Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 1197: Chapter 1196: Between Life and Death

Upon hearing Heragor’s response, Modir pondered for a moment, then suddenly asked in a low voice, "I suddenly got curious... a long, long time ago, during a period I’ve already forgotten, did I really come to this place?"

Heragor gazed into Modir’s eyes for a long while before nodding slightly, "Yes, you once visited Talronde—although you did not directly set foot on this land."

Modir’s eyes widened slightly, "So, is the curse I received left here?"

"I’m afraid not," Heragor shook his head slowly, "at least from the clues we have, until you left this land back then, your condition was still normal—and it remained normal for a long time after that."

Modir fell silent, pondering something unknown. After about half a minute, he raised his head again, "Is it something you cannot tell me? Perhaps involving Talronde’s secrets, or something that ’becomes a threat upon awareness’? If it’s the latter, I can understand, having traveled for so many years... I’ve always come across some strange things."

"Yes," Heragor nodded, "We can’t discuss this matter in detail now—for the main reason that I’m not sure of the risks behind it. But if our work here makes any progress, I’ll contact you as soon as possible."

"I trust that," Modir finally smiled again, then breathed out lightly and looked toward the room’s exit, "Then let’s leave it at that, I should go back to meet my companions."

"Are you planning to return to the Adventurer Camp?" Heragor’s expression turned a bit surprised, "I mean... as a Legendary Mage, you don’t actually need to carry out those tasks at the Adventurer Camp. I can arrange accommodation for you in New Argondale, although conditions in Talronde are tough now, we can still provide relatively comfortable and thoughtful conditions in the core area."

Modir thought about it, then smiled and said, "Let’s skip that—staying on a land full of unknowns and opportunities, yet unable to venture freely, no matter how comfortable the living conditions are, it’s not good for an adventurer. I prefer staying at the Adventurer Camp with Lola and them. Even if I don’t go out, I can hear countless new and interesting stories from the adventurers, which is more interesting to me."

"...I respect your choice," Heragor nodded slightly, "Then feel free—if you suddenly remember something or need any help later, you can contact me through any Dragonkin agent at the Adventurer Camp—I have already spoken with them."

...

After leaving the large house and returning to the gathering point of the temporary camp at Crystal Rock Hillock, Modir spotted Lola and several familiar adventurers idling beside the barrier gate. With a slight smile on his face, he marched towards them, and Lola and the others soon noticed Modir’s approach, greeting him.

"Were you patrolling?" Modir asked casually, once close, looking at Lola.

"We’ve been back for a while," the young huntress said with a smile, "You were gone for quite a while—the Camp Commander talked a lot with you, didn’t he?"

"Indeed, it has been a long time..." Modir mused quietly, then waved his hand nonchalantly, "Didn’t talk much, just inquired about my origin, talked about the fire elemental lord, nothing else."

"Just those?" The Greatsword Fighter in the group—whom Modir had pushed out with a hundred barriers earlier—looked disappointed, "I thought there might be some ’internal arrangements’ involved..."

Nearby, a Druid casually patted his shoulder, "Hey, hearing or not doesn’t make much difference—as long as you drink a couple more cups, it’ll all be arranged..."

The adventurers continued their banter, their familiar comrades laughing and chatting, but Lola, the young huntress, did not join. She keenly noticed something seemed amiss with the old mage. After some hesitation, she couldn’t help but ask, "Mr. Modir, are you... alright? You don’t look very well."

"Me? My complexion?" Modir paused for a moment, subconsciously patting his face, "I’m fine... but maybe a little tired, sigh, after all, I’m getting on in years, can’t compare with you young folk..."

With Modir’s words, the surrounding adventurers’ faces turned peculiar. The robust Greatsword Fighter instinctively glanced at Modir’s seemingly aged and stooped figure—honestly, based on the recent days of interaction, the Greatsword Fighter couldn’t guarantee much, but at least he was sure that even if he sparred three rounds of close combat with the old mage, he’d end up lying in bed for a week. And if they truly went all out, he’d confidently be able to make the old mage bleed within one round... Does this Legendary Mage consider others’ emotions when lamenting life?

Lola’s gaze remained on Modir’s face, and though he now seemed completely normal, she was convinced she hadn’t been mistaken—during that brief moment earlier, she had seen an unfocused daze in Modir’s eyes, as if his soul had departed, leaving his body to speak instinctively, reminiscent of her early days encountering undead during a mission in a deserted underground ruin... Though ugly and rotting, those undead were entirely different from this flesh-and-blood mage; it was a "feeling," one only she could understand.

However, the mage had already returned to normal, and that strange feeling was gone. The young huntress blinked, unable to find any clue, and had to deny her judgment.

Perhaps I was mistaken.

...

With Modir’s departure, Heragor watched, sensing his aura fading into the distance. Only then did he slightly wave his hand, triggering a series of faint clicks from the nearby room door. As the lock fully closed, the Dragon Language Runes previously hidden on the door, walls, ceiling, and floor gradually emerged, shimmering with a mysterious glow under the light.

The former Dragon Priest examined each rune’s state carefully, finally letting out a slight sigh of relief. He then approached a corner where a pillar-like golden device was placed, casually activating the energy cycle within it. From within the newly repaired device came the sound of creaking noises, its upper part covered by a crystal film surface finally coalescing into a clear image—Andar in dragon form appeared on the screen, his large head facing this way, with the dim light flickering in his dark-red mechanical eyes.

Heragor frowned slightly, "Is there something wrong with your body?"

"Don’t worry, I’m in pretty good shape," Andar nodded slightly, "I just need to release my true form and manually check the condition of these ancient implants. After all, although the antiques I use don’t rely on the Omega System for operation, they’ve been running for too long, and I don’t want them to malfunction at this crucial time."

The elderly ancient black dragon then shook his head and looked down at Heragor: "Let’s not talk about myself, how are things on your end? Have you contacted that mage Modir?"

"Contacted, but the situation is a bit complex," Heragor nodded and said, "His memory and mental state are quite off. Besides being unable to recall his full name and origins, he also has fragmented memories of his adventuring life. We can initially rule out that his memory was erased at once—this seems to be a pervasive internal chaos."

Andar sat quietly for a moment before speaking in a low voice: "It sounds like... you weren’t able to confirm face-to-face that he is Modir Vealt?"

"I can’t confirm it, he doesn’t remember anything, even when parts of Modir’s Travelogue are shown to him, he has no impression," Heragor shook his head but quickly changed the subject, "However... I believe he is."

"...Upon suddenly knowing his registered name in the adventurer listing, both of us immediately thought of Melita’s report back then—though we first suspected it was just a namesake, the coincidences are so many that they can’t be ignored," Andar said in a low voice, "In the entire Loren Continent, ’legendary’ individuals are a rare group, exploring the history of the last ten thousand years, humans may not have produced a second legendary figure named ’Modir,’ and he also happens to be an adventurer who visited Talronde to search for some ’lost items’..."

"The only problem is, humans can’t live for six centuries—Modir Vealt should have died six hundred years ago."

"Humans also can’t rise again seven hundred years after passing—but that’s exactly what happened," Andar shook his head, "This world seldom has ’certainties,’ especially when touching upon the realms of the extraordinary."

"I agree with you, which is one reason I dared to presume that he is Modir Vealt," Heragor slowly stated, suddenly shifting the topic, "Speaking of this, during the interaction with that ’adventurer,’ I discovered something."

Andar’s mechanical eye immediately contracted: "What did you discover?"

"After reading part of ’Modir’s Travelogue’ and hearing the surname ’Vealt’ from me, he quickly fell into a kind of cognitive chaos, lasting less than a minute. Afterward, he forgot what had just happened and no longer remembered the content of the travelogue; his memory reverted to before I presented the travelogue," Heragor detailed the recent event, "Meanwhile, I noticed a rapid drop in his soul stability. To prevent accidents, I did not attempt it a second time."

"...Falling into chaos after hearing the surname? And then losing memory?" Andar’s tone became serious, "This sounds like... it reminds me of the undead."

"Yes, evocative of the undead, but not fitting entirely—he at least knows he’s named Modir, and the undead absolutely cannot remember their own names; moreover, spirit backlash in the undead leads to consequences far beyond mere cognitive chaos and temporary amnesia," Heragor nodded, "Modir is flesh and blood, this much I am certain, he is alive, though his living state... isn’t quite right. I lean towards his soul having undergone severe trauma, a trauma that didn’t kill him, but locked parts of his ’life essence’ into a neither-dead-nor-alive state—perhaps this is part of why he has wandered the world for six hundred years."

Listening to Heragor’s assessment, Andar fell into thought before breaking the silence minutes later: "What about detecting ’contamination’? Was any contamination factor detected?"

Heragor’s gaze swept the room at the dazzling runes, he hesitated before shaking his head: "No contamination detected—not from other divine mental pollution, nor unique pollution of ’Inversion Tide,’ no residual response. Modir is merely a mortal with unusual survival status."

"...But I still don’t feel at ease," Andar sighed gently, "He once entered that tower, and this relates to our former god... Though clues from the past indicate Modir Vealt did not suffer pollution from the Inversion Tide upon leaving Talronde, the tower’s peculiarity you know—neither our erstwhile gods could meddle in events inside that tower."

A quiet settled over the room befor Andar spoke again: "What’s your decision?"

"That tower has been making me more uneasy lately," Heragor said gravely, "and with Modir the adventurer appearing, this unease grows ever stronger.

"I believe Gawain Cecil should be contacted, at least to let the Cecil Empire know of the adventurer’s existence—perhaps descendants of the Wilder Clan there can verify their ancestor’s identity, meanwhile, we can discuss the Tower of the Inversion Tide with Gawain and see what this human ruler, adept in dealing with gods, thinks. Lastly..."

Heragor ended here, a peculiar expression betraying hesitance, Andar guessed what his former Dragon Priest was thinking, raising his head slightly, mechanical eye glimmering dull red: "We can also inquire about... ’Lady Enya’s’ perspective on this matter."

Heragor sighed lightly: "Though today’s ’Lady Enya’ is but a remnant human aggregation, her memory inheritance remains intact, we ought to ask."

...

Along the northern borders of the Cecil Empire, the coastal city "Northport" was basking in radiant noonday sunlight, gentle waves lapping against port breakwaters, "Winter"’s formidable prow pointed skyward, this giant sea fortress calmly moored at No.1 dock edge in the military zone, Byron Kirk, cloaked in naval attire, stepped forth, surveying the familiar city and coast, a smile emerged uncontrollably on his face.

"That was quite an ’expedition,’" he murmured, "I wonder if the girl at home misses me..."

A roar from high above interrupted his thoughts, Byron turned skyward, where amidst the blazing sun’s brilliance, he spied the Red Dragon’s form swooping past the cloud bottom, circling above the city, amid the Dragonkin’s distinct majestic roar, the Red Dragon clad in full mechanical armor seemed signaling the docked Winter.

Byron laughed, waving back at the Red Dragon in the skies.