottles of good wine—Asharena, you’ve got to try it, I brought it back from St. Soniel..."

As his words fell, he had already gotten up and left the dining room. At the table, only the red‑haired Dragonbranded Witch and the seemingly well‑behaved Pea remained. Asharena immediately felt the atmosphere turn strange—this wasn’t the first time she’d spent time with this little girl, but a situation this "private" was a first. She hesitated for a moment, finally getting ready to take the initiative and speak; yet before she could break the silence, a pleasant, mechanically synthesized voice came from the speech device near Pea’s spine:

"Sister, are you planning to hit on my dad?"

Whatever Asharena had been about to say instantly evaporated; all that remained was a wide‑eyed expression and a short, startled cry: "...Huh?"

Pea herself still showed no particular expression, her mouth remaining closed, yet the voice from the speech device had already started chattering away: "I can tell—you’re totally planning to hit on my dad. Maybe you’ve been thinking about it for decades already. I’m really familiar with this kind of trope—man and woman who fought side by side back in the day, then get together years later and all that. Mr. Philem’s scripts use it all the time, and in Sister Giply’s stories and those Knight novels Heidi keeps stashed away, it’s the same thing..."

Asharena, who counted as a fairly experienced powerful Dragonborn, actually panicked this time. She hurriedly waved her hands while speaking fast: "Wait, I’m not—no, I—this isn’t—don’t you..."

But her speed could never match a speech device directly controlled by neural cords, and in any case, no one could stop Pea once she started "talking". The girl’s babbling voice continued: "Hey, don’t rush to deny it, Sister. It’s not like it’s anything bad. My dad’s been single for so many years now...

"But let me tell you, you’re gonna have to work hard. My dad is really hard to hit on. Mainly he’s slow to react and he’s missing nerves in that area. Actually, there’ve been other ladies interested in him too—after all, he’s a general of the Empire and he’s been single for so long—but from what I’ve seen these years, not one of them has succeeded. Not only did they fail, my dad didn’t even realize...

"So if you’re going to go for it, you’ve got to make it obvious. If it really doesn’t work, then just tell him straight out. My dad actually has pretty low resistance in that department. Don’t be fooled when he brags all the time about how popular he was when he was young—I asked Uncle Philip about it, and none of that ever happened...

"Oh, and there’s one more thing you have to pay attention to. If you really want to hit on my dad, then I can’t keep calling you ’Sister’. I should call you ’Auntie’ instead. That way it’s easier to line up the generations, and it’ll help my dad accept it. Of course, that’s a minor detail anyway. His Majesty said that when long‑lived races and short‑lived races are together, it’s best not to fuss over age and seniority. People just need to talk it out roughly, otherwise we’d spend ages working out who’s whose uncle and still not figure it out even with dozens of pages of calculations...

"Speaking of which, how come my dad’s taking so long just to fetch some wine? Don’t tell me he’s down there sneaking a drink again... I’m telling you, he does that a lot. He promised me that each..."

The synthesized voice from the speech device went on and on, while Pea herself kept her calm, closed‑mouth expression. Even though Asharena had seen this uncanny scene a few times before, she still found it hard to take—and what she found even harder to take was the content this girl was firing off in a nonstop barrage. Her ears buzzed, the ceaseless balabala like a rain of arrows coming right at her. At last, she managed to seize a brief pause in Pea’s train of thought, slipping in a frantic wave of her hands: "Stop, stop, stop—hold it a second. What did you just say? You said people actually try to pursue that slow‑witted blockhead Byron?"

"Yeah, a lot of them. Even though my dad doesn’t know, among the middle‑aged and older women in the imperial capital..."

Pea started balabala again, and Byron, who was just coming up from the cellar with two bottles of red wine, suddenly felt a shiver run down his back...