CHAPTER 616

【 YOU ARE ALL STILL ALIVE?! 】

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Endless yellow sand stretched across the horizon, whilst sparse clouds drifted slowly across the vast sky above.

Suddenly, the sharp cries of eagles echoed across the barren expanse. From the heavens, a formation of majestic griffins swooped downward with practiced precision as they landed just beyond the gates of Sandstorm City.

One after another, heavily armed dwarves leaped down from the griffins’ backs. Though their movements were disciplined, their eyes betrayed curiosity, darting toward the towering gates of the city that loomed before them.

At the forefront of the group stood a golden griffin, much larger and far more imposing than its companions. When the creature steadied itself, two figures dismounted with fluid ease.

One was considered tall by dwarven standards, while the other was shorter. Yet even the taller figure appeared small when compared to the elves who had gathered quietly in the distance to watch the spectacle unfold.

Naturally, both were dwarves, one elder and the other younger.

The elder was in his prime, with a thick beard and natural black curls cascading down his back. Although his armor appeared plain at first glance, it was immediately clear that it had been forged from extraordinary materials.

The younger, by contrast, was a strikingly adorable child. Dressed in luxurious clothing, he gazed up at the towering city gates with wide eyes filled with curiosity and excitement.

After they landed, the rest of the dwarves swiftly dismounted and fell into formation behind the two.

The elder dwarf gave a few brisk instructions to the nearest soldier, ensuring that their griffins were properly tended to and secured. Once satisfied, he lifted his gaze to the skies above.

For a moment his expression tightened, but then he exhaled a deep breath of relief.

“Good. That dragon is not here…” he murmured, almost to himself, though several of the guards exchanged uneasy glances at his words.

Turning back, the elder’s stern features softened as he rested his eyes on the young boy at his side. A kind smile crept onto his weathered face.

“Your Highness, we have arrived. This is Sandstorm City.”

The young dwarf’s eyes lit up.

“Sandstorm City? So this is the place from the rumors! Grandpa Tonglu, does this mean we can pass through here to reach the Elven Forest?” the boy asked eagerly, his voice carrying the unrestrained joy of youth.

“Of course. With the aid of the teleportation array in this city, we could reach the forest swiftly and safely.”

The elder dwarf who spoke was none other than Tonglu himself, the legendary dwarven warrior also known as the Sky Knight.

This time, he had arrived not as a lone emissary but as the appointed leader of the official delegation of the Dwarven Kingdom.

It had been three days since the battle in the Sealed Lands had come to an end. Now, Tonglu had been chosen to represent his kingdom, leading a formal diplomatic mission to the elves once more.

Unlike his previous journey, which had been a desperate plea for aid, this was an official state visit. Tonglu was tasked with attending the elves’ festival celebration and formally propose an alliance.

The mission bore the united will of both the dwarven high pontiff and the reigning king.

During the recent battle, the dwarves had witnessed firsthand the elves’ formidable strength and unwavering sincerity. The display left a profound impression upon them. For this reason, none within the Dwarven Kingdom wished to withhold goodwill or missed the opportunity to strengthen ties with such a noble people.

To demonstrate their utmost sincerity, the dwarven king had even gone so far as to send his only son, the young prince, as part of their delegation.

As Tonglu gazed upon the familiar gates, the words of both the high pontiff and the king echoed in his mind. His expression grew solemn.

Yet when his eyes fell upon the elves passing through those same gates, his sternness gave way to a quiet melancholy.

The sight stirred memories of the recent battles—of the fearless chosen ones who had stood against overwhelming odds to the extent of giving up their lives without hesitation.

“Only a few days have passed, the scenery remains unchanged, yet the people… they are no longer the same,” Tonglu murmured, his voice tinged with sorrow.

He released a soft sigh.

The battle was over at last.

The statue of the Goddess of Life had crumbled and vanished once its purpose had been fulfilled. Yet the memory of their brutal struggle in the Sealed Lands still clung onto him as if it had taken place only yesterday. Every cry, every clash of steel, and every sacrifice still remained painfully vivid in his mind.

Even now, Tonglu sometimes found it difficult to accept the truth—that Barolte, the evil god who had plagued their kingdom for a long time and driven their race into decline, had finally been eradicated. The thought of that terrifying being gone forever seemed almost unreal, as though it were a fragile dream that might shatter if spoken aloud.

After lingering in silence for a moment, Tonglu straightened his back and lifted his hand, signaling to his companions.

“Come, let us enter the city.”

At his command, the dwarven guards straightened their stances, aligned themselves in formation, and advanced toward the city gates with steady, disciplined steps. The rhythmic sound of their boots striking the ground quickly drew the attention of those nearby.

Before they could pass through, their presence was detected by the elven guards on duty.

At once, two tall elves clad in silver armor stepped forward, their movements composed and deliberate. Though their expressions remained courteous, an unmistakable air of vigilance lingered in their demeanor.

“Greetings, may we ask from where you come and what business you have in entering the city?”

Tonglu glanced at them curiously.

Something felt different about these elves.

How should he put it?

They seemed more composed than he remembered, and far less enthusiastic.

He could still recall the warm welcome he received during his first visit to Sandstorm City.

—No, that was not entirely accurate.

In truth, dignity paired with measured warmth had always been his impression of the elves.

It was only his recent encounters with the chosen ones among the elves that had overturned his old perception, making the city guards before him seem the old “typical” elves by comparison.

Unbeknownst to Tonglu, these elves standing before him were native elves. During his previous visit, the guards stationed at these gates had been none other than players merely fulfilling their daily tasks.

However, as the elven population grew, many players began to lose interest in taking on such monotonous tasks as gatekeeping.

In response, the city administrators redirected these responsibilities, entrusting them to the native elves instead.

Two days ago, Sandstorm City had officially completed its transition, and its security was now fully maintained by native elves.

With a friendly smile, Tonglu explained the purpose of their delegation, and the two elven guards quickly grew enthusiastic. Their initial caution gave way to curiosity and even a hint of respect as they realized who now stood before them.

They were already aware that the chosen ones had been tasked by the Goddess to aid the Dwarven Kingdom. After all, news of the battles in the Sealed Lands had spread far and wide, for many taverns had broadcast the battle live. Countless elves had watched in awe as the chosen ones fought side by side with dwarves against the demon horde, leaving a lasting impression on all who witnessed it.

Yet before the guards could invite the dwarves into the city, a large group of fully armed elves, who had heard of their arrival, came rushing out at that moment.

They surrounded the dwarven delegation, warmly calling out:

“Mr. Tonglu, what brings you here?”

“Good afternoon, Sir Tonglu!”

These were, of course, players who immediately came after hearing Tonglu had arrived.

Looking at their eager faces, Tonglu could not help but smile.

At last… this was the kind of elves he fondly remembered.

The Chosen Ones.

Among them, he recognized many familiar figures who had once fought by his side on the battlefield.

Having shared such struggles, Tonglu now felt a profound sense of kinship with these people.

Yet as his gaze swept across the crowd, a faint flicker of sorrow passed through his eyes.

Alas, some faces would never be seen again—particularly that innocent, lively, petite elven maiden.

He would never see that lass again.

This visit would also serve as a good opportunity to ask whether they might permit him to build a memorial to honor all the Chosen Ones who had given their lives to aid them.

Those heroes must forever be remembered, never allowed to fade into obscurity…

With a quiet sigh, Tonglu’s expression gradually hardened with resolve.

He steadied his emotions and explained his mission to the newly arrived elves.

At once, the players grew even more animated, eagerly volunteering to serve as guides.

Tonglu was deeply moved by their response.

While being escorted by the players, the dwarven delegation soon entered Sandstorm City.

Soon, the commotion quickly reached Thranduil, the acting city lord, who appeared personally to welcome the dwarven delegation.

Of course, Sandstorm City was merely a stopover. The true destination of their delegation was the Elven Forest.

So, after a brief rest, the delegation was led by their elven escorts toward the city’s teleportation array, the one linked directly to the Dark Mountains.

Standing before it, Tonglu paused, his breath catching as he took in the grand structure. The magical array stretched wide across the stone floor, etched with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with power. The pillars surrounding it hummed with restrained energy, their surfaces inlaid with rare crystals that shimmered like captured starlight.

“Such a magnificent teleportation array,” he sighed in awe. “I can only hope that one day, our Dwarven Kingdom might also create something similar.”

Teleportation arrays of this caliber were considered advanced, though they were not entirely unknown. For most races, however, the arrays accessible to them were generally smaller and intended for short-range transportation.

Large-scale, long-distance teleportation arrays such as this one in Sandstorm City were exceedingly rare.

Partly, this was because magical materials of the required high grade were scarce, and the cost of construction and maintenance was astronomically high.

However, the true crux of the problem lay in the lack of adequately experienced personnel who were knowledgeable in the intricacies of such an advanced magic.

Only the elves, a race highly attuned to magic, possessed the skill to construct such arrays at a relatively lower cost compared to others.

“All this is thanks to the Chosen Ones,” Thranduil said with a slight smile. “If the Dwarven Kingdom so desires, we may even assist in establishing similar arrays within your lands. With proper cooperation, such a joint project would not be impossible.”

Hearing this, Tonglu’s eyes lit up with delight.

“That would be excellent! Once I return, I shall report this to His Majesty the King and work to strengthen our cooperation with your people.”

After exchanging a few more words with Thranduil, Tonglu led his delegation into the teleportation circle.

Just before stepping inside, however, his gaze fell on a few figures in the distance.

They were elves dressed in adventurer’s gear.

More than that, Tonglu recognized them instantly. They were the Chosen Ones—the very same people who had participated in the battle in the Sealed Lands.

He was about to call out to them, to bid them farewell, when his eyes widened in disbelief and a chill rippled through his chest.

If his eyes did not deceive him, some of those elves he had seen die with his own eyes.

No.

There’s no way…

He could not possibly be mistaken, for the very images of their demise were etched deeply into his memory!

That one had cleanly been beheaded, and that one standing at their side he recalled had been torn to pieces by a demon king!

And yet, here they were—alive, laughing amongst themselves, as if none of it had ever happened.

Tonglu’s lips trembled, as though he wanted to speak, but no words would come. He tried to move closer, to confirm with certainty what his eyes saw.

But in that instant, the teleportation circle beneath him blazed to life, flooding his vision with radiant light.

His vision shifted, as space inverted, and his surroundings swiftly changed.

When the glow subsided, Tonglu opened his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar land, the new scenery before him pulling him back to the present.

For a moment he merely stood dazed, then shook his head with a rueful smile.

“Perhaps I was hallucinating. Those who have already died could not possibly appear again…”

The location they were transported was beyond a valley. Tonglu carefully examined his barren surroundings and concluded that this area was indeed within the boundaries of the Dark Mountains.

Around the teleportation array stood a small elven outpost, seemingly built in a spontaneous fashion, with rows of makeshift stalls and vendors clustered together.

No sooner had their delegation arrived, even more elven chosen ones gathered around to watch, having heard the news.

Yet Tonglu did not linger long. With a brief nod of acknowledgment to the crowd, he guided his group to another teleportation array situated nearby. In a flare of light, they departed once more, their destination none other than the famed old elven industrial city—Rivendell.

The distance from the Desert of Death to the Elven Forest was simply too vast. Thus, even with long-distance teleportation arrays, multiple transfers were still required.

These transfers, however, gave Tonglu deeper insight into the elvenkind’s current rate of progress.

Take Rivendell for example.

He had passed through this place in his youth, when he was still an adventurer. Back then, it had been nothing more than a desolate ruin.

But now, to his sheer astonishment, the ruins he remembered had all but vanished, replaced by a thriving city that pulsed with vitality and life.

Upon closer inspection, traces of the old ruins still lingered, but around them rose several new structures, seamlessly woven into the ancient foundations. The air rang with the sound of rumbling workshops and blazing forges, while mine carts clattered steadily through the tunnels, carrying ore to feed the furnaces. Every detail testified that this once-ruined industrial city had truly been reborn.

What shocked Tonglu most, however, was not Rivendell’s remarkable transformation.

Rather, it was the presence of orcs in the vicinity.

Everywhere he looked, he saw them—some pushing carts of ore, others carrying pickaxes—all busily engaged in labor.

From a distance, he could even catch snippets of their conversations:

“You worthless lot! Work faster! Do you think you can afford to keep the elves waiting?!”

“Whoever works the fastest and the best worker for today will earn some meat to eat!”

The one shouting was a smaller, lanky orc with a whip in his hand.

Astonishingly, the larger and more robust orcs responded respectfully in unison:

“Yes, Lord Shalu!”

Tonglu: “…”

Watching this scene unfold, Tonglu was left utterly speechless. The sight clashed so strongly with everything he had once known about orcs that for a moment he doubted his own eyes.

“So that explains why there are so few orcs left in the Desert of Death nowadays…” he muttered inwardly. “It seems the elves brought them here to serve as miners. And… these orcs almost seem willing to do such work?!”

He studied them carefully.

There was no sign of the usual defiance or feral rage that once defined the brutish race. Instead, their expressions carried a strange mixture of discipline and eagerness, as if even such hardship was preferable to returning to their old, barren homeland.

“To have subdued the orcs to such a degree… the elves of today are truly remarkable,” Tonglu thought, a sigh of admiration escaping his mouth.

“Lord Tonglu, our next stop will be the entrance to the Elven Forest, the Black Dragon Castle. From there, one more transfer will carry you to your final destination, the city of Florence,” Thranduil’s warm, mellow voice drew him back to the present.

Tonglu nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “I have heard from the Chosen Ones that the elves’ capital city is no longer Florence, but a newly founded city. What was it called again… the Chosen City?”

Thranduil smiled faintly.

“Indeed, that is correct. The Chosen City is now our new capital city. However, it does not exist in the material world but lies within a separate space created by the Goddess Herself, and only us elves may enter it…

As for Florence, although it is no longer our capital city, it still remains our holy city. It is also where we host events and welcome our allies.”

“I see.”

Tonglu nodded in understanding.

He cast a few more curious glances at Rivendell before stepping into the next teleportation array under Thranduil’s guidance.

That familiar sensation of weightlessness returned as the world blurred around him, his vision dimming for a brief instant before brightening once more.

When his sight cleared, Tonglu found himself standing within the grand hall of a castle.

Right away, from beyond its walls came the resounding roar of a dragon.

“…Was that a dragon?”

The dwarven guards shifted uneasily, hands brushing against their weapons.

“Do not be alarmed,” Thranduil said in his calm, gentle voice. “That was Lord Meryer. Lord Tonglu should remember him—the same black dragon you saw during your last visit to Sandstorm City. Tomorrow is the Harvest Festival, and Lord Meryer has also been invited to attend. He has also returned to the Elven Forest, and this castle serves as his lair at the forest’s edge.”

The dwarves exchanged astonished glances, impressed beyond measure that the elves had managed to tame such a proud and fearsome creature.

Tonglu, however, remained composed. Years of battle and extraordinary encounters had honed his self-control and such wonders rarely startled him anymore.

Yet that composure shattered the moment a high-pitched, excited voice rang out from behind him.

“Oh, Sir Tonglu, you’re finally here!”

Undoubtedly, it was the voice of that young elf girl in an extravagant mage’s robe—Little Salty Cat.

At the sight of her, Tonglu’s eyes went wide and his expression mirrored that of someone facing an evil god.

“L…L-Lady Little Salty Cat?! You… you… you… did you not perish in battle?!”

His voice stammered in disbelief.

And she was not alone too. Behind her stood a considerable number of elves, their expressions bright with familiarity and recognition.

As Tonglu’s gaze swept over them, his heart skipped a beat.

Many were comrades he had once seen fall in battle, each lost in gruesome circumstances he could never forget.

“You… all of you… you are still alive?!”

Tonglu was completely thrown into turmoil.

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