Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1323 Was that person me?

Ietta stared blankly at everything before her.

It was as if a storm had once raged here; the sky still hung low, the leaden clouds pressing down so low that they completely blocked out the light, allowing only a faint, bleak glimmer to seep through. The air was thick with the smell of earth, dust, and the bitter sap of grass and trees that had been forcibly torn apart—just like the girl's mood at that moment.

The earth was turned upside down, revealing countless ugly scars, like whalers piercing a whale's body with sharp harpoons, slowly draining its blood until it was utterly exhausted and surrendered to fate. In those torn flesh and blood, in the deep black soil, mingled with countless debris: crushed leaves, moss, decaying matter, the corpses of insects, long-rotted seeds, broken grass roots… Ietta unconsciously crouched down, grabbed a handful, and gazed closely at their sorrow, vitality, struggle, despair, longing, pain, and unease. This reminded the angelic girl of her time living in Avignon, when this was the very scene she would witness when the earth was plowed open at planting time.

At first, the girl was surprised, never expecting that beneath the land that nurtured crops and primroses lay not the vibrant scene she had imagined, but a landscape filled with death, sorrow, and lost lives. Later, she learned that this was called reincarnation; without death, there would be no new life. In a sense, all the new life nurtured on this land was actually inheriting the will of those buried here; they were one.

Reincarnation is never the same. Just as the nutrients released from the decaying corpse of an insect may not become nourishment for the next insect, but are used to cultivate new primroses. Nutrients flow silently in the soil, nourishing completely different life forms. Insects and primroses are two different species, aren't they? This means that even if they inherit the same will, have the same soul, and can feel the same emotions, their essence is different.

Ietta thought that, according to this theory, her present self must be different from her past self.

But Carapos said to her, "It's the same as before."

Her tone was somewhat sentimental and regretful, as if she had met a familiar old friend, but it wasn't a thrilling reunion. She couldn't simply smile and say "long time no see" and pretend the past had never happened. Therefore, she could only use this tone to mask her true feelings.

In the eyes of the Dark Witch, the two angels were almost identical, especially in terms of combat.

They all possessed immense power and the resolve to fight, yet they lacked the awareness to kill anyone. To deprive another of everything was too painful for them, for angels are symbols of beauty and light, destined to bring happiness to the world—as recorded in the Gospels compiled by believers for her.

How can we judge right and wrong? Perhaps in matters of the heart, there is never a right or wrong; it's simply that people are inherently different. The only thing Ieta was certain of was that she had lost.

With unwavering faith, she wanted to change the story's ending, yet she lost so miserably. The reason the child in the fairy tale who wrestled with the giant was able to win, besides his belief in protecting his village and family, was perhaps primarily because he was inherently a very strong person. But Ietta wasn't; no matter when or where, she simply forced herself to be strong.

The angel girl looked up blankly; the world appeared as a mess to her.

She loved the Saaria Plains, the village of Avignon, and the endless fields of primroses outside the village—scenery that could easily be called her home. Even after betrayal, war, and separation, this love never changed. So, even when she secluded herself to escape the curse, Ietta never considered going too far from her homeland. The only time she used the power of the Free King for herself was to blow her own windmill tower in the village to the lowest point of the Rhonin Rift, where the power of the wind sheltered everything, making it spring-like all year round and full of life.

Primroses bloom in vibrant splendor, crickets chirp among the blossoms, and tiny grey-billed finches and fierce sword owls perch in the trees. Trees thrive regardless of the seasons: vines in spring, wild cherry blossoms in summer, chestnuts in autumn, and cedars in winter. Vines twine around chestnut trees, and wild cherry petals drift onto the branches of cedars. The colors of the four seasons blend harmoniously here. As long as a girl lives surrounded by them, she will feel as if she has never left her hometown.

But now, everything she liked, everything she cared about, everything she wanted most has been destroyed.

The forest is no longer what it once was. The crowns of the winter cedars, once lush and rustling in the wind, have been withered away in the storm, leaving only countless bare branches, like countless severed limbs reaching towards the leaden sky, silently accusing the forest. The autumn chestnuts, with their extensive root systems, have been cleaved at the base, lying haphazardly on the ground like the skeletons of giants, uprooting their intricate root systems and sending soil flying, as if the earth has been torn open, revealing its hideous wounds. The spring ivy and summer cherry trees, which always exuded the breath of spring, seem to have been brutally wiped away by an invisible hand, their branches twisted and broken, their leaves all gone, with only a few supple vines groping among the remains, trying to twine and climb, weaving a new green net.

The destruction of the flower field was the most thorough.

The primrose field, once rippling with seven-colored waves under the sunlight, seemingly melting the entire spring within it, is now nothing but a heart-wrenching desolation. It's as if a raging, invisible giant hand has brutally uprooted them from the land they depended on for survival, then cruelly crushed, trampled, and scattered them. As far as the eye can see, their vibrant beauty is gone, replaced by vast swathes of fallen, broken plants, like a swarm of butterflies crushed to death, lying helplessly in the mud.

Only a few primroses closest to the windmill tower miraculously retained some broken branches and leaves, trembling slightly in the deathly wind. Their slender stems were almost completely broken, but their wrinkled petals stubbornly refused to wither, gently brushing against Ieta's palm, as if comforting their owner.

Ietta cautiously reached out, her fingertips trembling slightly as she hovered just inches from the broken petals, afraid to touch them, just as she was afraid to admit her defeat, lest she disappoint certain people—the villagers of Avignon from the past, her companions who had always trusted and encouraged her, and of course, the person most important to her…

"It's alright, Ieta, it's alright."

A pair of hands gently pulled her into an embrace, and her elder sister's voice murmured in her ear like a soothing melody: "You've already tried your best, so don't blame yourself, okay?"

At first, she didn't feel anything; failure was like a dream, leaving her only a dazed feeling upon waking. But as Saint Xialia gently comforted her, Ietta suddenly felt like crying. Her lungs felt like they had inhaled a lot of cold air, making it hard to breathe: "Sister Xialia, I, cough cough, I..."

She coughed, gasping for breath, sobbing and choking as she cried. Her thin shoulders heaved violently in her sister's arms, tears quickly soaking the fabric of Saint Charlotte's clothes. It was as if she was venting all the grievances she had suffered in her life. Her cries were interspersed with indistinct words, broken and seemingly about to be cut off at any moment: "I wanted to... I wanted to help everyone... but... but it was no use at all, cough cough! I'm sorry, Sister Charlotte, really, cough cough! I'm so... sorry..." Saint Xialia gently patted her younger sister's thin back, smoothing her feathers that were ruffled by the storm, her eyes filled with heartache and sorrow: "It's alright, it's alright, Ietta. Everyone knows how hard you've tried, so no one will blame you. We'll work together, we'll find a way, okay? Just like this primrose field, although it's withered for now, it's alright. As long as the soil and seeds are still there, as long as the sunshine and rain are still there, it will definitely recover. We'll all help, the fairies will help, the stone guardians will help, everyone will help, and we'll share this burden with you..."

This is not just a simple consolation.

As the most common primrose family plant in the Saaria Plains, the primrose is actually a very tenacious life. Its root system can lie dormant in the most barren soil, waiting for the opportunity to revive. As long as there is a plant, a seed, or even a piece of root remaining, it will desperately absorb sunlight and water, and then bloom again from among the branches and leaves. The pale blue is vibrant and verdant, the tender yellow is bright and sunny, and the pure white is elegant and noble... Just as the poet Hyde described in his collection of poems "Cherry Blossoms", it is "full of seven-colored miracles".

With Saint-Charlie's comfort and companionship, Ieta's emotions gradually stabilized. Although she was still sobbing a little, this was a normal emotional release, so let her cry it out; perhaps she would feel better after crying.

The shepherdess sighed silently, then struggled to pick up her younger sister, carefully adjusted her position, and turned to walk towards the windmill tower, each step taken with extreme caution. Although it had just weathered a severe storm, the windmill tower from Avignon still stood majestically, its sturdy stone walls bearing only slight traces of wind erosion, and its enormous blades, though still, still pointing towards the sky, serving as its owner's last refuge.

Saint Charlotte gently placed Ieta on the bed, told her to rest well, and then turned to leave. Before leaving, the angelic girl tugged at her sleeve, her eyes red, and asked, "Where are you going, Sister Charlotte?"

She wasn't reluctant to see her sister leave, but rather a little worried... and afraid.

“Don’t be afraid.” Saint Charlotte gently but firmly pried open her fingers, saying each word clearly, “You’ve done enough. Just rest here, Ietta, I—”

"I'll be back soon."

Her tone, as if giving a promise that she would absolutely keep, reassured Ietta once again.

So, Miss Angel slowly loosened her grip.

And so I watched her walk away.

……

On the way back to the Fairy Sleep Inn, the sights she witnessed weighed heavily on Saint Charlotte's heart. Trees were fallen, rivers had dried up, and even the wooden walkways painstakingly laid by the stone spirit guards had been destroyed in the earth-shattering tremors. Squirrels, rabbits, deer, and other small animals fled frantically through the forest, no longer daring to approach humans; a large flock of birds gathered in the sky above the forest, wandering aimlessly, as if unable to find their nests; she even saw several flower fairies shivering in the bushes, their transparent wings drooping limply, their petal-made clothes stained with mud, devoid of their former vitality and cheerfulness.

This is the most severe damage that Cloud Whale Sky Island has suffered since its inception, not due to a natural disaster, but to human error.

Saint Charlotte felt a pang of sadness, which transformed into a more complex emotion as she thought of the figure still waiting alone on the battlefield. She said that Ietta wasn't the kind of person with the courage to kill himself, so his defeat was only natural. She was waiting for someone truly determined to fight; only when both sides wanted to kill each other could their convictions be unwavering, their ideals unshakable, and only then would the battle be meaningful.

A cruel and pure logic, Saint Xia knew that it was not her true nature, but something that had changed over the years as she experienced various things.

Everyone changes, but sometimes they don't see it as a change; instead, they feel that it's just their nature.

Although she didn't name names, Saint Charlotte already had some clues about the person the Dark Witch Caraboss was waiting for. It wasn't speculation or doubt, but simply a premonition that naturally arose when fate intervened.

That fact saddened Sainte-Charlie.

The power of the young queens should be a force maintaining the balance of the universe, but balance needs a fulcrum; once it tilts, it leads to immense destruction. Influenced by this philosophy, whether it is chaos or order, the authority granted to them by their mother is equal. Therefore, once they are on opposing sides, victory cannot be determined by simple strength; they must be prepared to "kill for whom" for their power to be differentiated, allowing them to step over the corpses of others to climb the ladder to their ideals, until they reach the top and look back, only to find themselves utterly alone.

Is this how the power of the "heart" should be used? I bet Mother never imagined things would turn out this way when she created the young princess's kingdom.
The unpredictability of fate is such that even the young queen of destiny remains bewildered.

Stopping in my tracks and looking up, I saw the Fairy Sleep Inn before me.

Give me some cats