Wandering Knight

Chapter 489: People From All Over

"Hurry up! Get all these components mounted onto the main cannon. Once we reach the battlefield, you won't have the luxury of fine-tuning anything. You lot weren't at the battle on Isle of Dragons, so brace yourselves. Out there, no one cares whether you used to be a soldier or a scholar!"On the outer deck of Skyborne City's central district, once the loading and industrial zone of the airborne metropolis, cargo platforms and factories had long since been torn down. In their place now stood endless ranks of alchemical artillery, row upon row of gleaming metal replacing what used to be mountains of freight.

Countless scholars moved through these newly assembled gun lines, prying open reinforced casings with spells and tools, checking the inner circuits and structural arrays.

Mixed among them skittered alchemical spider-constructs, their built-in communications units barking sharp commands at the still-awkward scholars, urging them to work faster, steadier, and sharper.

This wasn't harassment or hazing; every scholar here had volunteered to fight Utopia. Their character was beyond reproach. Skyborne City never forced anyone to stay aloft instead of taking shelter elsewhere.

But the spiders' remarks were true enough: once they stepped onto the battlefield, no one would care who they used to be. Scholars and saints alike would die if unprepared. That lesson came from someone who had fought on the Isle of Dragons against Milos—a first true taste of war, and of how cruel it could be.

A heavy, resonant boom echoed across the deck as massive engines touched down. Several titanic alchemical war machines, each as large as the Iron King Bogul, were lowered by cranes, their frames groaning under their own weight as technicians rushed forward to tune every parameter.

These juggernauts would be deployed as frontline breakers, shielding the advancing troops behind them. Yes: the dwarves had handed over the schematics for the Iron King Bogul, one of their greatest national secrets. With Skyborne City's industrial capacity, forging these machines was far easier than it ever had been in the dwarven kingdoms.

Around the deck hovered massive crystals suspended on power pylons: elven crystal spires. Energy flowed from Skyborne City's central reactor through conduits into the crystals, causing their cores to blaze with high-intensity power.

And those were only a portion of the contributions: secret spell matrices from human kingdoms, rare enchantments from ancient houses—virtually every advanced technology known to the intelligent races had been poured into this city in the sky. The great scholarly citadel had been reforged into a war-fortress stronger than it had ever been, even in its legendary heyday.

This time, no one held back. Resources, knowledge, hidden techniques—the intelligent races sent everything they had to Skyborne City, making it the blade with which they hoped to seize victory in the war that would determine their future.

Even Skyborne City's libraries had never managed to collect all the secret technologies of the world; every race kept something hidden as a final safeguard. But by now, even those treasures had been handed over.

The power gathered here far surpassed what had been wielded during the battle against Milos on the Isle of Dragons. The reason was simple: the crisis was no longer a distant rumor. The devastation caused by Utopia's spires, and the rising concentration of void energy across the material realm, had forced everyone to contend with the truth.

If they did not win, they were done for. It was as simple as that. Of course, not all kingdoms wished to share. Some still held onto their trump cards, hoping to survive and thrive alone after the war. But most had chosen unity, the same hard-earned unity born in the Abyssal War long ago.

"I'll adapt as quickly as I can..." Isaac murmured to himself.

His hand slipped through metal plating, adjusting the inner components of an alchemical cannon. He had once been one of the very first customers of the "Grade-8 Tinker Workshop" Wang Yu had opened in Skyborne City.

That little alchemy shop had given the obscure alchemist a modest windfall, enough to buy equipment and pull him out of near-poverty for a while. But talent was not something coin could buy.

The extra income had given him a brief boost to his livelihood, and his new equipment made him feel as though his skill had improved dramatically—until he realized that he was still the same unremarkable alchemist as before. Ordinary, serviceable; able to live on Skyborne City, but with no real future before him.

His days had been mostly quiet. One friend vanished after traveling to another plane. Another, in even worse straits, left Skyborne City and returned home to teach at some middling magic academy. A classmate managed to get into a mid-tier academy and achieved a better life.

Most of Isaac's acquaintances were much like him, with lackluster talent, and a sustainable but dull and predictable life. And once their age dulled their minds, they would be able to remain in Skyborne City no longer. Then they too would return home, becoming ordinary alchemists with little hope of advancement.

Isaac refused that future. Life in Skyborne City wasn't easier than life back home, but the pursuit of alchemy—the desire to reach further—was one of the few extraordinary lights in his unremarkable life. That was why he had stayed, despite knowing the odds were against him.

As for why he was joining the fight against the Utopia, it wasn't complicated. Isaac knew that neither he nor his friends, whether they still chased their dreams or had already accepted their futures, wanted to die like this.

They were painfully ordinary, yes. But that did not mean they were willing to be slaughtered by the Utopia for no reason at all. What a joke! Even the worst alchemist dreamed of creating an elixir of longevity someday.

At the very least, he wanted to die of old age in his bed, not be erased along with countless others by the Utopia's schemes. So rather than lie awake dreading that inevitable doom, he chose to be the master of his fate. Even if he died, it would be death on terms he had influenced, perhaps even shaped.

Many here felt the same. These scholars had never passed the Central Tower's combat trials; they were ordinary residents, clueless about war. All they could do was bring the craft of their laboratories to the battlefield. But because of them, these engines of destruction would run smoother, stronger, and steadier than ever before. And that alone might make all the difference.

"Loading complete. Preparing to depart for the designated coordinates. Along the route, we will embark elite contingents from several kingdoms, as well as a number of large-scale war engines."

The broadcast rolled through Skyborne City. The aerial fortress, which had originally been stationed near the theocracy of the Church of Light to monitor that anomalous node, roared to life as every power core ignited. With a slow, monumental shift, the fortress charted its course toward the Ashen Wastes.

Along the way, the armies of the Alliance would assemble. Skyborne City would convey these soldiers—and the colossal war machines that accompanied them—to the front. These were the elite among elites, a force whose presence would shape the fate of the coming battle.

And though many among them were taking the field for the very first time as scholars, scribes, and other civilians whose lives once had nothing to do with war, the very fact that they had risen high enough to set foot upon Skyborne City meant they were already counted among the "exceptional."

Elsewhere, on the ground, draft horses shook their heads with labored breaths. Even these sturdy beasts that had a magical beast as a distant ancestor grew weary after pulling freight wagons for days on end. But the destination was near. The caravan of Damian's trading company was finally approaching their goal: Aleisterre.

Aleisterre's towering walls were visible long before they drew close, provoking murmurs of surprise even from the few in the caravan who had visited Aleisterre before. This had only ever been a remote border town of Aleisterre's frontier. Since when did it boast such formidable defenses?

Rank upon rank of armored knights stood before the heavy gates. Above them hovered several battlemages, surveying the surrounding terrain. It was nothing like what they remembered. Aleisterre had changed beyond recognition.

"Welcome, friends."

After confirming their identity through the Prayer Network, the caravan affiliated with the Church of Nightfall was quickly permitted entry. What they found inside the so-called "border town" astonished them even further.

Creatures of every race mingled freely in the streets. Slimes assisted orcs in raising new houses. A druid in the form of a huge bear hauled crates as though they weighed nothing. A fair elf had opened a small shop selling delicately crafted goods...

It was clear that many were preparing for the war to come, yet none had abandoned the rhythms of ordinary life. This small town, now home to many races living and working side by side, pulsed with a vitality utterly at odds with the modest place it once was.

"Impressive, isn't it, Damian? Are your two companions here as well?"

The dwarf who had chatted with Damian earlier looked delighted. The town reminded him strongly of the early days of the Church of Nightfall in the capital's shadow—a community where all races coexisted, where shared labor created a vibrancy that would otherwise never have flourished.

The recent influx of Church of Nightfall worshippers into Aleisterre had propelled the kingdom into a period of rapid development. The merchants could hardly believe the transformation; their surprise was matched only by their excitement.

Though the acceptance of all races lay at the heart of the Church's doctrine, most places had their own rules and prejudices. To find a community like this, so open, so reminiscent of the Church's earliest ideals, was something wholly novel to them.

"They arrived long before us. They're staying in a town closer to the capital, but they should visit in a few days."

Damian rubbed his slightly sore arm as he spoke, the gesture casual and practiced.

"Lucky them. A place like this... it really makes you feel there's hope for the future."

The dwarf's cheerful grin, the bustling townsfolk, the harmony of many peoples working toward a shared tomorrow—Damian saw it all. And as he casually spun tales about two companions who would never again return, the mark upon his body pulsed with searing heat. A sudden, heavy restlessness gnawed at his thoughts.