Translator: CinderTL
Durga, frowning, was quietly conversing with a bushy-bearded grey dwarf crewman over a stack of sheepskin scrolls covered in markings, his tone tinged with impatience.
When Roland's question reached Bronson, the scholar turned, his face alight with excitement, a stark contrast to Durga's anxiety.
"Tricky? Not at all, Roland!"
The scholar excitedly caressed the cold metal casing of the Magic Net Disturbance Detector, his voice trembling with fervor.
"Quite the opposite! As we continue to track the directional flow of magic elements, the spatial coordinates are becoming clearer and clearer! I can even—even faintly detect a trace of the 'normal' world beyond this continent!"
He took a deep breath, as if to calm his racing heart.
"It proves our previous hypothesis was correct! If we can reach that core node of mana convergence, there's a high probability we'll capture stable spatial coordinates pointing beyond Aetheron, allowing us to escape this forgotten land!"
Hearing this confirmed news, Roland nodded gently, a slight sense of relief washing over him. At least, the worst-case scenario—being trapped and dying on this desolate and dangerous continent—should now be avoidable.
"Having a clear path out... I suppose that's good news, right?" he said, turning his gaze to Durga, who still wore a worried expression. "So, Durga, what's still troubling you?"
Durga let out a heavy sigh and looked up at Roland. "The path itself isn't the problem. The direction is correct. But Rudolph, it's not that simple."
He tapped the Magic Net Disturbance Detector beside them with his calloused fingers. "Because all the magic elements are flowing in that direction, the magic network environment along our air route and surrounding areas has become abnormally sluggish and dim. Although the shell ship has been modified by me and my people, it can barely navigate in these conditions. It's like forcing a ship accustomed to following the wind to sail against it—it can't reach its proper speed. And the closer we get to the node, the stronger this sluggishness will likely become."
He paused, his expression growing even more grave.
"The node where the mana is converging is clearly identified by our current calculations, but the actual distance is immense. So..."
At this point, Durga spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. He took the stack of parchment scrolls from the grey dwarf crew member beside him and pointed to the supply data, which were prominently circled in red.
"Based on our current speed and estimated journey, our supplies likely won't last until we reach the node."
Roland's mind immediately grasped the situation.
Previously at the drow camp, Duerden had been generous, providing substantial support for their long voyage. Durga had also believed he had made thorough preparations, carrying ample supplies.
However, during their journey through the astral rift, ordinary, non-living supplies like food and water may have suffered varying degrees of damage and natural depletion due to the bizarre temporal flow and energy erosion of the Astral Plane.
This level of loss would have been manageable within the planned journey, but no one had anticipated the sudden crisis they would face on the Aetheron Continent.
Under the strain of feeding the crew and horses, supplies were being consumed far faster than anticipated.
But—
Roland surveyed his surroundings. Everywhere he looked, he saw only desolation and deathly silence.
Gray mist permeated the air, the land lay barren, and not a trace of life remained.
To find enough food and water in this continent, a veritable magic wasteland, to sustain the entire team—
Would likely prove "somewhat" difficult.
"Don't worry yet, Durga. We'll find a way," Roland reassured the anxious grey dwarf captain. He then pulled out the ancient Map of Aetheron that Duerden had gifted him and spread it across a relatively flat surface on the deck.
First, he confirmed the shell ship's precise location within the Morningwind's Breath region, cross-referencing the surrounding terrain with the coordinates Bronson had detected.
Next, his finger slowly traced the map as his sharp gaze swept over the nearby labels.
Before long, a place name not too far from their current position caught his attention.
"The Granary Hall—"
His gaze focused on the name, and Roland raised an eyebrow slightly.
The name The Granary Hall appeared repeatedly in the ancient texts discovered at the Imperial Academy. According to the texts, it was an official facility used throughout the Dawnlight Empire for storing grain.
Though a thousand years had passed, any ordinary grain stored there would surely have turned to dust and become inedible. Yet, based on information Roland had gleaned from the texts in the Imperial Academy Library, he knew the advanced nature of the Crystal Era civilization.
If they could achieve anti-gravity peaks and widespread civilian arcane applications, they must have possessed food storage and emergency food production technologies beyond ordinary imagination.
"Perhaps—there lies a clue or method to resolve our current crisis."
Even without ready-made food, if they could find relevant technical records or functional magical artifacts, they might still be able to create usable supplies.
However, what truly caught Roland's attention was a vivid annotation next to the name The Granary Hall, written in a slightly hurried script that differed from the map's other markings.
The annotation clearly stated:
Site of the Pale Gift Incident
Roland's gaze remained fixed on the small text, his lips murmuring the words unconsciously.
"Pale Gift"—
His brow slowly furrowed as thoughts churned in his mind.
The name carried an indescribable sense of strangeness and ill omen.
Was it some kind of religious ritual?
A failed magical experiment?
Or perhaps—
A political upheaval?
From the words alone, he couldn't determine what it specifically referred to.
After much deliberation and still finding no clue about the "Pale Gift" designation, Roland decided to temporarily set the matter aside.
For now, resolving the supply issue was the priority.
He summoned Durga and Bronson to the map, pointed to the location of The Granary Hall, and frankly explained his plan.
Durga, already overwhelmed by the supply crisis, readily agreed to any potential solution.
Bronson, on the other hand, was intensely curious about any ruins possibly related to Crystal Era technology and nodded eagerly.
Their opinions quickly unified.
Moments later, accompanied by a low hum, the shell ship slowly lifted off again, adjusted its course, and set sail toward The Granary Hall.
Since the Magic Net Disturbance Detector couldn't pinpoint the exact spatial coordinates of The Granary Hall, the shell ship was unable to perform a precise space jump.
Like when they had traveled to the Imperial Academy before, they had to rely on their own propulsion, lumbering through the pervasive gray mist and lead-colored sky like a clumsy aerial giant beast.
During the journey, Roland stood by the porthole, map clutched tightly in his hand, his eyes scanning the desolate, receding landscape below like a hawk's.
"According to the map, we just flew over what should be Springwell County," Roland whispered.
But below, there was only a cracked, dry riverbed and vast plains covered in gray haze, their original appearance completely obscured.
A few crumbling stone bridges stood isolated over the long-dry river channels, silent testaments to the land's former abundance.
"That continuous black shadow ahead is probably the ruins of the Artisan District—"
What met his eyes were countless collapsed furnaces and the skeletal remains of towering chimneys, standing like the bones of giant beasts in the ruins.
Corroded metal and shattered masonry lay mixed together, the once bustling activity and clanging sounds long replaced by an eternal silence.
Grove Market...
Harvest Plaza...
Countless locations, their names alone hinting at once-thriving scenes, now remained only as empty lots choked with twisted, dead trees and rubble, or desolate platforms of massive stone slabs, cracked and overgrown with eerie moss.
Each comparison deepened the weight of history in Roland's heart.
The vibrant, lively place names on the Map of Aetheron formed a stark, suffocating contrast with the desolate ruins before him, a landscape utterly destroyed by time and catastrophe.
He could hardly imagine what kind of bustling, mana-shimmering metropolis had once stood on this silent earth.
Unconsciously, the lead-gray sky darkened and brightened through the silent cycles of day and night.
Though the light remained dim and pallid, filtered through the endless gray mist.
Finally, the silhouette of a vast and peculiar complex of buildings pierced through the seemingly eternal mist, gradually coming into clear view before everyone's eyes.
That was The Granary Hall.
Even after millennia of decay, the former grandeur and extraordinary nature of the structure still left one in awe.
The massive circular dome had largely collapsed, revealing the crisscrossing metal framework within, resembling the ribs of a giant.
These supports were not simple steel, but a composite of crystalline material and metal, shimmering with a faint, ethereal glow.
Despite being covered in dust for a thousand years, their craftsmanship clearly surpassed the standards of their time.
On the surviving walls, one could dimly discern the faded circuits of complex rune arrays, sprawling like dried-out blood vessels.
Partially buried structures hinted at the remains of massive transport pipelines and classification machinery, suggesting this place once possessed highly automated, magic-driven grain processing capabilities.
However, what surprised Roland was not merely the desolate scene of ancient technology in ruins.
But rather, amidst the shattered walls and crumbling ruins, wisps of faint, grayish smoke curled upward from the depths of the ruins, standing out starkly in the dead silence.
His gaze followed these anomalous wisps downward, finally locking onto the center plaza of the The Granary Hall ruins.
There, a towering statue stood prominently.
(End of the Chapter)
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