Chapter 21: A Journey She Never Wanted to Embark On
At dawn.
An unremarkable carriage was now traveling with its back to the wilderness, heading northwest. Inside the carriage, a young woman with dragon wings growing from her back was sleeping in exhaustion.
In her dreams, countless scenes flashed before her eyes. Her five senses became distant and illusory. Immersed in this fickle and hazy state, Hilja felt as if she had returned to the past.
A carefree, peaceful, and tranquil childhood.
The young woman was born in a primitive mountain range east of the Grandia Continent. She lived in seclusion there with her parents—a half-blood dragon descendant and a plains elf—leading an ordinary and simple life.
The Grandia Continent was home to many races. Kobolds, lizardmen, gnolls, and even the rare winged humans all had their own nations and powers. Although most of them were merely vassals of the two great empires, and many races considered ugly by humans—such as kobolds and gnolls—were even discriminated against, they were still better off than the most unwelcome dragon descendants.
Dragons were the most despised race in this world. Of course, this was partly due to the all-out war between the Central Empire and Dragon Island centuries ago, which caused countless deaths among many races. More importantly, these dragons were different from the various races that, despite their diverse appearances, were mostly related. They were true aliens from another world, with a different origin.
So now, the vast majority of surviving true dragons and dragon descendants could not walk openly on the continent. They could only choose to live in seclusion deep in the mountains, much like the young woman's parents.
In the mountains, both her father, a dragon descendant warrior, and her mother, a spellcaster, were formidable in strength. Even the primitive forests that ordinary people found difficult to approach were like gardens they could enter and exit freely. Under their protection, the young girl could roam the forest freely from a young age, developing a strong physique and a natural affinity for nature.
In the deep mountain forests shrouded in mist and water vapor, even the most skilled rangers would occasionally get lost. But the young woman, blessed with elven blood, thrived. She adventured in the forest, communicated with wild animals, and chatted with the slow but friendly giant trees, flowers, and vines. More than a decade passed, and the young woman gained younger siblings. The family of five could no longer stay in the mountains as before. For a more convenient life, they used secret arts to conceal the dragon traits in their bodies and then moved to a small border town in the Gru Empire.
Life in the human world was much more interesting than in the deep mountains, with all kinds of people and all sorts of fascinating things. For Hilja, who had only ever seen trees and soil, and whose food mostly consisted of tree fruits and animal meat, the bustling human city was a new paradise. Every day, she watched all kinds of adventurers, full of hope and dreams, enter the deep mountains where she once lived. She listened to their loud laughter and tales of the magnificent and stunning landscapes from all over the world. Gradually, a desire for adventure grew in her heart.
Hilja prepared a lot for this—she learned swordsmanship and archery from her parents, learned to sense magic and how to cast spells, and how to read people's expressions and judge the thoughts hidden behind their faces. The monotonous daily cultural studies and training were even more crucial. But because she had a dream, the young woman gritted her teeth and persevered. She looked forward to going further, seeing a broader world, and unleashing the curiosity and desire for adventure burning in her heart.
She was full of hope and anticipation for the future of this world she lived in.
So, when countless undead awakened from their long slumber in the dead of night on the fourth day of July, 617 Unified Calendar, howling and lunging at the living, the young woman, who was full of ambition and planning to bid farewell to her parents the next morning to leave this warm little town and adventure across the world, could not understand it at all.
Why?
Countless undead beasts and humans awakened in the deathly still mist, their scarlet, mindless eyes fixed on the living creatures around them. They tore apart all living things, venting an anger of unknown origin.
Why did this happen?
The sleeping residents, whether strong men or newborn infants, were torn into bloody pieces by these merciless monsters. The small border town, though small, had no shortage of strong individuals. But these powerful adventurers and garrison troops, panicked and disoriented, were also pinned down in their positions by the endless tide of undead shadows, unable to go out and help others.
What in the world had happened to this world?
Her father, who had revealed his dragon descendant identity, and her mother, a realm-level spellcaster, joined forces to drive away all the undead around the residential area. But because it was so sudden, the neighbor girl who was close to the young woman, and the kind auntie's entire family, had all perished, their bodies not even intact.
And because of this action, even more powerful undead awakened from their ancient rest.
This was the Denan Mountain Range, a border region. This place was once the territory of a group of sapphire dragons. During the human-dragon war five hundred years ago, several peak celestial realm, even "sanctuary" level experts held their ground here, resisting the onslaught of the mad dragons.
And on the first day of this apocalypse, they all awakened.
The mountain forest under the long night was suddenly covered by an endless oppressive aura. Dragons that had been nearly extinct for centuries let out long roars, returning to the world with full resentment and unwillingness. One by one, the fallen experts of various races also awakened here, determined to slay their powerful enemies once more. Wind and thunder raged. The small city was instantly torn apart by the shockwaves of the battles between these dead experts. Whether it was a helplessly crying young girl or a realm-level expert with a look of despair on their face, all were swallowed by the energy shockwaves that swept across half the province.
One night passed.
Only one person survived.
In her dream, Hilja dazedly touched the white robe on her body. The indestructible milky-white shield had perfectly resisted all the impacts. It was a treasure her mother had taken off herself and given to her, knowing she was going to adventure the next day. Her gentle mother never wanted to talk about her past, nor how she met her father. So the young woman always thought they were just an ordinary elven dragon descendant couple who had eloped. But now, it was clear there were many secrets.
And these secrets, along with death, had turned to dust.
Trembling, she slowly knelt down. The dragon-winged young woman wailed, despairingly prostrating herself on the ground, futilely reaching out to touch the warm, fine dust. That was her father, her mother, her younger brother and sister. Everything she loved was in this flying dust. But what good was crying? What could tears bring back? Even if she bit her lip until it bled, even if her heart felt torn apart, everything had already happened.
The whole world was plunged into darkness. The undead from the past mercilessly devoured the present and the future.
And the young woman who had once longed for adventure, on this first day when the light faded, embarked on a journey she never wanted to take.
Twenty-seven years.
Long, hopeless twenty-seven years.
For a half-dragon, half-elf hybrid, a mere twenty-seven years couldn't even change their appearance. Twenty-seven years couldn't even let them transition from youth to adulthood. The young woman was still a young woman, but her heart had long been tempered into iron and stone.
In these twenty-seven years, Hilja had witnessed countless joys and sorrows, partings and reunions. She had seen the establishment and destruction of countless sanctuaries. She wanted to help those in need, but found that besides protecting herself, she could do nothing. City after city fell, fortress after fortress was lost. Although the fallen celestial realm and sanctuary experts no longer awakened, a single realm-level undead was enough to destroy any defense line.
And at some point, these undead, which had originally been scattered and disorganized, began to organize. Every night, tens of thousands of troops would track the young woman's trail and attack her. Relying on her own strength, Hilja could barely cope, but the robe inherited from her mother allowed her to escape death several times.
But occasionally, this robe would fail. Facing the pursuit of an entire undead legion, the robe could only help her escape as best it could. The young woman had to trade the rare raw crystals she found in abandoned cities and fortresses with the strong in other sanctuaries, asking for their help. Although many refused, or even harbored evil intentions to rob her, there were also many strong individuals willing to help and keep their promises. Relying on their power, Hilja had survived until today, though not without danger.
But... what difference did it make?
In reality, a bitter tear flowed from the corner of the sleeping young woman's eye.
Fleeing, hiding for twenty-seven years, she was tired. Unlike the survivors living in deep mountain sanctuaries, Hilja never had a single day of peaceful rest. Undead shadows were always tracking her, launching attacks. Powerful undead were always awakening, seeking her head. The young woman had grown accustomed to injury, even accustomed to being on the verge of death. The injuries she had suffered over the years, the body parts she had lost and regenerated, were enough to make two of her. Many times, during brief rests, Hilja would wonder why she kept running. Wouldn't dying completely be more satisfying than this living death?
The answer was simple. She didn't want to die.
It wasn't the will to survive, but a burden.
Father, mother, younger brother, younger sister, neighbor sister Maya, kind Aunt Sona... many people died that day. From the first natural disaster when the undead shadows awakened, the life of the young woman who survived thanks to the white robe her mother gave her no longer belonged to her. It belonged to everyone. Only she remembered the dead. If she died, then everything would be forgotten, as if nothing had happened.
That was a terror greater than death itself.
Just then, the robe began to resonate faintly, gradually waking Hilja from her dream.
On the other side of the carriage, a somewhat tired woman also woke from her dream. She opened her eyes, glanced at the dragon-winged young woman in front of her, and said in a gentle voice, "You're awake? I saw you fainted by the roadside, so I picked you up... Why are you crying?"
This woman from the Holy City had average-to-good looks and indeed seemed very tired. Just after waking up, she couldn't help but yawn. Just as she was about to ask if the nearby sanctuary had been attacked, and if so, how many had survived, the woman's mouth suddenly closed, then opened in surprise.
"Wait, why is your robe glowing?"
Hilja didn't know either. At that moment, she had no time to pay attention to the woman's words.
Because she seemed to have fallen into another illusion—amidst flickering lights and shadows, the young woman suddenly found herself in a huge, white marble temple. In front of her was a blazing altar, with flames that were formless, colorless, and perhaps even non-existent burning within it. It seemed to contain the phantom of the entire world.
And a dignified, white-haired man in a robe was staring at her with a serious, scrutinizing gaze.
In a daze, Hilja seemed to see other scenes.
A smiling young man holding a cyan orb, an indifferent saint with two light blades at his waist, a dignified middle-aged man in a holy robe, and a gentle old man holding a pure white scepter.
These were all him, and yet none of them were him. They were his childhood, his struggles, his watch, and his end.
But who was he?
Hilja felt her blood resonating. The bloodline from her elven side, which allowed her to communicate with plants and animals, involuntarily felt a sense of closeness and respect for this dignified middle-aged man. It was like a long-wandering prodigal son finally seeing his long-lost parents, or like an unworthy student, after many years, meeting a strict but caring teacher again.
And in an instant, she understood his identity.
At the beginning of the world, crimson flames filled the sky. The heavens were fierce winds and startling thunder, the earth was scorching hot molten fire. The continents had not yet formed, the oceans did not exist, all things were formless, and life had not yet evolved.
But a saint broke through the boundaries and arrived, bringing with him one hundred and three thousand pioneers, settling in this place. The saint commanded the fierce fire and wild wind, rebuked the startling thunder and crimson flames, causing the land to rise from the magma, cooling and stabilizing the molten core. The saint also separated the poisonous gas and water, bringing down the primordial rain, forming the embryo of the ocean.
The saint scattered seeds, spread life. Under his divine power, within seven days, the land that was once magma became lush and green, with young beasts inhabiting every corner. The pioneers were also settled here to thrive and multiply.
The legend of the Origin Saint spread throughout the Grandia Continent. Even though the Central Empire split five hundred years ago, causing great gaps in historical records, those who cared could confirm this information about creation from ancient texts.
But according to these ancient texts, it was clear that the Origin Saint was not the true creator. He used the power of a divine artifact robe to channel the power of the sage and quell the flames at the beginning of the world's creation.
"Could it be..."
In disbelief, she touched the robe on her body. Hilja's mind was so shaken by this information that she couldn't think. She could only mutter to herself, "Sage... the Sage..."
And in front of her, the phantom of the dignified, white-haired middle-aged man nodded slightly, his gaze softening.
"Descendant of my apostle."
He said calmly, "You have forgotten your mission."