Alice in the Land of Steam

Is Chapter 1352 the time to say goodbye?
Recently, Carson Berg has been somewhat restless.

While working, his fingers unconsciously traced the rough edges of the parchment documents; standing by the window, his gaze swept across the reconstructed city of Suarez to the distant horizon, unable to come back to his senses for a long time; even when walking through the city's streets and alleys, he would inadvertently freeze for a moment, and when he came back to his senses, he could hardly remember why he had been lost in thought.

Such a state is unimaginable for the Grayhill Eagle.

From the moment he took off his battle robes and stopped wielding those crescent-shaped swords to fight the enemy, brave and fearless like an eagle soaring through the sky, he focused his energy on post-war reconstruction, pacifying the people, maintaining order, and other mundane matters, hoping to restore this land to its former vibrant and orderly state. Since then, he has been troubled by many problems.

The fanatical followers of the Former Night Church remained deeply worried after the death of the Old God, fearing that the Holy Sect monks from the royal city would seize the opportunity to extend their reach into this pure and independent realm of faith, plotting to seize power and wealth. They repeatedly hinted to the demigod, the Gray Hill Eagle, to succeed to the divine throne, promising to accept any price as long as he could maintain the Former Night Church's position, completely disregarding his own wishes. This is understandable; in the eyes of ordinary people, becoming a god is an immense glory, so how could anyone resist?
The Earl of the North, who had remained aloof during the Grayhill War of Independence, has recently been active in the capital, bribing and inciting politically influential nobles to repeatedly advise the old king that the Ansers region, having just survived the threat of invaders, suffered severe damage to both its military and commercial activities. He claims that the Borg family alone would be insufficient to restore post-war order, and the Earl of the North is willing to offer his modest assistance. It seems this unfriendly neighbor has never relinquished its covetousness for this land. Furthermore, the Earl of Grayhill, who fled his territory before the war and was punished and stripped of his title, is also trying to reclaim his title and lands. Although he appears like a clown, he is quite disgusting if left unchecked.

Of course, the real threat still came from the continent across the sea. As the fighting in the central theater intensified, the confrontation between the Allies and the Axis powers on the front lines gradually shifted from an initial brutal and bloody war of attrition to a protracted and protracted stalemate. The importance of logistical support was self-evident, and the Ansers region, located directly behind the front lines, once again came into the Axis's sights. Once Gray Hill was captured, the Axis powers could establish an efficient and stable supply route using airships as the primary means of transport, the strategic significance of which was self-evident. Although the invaders from the Mindrias Empire had previously abandoned countless weapons and lives on this land, fleeing in disarray, how could those in power care about the sacrifices of mere ants? Presumably, the flames of war would soon reignite, and would certainly be even faster and more intense than before.

Every problem at hand caused worry to the man known as the Eagle of Grayhill, whom everyone revered and worshipped. However, these problems were deeply rooted in his mind. He had already realized and begun to think about them long before he ended that war—no, it could even be said that he had already begun to think about them when he started that war. It was impossible for him to start worrying about them now.

So what is the main reason that Carson Berg has been so unsettled lately?
As a glorious descendant of the Borg family, the protectors of the faith, the ruler of the city of Suarez in Grayhill, and one of the few god-slayers on the continent of Eastern Empire, his fame had long since transcended the surrounding area, spreading throughout the entire Kingdom of Noah and even reaching more distant places. It was known to the nobles and royalty of the Yalas Empire, the scholars and mages of the Scroll Tower, and even to invaders from the continent of Sigria. In their eyes, he might be a hero, a butcher, or a traitor… but without exception, all these assessments affirmed his abilities and character.

It's often said that without the emergence of the Eagle of Grayhill, who united noble armies, the church, civilian resistance organizations, merchants and guilds, and even adventurers and mercenaries under a single banner, Grayhill would have long since fallen to the invaders. Even his enemies, amidst their jealousy and slander, had to acknowledge this fact. However, faced with such adoration and praise, the Eagle of Grayhill often felt uneasy. He didn't deny that he had indeed contributed greatly to the war, and had even long been prepared to sacrifice his life for his homeland, yet…

Was I truly the greatest contributor to the victory in the war?

Perhaps, in some unknown place, something has been forgotten?

Carson Berg's yearning to pursue forgotten memories wasn't due to an innate inquisitive nature, but rather a deep-seated feeling that they must be incredibly important, not so easily forgotten by the world or by himself. Yet, after a long and arduous search, he never achieved satisfactory results, to the point that he sometimes even doubted whether it was merely an illusion, stemming from his own obsession rather than a sign of fate. The stronger this feeling became, the more unpredictable the outcome.

When it reached its end at a certain point and could no longer be restrained by its own reason, the Grayhill Eagle made a decision unknown to anyone.

……

Traveling twenty li east from the outskirts of the city, then abandoning the horse, and following the dense shrubs and ankle-high weeds for another twenty li, this journey was long and arduous. When first leaving the city outskirts, there were still traces of rammed earth roads and scattered farmhouses, but the further east one went, the sparser the human presence became. The path beneath one's feet was completely swallowed by the wilderness; the shrubs, with their sharp thorns, tugged at the edges of the cloak, and the weeds rustled incessantly underfoot, like countless tiny creatures whispering secrets. The air was filled with the damp scent of earth, the smell of decaying plants, and an indescribable, unique aura of decay and silence.

Finally, they arrived at this long-abandoned site.

In the past, this was a bustling camp, the first stop for adventurers entering the Evernight Woods. Here, they would rest, buy supplies, and sharpen their weapons. Only after everything was fully prepared would they dare to venture into that dark woodland, like the gaping maw of a ferocious beast, to search for and unearth the ancient treasures buried within. It is said that the Western Continent scholar who once ventured deep into the Black Forest for ecological research and named these lifeless trees "Cursed Death Trees" also left his footprints here.

But everything is buried with the passage of time. The relocation of the Adventurers' Guild and the arrival of war changed the activity range of most adventurers. The mercenary services and commercial activities surrounding these adventurers naturally followed suit, leaving this once-favored land. The bustling traveler's camp thus fell into decline. Today, it is no longer what it once was, with only half-bricks and tiles remaining, not yet buried by vines and weeds, telling the adventure stories of that era.

Those who didn't personally experience that era wouldn't even know of its existence, let alone bypass that wildly growing green wall and see the camp again. The Grayhill Eagle wasn't old enough to have witnessed those changes, nor was he an adventurer, so how he found this remote ruin left his adjutant, Regina, both curious and somewhat puzzled.

Regina followed closely behind Carson, carefully avoiding the thorny brambles and slippery moss. She watched Carson Borg navigate the complex terrain and dense vegetation with a clear purpose and firm steps, as if he had a precise map in his mind, unlike someone who was setting foot in this place for the first time.

His gaze swept over the dilapidated foundations half-hidden by vines, the boundary stone covered in moss but with a unique shape, and the old tree that had been used as a support for drying ropes and bore deep marks... It seemed to be confirming some kind of memory coordinate that existed only in the depths of his consciousness, which was more of an instinct than a familiarity.

Nevertheless, she did not ask. The perceptive girl had already noticed that Grayhill Eagle seemed to be acting strangely today, but the emotion was exceptionally complex and difficult to describe with a single word such as sorrow, sadness, or confusion. If she had to say, it would be... he was reminiscing about something.
A huge, silent wave was enveloping him, a memory that only the person experiencing it could grasp, separated by the tides.

Although the adjutant didn't recall being a part of that memory herself, Regina couldn't help but ask, "When you suddenly said you wanted to go out for a walk, it really startled me, especially since you left the city secretly without telling anyone. If you were discovered, they would be very worried, wouldn't they?" She looked around at the traces of history and finally couldn't help but ask, "But even if you wanted to relax, why did you have to come to a place like this?"

The Grayhill Eagle did not answer, but silently gazed at the scene before him, his eyes filled with longing, confusion, contemplation, and reminiscence.

Should he tell the truth? Say that being here feels like seeing another life, a destiny completely different from his current one? He was no longer the governor of Suarez, nor even a hero in the eyes of others, but a stubborn man forced to flee in disarray by the colonists' army, yet still unwilling to abandon his ideals and beliefs. He gathered many like-minded people, including the girl behind him, and formed a resistance organization called the Ash Bracers. They accidentally discovered this ruin and transformed it into a secret camp, where they trained, lived, laughed, and talked about their experiences and ideals. They worked together to plan and execute countless operations against the colonists' army, suffering defeat after defeat, yet they fought on despite each setback. But in the last battle, they suffered a crushing defeat, even their largest stronghold was breached. He had no choice but to lead his surviving companions on a perilous journey deep into the Black Forest, where they had another stronghold, even more hidden and difficult for the enemy to detect. Despite the painful defeat, he still firmly believed that as long as they survived this test, the Ash Bracers would be reborn from the ashes and continue on this glorious and arduous path until victory was achieved.

These images churned in his mind, carrying with them the smoke of gunpowder, sweat, tears, the warmth of the campfire, and the bitter scent of defeat. He could almost hear the clanging of weapons clashing in the camp, the suppressed laughter, the whispered secrets in the dead of night, and even smell the aroma of food wafting from the makeshift kitchen and the mingled scent of herbs and blood in the wounded soldiers' tents. He saw "another version of himself" speaking passionately by the campfire, saw the resolute gleam in "another Regina's" eyes, and saw familiar faces passing by one by one... Every detail was incredibly real, washing over his senses.

And then... what happened next?

My later memories are blurry, as if seen through a thin mist, indistinct.

But it's strange. Why am I so convinced that these are real memories, and not just my imagination? I've never experienced anything like that, and no one else has any such memories. These two kinds of memories—my own and others'—constitute the entirety of the real world. If they don't see anything wrong with it, why should I doubt it?

"I do not know."

He spoke as if to himself, and also as if answering Regina's question: "I just always feel like I should be here, like... to say goodbye to some old friends?"

“An old friend?” Regina glanced in the direction Carson Borg was gazing, even more puzzled. “But that’s the Evernight Woods. Brother Carson, do you have any friends in the Evernight Woods?”

Rather, who would want to live in a forest that is perpetually dark, gloomy, damp, decaying, and often infested with ferocious ash creatures? Regina used to think that living in a dilapidated, crumbling town filled with dust and gravel, where the clanging of minecarts and the clatter of pickaxes were constant day and night, was the worst environment in the world. It wasn't until she first faced the Evernight Forest that she realized how naive her previous thoughts had been.

Humans are the most resilient life forms in the world; they can survive anywhere. If there is a place where even humans don't want to stay, that is the worst, most deplorable, and most dangerous environment in the world.

"Are they friends?" Grayhill Eagle asked with a complicated expression. "But perhaps... they're just passing through?"

If you've never met them, never had any contact with them, and even parted ways immediately upon meeting, then that kind of relationship is just a fleeting one.

An old friend? A passerby? These contradictory statements left Regina even more confused. However, she was always an optimistic and cheerful person. Since she couldn't figure it out, she simply stopped thinking about it and obediently followed behind the Grayhill Eagle, circling the ancient ruins a few more times, just to relieve the fatigue from her recent hard work. As the governor's deputy, she actually bore no less responsibility and pressure than Carson Borg.

Occasionally, unable to suppress his curiosity, he would look up towards the direction of the Evernight Woods. The dark tide shrouded the land, and the traces of civilization stopped at this edge. In the bottomless darkness, did the "old friend" that the Grayhill Eagle spoke of really exist? If so, what kind of person was he? And when would he be able to see him?
If only it were now...

She couldn't help but think that suddenly, her feet shook as if the earth was trembling.

From the distant forest, a sound seemed to echo, ancient and long...

A whale's cry?

Give me some cats