Alice in the Land of Steam

Chapter 1341 Should we be careful?

General Franzand defeated the invading enemy fleet at the Battle of White River Harbor, thus thwarting the Axis powers' offensive in the Kingdom of Noah. With unfavorable conditions at the rear, no progress at the front, and growing anti-war sentiment within the country, the Mindrias Empire's colonial legions were forced to retreat. From then on, the ambitious emperor forever lost the opportunity to add another jewel to his crown. The Ansers region would never again be a colony of any country—not in the past, not now, and not in the future. After the war subsided, the valiant general was rewarded by the royal family and gained their trust, while the weak and incompetent Earl of Grayhill was punished, stripped of his title and fief. The descendants of the Borg family, the patron saints, became the new lords of Grayhill, but he still upheld his ideals and beliefs, unwavering despite the corruption of power. Those who had shone brightly or distinguished themselves in the war—Giovanni, Regina, José Asher, Mitch, Cardora…—all found happy and fulfilling endings.

A story as beautiful as a fairy tale.

As the one who wove this story with her own hands, Saint Charlotte felt immense satisfaction... and a small sense of accomplishment. She suddenly understood her mother's feelings. That great and benevolent goddess, when she created the universe and all living things, bestowing upon them various missions, responsibilities, emotions, and destinies, must have felt much the same way?

Unfortunately, neither the stories created by Mother nor the stories she wove were perfect, though beautiful.

Mother bestowed upon all beings too much power and too much intense emotion, but failed to balance the two, causing them to constantly waver between power and emotion, gradually losing themselves, thus giving rise to the tragedy of Eden. As for herself, although she changed the fate of many by plucking the strings of destiny, it is regrettable that even if she changed people's fate, she could not change the fate of war. Therefore, some people still died, some people were lost, and some people could not be redeemed... It's just that there were far fewer of them compared to the original timeline.

For some, less is more, even if it means saving only one person, it's better than doing nothing at all; but for Saint Charlotte, if she couldn't do it perfectly, it was as if she hadn't done anything at all.

After all, this was her only chance.

In the end, I failed to keep my promise to him and save everyone.

The blue-haired girl sighed silently, but only she could hear her own voice, for time had frozen, fate stood still, and even the wind and dust awaited the world's awakening, unable to carry her sigh to the young man. Perhaps it was for the best; after all, regret was not an emotion worth sharing, and the heavy sighs of fate were best borne alone.

The girl slowly lowered her head, looking at her hands—those slender yet powerful hands that had once plucked the strings of countless destinies, guiding them onto new paths. Now, however, they flickered like a faulty signal, existing between reality and illusion, appearing and disappearing. In those translucent shadows, it was as if countless golden threads converged into a river, surging endlessly; or as if the characters 0 and 1 were flowing, rushing towards unknown territories.

She tried to clench her fist, but all she felt was a hollow, penetrating sensation at her fingertips. The strings of fate that had once been as tacit as her own were now slipping rapidly through her fingers, like quicksand she couldn't hold onto. A profound sense of powerlessness gripped her; the strength within her was draining away at an unprecedented rate. Her beautiful face lost its color, leaving only an almost transparent pallor. Her once-golden eyes, dimmed from exhaustion, were now filled with an indescribable loneliness and sorrow.

Caught between reality and fairy tale, the young girl Wang Quan, consumed by fate, withers beyond recognition. As someone who recklessly defies her own nature and mission, such an end seems almost inevitable. Confusion, loss, abandonment, and helplessness—these are the words that constantly define her life.

A massive project, with the immense power to forcibly alter the trajectory of billions of lives and even the world, comes at a terrifying cost.

On the surface, she merely altered a tiny, insignificant part of the trajectory within the realm of the game, a change that seems negligible compared to the countless living beings and matter in the mortal world. But in reality, fate is far more complex than that. From both a grand and microscopic perspective, the universe is a unified and indivisible whole. There is never an isolated life; even two things separated by vast distances are connected by an invisible, intangible, and perhaps even completely unknown thread.

When you breathe in the sorrowful city of Linwell, the breath you exhale rises with the wind, enters the atmosphere, and is carried by the circulation of air currents to the distant Alps Mountains, where it freezes and condenses on the snow-capped peaks where saints once gazed at the stars, eventually forming a blizzard that traps a young girl named Shattoto who has inadvertently stumbled upon this place. As she reaches out her palm to catch the first snowflake falling from the clouds, her mind is still filled with thoughts of travelers riding whales to the heavens… In this context, to trace the timeline of this snowflake and change its fate, whether it was born or not, one must simultaneously follow the clouds that condensed it, the wind that carried it, and even the breath you exhale. All things in the universe are interconnected in this way, forming a tightly interlocking whole, like links in a chain, each indispensable, from the smallest speck of dust to the grandest laws.

Therefore, Saint Charlotte changed the fate of an Axis soldier from the Western Continent, freeing him from the war. However, the war still broke out, and another soldier would take his place, stepping onto this distant and unfamiliar land to fight for profit or desire. Even if the girl never touched the strings of his destiny, didn't that change his fate? Similarly, the Mindrias Empire's invasion and colonization strategy in the Ansers region failed due to the fierce resistance of the Gray Hill people. The Axis lost a stable rear base, and in order to maintain the situation in the central battlefield, it was necessary to start wars in other regions to achieve its goals. And those who were caught up in the war, couldn't their fates also be said to have been changed by Saint Charlotte?
Fate is an organic whole; it breathes, grows, and constantly weaves itself, always in flux, sometimes gentle as ripples, sometimes fierce as a tsunami. External interference cannot halt the course of fate; it merely allows ripples to develop into tsunamis or weakens them back into ripples. However, in either case, as the one who plucks the strings of fate, whether through direct or indirect change, Saint Charlotte must ultimately bear the consequences alone.

Saint Charlotte had never been so clearly aware that... her time was running out.

But there are still things I want to do.

There are still things that need to be done.

There are also things that must be done.

Go see him.

Even if it's the last time we see each other.

...Ling stood atop the hill, no longer beneath barren dust, but a vast expanse of starflowers and ferns, these small, blue-purple flowers still emitting a faint glow even in stillness. Grass, animal tracks, and the shepherd's abandoned hut intertwined to form a sea of ​​life, drowning out the traces of bygone days. In the past, this was a battlefield, where swords and flesh flew, corpses and steel buried, and a beast that had devoured ten thousand fell from the sky, igniting a towering fire. But the memory of that war remained; a mysterious force of fate quietly altered its course, and so today, only a faint vitality and boundless greenery replace the desolate, barren land of memory.

Looking up, the oldest city on the Grayhills stands majestically. Three banners, symbolizing the former Church of the Night, the Borg family of apologists, and the Liberators' Front, flutter atop the magnificent building, formerly the Governor's Mansion, now the City Hall. Everyone knows that within that building, a hero of ideals and beliefs watches over this land, his gaze seemingly piercing through frozen time to see future prosperity. Villagers, farmers, caravans, adventurers, missionaries, and even travelers from another continent—those who traverse countless roads—are all under his protection.

But all of this is frozen in time, like a painting, not yet a reality. Perhaps it is because the person who created it still has something on their mind. Within this limited space, her will is the will of fate. If she decides to stay where she is, then fate cannot be opened.

We can only wait for the right opportunity.

Standing between reality and fairy tale, the young man did not lose consciousness like others when Saint Charlotte began to trace back time and change fate, as if frozen outside the world. Instead, he witnessed everything from beginning to end as the only audience member on the stage.

He watched as time flowed backward and blood was drawn from the land of Grayhill; he watched as life returned and people's memories were reshaped; he watched as the Grayhill Eagle, after a long period of forbearance and scheming, finally decided to defy the gods; he watched as Regina rose up in rebellion, following Giovanni and the miners; he watched as the pale knight's squire shed his resentment and anger and became a knight again; he watched as the boy who did not yet know why he came and the girl who already knew why she was born met at the gates of Suarez... He watched as the fates of familiar people, along with the fate of this land ravaged by war and sorrow, were changed, and hope sprouted like tender buds.

The power of faith shapes deities, and deities listen to the wishes of believers, creating new divine kingdoms. This vast and complex power of faith is undoubtedly a double-edged sword, testing both the power of the deities and the self-discipline of the believers. But at this moment, the power of faith that constitutes the deity "Saint Charlotte" all originates from the same person. Could it be argued that her wishes are actually equivalent to the wishes of young people?

Linger hoped so, because he didn't want to leave himself with regrets; but he also didn't want so, because imposing one's own wishes on others is the most pathetic and despicable act in the world.

This contradictory mentality inadvertently reveals that he is ultimately a mortal, not a believer in a god.

It's also possible... that it's neither of those.

At this moment, the young man's situation was not much better than Saint Charlotte's.

He was not a god, yet he carried a vast faith sufficient to sustain a deity, a power that surged within his mortal body like molten lava. He witnessed the reversal of time, the rewriting of destiny, the forced diversion of every life's trajectory to another river—the impact and burden of this godlike power far exceeding what flesh and blood could bear. He felt a tearing pain deep within his soul, his consciousness seemingly adrift in a mournful melody, each breath pulling at countless invisible threads, connecting every inch of Gray Hill, every altered soul. His fingertips were icy, ominous light flickering at the edges of his vision, yet he remained silent, simply standing, silently standing, like a stone statue forgotten beyond time, resisting with all his might the backlash of this probing and the weight of fate.

But suddenly, he felt it.

It wasn't the wind, for the wind had frozen; it wasn't the sound, for the sound had fallen silent. It was the weight of existence, a familiar sorrow carrying the faint scent of apple blossoms, gently falling upon the frozen, solidified landscape behind him.

He turned around slowly and with great difficulty.

Between reality and fairy tale, the blue-haired girl of destiny stood there, just a few steps away from him. Her figure was even more ethereal than before, as if barely woven from countless tiny specks of light and flowing golden threads, its edges blurred, like an ancient oil painting about to be soaked through. Her once clear, molten gold-like eyes now shone as faintly as a candle in the wind, almost drowned in profound weariness and sorrow. Her face was almost transparently pale, even more glaring than the coldest winter snow in Linwell City in Lin Ge's memory.

“Ling Ge…” Her voice was soft, like a sigh itself, yet it clearly pierced through the frozen space and time, reaching his ears. There was no weak sob in her voice as he had expected; instead, it carried a strange, almost calm, gentleness: “I’m back.”

It's not "I want to leave".

Instead, it said, "I'm back."

Sunlight streamed through the fields and woodlands, and tiny dust particles, like plankton on the seabed, drifted aimlessly, searching for an unseen home. The young woman's vision blurred, and the scene from that day resurfaced: the bustling square, the crowded tents, the sound of trumpets, the procession of clowns and fire-breathing sorcerers, and the perpetual haze that hung over the city... In those familiar scenes, in those hazy memories, in that unpredictable future, she told herself, "Be careful, son of man who has eaten the golden apple."

Beware of the hardships of fate and those feelings that leave you feeling lost and helpless.

Give me some cats