The Mighty Dragons Are Dead

Serpent Script, the common script used in the Steel Ridge Kingdom, is also used in its vassal state, the Duchy of Sapphire.

In addition to Serpent Script, there are various languages and scripts on the continent, such as the Wind Language of the Eagle Kingdom, the Rock Script of the Blast Furnace Fortress Kingdom, the High Speech of the Neverfall Empire, the Dragon Language of the Blue Dragon Empire, and so on.

Liszt’s predecessor did not speak foreign languages, and therefore, he did not recognize the other strange script on the page—actually, on closer inspection, it was less like writing and more like twisted drawings of little people.

“”Philip, Descendant of the Sun’s Diary”, quite a strange title,” he mused curiously. “Old Phil, what language is this other script?”

“I don’t know, Lord Landlord, the truth is I am illiterate. This book is a relic left by a native of Dodo Island. He was my good friend; we were in the same canoe, but he died at sea, leaving only this book behind. I have kept it as a memento.”

“So it is a keepsake with sentimental value. In that case, I will return it to you after I finish reading it.”

“No, no, no, Lord Landlord, Old Phil is honored that you appreciate his collection. Old Phil hopes that you will accept it. Thank you, Lord Landlord, my Tanners’ Shop is doing much better business now.”

“All right, I’ll buy it.”

“Old Phil would like to offer it to you, Lord Landlord, to express my respect.”

“I accept your respect, but I will still give you a reward.”

Liszt returned to the castle with the diary.

He asked Carter to take out three silver coins and give them to Jessie. Even if a book was very expensive, it wouldn’t be worth three silver coins, but after all, it was an item with sentimental value: “Jessie, give these three silver coins to Old Phil as a payment for the book. Also, tell Old Phil that I like his story very much and that he is welcome to add anything else at any time.”

“Yes, master.”

After Jessie left, Liszt did not immediately open the book. Instead, he summoned the Smoke Mission.

A moment later, a wisp of smoke appeared before his eyes, twisting into a Serpent Script passage. To his surprise and apprehension, the Serpent Script was no longer the usual sentences.

It was changing.

“The mission has changed.”

The Serpent Script lasted for a few seconds; the smoke gradually twisted and formed new Serpent Script: “Mission: Unlike other cordyceps that safely enjoy nourishment, the Thorn Cordyceps looks out in solitude. It has survived eight years and is about to age, but still, it is unwilling to give in. Please supplement nutrition for the Thorn Cordyceps. Mission reward: new species of Thorn.”

The apprehension in his heart settled, leaving only surprise.

He had been a bit adventurous and wanted to have a bit of a spat with the Smoke Mission, declaring that he was not just a puppet that could be led around. Yet, in his heart, he was actually worried that in doing so, he might lose the Smoke Mission—whether it was a golden finger or some hidden manipulator, it was an existence he could not refuse.

Besides, there was no need to refuse.

Up to this point, the Smoke Mission had been all benefit and no harm, helping him develop rapidly—even if there was a hidden hand behind it all, it was probably one he could not resist.

If it could not be resisted, then might as well enjoy it.

So much so that some base thoughts still wandered in his mind: “If I can ride a dragon, what does it matter if I sell these hundred-plus pounds to the hidden manipulator. As long as I can enjoy wealth and rank, hidden manipulator, I am willing to be your lackey!” There was no response. Sometimes, the Smoke Mission had a very low presence.

Now it seemed.

He might have a tiff with the Smoke Mission, but it would not quibble with him in return, continuing as usual.

And it also proved that those mission rewards weren’t concocted out of thin air by the Smoke Mission.

They already existed.

At most, the Smoke Mission went with the flow, lightly nudging the threads of cause and effect, tilting the trajectory of time a little. Like a breeze that gently moves the crests formed by destiny’s long river, whether they twist left or drift right, they eventually fall back into the water, returning to serenity.

“Perhaps one day, I will understand the meaning behind the existence of the Smoke Mission… but for now, I’m just going to enjoy the golden finger,” he concluded with an accepting mindset, shaking off thoughts that troubled the layman.

All that remained was pure joy.

The reward for the new mission included a familiar term, “new species.”

There were two instances of “new species” tasks before. The new species of Tulip brought the Magic Black Tulip, and the new species of mushroom, the Magic Flame Mushroom.

What kind of Magic Potion will this new Thorn species bring?

“Not enough nutrients, huh? Tomorrow, I will have the serfs transport over the prepared compost to replenish the Thorn Cordyceps with nutrients!”

What’s somewhat regrettable, however,

is that the Thorn Bug has already lived for eight years, meaning it has only two years of life remaining.

“It seems, I need to find a way to acquire another Thorn Bug… Tulip Castle seems to have a young Thorn Bug; I should buy it back when I have the chance.” Thorn is just a weed-like small shrub; therefore, Thorn Bugs aren’t very useful, and the price shouldn’t be too high.

He waved his hand to disperse the Smoke Serpent Script.

Liszt returned his attention to “Philip, Scion of the Sun’s Diary”: “Philip, Descendant of the Sun, that surname carries a bit of dominance. My Retainer Knight is also named Philip, but his surname ‘Wool’ pales in comparison—truly, the difference between a domestic chicken and a Phoenix.”

Flipping to the first page revealed a very abstract drawing of the Sun.

Because it was handwritten, the Sun wasn’t very round, and the surrounding Light was smeared in triangular shapes, with various haphazard lines inside the Sun.

It looked like the scribbling of a seven-year-old child.

Below the drawing was a passage in Serpent Script, perhaps a poem.

“My grandfather has such a tattoo on his back.”

“He said his father’s back was also tattooed with the same pattern.”

“I asked him why my father’s back wasn’t, and neither is mine.”

“He said our ancestors have abandoned us, we can no longer bear the pattern of the Sun.”

“I do not understand what it means.”

“My grandfather said we were exiled from our homeland to a sinful land, and it would take five hundred years before we could return.”

“After five hundred years, a great ship sailing in the sky, shining under the Sunlight, will bring us back.”

“Five hundred years have passed, but the Sky Ship has not come.”

Reading this poem,

Liszt found it very interesting. The description in the poem seemed to say—the author’s ancestors were a group of criminals, exiled to Dodo Island for five hundred years? They tattooed the Sun’s pattern on their backs to signify their lineage. But after five hundred years, the promised Sky Ship to take them back did not come.

So, assuming they were abandoned, the author’s grandfather no longer gave tattoos to his son.

“Is this how the ‘Descendants of the Sun’ came to be…”

“If the records are true, the natives of Dodo Island should be the descendants of the Nobles on the mainland. Only Nobles, especially those of the royal lineage who err, would be exiled; minor Nobles who err would simply be killed. Without the custom of recording their history, probably in a hundred years, the royal family would have forgotten about these exiled descendants.”

The first page contained a drawing and a poem.

The second page offered an introduction.

“My name is Philip, I’m twenty-six this year, just returned from working on foreign islands. I do not plan to go out again. Although the outside world is flourishing, life is tough. I plan to stay on Dodo Island, and marry Valissa. I will have my own son, whom I will raise. I am a Carpenter, able to build a big house for him to live in!”

“Starting from today, I will record every day; that way when I grow old, unlike my grandfather, I won’t forget his stories and even where we came from. My son, because of my journal, will understand his father, and the interesting experiences I’ve had.”

“However, I don’t have much card stock or ink, so I must write sparingly. Hmm, write smaller, and even less.”

“Philip, Descendant of the Sun.”