Chapter 1443: Eleanor
The shift in the two Senior Lords’ positions brought more than a new island.
Beyond the quiet sparks of uprising at the foot of Hermes, the battle at the Western Front halted — not through victory, but through the absence of Red Mist. The Monstrous Beasts remaining in the Impassable Mountain Range still stirred and lunged for a time, but without magic power to sustain them they fell into an eternal silence one by one. The burden on the First Army lifted. Cage Mountain ceased to be the life-or-death barrier it had been for months, and within a week, troops poured back from the front lines to shore up Neverwinter’s western position — which had been running on fumes.
The reinforcements reversed everything. New tanks rolled through the demonic beast hordes, encircling the blade beasts the way a net gathers fish. Once compressed, those clusters became strike coordinates for the Aerial Knights. Abandoned railway blockhouses were recaptured one after another, their surroundings carpeted with the carcasses of mutated beasts. The only mercy was how quickly those bodies decayed — dissolving into black water before the stench became unbearable.
Valkries had been clear: the demonic beasts were the Sky-sea Realm’s evolutionary test grounds, limited in real battlefield value. The true danger lay elsewhere. Even so, stabilizing the western situation mattered. The Sky-sea Realm would move in force through the demons’ collapsed frontlines — and that was where the First Army needed to be concentrated, not divided across two theaters.
Roland exhaled and turned his attention to Eleanor’s rescue.
Moving a Birth Tower — which was also an obelisk — had always been Mask’s domain. The other Senior Lords had absorbed the broad strokes over the years, but the crucial technique, altering the Mother of Soul to bond with new mineral veins, was known only to Mask and his closest ascendants. That step, at least, could be skipped: the body Eleanor had obtained was already a finished product.
The second condition was that the Mother of Soul had to be strong enough to survive the transplant. It sounded simple. It was not. The process dealt severe injury — the way transplanting a tree tears its roots. Eleanor was the Mother of Soul now. Roland had no choice but to trust her.
The third condition: the Mother of Soul could not be without Red Mist, which meant Eleanor had to remain in a Red Mist-rich environment until the obelisk resumed production.
This was the hardest constraint.
Hackzord’s participation made it manageable. His Distortion Doors made the difference in logistics, displaying an extraordinary utility that even Roland had underestimated.
Once the plan was settled, the Ministry of Industry moved first.
To extract Eleanor from the Red Mist, they needed to know precisely where she was. The interior of the Deity of Gods was a dead zone for witches’ abilities — which meant, unexpectedly, that Rex’s diving suit proved the right tool. More than ten Sand Nationals strapped into the suits and descended into the Red Mist lake on suspension ropes. The lead man, Simbad, confirmed Eleanor’s position at a depth of one hundred and fifty meters.
Then began the slow, careful work of peeling the Mother of Soul from the obelisk. A Mother of Soul in her full state had the strength of a carrier ship; her bond with the tower was near-inseparable. But the obelisk was withering. It would have crumbled to debris on its own eventually. That decay was what made lifting feasible. The team secured her with ropes and raised her through the Red Mist layer by layer until she was at altitude — and at that moment, Sky Lord opened a Distortion Door beneath her and moved Eleanor into a sealed metal container, packing the Red Mist in alongside her.
A long breath moved through the assembled workers.
The rest was simpler. Farrina’s steam-powered trucks took the load: the metal container, crates of Red Mist tanks as nutrients for the Mother of Soul, and supplies for Sky Lord. Through a chain of Distortion Doors, the convoy crossed more than half of Graycastle’s breadth in half a day. Roland watched it and thought, not for the first time, that if Hackzord were less determined to leave, he would make an excellent logistics commander.
Under the God’s Punishment Witches’ watchful eyes, the metal container was swallowed by Fran and delivered into the lower reaches of North Slope Mountain’s mine.
Nearly ten thousand personnel across multiple races had been mobilized. They crossed more than half of Graycastle’s territory and did it in half a day. The Administrative Office had coordinated the whole operation without a visible seam.
All Roland had left to do was wait.
North Slope Mine. God’s Stone mining region.
Pasha tilted the tank of Red Mist and poured carefully over the roots of the creature before her. It resembled a ball bristling with sludge-dark tentacles, a symmetrical pair of compound eyes centered above — its bulk equaling three central carriers. She did not need a Stone of Measuring to feel the magic power that had accumulated within it.
This thing — this Mother of Soul — was what turned stone pillars into Red Mist towers. The demons had waited in dormancy for the Bloody Moon, for magic density to crest high enough to begin the Battle of Divine Will. In the era of the Union, she would not have hesitated. Given an opportunity to kill a Mother of Soul, she would have taken it without calculation. Now she stood here pouring mist over the creature like water over a plant, caring for it as carefully as she would care for a child. The contrast struck her, faintly, every time.
“As expected, you’re here.” A familiar voice from behind her. “How is she?”
Pasha turned and dipped her main tentacles. “Your Majesty — no signs of consciousness yet.”
Roland. He had become Eleanor’s most frequent visitor outside the ancient witches themselves.
“Moving her must have truly been painful.” He sighed.
“Celine told me Lady Eleanor had already made the promise.” Pasha’s voice carried no particular grief. “From what I know, she rarely makes promises. But when she does, she keeps them.”
“I hope so too.” He nodded slightly.
They stood together in silence. Then Pasha broke it.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“You’ve thanked me several times now.” A note of helplessness in his voice. Since the ancient witches had learned that the Three Chiefs and their companions were alive within the central carrier, the gratitude had been unanimous — and fervent. Pasha’s gratitude in particular seemed to have no end. Every meeting. “Eleanor contributed greatly to Graycastle. Rescuing her is part of my responsibility.”
“My thanks isn’t only for this. It is for everything you have done for all of us. No matter how many times I say it, I cannot fully convey what I mean — so I will keep saying it a few more times.”
The words caught Roland off guard. He turned toward her, almost looking for a face — some expression in the lowered tentacles to read.
He was still looking when something made his heart lurch. He nearly cried out.
The Mother of Soul’s compound eyes were open. Both of them, wide, observing the two of them without sound.
“You are several centuries old.” A new voice rose in his mind, dry and unhurried. “For such unruly words to come out of your mouth is genuinely surprising.”
Pasha startled so hard her tentacles jerked. “Lady — Lady Eleanor—?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
Pasha pulled herself ramrod straight, then turned and shot toward the cave entrance with a speed that left Roland blinking. She was gone into the dark.
“She always wanted to be the first one to speak with you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. He looked back at the compound eyes still fixed on him. “You just — woke up like that?”
“What else? A thunderclap? An earthquake?” Eleanor’s mental voice carried the faint texture of a yawn. “That’s Alice’s style. Not mine.”
”…” He gave it a moment. “Alright. I’m glad you’re well. My part is finished — next I suppose we see—”
“Mine is finished too,” Eleanor said, easy and flat.
“What?”
“The transplant process was unbearable. But it was sufficient for me to suffer alone, without occupying the thought processes of the others.” She stated this as simple fact. “The analysis of the magic power cores is complete. We cannot construct a new one, but using one already available is not a problem. In other words — your floating island can fly at any moment.” A pause, thoughtful or theatrical, it was impossible to tell. “Why not now?”
Chapter 1443 - Eleanor
Translator: Henyee Translations Editor: Henyee Translations
The change in the attitudes and the beliefs of the two Senior lords did not only bring about the island formed out of the Deity of Gods.
Aside from the sparks of flames that occurred quietly at the foot of Hermes, the battle at the Western Front stopped because of the absence of Red Mist.
Although there were activities from remaining Monstrous Beasts at the Impassable Mountain Range, they soon sank into an eternal silence following the depletion of magic power. This greatly decreased the burden placed on the First Army, and Cage Mountain was no longer a ‘life or death barrier’ that required protection. In a week, countless troops returned from the front lines and assisted the west front of Neverwinter, alleviating the originally situation which was running on fumes.
The influx of reinforcements instantly reversed the situation at the Western Region. The new tanks that appeared on the ground charged through the hordes of demonic beasts, surrounding the invisible blade beasts like a net. Once the demonic beasts were gathered together, they became strike zones for the Aerial Knights. All the railway blockhouses that were abandoned before were gradually captured again, with the carcasses of mutated beasts lying all around. If not for the terrifying rate at which they decayed into black water, the entire development would have piled up with stinking corpses.
Despite Valkries’s theory that the demonic beasts were merely an evolutionary farm for the Sky-sea Realm and were of extremely limited effect on the battlefield, while the true danger laid at the back, the restabilization of the situation was undoubtedly important to Neverwinter. It was inevitable that the Sky-sea Realm would make a large-scale effort to enter the Land of Dawn with the overrun of the demon’s frontlines. This was where the First Army had to gather its strength, instead of dividing into two different battlefields.
Roland sighed and began embarking on Eleanor’s “rescue.”
Although the movement of the Birth Tower, which was also the movement of the obelisk, had always been Mask’s responsibility, the other senior lords had more or less heard and learned how to do so after so many years.
The core step was naturally the altering of the Mother of Souls, allowing it to meld with new mineral veins as one. Only Mask and the higher ascendants that followed him were aware of this technique, but they were able to skip this step, since the body that Eleanor obtained was a finished product.
Secondly, the Mother of Soul had to be sufficiently robust enough to survive the transplant. This sounded extremely easy to understand, but the transplant would deal severe injuries on the Mother of Soul, just like on trees. Now that the Mother of Soul was Eleanor, Roland could only trust her.
Lastly, the Mother of Soul could not be without the Red Mist, which meant that before the obelisk resumed its production of Red Mist, it had to remain in an environment rich with the mist.
This was the most difficulty point for the entire rescue operation.
Fortunately, Hackzord had participated in the operation. His Distortion Door held significance in the logistics, fully displaying its extraordinary ability in such a situation.
After finalizing the plan, the Ministry of Industry was the first to engage.
To pull the immobile Eleanor out of the Red Mist, they had to grasp her position first. The interior of the Deity of Gods was a forbidden zone for Witches, unexpectedly allowing Rex’s diving suit to yield a miraculous effect.
Using suspension ropes, more than ten Sand Nationals equipped with the diving suits plunged into the Red Mist lake. The verification of Eleanor’s position at a 150 meters depth was confirmed by the lead man named Simbad.
Following that, the humans slowly peeled the Mother of Soul off the obelisk before securing her firmly with ropes. A Mother of Soul in its original state wielded strength comparable to a carrier, and with its nearly inseparable link to the tower, it was almost impossible to separate her. But the withering of the obelisk made the lifting feasible. Even if they never took any action, the obelisk would still have slowly crumbled into debris.
When the Mother of Soul was lifted to a higher altitude within the Red Mist, Sky Lord opened a Distortion Door beneath it and moved Eleanor into a unique metal container. Naturally, a large amount of Red Mist was injected into it along with her.
When this step was completed, everyone heaved sighs of relief.
The subsequent procedures were much simpler.
Farrina’s steam-powered trucks took responsibility for the transportation, carrying not only the metal container but many Red Mist tanks—nutrients for the Mother of Soul, as well as supplies for Sky Lord. Through a series of Distortion Doors, the fleet completed the transport from Seawindshire to Neverwinter in half a day.
If not for Hackzord’s insistence on leaving, Roland would have granted him the position of a logistics head.
Under the careful watch of the God’s Punishment Witches, the metal container was swallowed by Fran and sent into the lower levels of North Slope Mountain’s mine.
This concluded the entire operation. Under the coordination of the Administrative Office, close to ten thousand personnel of different races had been mobilized to complete the transportation that consisted of crossing through more than half of Graycastle’s line of fire.
The only thing left for Roland was to wait.
…
North Slope Mine, God’s Stone mining region.
Pasha held a tank of Red Mist and carefully poured it over the root of an ugly monster. It resembled a ball with sludge-like tentacles growing all over its body, with a symmetrical pair of compound eyes over its head, the size of it equaling to three central carriers. Even without a Stone of Measuring, she could feel the immense magic power accumulated within it.
This demon named the Mother of Soul was the catalyst that allowed the stone pillars to turn into Red Mist towers. It was said that only when the magic power density in the world reached its peak would the Battle of Divine Will begin. Before receiving the transplantation technique, the demons could only lay low and wait quietly for the Bloody Moon and for their opportunity to arise. If this had been the era of the Union, Pasha wouldn’t mind sacrificing her life to if she had the opportunity to kill a Mother of Soul. But now, it was as though she was taking care of a child, meticulously caring for this Mother of Soul. The contrast made even her feel slightly surprised.
“As expected, you’re here.” A familiar voice suddenly sounded from behind her. “How’s her situation?”
Pasha turned and bowed her main tentacles. “Your Majesty, there hasn’t been any signs of her gaining consciousness yet.”
The person was none other than Roland—other than the existing Ancient Witches of Taquila, he was considered Eleanor’s most frequent visitor.
“Seems like moving her was truly a painful experience for her.” Roland sighed.
“But I heard from Celine that Lady Eleanor had already made the promise.” Pasha’s voice did not sound overly dejected. “From what I know, she rarely makes promises. But once she does, she will abide to it.”
“I hope so too…” Roland slightly nodded.
After observing alongside each other, Pasha broke the silence. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“You’ve already thanked me multiple times.” He replied somewhat helplessly. Ever since the ancient witches found out that the Three Chiefs and their other companions were alive within the central carrier, their emotions and response could nearly be described as fervent, earning him unanimous gratitude from them. However, Pasha seemed to be unsatisfied with a single expression of her gratitude, and expressed her thanks almost every time she met him. “Eleanor contributed greatly to Graycastle, saving her is part of my responsibility.”
“My gratitude isn’t merely for this, but for what you’ve done for everyone. Regardless of the number of times I thank you, I am unable to convey this appreciation of mine, so… let me say it a few more times.”
The emotional speech from Pasha startled Roland. He turned to her, almost wanting to see her current expression from her lowered tentacles. Little did he expect that this look caused his heart to skip a beat and almost cry out loud —
Without them realizing it, the Mother of Soul’s symmetrical eyes were wide opened and observing the two quietly.
“You’re already someone several centuries old. For such unruly words to come out of your mouth is truly surprising…” A new voice sounded in his mind.
Pasha jolted and immediately used her main tentacles to cover her face. “Lady, Lady Eleanor?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
Pasha immediately positioned her main tentacles straight and pulled herself towards the cave entrance with a breath before disappearing further into the cave.
“Uh… She has always wanted to be the first to talk to you…” The corners of Roland’s mouth twitched, as he muttered in disbelief. “By the way, you awoke just like that?”
“If not how? With a thunder boom, or from an earthquake?” Eleanor yawned. “That’s Alice’s style, not mine.”
“…” Roland took a long time before he continued the conversation. “Alright, it’s good that you’re fine. Since my job is complete, the next thing will be to see—”
“I’ve completed mine as well,” Eleanor replied languidly.
“What?”
“The transplant process was truly unbearable, but it was enough for me to suffer alone without hindering the thought processes of the others,” she replied matter-of-factly. “The analysis of the magic power cores is complete; although we are unable to construct one at the moment, it wouldn’t be much of an issue to use one that is already available. In other words, your floating island can fly at any moment.” At this point, Eleanor paused for a moment, before quipping. “Or, why not now?”