The Cornflower Witch

The train moved southward at a crawl, dragged down by the true dragon, its speed reduced to something close to an ordinary carriage.

Sylutia sat on the high platform of the war machine, her lower legs dangling as she gently swung them.

Not far from her, the true dragon lay across four large mechanical platforms, breathing slowly. Its head no longer showed obvious wounds, but the eye sockets remained dull. Even with a dragon’s regenerative power, growing new eyes would take a very long time.

Twilight deepened, and the clouds on the distant horizon were dyed red, like a gradated, beautiful orange-gold fish.

A cool breeze blew, no longer as bitter as the northern grasslands, and it finally made people remember that it was actually the height of summer right now.

In the past few days, the people on the train had crowded curiously around the plesiosaur-like dragon. After the initial novelty wore off, everyone’s enthusiasm gradually calmed and life returned to its usual rhythm.

During the days spent observing and studying the true dragon, the masters had gathered a great deal of valuable data, especially about the dragon’s physical constitution and the rarity of the materials on its body.

First was the most abundant material, dragon blood. If the plesiosaur-like dragon were in normal condition, its blood would be full of power, roughly Fourth Tier in quality. But now that so much blood had been drained, the potency was diluted to about Third Tier. If continued bleeding caused it to fall to Second Tier, it might no longer supply the energy consumption of the dragon’s organs, leading to organ failure and eventual death.

So at this stage the mages decided to stop bleeding it and instead bandage it so it could recover some strength.

Second, the most valuable part of the dragon was probably the dragon heart. That was the source of power contained in the dragon’s blood, continually providing enormous force to drive a body longer than three hundred meters.

The dragon heart’s grade matched the dragon itself, probably Sixth Tier, and as long as the dragon heart remained intact, the dragon could keep fusing and repairing the wounds on its body; even if limbs were missing, they could gradually regenerate.

After that came the dragon scales. The plesiosaur-like dragon’s scales were a gradient dark blue, darker at the edges and lighter at the base. Under light they refracted brilliant silver-blue halos, and a single scale’s quality ranked around Fourth to Fifth Tier.

Ancient records noted that the plesiosaur-like dragon’s scales were relatively small and, among dragon subspecies, had weaker defensive strength. But the advantage of these scales was swift maneuverability in water. If the fight had taken place at sea, the dragon’s strength might have doubled, making it even harder to suppress.

The mudbed was merely the place it had fallen asleep; hundreds of years ago it had been a vast inland sea, now dried up.

What surprised Sylutia was that even with a severe cranial injury, the true dragon still retained consciousness, albeit very drowsy.

She had consulted Master Ge Zhen about this; he was an expert in the field.

“This is because true dragons are Sixth Tier lifeforms. Their souls are already strong enough not to rely entirely on the body. In other words, even if you kill one instantly, the dragon soul can persist for a long time. Some ancient rites used dragon souls to awaken spectral bone dragons, or to infuse dragon souls into artifacts to operate them—those are the powerful items of legend.”

“Before a life reaches Sixth Tier, the soul is quite fragile and depends on the brain to exist. Once the brain is destroyed, the soul is damaged, and even if the body heals, the soul’s wounds cannot be cured.”

“The summoning secrets you’ve heard of—calling ancient heroic spirits or powerful specters—most of their cores are Sixth Tier or above. Below that, they cannot keep clear consciousness and can only act as resentful spirits with limited mobility.”

“The small drum I gave you is a similar item. The trapped mammoth soul inside it is only Fourth Tier, with limited intelligence and only capable of responding to simple, not very complex commands. If you want to converse with it, you won’t be able to.”

“Then do memories always stay with the soul? Or are some stored in the body?” Sylutia asked curiously.

“A small portion of memory accompanies the soul, but some reflexive responses in muscles are stored in the body,” Master Ge Zhen replied.

“Indeed, the relationship between memory and soul isn’t absolutely tight. Few people, even if their souls are awakened by a small-practice of the Dead Embers domain before death, retain all their memories. It’s like colored powder stuck under soft mud; after time passes it mixes into the mud, and the most vivid memories fall away like dust, never to be recalled.”

“A small portion of a person’s daily experiences—if fewer than forty percent—will be forgotten the next day. The truly preserved memories are actually few.”

“I see.”

Sylutia ran her fingers through the hair at the side of her neck, letting it brush her cheek in the wind because that felt slightly itchy. One by one the fine strands slid beneath her fingertip, and the cloudy tactile sensation sent images into her mind.

Come to think of it, you might not have carefully observed your hair in the past. In that other life, the servants usually groomed you; just before you awakened it had been Talier who helped comb you. When Talier left to travel with Lady Franne, you only returned to combing your own hair daily. But earlier your thoughts had been absorbed in study and various matters.

You had always been rather busy those years, using much of your time to study and raise your strength. There was probably no overwhelming survival anxiety, since you were far from the strange world of your past life. In that life you lost your mother’s protection; especially right after waking, you had to weigh everything carefully.

Now, though you have a few enemies, you no longer have as many hidden cards. The sense of danger has faded, and your body and mind can finally relax a little.

Though she cared about the memories she couldn’t recall, Sylutia didn’t insist on retrieving them all; she didn’t hold such a deep obsession.

Many people, because of childhood scars or past shadows, cling to matters with an intensity beyond normal. They’ll pay great prices to heal those gaps and wounds in ways others find hard to understand. Yet it isn’t wholly bad: the search for a way out and the fight against those shadows often produce powerful drive, allowing them to go farther and deeper on certain paths than others.

If those admired, uplifting life stories are a kind of bright vitality, then acting out of past wounds and absence is a hidden, darker vitality—and it burns fiercer, harder to extinguish.

Sylutia reflected on the rough outline of her past lives and shook her head slightly.

Perhaps being born into a prominent family and being doted on by her mother meant she hadn’t encountered truly unforgettable pain, which left her without the intense obsessions others have—only a gentle pleasure.

From a previous-life standpoint, she might have been judged not diligent enough or a bit lazy.

“You see, XXX, you took first place again this time!”

“You must study whenever you have time, don’t think about play—that’s meaningless.”

“The neighbor’s XXX all got into prestigious universities in the imperial capital; you must make us proud! Others can do it, why do you always complain?”

“Don’t be arrogant after a small success; always be prepared for success. Opportunities are for those who are ready.”

“Why can’t you even handle these small matters properly?”

Lying on the dry steel frame, Sylutia’s hair fanned behind her head. She raised a finger and looked through the gap between her fingers at the azure sky and the passing clouds below.

Really, even across an entirely different life, those past admonitions still pursued her.

She closed her eyes briefly and reviewed past and present lives. Largely influenced by her previous life, she had a faint anxiety: fear that poor study would leave her behind, be eliminated, despised, unable to stand. Because of that experience, she hated oppressive, constrained environments.

“Why are you so gentle to everyone?”

Because I hope that treating others gently will make them gentler and more tolerant to me in return.

...

“Why can you always sense other people’s sorrow and understand their feelings?”

Because I, too, have suffered and been misunderstood, so I can feel that silent sadness.

...

“Why don’t you urge people to struggle harder?”

Because that process never ends. Maybe only when doing something one truly desires will a person give everything without exhaustion.

...

Those born strong seldom become good listeners or empathizers; in their world everything should simply be so, no need to worry. But such people are rare. Most must chew through pain to find a way, repeatedly reorienting themselves.

Memory is a person’s past, the road they came from. Those fragmented incidents and experiences ultimately shape their entire personality and habits. If losing some painful memories could heal inner wounds and make someone more peaceful, is that not a possible mercy?

After hearing Master Ge Zhen’s teaching about the soul and memory, Sylutia sat in the evening breeze and mused.

Scenes from the past floated up again, but now without the old intensity of sadness or joy. Her emotions were not especially turbulent; she knew what the source of the deepest sorrow had been, and how she had slowly overcome those shadows and scars.

Thinking about it felt almost miraculous—how the gradual transformations of growth let the past self understand why things that once brought furious joy could now only be met with quiet composure.

How to put such change into words?

Perhaps like pouring a glass jar full of fragments and debris, filtering out the unnecessary impurities, then arranging the remaining miniature plants neatly back inside. The memories remain the same, but they are no longer muddled and chaotic; instead, they sit in sunlight through glass, a serene remembrance.

Although past memories shape personality, the growth of the soul reshapes how one views those memories, producing a new interpretation of life.

In the sunset afterglow, Sylutia opened her eyes again. She sat up, focused slightly, and a pale white flute materialized in her hand. She held it.

Bathed by the wind, she tried it and then slowly blew.

The sound was at first a little rough, as if recalling those far-off memories.

At some past time, the schoolchildren were all required to learn the flute, and she had once been among them.

She no longer remembered the complete melodies, only instinctually reproducing fragments that left impressions, then improvising.

Music is forgiving; as long as you match melody and rhythm, you can make an agreeable sound. Maybe relying on instinct is better—those subconscious details will then slowly unfold.

The sun sank toward the horizon and the orange afterglow lit the clouds. The flute’s notes, starting from awkwardness, grew lyrical. The once-clinging memory fragments were gradually released and forgotten, like a free bird. The melody drifted far into the sky.

Below, the train continued its steady pace, the subtle wind, passengers’ idle chatter, the rustle of curtains, and the swish of skirts accompanied that lyrical flute, and a peaceful mood quietly rose at dusk.

The plesiosaur-like dragon, lying on the platform, slowed its breathing further. When the serene flute song ended, its once-closed dragon eye opened. The single intact jade green dragon eye turned and saw the white-dressed figure on the high platform with her back turned, as if the lingering flute tones still wrapped that silhouette.

After watching that figure intently for a long time, the dragon closed its eyes again and returned to hibernation to recover strength.

Although outwardly nothing seemed different, its mental state was steadier than in previous days, no longer so restless and irritable.

The train continued south, passing flooded wastelands and entering drier plains where the climate warmed. Far ahead along the tracks small fields and villages came into view, signs of human activity appearing.

.....

Five days later, the train crew had completely grown used to the plesiosaur-like dragon’s presence, and some people had begun to speculate about the sensation its arrival at the Alliance center would cause.

“Probably lots of people will want to come see it. Ticket sales alone would rake in who knows how much.”

“Since the Eighth Epoch, the Fourth Continent hasn’t seen a true dragon appear in a long time.”

“Some schools still keep ancient sealed secret arts. Now they finally have a specimen to test on. The masters will surely be interested—the beast is a living dragon.”

“I wonder if it can be tamed. If it can, that would be a historic achievement.”

“Dragons are proud. Getting them to submit would be nearly impossible. Maybe only powerful dragon beings like Hours could command them.”

“However, far in the east there are priestesses bonded to dragons. They have special rites and dragon pacts linking their powers together.”

Inside the train the lamps burned bright as people chatted about future possibilities. The train was gradually entering the western hills; the undulating mountains let a brisk evening wind sweep through, stirring leaves.

In the hazy night, raindrops rode the wind and fell, wetting the mountain foliage.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!