Chapter 1147 — The Fleet Bound for the North

"Aha, it is indeed rather hard to understand... I am organizing the changes in the sea's magical environment throughout the voyage, as well as the disturbance patterns between chaotic turbulence and the upper atmosphere," Mojin said with a laugh, his eyes bright with spirit. "This is not merely casual record-keeping. You know there is a team of scholars aboard? They bear the responsibility of recording deep-sea weather and magical data, accumulating materials for the Empire's ocean exploration project. I spoke with one of them a few days ago; they very much need these records of mine—so at this moment I am essentially in the service of the Empire..."

Lora looked the old mage over with some surprise. "I did not expect you to be so... How does that fashionable phrase go? Oh, so imbued with the sense of responsibility of an imperial citizen."

"Is that so? I suppose it counts," the old mage said, scratching his white hair with some uncertainty. "I feel I should do something for this country... some kind of... sense of duty? It seems I have an obligation to do something..."

The old man's eyes suddenly grew confused, as if his fragile memory system had once again fallen into an endless loop. Something utterly forgotten, yet leaving a faint trace in his instincts, troubled him. This was not the first time Lora had seen the old mage fall into such an odd state, so she spoke at once, deliberately raising her voice: "Elder, you record so much every day, and you have kept at it for so many years. Even without organizing, revising, or compiling it, would it not already be an astonishing work?"

Interrupted by the huntress, Mojin seemed to wake with a start. He at once smiled and shook his head. "Calling it a work is perhaps an exaggeration. I am not the sort skilled at writing books or establishing a legacy... But I have indeed recorded a great many things in my life. You see this thick book? I have already filled..."

His voice caught halfway through. That trance caused by failing memory seemed to come over him again. The old mage's brows furrowed little by little, and he muttered to himself as if speaking in a dream: "I recorded many things. I remember... there was a record, and I lost it. It seems I lost it many, many years ago... It contained many adventures that could be called great. I seem to have lost them..."

Seeing Mojin fall into a trance once more, Lora could not help raising her voice again: "Elder, you..."

"Ah, no need to shout, girl," Mojin said, suddenly turning his head. A faint smile was on his face, his eyes had cleared, and he waved his hand lightly. "Thank you for your concern. I am actually fine. I have lived like this for many years... Perhaps I have lived too long. My memory has developed some problems, and even my soul... seems to have a small defect. But on the whole, all is well. At least I have not sunk so low as to need concern from a junior like you."

The old mage let out a soft breath, as if calming a restless and empty memory. Lora looked into the old man's eyes, and only after a long while did she speak with some hesitation: "I heard... you are going to Tarrond to find something?"

"Ah, yes, I mentioned it to Mr. Azkar aboard," Mojin said with a warm smile. "I am going to Tarrond to find something... something very important to me."

"How could you have lost something in the realm of the dragons?" Lora said in disbelief. "That was a realm once cut off on the other side of the ocean by the eternal storms. Apart from dragons, no mortal creature could come and go freely..."

"I do not know. I remember none of it," Mojin said with a shake of his head, speaking slowly. "I do not know what I am going to find, nor where that 'thing' was lost. I only have a feeling that I left something very important in Tarrond... I must go and find it."

His voice was slow and firm, as if carrying a persistence rooted in his very soul. The radiance of the giant sun poured down from the sky, and in that moment the bright sunlight seemed to pierce through the old mage's body, making his whole figure hazy and transparent—so that one could even faintly see the vast sea behind him—

Lora's heart suddenly skipped a beat. She blinked hastily, only to find that the scene had vanished like an illusion. The old mage stood there, his figure solid and real, neither hazy nor unreal, and there was no sunlight passing through some half-transparent body.

...

On the continent of Tarrond, along the broken coastline of the southeast, the newly built Seaboard County was bathed in the radiance of the polar day.

The red dragon Kalador stood on a small floating islet outside the town, narrowing his eyes as he watched the movements on the sea and along the coast.

A newly raised ring of walls protected the residential area in the safe zone along the coastline. The walls were built from a mixture of huge stones and molten metal. Though far less exquisite and luxurious than the palace walls and pavilions of old, they revealed a rough beauty in the sunlight. Moreover, compared with those earlier "wind-shelter nests" hastily piled together from ruins and garbage, these walls had at least been carefully planned and constructed with some order. The recent abundance of labor and the newly quarried building materials brought back from nearby islands had made the walls neat and solid—at least they were true city walls, not windbreak slopes piled up from refuse.

At this moment, the hunting teams had already put out to sea, the warriors responsible for clearing the wild areas around the town had not yet returned, and the dragons responsible for building houses and leveling land were busy across the broad open ground outside Seaboard County. No member's time was being wasted, and no energy was being spent on matters of no importance.

Kalador withdrew his gaze from the town, and in his heart he suddenly gained a more vivid understanding of the word "alive."

This was an experience the dragons had never known, a prospect unimaginable in their "cradle years" — arduous, straitened, steeped in challenge and embarrassment, and yet...

Labor could transform their surroundings; effort could secure their own survival. The founding and sustaining of Binhai Commandery demanded the contribution of every member of every tribe — all individuals had worth, all hard work had meaning.

This was truly what it felt like to be "alive" — not so lovely, not so easy, nothing like the romance of imagination, even somewhat painful, and yet... it was good to be alive.

(A book recommendation: *I Just Want to Stand on My Own Two Feet*, an urban realist story about a protagonist who, after being reborn, refuses to be a拆迁二代 — a demolition-compensation heir — idling his life away, and chooses instead to make his own way. I rarely recommend books in this genre, but Chang Shiche has been recommending books lately, so I'll offer this one up as a sacrifice to the gods.)