Over the next several days, the postwar conference proceeded steadily according to its planned agenda—proposals were put forward one after another, discussed one after another, and most of them were essentially plans for postwar economic recovery and cross-border aid. As the conference progressed, issues concerning the division of the postwar wastelands and pioneer rights were gradually brought to the table as well.
These were all extremely sensitive matters of "dividing the cake," yet they proceeded with surprising stability. As many had already realized, when it came to issues concerning the alliance's fundamental order, the three great empires had long since privately set the tone.
Neither Typhon nor Cecil, nor Silver in the Far South, wanted the alliance to descend into chaos. Under that overarching premise, every issue that might have caused the alliance to fall apart had already been discussed before the Tarash Conference officially began. As the saying went, major matters were settled in small meetings, minor matters in large ones—the issues that truly determined the overall direction would never be placed on the grand negotiating table. What could be discussed at the conference were destined to be merely the "details" left over after the three great empires had finalized the broader direction.
Bercetia Morningstar stood on a high terrace, quietly gazing out at the night over the Tarash Plains. From this vantage point overlooking the land, she could see beams of light rising from the pitch-black earth, stretching into the distance like endless chains. At the roots of those beams, sparse artificial lights could be seen. They were far dimmer and fewer than those of the Elven Royal Court, yet on this land that had been shrouded in darkness for seven hundred years, even the faintest light was incomparably precious.
Footsteps came from behind her. Without turning around,