Lush, profound—so much so that even time seemed to slow its pace here.
This was the outskirts of the primeval forest-sea where the Giant Tree City—[Annual Ring City]—was located. Ancient canopies blotted out the sky like a vast green dome, slicing the outside sunlight into countless mottled shafts that fell over soil carpeted with moss and thick roots. The air was filled with the damp fragrance of earth and the strange sweetness of some unknown flower. This was land that had never been crushed beneath the gears of modern industry—a place brimming with primal vitality.
Yet at the edge of this quiet primeval forest, inside a small village built from massive vines and logs, a tense, murderous atmosphere hung in the air.
In the open ground at the center of the village, two groups faced each other with clear boundaries. Their fierce shouting startled birds into flight from the treetops.
On the left stood a troop of well-equipped soldiers. Though they wore none of Port Alexandra's roaring steam machinery, their standardized forged-steel armor, sharp regulation halberds, and disciplined formation all proclaimed that they belonged to some vast, highly organized apparatus of violence.
Leading them was a hulking, cold-faced general. A dark red cloak made from some kind of beast fur hung from his shoulders. One hand rested on the hilt of the broad sword at his waist, and his eyes were as sharp and merciless as a hunting hawk circling the sky.
Opposite the soldiers were dozens of villagers dressed plainly—ragged, even. They held sharpened wooden stakes, bone spears, or rusty iron farm tools. Though their bodies trembled slightly, they still stood firmly, blocking the front of the village temple.
Protected in the very center was an old woman leaning on a crooked wooden staff, her face wrinkled like aged bark. She wore all kinds of beast fangs and brightly colored feather ornaments, clearly the village's priestess and leader.
"This is the final ultimatum."
The general stepped forward. Heavy iron boots sank into the mud with a dull thud. His voice was cold and hard, without a hint of warmth, as if reading out a death sentence.
"Old priestess—if you do not obediently hand over the 'memory' your people have guarded for generations before the sacred festival arrives, and swear allegiance to our Federation… then don't blame us for being impolite. The Federation's patience has limits. The iron hooves of our army will not halt because of your stubbornness."
"Spit!"
The priestess slammed her staff into the ground with force. She glared at the tall general without backing down. Her voice was aged, yet carried the fierce resolve of "better shattered jade than intact tile."
"Hmph! You Federation monsters! A bunch with no faith, who only know plunder and conquest! And you dare talk about a 'sacred festival'? I'd say you've probably forgotten everything our ancestors passed down! That 'memory' is the soul of this forest, a relic the gods left for us. To hand it to bandits like you—traitors who've forgotten their roots—would be the greatest blasphemy!"
Hearing this merciless scolding, a young soldier beside the general couldn't restrain his anger. He took a step forward and thrust his halberd toward the old woman's nose, roaring:
"Old hag, mind your manners! You primitives hiding in the forest, refusing the Federation's enlightenment—you're utterly stubborn! Not only do you cling to those useless old 'memories,' blocking this continent's unification, you now dare openly insult the general, insult the Federation! I think you've lived long enough—"
"Stand down."
The general raised one hand slightly, stopping the soldier's outburst. He looked coldly at the villagers' furious faces. A flash of impatient killing intent passed through his eyes.
"No more words. Words cannot persuade fools drowned in the past. Since their will is decided, since they refuse the toast and insist on drinking the forfeit… we can only act. Slaughter the village, then find the 'memory' ourselves."
At his words, the soldiers lifted their weapons in unison. Cold killing intent instantly enveloped the entire village. The villagers recoiled in terror, yet still clutched their farm tools with desperate resolve.
"Wait! Please, don't do it!"
At that critical moment, a clear, urgent girl's voice rang out from behind the priestess.
A young woman in a gorgeous embroidered long dress—its workmanship clearly finer than the other villagers', with ancient totems stitched in gold thread—stumbled out. She spread her arms like a fledgling trying to protect a flock, throwing herself between the priestess and the general.
"Grandma! And General of the Federation! Please don't do this!"
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked desperately from side to side. "There has to be another way! If war breaks out, everyone will die! General, we can talk slowly—please give us some time…"
"Anya!"
The old woman yanked the girl named Anya behind her. In her cloudy eyes flashed pain and final resolve.
"Hmph, Anya, you're too naive!" The old priestess pointed at the soldiers who had already drawn their blades and spoke through clenched teeth. "At this point, do you think they'll stop? In the Federation's dictionary there is only conquest! Child, take up a weapon—today is the day we return to the embrace of the ancient tree!"
The general expressionlessly drew the broad sword at his waist. The blade pointed straight at the priestess's throat.
"Entire army, take no prisoners—"
"BOOM—!!!"
Just as the battle was about to ignite and a bloody slaughter was about to unfold, a thunder-like explosion suddenly burst over the open ground between the two sides!
A violent shockwave mixed with dirt and shattered stone swept outward, forcing the front-line Federation soldiers to stumble back several steps—some even fell to the ground. The villagers cried out, shielding their eyes.
When the smoke cleared, an absurdly huge black greatsword could be seen stabbed upside down into the mud, right between the two groups. The blade still trembled slightly, emitting a chilling hum.
Beside that greatsword stood a man built like an iron tower.
Miguel crossed his arms. His eyes, sharp as a lone wolf's, swept coldly over everyone present. The terrifying killing intent he carried—tempered in mountains of corpses and seas of blood, completely undisguised—came down like an invisible mountain, instantly cowing both sides. Whether the battle-hardened Federation general or the stubborn old priestess, both felt a suffocating dread in that moment.
"Put down the toys in your hands." Miguel lowered his voice, speaking with a threatening edge. "And shut your mouths. My captain has something to say."
With crisp bootsteps, Giovanni—wearing his flamboyant red coat and a pirate hat with a feather—strolled out from behind Miguel with that signature exaggerated runway stride, as if walking across a stage.
"Aiya, aiya, that was close, that was close."
Giovanni shook his head. He was even holding a large tropical leaf he'd plucked from somewhere, fanning himself with it. He smiled at the dumbstruck crowd.
"Since fate has brought our ship to this beautiful beach, and just happens to have let us bump into your gathering… then why not talk things through properly? Fighting and killing—how damaging to harmony! Harmony brings fortune, harmony brings fortune, everyone!"
Time rewinds a few minutes. On the tidal flats of an unknown coast of the Giant Tree City continent.
"Splash—"
With the scrape of a dinghy rushing onto the beach, Giovanni was the first to jump off. His boots sank into the soft, fine white sand. Before him stretched the boundless blue ocean; behind him lay an unbroken expanse of primeval forest.
Giovanni drew in a deep breath of air that carried salty fishiness and plant fragrance. Then he spread his arms and launched into his daily, indispensable dramatic recitation time.
"Ah! Behold this pure beach, untainted by civilization! Behold this ancient forest, set like jade at the world's edge! I, the great navigator, have finally branded my footprints upon this mysterious continent! Is this not fate's arrangement?"
As he declaimed, he stretched lazily, then plopped down on a sun-warmed reef rock.
"Hah… I really want to lie on this beach all day, bask in the sun, and drink some coconut juice." Giovanni narrowed his eyes, looking ready to go on vacation on the spot.
"Hey, Captain." Frank stepped down from the dinghy at a slow pace, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He pointed helplessly toward some direction deep in the forest. "The reason we gave up other gentler landing points and went to all the trouble to land on this reef-filled beach… isn't it because we saw smoke rising over there and deduced people live here, so we came over? And now you're talking about sunbathing?"
"Yes, yes, you're right, my good first mate." Giovanni patted sand off his pants and stood up, his tone instantly turning serious—though his face was serious in absolutely no way.
"We need guides, fresh water, and information about supplies on this continent. But the most important thing is guides! After all, this is an unknown continent not marked on any chart, completely uncharted by the outside world. Honestly, the fact we found this place without running aground already means we should thank heaven."
Giovanni rubbed his hands together, sweeping his gaze over the crew behind him—Miguel with his greatsword and a bored expression, Faith observing the surrounding vegetation, and the plump white-furred bird Ollie dozing on Giovanni's shoulder.
"So, my learned crew—before we formally make contact with the natives, we need to confirm a key question: what languages can you speak?"
They looked at one another.
Miguel rolled his eyes. "I only know Port Alexandra's common tongue, plus a few swear words I learned in taverns. You want me to communicate with primitives? I usually communicate with a sword."
Frank shrugged. "I know some dead languages from ancient texts, but this continent seems to have no intersection with our known history. So my language library is probably a pile of waste paper here."
Faith pushed up his glasses, calm as ever. "I'm fluent in four continental common languages, two variants of Elvish, and one ancient Dwarven tongue. But given how closed-off this continent is, I'm also powerless."
Giovanni sighed and dramatically supported his forehead. "Aiya, aiya, what a headache. If only I hadn't left Dr. Klein and Miss Renass aboard the ship to hold the fort! If the Doctor were here, maybe he could solve it with some frequency analyzer; if Renass were here, she could at least use body language (physical) to make friends. Now this 'frontier opening' mission doesn't even have a translator—how could it possibly be easy?!"
"It shouldn't be that troublesome." Faith suddenly spoke.
He reached out and precisely pinched the back of Ollie's neck—Ollie was perched on Giovanni's shoulder pretending to be an ordinary bird—and lifted it into the air.
"Didn't you claim you're the 'supreme commander of the anti-planet decisive weapon,' a strong AI that has lived through countless ages?" Faith looked at the round white bird, the corner of his mouth curving into a rational smile. "Then cracking a low-tech civilization's language model and providing real-time translation—such a trivial task… you can do it, can't you?"
Pinched by the neck of fate, Ollie flapped its little wings twice, then arrogantly lifted its round head.
"Hmph! Of course!" Ollie declared in a babyish voice, yet overflowing with confidence. "It's just the language of a closed continent. As long as I collect enough acoustic samples and EEG feedback, for this commander's vast computational core it's easier than eating biscuits! Leave it to me—absolutely no problem!"
"Excellent!" Giovanni snapped his fingers in satisfaction. "Since the translator is ready—everyone, move out! Let's meet the masters of this continent!"
Following the smoke, they pushed through dense jungle for about twenty minutes and finally reached the outskirts of a village with obvious signs of man-made structures.
But before they could get close, they heard fierce arguing from within.
Giovanni stood on a rise outside the village, looked down, and his eyes suddenly spun with an idea. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted at the top of his lungs in an extremely exaggerated volume:
"Anybody there—?! Is anyone there—?! Lost travelers are here begging for a drink of water—?!"
That shout instantly cut through the village's tense atmosphere.
And right then—at that moment—the young woman named Anya, unwilling to see bloodshed and trapped in despair, heard the call from outside. Like grabbing the last straw, she ignored the stunned looks of the general and the priestess and stumbled toward the voice.
When Anya saw Giovanni's group in their strange clothing, she froze for a moment—then dropped to her knees several meters away. Tears streamed down her face as she spoke a string of syllables no one understood.
"Karima… Sura! Isiris… Tadora!"
Her expression was extremely anxious, hands clasped together, as if desperately begging—yet also as if trying to explain something.
Miguel was completely lost. Seeing the girl sobbing like pear blossoms in the rain only made him more restless. He snatched Ollie from Faith's hand and shook it hard.
"Hey! Fluffball! Didn't you say you can translate? Translate already! What is she crying about?!"
"Stop shaking me, stop shaking me! I'm building the language model! I need time to analyze roots and context!" Ollie's eyes spun with stars as its little wings flailed. "Give me thirty seconds! Just thirty seconds!"
They could only wait, watching Anya gesture frantically.
Thirty seconds later—
"Ding!" A faint blue light flashed in Ollie's eyes. It cleared its throat. "Parsing complete! Activating simultaneous interpretation mode."
Ollie turned toward Giovanni and translated in a mechanical synthetic voice: "This young woman is asking who you are, where you came from, and why you're wearing such strange clothes."
Giovanni smiled faintly, adjusted his pirate hat, stepped forward, and replied in a low, magnetic voice—while Ollie simultaneously translated his words into that strange language:
"Please don't be afraid, beautiful young lady. We are travelers from far across the sea, from another continent."
Hearing her own language come from Ollie's mouth, Anya's eyes widened in shock. She stared blankly at them, her gaze sweeping over their unusual clothing, Miguel's exaggerated weapon, and Giovanni's confident smile.
"From another continent…" Anya murmured, then a burst of incredulous joy and reverence flared in her eyes. "That makes sense… people of this forest would never dress like this. But your clothes… oh! I understand!"
The girl suddenly bowed low in excitement, performing an extremely ancient, solemn salute to Giovanni's group.
"You're 'Drifters,' aren't you?! You must be the Drifters from the legend, who crossed the edge of the world!"
"Drifters?" Giovanni lifted a brow in confusion.
"Yes! Grandma told me more than once during rituals—this ancient prophecy!" Anya looked up. Tears still clung to her lashes, but now her eyes shone with hope. "The prophecy says: when 'memory' faces the danger of being stolen, when the children of the ancient tree fall into despair, Drifters will descend—riding flying wood and bringing strange beasts!"
She looked at the crew behind Giovanni, then at the "strange beast" Ollie, her gaze turning unwavering.
"Then the prophecy is real! Lords Drifters, please—help us! Help us drive away the Federation army who wants to take our 'memory'!"
Anya bowed deeply again. Her voice trembled, yet carried the desperate resolve of staking everything.
"As long as you are willing to help… no matter the price, I, Anya, will do everything I can to repay you! Even if it costs my life!"
Giovanni looked at the girl kneeling on the sand, then lifted his eyes toward the tense standoff in the village not far away. The corner of his mouth curled into a pirate's excited smile—one that wanted nothing more than chaos.
"…So that's how it is."
Giovanni stroked his chin, turned to Miguel, and threw him a look.
"Miguel, looks like our 'sunbathing' vacation plan has to be postponed. Go—let those rude troops see what 'harmony brings fortune' really means."
And so, a few minutes later, there came Miguel's shock-the-world "sword suppression," and Giovanni's dazzling, flashy entrance.