District 1 of the Wizard World.
As the core area of the Wizard Council, every inch of this land was engraved with dense spatial array patterns. These lines were as thin as hair, yet they carried a majestic power capable of tearing space apart.
Tens of thousands of war fortresses cruised slowly above the clouds. Their massive shadows swept over the endless complex of buildings below, dragging dark streaks across the sky in the sunlight like a silent patrol.
Countless tall towers rose from the ground, the energy light patterns flowing along their bodies reflecting the entire area as if it were bathed in a rainbow. As the light patterns flickered, even the air vibrated slightly.
But this area was not just iron and magic stones.
In the southeast corner of District 1, there was a farm that had been intentionally set aside.
The farm was not large, with a dozen or so stone-and-wood houses scattered on a gentle slope. Moss crawled along the base of the walls, gray tiles covered the roofs, and faint wisps of smoke drifted from the chimneys.
Below the slope lay a fish pond. The water's surface reflected the afternoon sunlight, blindingly bright. Occasionally, a fish would break the surface, kicking up circles of delicate ripples.
A few barred chickens squatted on the ridges of the fields, scratching at the soil for bugs with their claws—scratching twice, bowing their heads to peck once, and scratching twice more.
In the distant wheat fields, several scarecrows were planted, their tattered rags swaying in the wind. The sparrows had long since lost their fear of them, squatting on the scarecrows' shoulders to preen their feathers, chirping away as if holding a small meeting.
A person sat by the fish pond.
He wore a short-sleeved gray cloth shirt, his trouser legs rolled up to his knees, his bare feet submerged in the water as the water grass gently swayed around his ankles with the ripples.
A homemade fishing rod rested by his hand. The rod tip was a piece of bamboo as thick as a thumb, and the fishing line hung motionless above the water, looking as if it were nailed to that thin layer of brightness.
In the bamboo basket by his feet, seven or eight palm-sized fish huddled together, occasionally flapping their tails against the basket wall with loud slaps, splashing a few drops of water onto the mud that were quickly dried by the sun.
A hurried sound of footsteps came from the direction of the wheat field.
The footsteps trod over the ridges, over the gravel path, and onto the mud beside the fish pond. Each step carried the heavy rhythm of running, as if some urgent matter were chasing close behind.
A few barred chickens were startled, flapping their wings as they scattered and clucking as they ran off. The sparrows perched on the scarecrows' shoulders also flew away with a rustle, leaving only the sound of the wind in the wheat field.
A figure rushed out from the edge of the wheat field.
Dark gold scale armor glinted coldly in the sunlight. Each scale was polished with sharp angles, making a fine metallic friction sound as she moved.
Her long, deep blue hair trailed behind her in a straight line, the tips almost parallel to the ground.
Elisa rushed to the edge of the fish pond. Her scale-covered boots stepped into the mud, splashing muddy water that wet her trouser legs and left several dark water stains on her dark gold armor plates.
“Father, Boulder is dead.”
His gaze remained fixed on the motionless fishing line. The water reflected his image, the expression on his face as calm as the pond water, as if Elisa had just told him a dog had died on the side of the road.
Elisa stood by the fish pond, her chest heaving violently. A few strands of her long, deep blue hair had fallen over her shoulders due to the sudden stop.
She looked at her father's face, which was indistinguishable from that of an ordinary old farmer. She held back, and held back again.
Ultimately, she couldn't help herself. Her voice rose half a pitch. “Father! Lord Yilunsa, Eighth-Tier Eternal existence, co-ruler of the Sea Race, King of the Deep Sea—I said Boulder is dead.”
Yilunsa tilted his head to look at his eighteenth daughter, his eyes carrying a hint of 'are you done speaking yet?' “And?”
Elisa's lips twitched.
She took a deep breath, seemingly suppressing something. The rise and fall of her chest made her scale armor clatter softly.
Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides, then clenched again. Her fingernails dug into her palms, leaving several white marks. “Father, I said Boulder is dead! Boulder! Your three-thousandth son! Dead—”
“That's enough,” Yilunsa interrupted her. “No need to put on an act. I have an agreement with the Council. That thing isn't here.”
Elisa's vertical pupils suddenly narrowed into two thin lines. “Really?”
“Hmm?”
Yilunsa tilted his head to look at her. The collar of his short-sleeved gray cloth shirt was open, revealing a faded old scar below his collarbone.
The scar extended from his collarbone to where it was covered by his shirt. Its edges were jagged, looking as if it had been torn by the claws of some giant beast, or perhaps left by sharp teeth.
The afternoon light fell upon it, making the outline of the old wound exceptionally distinct.
“Cough, I understand.” Elisa's breathing steadied, her shoulders relaxing slightly as her voice returned to its usual crisp tone. “Do we need to issue a statement?”
Yilunsa raised an eyebrow. “Why would we?”
Elisa opened her mouth.
An obvious confusion swirled in her pale gold vertical pupils, as if she had heard something completely beyond her comprehension. “Ah?”
“We've already severed ties. What does it have to do with my Sea Dragon tribe?” Yilunsa spoke in a very flat tone, as if remarking that the weather was nice today and the fish weren't biting much.
“But...”
“But what?”
“But Mother's side...” Elisa lowered her voice by half a pitch, instinctively becoming more cautious when mentioning this name.
Yilunsa waved his hand. His hand was thick-jointed with thick calluses on the pads of his fingers, worn down from holding a hoe for years. “It's fine. She's in seclusion trying to break through to the Seventh-Tier. By the time she comes out, it'll be three to five thousand years.”
Elisa's lips twitched again, the twitch even more pronounced than before, causing the corner of her eye to jump as well. “Ah? She's already failed three times, and she's still trying?”
Yilunsa grinned.
The curve of his lips could hardly be called a smile or a smirk; it was more like some complex emotion, bottled up for too long, finally finding an outlet.
“Yeah, she refuses to give up. She insists she's a once-in-a-hundred-thousand-years genius, and there's absolutely no way she can be stuck at the Sixth-Tier.”
A subtle light flickered in Elisa's vertical pupils. There was a lot hidden in that light, but the most obvious was her holding back a laugh.
“Um...” She raised her hand, scratching her temple with her index finger and tapping her forehead twice. “Mother's talent... didn't you trick her into believing that back then, Father?”
Yilunsa shifted his fishing rod from his left hand to his right. The rod tip shook slightly, and the fishing line drew a thin arc across the water. “Yeah, but she believed it.”
Elisa's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
In those pale gold vertical pupils, confusion, absurdity, helplessness, and a feeling of being on the verge of cracking up flashed in turn.
She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, her breath blowing a strand of deep blue hair hanging in front of her forehead. “Then with you giving her so many natural treasures day after day, she never noticed?”
Yilunsa tilted his head to look at her.
In those eyes, which were indistinguishable from those of an ordinary old farmer, a faint trace of amusement flashed, like a tiny glimmer of light suddenly rising from the depths of a well.
“Take a guess.”
Elisa was silent for a good while. “Alright then. What about the other forces? The bunch underground, and the various academies?”
Yilunsa didn't even lift his eyelids, his gaze falling back onto the water's surface, where a fish was tentatively nibbling at the line. “What does it have to do with them?”
“Ah? Our Sea Race is at least the second largest force in the Wizard World. One of our own... cough, former one of our own died just like that, and if we don't give an explanation, I'm afraid...” Elisa paused, carefully choosing her words. “...the branches below will become restless.”
“What are you afraid of?” Yilunsa's voice was still very flat, as if speaking of the simplest matter. “If anyone dares to stir up trouble, even though your old man hasn't made a move in over a thousand years, I can still slap them to death with a single hand.”
“Fine. I'll head back then.” Elisa turned around, her scale-covered boots leaving a deep footprint in the mud.
“Not staying for a meal?” Yilunsa's voice came from behind, with a lazy trailing tone. “The fish in the pond were just caught this morning. They're quite good steamed.”
Elisa paused in her tracks and looked back at her father's bare-footed back standing in the water. His short-sleeved gray cloth shirt billowed slightly in the wind. That back looked completely integrated with the farm, as if he were born to fish, hoe the ground, and bask in the sun here.
“No, there's still a bunch of things to take care of at the Council.”
Rate on N.U.
