Alice in the Land of Steam

Is Chapter 1383 a very sensitive issue?

Before meeting Cheryl van Astaria, Ling had imagined the scene, their conversation, and what kind of person she would be countless times in his mind, but when he actually met her, he realized that reality often cannot be compensated for by imagination.

The deep corridors, seemingly stained a dark brown by time, had candlesticks spaced far apart on the stone walls, their flames flickering in the dust and casting long shadows, like ghosts lingering outside of time. The air was thick with the smell of old paper and grease, and occasionally a wisp of wind would seep in from unknown cracks, bringing the dampness and coolness characteristic of underground mines. Footsteps echoed on the stone bricks, clear and almost jarring, as if each step was questioning the history of this silent building.

The winding road led to the grand library at the far end of the palace. Although wisdom and knowledge, like his political acumen, were nonexistent to that debauched and tyrannical king, he still ordered its construction within the palace grounds, housing all the written knowledge of the kingdom since its founding 1,526 years ago. He knew he would never even glance at them, but it seemed to be an unspoken rule that if you possessed something, you had to prove you did, even if you didn't actually possess it.

Most of these books, as vast as the Atoligarca Sands, were lost in the disaster. It is said that miners occasionally claimed to have unearthed fragments of these books in the mines. They were sealed by sand and gravel, encased in bitumen, and preserved like amber, indirectly proving that knowledge, like underground mineral deposits, is something that can be mined. The small portion that remained was initially discarded by the Empire—they looked down on the knowledge passed down from this destroyed little country, unanimously believing that it could not help the Empire's great cause. Later, it was deliberately ignored by the Holy War Army—they also did not believe that these books could solve the most pressing problems, unless opening the books would cause a continuous flow of weapons, armor, fish, bread, and water.

Arnor said that the only person interested in this knowledge was Cheryl, the leader of the Jihad Army. Whenever she wasn't particularly busy, she would often come here, searching for something in the shadows of the circular walls, the huge bookshelves, and the ancient candlelight.

It seems she has found it, or at least made some progress.

Ascending the simple stone steps, the visitor's shadow flickered in the dim candlelight, like a figure traversing the space between legend and reality. At the top of the steps lay a small, mottled beast that looked like a cat but was actually more like a lion, guarding the only path to the top floor and preventing anyone from entering. Arnor greeted it and gestured, and a hint of human-like impatience flashed in the beast's amber, vertical pupils, but it still got up and made way, letting out a lazy growl that startled the girl who was deep in thought at the table.

She turned around and gave everyone a gentle smile.

She appeared to be only sixteen or seventeen years old, the same age as Medion. Her dark silver pupils were crescent-shaped, unlike the oval shape typical of humanoids. She also possessed long, greyish-white hair, extremely rare among the native Atorica race. Her bangs were combed to the left, and the strands were wrapped behind her ears, tied together with a ponytail at the back of her head with a light black ribbon. Whether due to genetics or childhood malnutrition, her hair was somewhat dry, her face rather thin, her eye sockets and cheeks slightly sunken, and her skin pale and almost translucent. She didn't seem very lively, rather sickly, but combined with the faint, serene smile on her lips, she strangely revealed a touch of vitality, like glass under sunlight, fragile yet sparkling.

Her simple dress, minimal adornments, the sword slung across her back, and most strikingly, the white feather by her ear—the symbol of the Feathered Race—proved that despite her human-like appearance, she was actually a different race. The Feathered Race sounds similar to the Feathered Elves, but they are entirely different races. The latter are high-ranking sky nobles, an ancient bloodline now extinct, while the former are merely one of countless barbarians on the continent of Atoliga. They cannot fly, nor do they possess any inherited celestial magic. Their only notable feature is their ear feather, a bodily organ evolved to find water and evade wild beasts in the deserts and wastelands, granting them extraordinary hearing, reportedly capable of detecting the trembling of water vapor a hundred kilometers away.

Some believe that the Feathered Race is actually the degenerate form of the Feathered Elves who descended to Earth after the fall of Sky City but could not adapt to life on the ground. However, this theory is not widely accepted because even if it were true, as long as the Feathered Race has degenerated to the point of losing their iconic wings and no longer possesses the immense magical power to dominate the sky, people would not consider them to have any connection with the Feathered Elves.

In the wild and primitive Eastern Continent, evolution is essentially linked to the strength of a species. Without sufficient power, finding any glorious or illustrious ancestor for yourself will only make you a laughingstock.

"Lady Cheryl, I have brought the guests over."

Arnor's tone was unusually respectful. Although he had been praising this leader of the Holy War Army all along the way, the reverence in his words subtly exceeded the attitude of an ordinary member towards a leader; it was more like a devout mortal facing his savior. But did this girl before him truly deserve it? Or rather, could she really do it? Something even her brother, that great hero recognized by the demons, hadn't been able to do.

“Thank you for your trouble, Arnor.” Cheryl nodded slightly, then turned her gaze to the group of visitors and said softly, “Please have a seat, guests who have come from afar. If I remember correctly, it should be Mr. Ringer, Miss Medion, Miss Alice…”

She accurately named everyone, which didn't surprise Linger. After all, the letter that Yanor sent back to the Holy War Army base was written under his watchful eye. What intrigued the young man was that when she mentioned Ieta's name at the end, she seemed to pause almost imperceptibly, and her intriguing gaze lingered on the angel for a long while.

The oblivious latter might not have noticed this special treatment, but it was obvious to the young man. However, he didn't ask directly, thinking that perhaps the rumors between the Feathered Race and the Feathered Elves had piqued the curiosity of this leader of the Holy War Army. Even putting that aside, the reappearance of the extinct ancient elves in the world's sight was something that anyone with a little knowledge knew what it meant.

However, Ieta did not inherit anything from the history of the ancient Feathered Elf Empire. Therefore, she was an orphan of the Feathered Elves, but not an orphan of the Feathered Elf regime. The two represent completely different things.

Even if the last king cared nothing for this vast library and all the knowledge it held, he at least maintained a facade of refinement. The long table, crafted from precious black palm wood, still exuded a faint fragrance after a thousand years of polishing. It appeared tiny compared to the surrounding enormous bookshelves, yet it still had ample room for all the visitors, with nearly half the space left empty. Arnor did not sit down; after leading his guests there, he took his leave, taking with him the small, cat-and-lion-like beast. Thus, the vast library was left with only Cheryl and her guests.

The members of the Holy War Army seemed to have an unusual trust in their leader, showing no concern whatsoever about her being alone with a group of guests of unknown origin. This was based on their understanding of her, but also on concrete evidence. After the uprising failed and the hero died in battle, the Holy War Army retreated into the Feather Mine, while the Imperial Army pursued their victory, attempting to quell the rebellion in one fell swoop. It was Cheryl who stepped forward to halt the enemy's advance. She didn't become the leader of the Holy War Army simply because she was the orphan of a hero, because on this land, there was no concept of bloodline succession; it was always the capable who rose and the incompetent who fell. Cheryl single-handedly repelled the Imperial Army's offensive; she was capable, proving herself worthy of being the hero's sister, and therefore, she was certainly qualified to become the new leader.

Many people fall into the trap of judging by appearance, but in the extraordinary world, this reasoning is invalid because appearance is often not necessarily related to age, seniority, or strength. Take Cheryl, for example. She appears to be only a sickly sixteen or seventeen-year-old girl, but in reality, more than half a century has passed since the outbreak of the Assyrian Holy War. The Holy War Army has been established in the Feather Mine for a generation, even settling down there, marrying, and having children, developing into an alternative regime. And in all this time, Cheryl's appearance has remained unchanged. Her actual age is unknown, but it's no exaggeration to say that she is older than most people in this base (even including Ling's group).

The reason she's still called a "young girl" is simply because her appearance and demeanor are so unique that people can't help but associate her with this youthful term, even knowing her actual age. Even the most oblivious Alice wouldn't call her "old lady" in this situation, would she?
So Lin Ge chose a form of address that was neither too distant nor too offensive: "I've heard so much about you, Miss Cheryl."

"Hopefully it's not some bad reputation."

The young woman smiled slightly: "Allow me, in the name of the leader of the Holy War Army, to welcome you all to the Feser Mine. Please forgive any shortcomings in our hospitality due to limited resources. Furthermore, regarding your purpose for coming, Anor's letter has already made it very clear. In fact, your thinking is correct; the Holy War Army and Assyria in Paradise Country do indeed maintain certain connections. Moreover, just before you arrived at the mine, I mentioned this matter to the master of Assyria, and her reply to me was: 'It's up to you to decide.'"

The decision is up to you, which means that if Cheryl deems these guests trustworthy, then Paradise Country Assyria will also choose to believe them.

What a profound trust! It seems the relationship between the Holy War Army and Paradise Country Assyria is far closer than rumored.

“Then,” Alice asked impatiently, still as restless as ever, “what will it take for you to believe us?”

“This is not a problem, Miss Alice,” Cheryl said meaningfully. “I already trust you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here speaking to me face to face.”

Huh, is it that simple?

Alice was slightly surprised, then became happy, probably because she felt the operation had gone exceptionally smoothly. A long-lost smile appeared on her face: "Then you are a very kind person, Miss Cheryl. Please tell us where exactly Paradise Country Assyria is?"

She had no idea what politeness was, and several clueless people in the team (such as Leticia and Ietta) also showed expectant expressions, but Ling and the others felt that it wasn't that simple, and there was probably a "but".

“However,” Cheryl said with a half-smile, as expected, “while I trust you all, I cannot tell you this information directly. I will ask you to pay a price in exchange.”

Alice curled her lip, knowing it wasn't that simple.

“Is this a deal, Miss Cheryl?” Ringer asked.

"It's a trade, of course. To gain something, you must first pay an equal price. This has always been the creed of our Holy War Army, and it's the foundation upon which we have survived," the gray-haired girl said slowly and deliberately. Although she was discussing something quite mercenary, her tone was surprisingly pleasant. "In the past, I wouldn't have minded using this information to gain your friendship. After all, friendship is a precious treasure, and it might play an unexpected role someday. But times have changed. The Holy War Army needs more substantial help now, so I'm shamelessly making this request, and I hope you will understand."

Ling said thoughtfully, "It sounds like the Holy War Army is facing some severe test? But I don't see any signs that the war will break out again?"

Currently, the Imperial Army's focus is on the central battlefield, the war against the Western Continent colonists. To them, the Holy War Army is merely a minor ailment, not worth their attention. Lin Ge believed that Cheryl and her companions wouldn't be foolish enough to provoke conflict during this period of rest and recuperation.

“That may seem so now, but who can guarantee it will always be so?” Cheryl gave Linger a deep look. “We must not be misled by the current peace. We must prepare for the future. I think Mr. Linger can understand this.”

Lin Ge paused for a moment, not responding to that topic, but instead suddenly brought up another matter: "I've heard that public opinion isn't very friendly towards the Jihad Army. Some accuse you of disregarding the overall situation while the Allied Forces are fighting against a foreign enemy, insisting on causing chaos in the heart of the Allied Forces' main territory, thus hindering the situation in the central battlefield. If the Allied Forces are ultimately defeated, the Jihad Army may also bear joint responsibility. Miss Cheryl, what are your thoughts on these comments?"

The candlelight flickered, and shadows lurked, the gray-haired girl's smile vanished instantly.

Give me some cats