Chapter 1441 — The Joint Engineering Corps

The dragons' descent onto the island's edge was... far more chaotic than anticipated—a scene that made Ashalena, the draconid serving as the group's leader, twitch at the corners of her eyes.

Frankly speaking, though her own lack of flight experience meant her skills at "landing" left much to be desired, compared with these robust brethren known as "pure-blood dragons," her abilities in that regard actually seemed... not so bad?

The dragon-marked witch in red dragon form touched down safely on an open patch at the edge of the landing field. Feeling the mechanical armor on her body slowly vent its stored waste energy amid a low hum, she raised her head to look toward the island's edge and the vast ocean beyond.

The dragons were still landing in formation, looking somewhat disorganized, but at least after adapting to the initial confusion, no major problems had arisen. Some of the great dragons tasked with transporting supplies and personnel had already begun "unloading" with the assistance of their brethren—they lowered their broad wings, and a great many figures seated on dragonback stepped down onto the ground in orderly ranks.

Those figures were the "Iron Ones" from the Deep Blue Well city-states; their presence here served the same purpose—the restoration mission to come.

Further out on the sea, the sirens' transport ship—bearing that peculiar name—could be seen decelerating before docking. Its enormous hull gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, great volumes of water gushing from discharge ports along its sides, white foam churning at the flanks, and among the waves one could vaguely make out many graceful figures leaping through the water.

Dragons, Iron Ones, sirens—three utterly distinct peoples, three powers from the far corners of the world, now gathered here into a "special engineering corps" bound for the restoration of the ancient devices the Pathfinders had left in space... The most wildly imaginative playwright would scarcely dare conceive of such a thing, yet it was happening in reality.

In a flash of light, Ashalena's draconic form gradually dissolved, reverting to the human shape she knew better day to day. Then she heard footsteps approaching from beside her; turning toward the sound, she saw a young female dragon walking her way—the other had long red hair nearly identical in color to her own, stood slightly shorter, and in Ashalena's perception, the aura of a pure-blood dragon was unmistakable upon her.

Once, that aura had carried complex and somewhat alienating meaning for draconids who considered themselves "the exiled," but those gray years were gone. Though the two mutually isolated dragon societies still had a long period of adjustment ahead, for many dragons this aura was now merely a marker for recognizing one's own kind.

"Belanta—the one who fell into the sea just now..." Ashalena nodded to the pure-blood red dragon before her, then glanced toward the shore with some concern. "She should be all right, shouldn't she?"

"She's already ashore—sorry you had to see such a sorry sight," said Belanta, the pure-blood red dragon, with a somewhat embarrassed smile. "It's been some time now, but many of our brethren still can't shake the aftereffects the Omega System left behind when it departed... It's not something more practice can fix. Too many of our people have had their bodies irreversibly damaged by enhancers and implants."

Overused enhancers, implants that malfunctioned and injured their hosts after Omega's departure... Things that had once symbolized advanced civilization and thriving technology became enormous problems the dragons had no choice but to face after their coming-of-age. Though through the efforts of the three leaders, the dragons themselves, and the allied nations, Tarrond society had ultimately pulled back from the brink of collapse, this lasting trauma would likely haunt every "pure-blood dragon" for a long time to come.

As Belanta said—life in the Cradle had not only bred mental dependence in the dragons but had wrought irreversible changes upon their bodies. When the Cradle toppled, these once healthy, powerful dragons became the "disabled" party, in some respects even worse off than the draconids who had long since adapted to their own "disability."

As a draconid who did not understand Tarrond society, Ashalena did not know what to say. Comfort seemed hollow and pale, and the proud dragons had no need of such comfort anyway, so in the end she merely nodded and turned to look at that astonishing tower. "This is the second time I've seen it... Still just as breathtaking as last time."

"Yes, the things the Pathfinders left behind are always breathtaking—or rather, the creations of a civilization capable of expedition into the depths of the stars ought to be breathtaking," Belanta said, narrowing her eyes with a sigh in her tone. "I never thought I'd live to see the day I'd take part in something like this as a 'technician'... The Pathfinders' legacy—even a dragon who has lived long ages can't help but feel stirred at those words."

"I heard... you were once a mechanic in Tarrond, but after your 'coming-of-age' the enhancer backlash forced you to give up that work," Ashalena said, watching the young red dragon who would be her "colleague" for some time to come, speaking with some hesitation. "Now that you're taking part in this restoration project... will that be all right?"

"True enough... the only work I've been able to do this past year is care for newly hatched wyrmlings and unhatched eggs, but..." Belanta smiled and raised her hands. Her fingers bore a faint, unnatural tremor and crookedness—clearly no longer capable of operating those precision instruments. "I just can't personally handle the tools anymore; my mind's unaffected. Dealing with the Pathfinders' legacy isn't easy—skilled operators and rich experience and knowledge both matter, and in Tarrond today, experienced mechanics are hard to find. Elder Dukmore thought I could be of use."

As she spoke, this young red dragon—who had once drifted through Tarrond's lower districts, whiling away her days on illicit implant-modification work—could not help but show an expression of anticipation and pride. "I'll bring back what I see and hear at the Skyreach Station and tell the wyrmlings—that's something I promised them."

Ashalena gave a slight nod, and just then the sound of waves striking suddenly came from the island's edge. She saw that the sirens had come ashore, the two figures at their head none other than Viola, the deep-sea witch from Northport, and "old friend" Cassandra. Behind them, hundreds of deep-sea witches and deepwater technicians—the two principal technical groups among the sirens—were each hauling all manner of strange mechanical equipment unloaded from the *Dinghai Pingbian Weiwu Great General*.

Every one of them looked exceedingly jubilant, as though what lay ahead were not a space adventure and an arduous mission but a joyous holiday outing.

But after spending so long together, Ashalena had long since grown used to these ever-cheerful "deep-sea allies"—this bizarre lot would strike a pose and preen even at the moment of sudden death. Who knew if there was anything in this world that could make these deep-sea salted fish serious...

On the other side, the Iron One soldiers who had hitched a ride on the dragons had finished assembling. These tall artificial beings—appearing almost indistinguishable from humans—stood out sharply on the somewhat chaotic shore. They acted with meticulous precision, running self-checks and inspecting equipment according to preset directives, obeying orders without fail, precise and efficient as machines—or as the most disciplined of armies.

Compared with these Iron One soldiers, the band of sirens nearby looked like they had wandered in from the wrong set entirely.