Chapter 1003: Stirring the Waters
Andersa leaned against the terrace railing, squinting slightly in the gentle breeze. From here, she could just make out the outer edges of the towering Sorin trees, and beyond them, faintly, the Spirit Plains stretched out—a narrow, elongated swath of land bathed in celestial light, running endlessly along the horizon. The base color was pure white; that had to be the snow blanketing the plains.
Without turning back, she broke the silence softly. “I know it’s not easy for you to say these things in front of me. From your perspective, you must believe this truly benefits both Cecil and Typhon, right?”
“It’s true,” Bard replied. “Our greatest threat now is the ‘Divine Calamity.’ Soldiers capable of fighting it are the key to turning the tide. Both nations face the same danger, so getting through this crisis together is what matters most.”
“And after the crisis?” Andersa finally turned, her one remaining eye fixed calmly on Bard. “Will Cecil and Typhon become eternal allies and partners, putting aside past grievances to work closely together, living peacefully and happily ever after?”
“…No,” Bard said, watching his daughter carefully. After a few seconds, he spoke calmly. “From my point of view, even if this crisis ends safely and the two countries form some kind of balance or alliance afterward, that balance will only be temporary. Competition will always continue, and when one side shows a fatal weakness, war will once again loom. There are no eternal friends or partners in this world—especially not between nations.”
“Mass-producing superhumans is one of Typhon’s core strengths. I can’t say what the future holds, but at least for now, it’s the backbone of our military power. Maybe the Cecilians really just want to train soldiers to fight divine contamination… but after the Divine Calamity ends, will they still think that way? Mass-produced superhumans combined with mass-produced war machines—what will Typhon use to counter that kind of power?” Andersa shook her head. “I’m narrow-minded and inflexible. Maybe that Gawain Cecil truly stands at the height of all humanity, and perhaps Empress Rosetta does too. But I don’t.
“I only stand where I am. So to me, there’s no room for negotiation.
“Maybe I don’t have the right to say this in my current position, but I have to ask—why do all the good things have to fall into the hands of the Cecilians?”
Bard looked at Andersa quietly for a long moment before slowly smiling. “Your grandfather raised you well.”
Andersa didn’t respond. She simply gazed out at the distant view, silent for a long time before suddenly whispering, “From the big picture, the best choice is for Cecil and Typhon to unite completely against this disaster, isn’t it?”
“If only it were that simple,” Bard chuckled. “Unfortunately, even two great rulers can’t just ‘mold’ two nations together like clay.”
“So whether the Cecilians want Typhon’s technology, or want to trade their own, or if the two countries want deeper cooperation and exchange… none of that should start with me,” Andersa said slowly. “As a soldier, no matter how noble the reason, handing those things over is treason. Some things our sovereign can do, but I cannot.”
Bard was silent for a few seconds, then sighed softly. “Andersa, you’ve really grown up…”
“Your praise is many years late,” Andersa said, looking at her father. For once, a faint smile touched her usually stern face. She took a deep breath in the healthy Sorin breeze. “I’ve been out too long. Before Sister Marian takes stronger measures, I’d better return to my room.”
Bard instinctively stepped forward. “Shall I see you back?”
“No need. I’m not that weak yet.” Andersa waved him off, then slowly turned and, somewhat unsteady, made her way toward the terrace exit.
Only after her figure disappeared through the door did Bard’s gaze slowly withdraw. Then, a faint voice whispered from a crack between the wall bricks nearby: “That really didn’t sound like a father-daughter conversation—more like two officers seriously discussing the war situation.”
Bard glanced down, spotting a small flower bud swaying in the breeze between the bricks. He raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you supposed to be avoiding this? Hiding in a corner to eavesdrop is your idea of avoidance?”
No sooner had he spoken than thick vines sprouted from the terrace edge, coalescing into the figure of Beltira. She stepped steadily onto the terrace, her expression blank and unreadable. “I am avoiding—formally. You’re all standing on my body; how else could I avoid? I even squeezed into the brick cracks.”
Bard felt his brow twitch. “…How did I never realize you were such a skilled arguer all these years? Is this thanks to that ‘brain’ you built for yourself?”
Beltira ignored the question, glancing toward the direction Andersa had left. “Looks like there’s no room for negotiation. I thought your ‘fatherly’ words might sway the young lady.”
Bard sighed. “Unfortunately, Andersa is more steadfast than we imagined. Emperor Gawain will be disappointed.”
“That outcome was probably expected…” Beltira’s tone held no regret, only a hint of reflection. “Andersa… your daughter is actually very clear-headed. Despite much intelligence and third-party opinions painting General Wolf as cold, stubborn, inflexible, and blindly hostile to Cecil, I think she understands the world’s changes and inter-nation relations better than many politicians who spout empty words in the government.”
“She just remembers her duty as a soldier.”
“Getting such praise from you isn’t easy,” Bard glanced at Beltira. “But let’s focus on the special forces issue… The fighting at Winterwolf Fortress is growing fiercer. Typhon’s army is now filled with carriers of spiritual contamination. Every day, our soldiers battle those things. The neural network has detected the presence of war god’s corruptive signals at frontline nodes—if we can’t find an effective defense, the front line will have to contract.”
“I examined the bodies of Typhon’s captured battle mages—under the guise of medical checks,” Beltira said casually. “Most of them have altered neural structures thanks to alchemical potions and continuous external stimuli… Honestly, such potions that forcibly awaken magical talent aren’t rare elsewhere, but they usually come with severe side effects—either weakening the body or permanently damaging the nervous system. The best cases still lock the mage’s talent for life. But Typhon’s catalytic technology seems to have solved these aftereffects…
“Their bodies are very healthy, and their personal strength can improve somewhat through normal training, though their ceiling is low and late-stage growth limited. Basically, they’re not much different from true mages.
“I separated their blood samples and scanned their neural structures, hoping to reverse-engineer their modifications, but found nothing… This is clearly not a simple matter.”
“So that path is a dead end,” Bard frowned. “I don’t know if His Majesty will try to contact Aldern, but in this situation, it’s unlikely the two countries will establish a tech exchange channel while still at war…”
“Therefore, I’m considering other solutions…” Beltira said deliberately.
“Other solutions?” Bard blinked, then looked at the former abbess in surprise. “You’ve found a way?”
“An alternative technical route. Maybe we can enhance ordinary people’s adaptability and control over magic through other means—like an additional neural system. Narithil told me about neural networks, and there’s a concept called ‘wetware computing nodes’ that’s quite interesting…”
Bard looked at Beltira and suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. Though Sorin’s climate was spring-like year-round, he rubbed his arms instinctively. “Damn it… don’t start any bloody experiments again. I’ll be the first to report you.”
Beltira glanced at him. “Of course not. Every move I make is monitored by the magic network. Besides, I’ve long lost interest in those foolish experiments—I’ll submit formal applications and reports to Minister Rebecca.”
…
Aldern.
After days of continuous snowfall, the storm finally eased, but a thick fog soon enveloped the imperial capital on the plains. The sky remained gloomy, though compared to the previous blizzard, there was at least a hint of sunlight and warmth today.
A tall, slender man in a black count’s cloak, adorned with ribbons and sigils, walked through the deep, endless corridors of the Obsidian Palace. His face was cold, with a high nose and narrow eyes—a typical northern Typhonian visage.
Led by a maid, he passed through the palace halls and arrived at the reception room most often used by Rosetta Augustus. Pushing open the heavy oak door, intricately decorated with golden heraldry, he stepped inside. Rosetta sat in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, looking up from her book at the sound of the door.
“Count Clement Dart,” Rosetta nodded slightly at the tall, thin man in the doorway. “You’re punctual.”
“Punctuality is a tradition of the Dart family.” Clement approached Rosetta, and as the door closed behind him with a thud, he bowed deeply to the empire’s ruler. “By law, I have come to bid you farewell.”
His manners were impeccable, his words precise—but mechanical, devoid of warmth or emotion.
Rosetta clearly didn’t mind.
“Tomorrow at dawn, you depart on the first train to the front,” she said, nodding. “I wish you a safe journey, and courage and honor in battle.”
Clement straightened, his narrow eyes fixed on Rosetta Augustus. After several seconds, he withdrew his gaze and said quietly, “Thank you for your blessings.”
With that, all formalities were complete.
He stepped back, ready to take his leave, but before he could speak, Rosetta suddenly asked, “Nothing else to say? We may not have another chance to talk like this.”
Clement studied her for a long moment before speaking. “Are you having doubts now?”
“I remain resolute.”
“Good. I understand.” Clement nodded, turning toward the door. “Then I will watch over you from the soil of Winterwolf Fortress. I will watch until you either realize the glorious era you once envisioned—or fall into the abyss, lost forever.”
After saying that, the Typhon noble strode away without a hint of hesitation, leaving the reception room behind.
In the spacious chamber, Rosetta Augustus sat quietly in his chair. Once the door had closed again, he glanced up at the nearby mechanical clock.
“Two minutes inside—not bad at all.”
He murmured to himself softly, idly turning over a small gemstone in his hand. The gem was about the size of a thumb, shaped vaguely like an eye. Its surface was pitch black, yet within that darkness, tiny pinpricks of light flickered and danced, as if a fragment of a starry sky had been trapped inside.
The “starlit” gem rolled lightly between Rosetta’s fingers for a long moment before he suddenly stopped. The faint glimmers on its surface trembled as if stirred by some unseen force, then gradually steadied. Slowly, a tiny image began to emerge from the gem’s inky depths.
Bit by bit, it sharpened into focus—revealing the face of Malm Dunit, vacant and lifeless.
Rosetta Augustus stared expressionlessly at the face appearing on the gem’s surface. After a long pause, a faint smile curved his lips. “So, you’re pretending to be an unconscious shell?”
The dull, empty Malm Dunit inside the gem suddenly sprang to life. He glared fiercely at Rosetta, his mocking voice vibrating the air around the stone. “You’ve only trapped an avatar! The true me has long since merged with the glory of the Lord. You will never comprehend that magnificent realm beyond mortal understanding—so go ahead, revel in your arrogance. As a mere mortal, you don’t even deserve to stand against the Lord. This war itself will consume you and your pitiful family!”
Rosetta watched the face in the gem without a trace of anger, his voice calm as ever. “Yes… you have a point. For mortals, reaching the heights of the divine is indeed a difficult task… but solving such a challenge is truly exhilarating.”
He pressed his fingers down slightly, channeling a surge of powerful magic into the gem. With a faint crack and a barely audible roar, the gem and the trapped spirit within it instantly turned to ash and dust.
(End of chapter)