Chapter 230: Aftershocks and Turmoil
While the Sleepless Ones were regrouping and restarting their plans after the Stars’ Realignment event, other groups on the fringes of human civilization—also shaken by the upheaval—were each trying to calm the dramatic chaos in their own way.
On the frontier reefs of the Endless Sea’s eastern edge, several tidal barriers were hastily erected. Potent magical forces formed shields along the reefs, replacing the coastal breakwaters that had been shattered by the monstrous waves. Inside these barriers, the Stormborn—barely recovered—worked tirelessly day and night. They repaired the island’s magical arrays, rebuilt the destroyed coastal structures, and salvaged uncontaminated, unspoiled food and medicinal herbs. Before the next storm hit, they had to get these vital frontier isles back on their feet—at least enough to sustain themselves.
Deep underground somewhere within Ansu’s borders, the Druids of the End of All Things finally resealed the “False God’s Vessel.” The enormous biological toll this took was impossible to replenish quickly, so a new flesh-growth program was already underway. The High Priest, severely drained by the ordeal, had retreated to the depths of the caverns to enter a slumber that might last an entire year.
Far beneath the waves, tens of thousands of sea hags lay neatly on the ocean floor, burping contentedly as they debated how long the Core Fusion Tower might keep running.
But the mortal kingdoms of the Loren continent remained oblivious to all this. As the harsh winter descended, a deceptive calm settled over their realms and empires—calm only on the surface.
Typhon’s imperial capital, Oldern, noble district.
It had been two months since the last time Duke Ferdinand Wendell had seen Count Winterfort. Upon hearing that the northern count was about to leave the capital, the powerful duke once again visited the count’s city residence.
One was the empire’s most influential duke; the other, a count from the cold northern reaches. Their ranks were different, but everyone knew Ferdinand and Count Parin Winterfort were close friends. Their families had been steadfast allies for decades. The Winterwolf Legion, controlled by the Wendell family, was stationed on the empire’s northwestern frontier, right next to Winterfort’s hereditary lands. Half the legion’s soldiers hailed from Winterfort’s domain. The Winterforts supplied both men and materiel, while the Wendells acted as their protectors within the empire’s power network—a relationship unchanged for centuries.
Twenty years ago, a mutual aid on the northern border battlefield had forged a personal friendship between Ferdinand Wendell and the current Count Parin Winterfort, a bond that endured to this day.
Compared to their last meeting, Count Winterfort looked more haggard. The powerful spellcaster seemed to have gone many days and nights without rest. His face was pale and sunken; even his eyes, usually glowing with magical light, appeared clouded and dull. Concerned, Duke Ferdinand spoke first: “Are you alright, Parin? You look like you haven’t slept in three days.”
“Counting today, it’s the third day,” the count replied, sitting in a large high-backed chair, his brow furrowed. “I simply can’t sleep… Our emperor grows more worrisome by the day.”
“I heard His Majesty rejected your proposal again and ordered Winterfort to prepare for next year’s war… He—”
“The emperor refuses to listen to any counsel, whether from you or me,” Winterfort shook his head. “Now is not the time to start a full-scale war. No one knows the Ansu eastern guardians better than you and me. They’re a tough nut to crack. Yes, the empire’s army is strong, with new tactics and better equipment, while Ansu is outdated in these respects. But that doesn’t mean victory will come without a heavy price… At least, not yet.”
“I agree with you—we never doubted the empire’s strength to defeat the enemy. The question is the cost,” Duke Ferdinand frowned. “But our emperor seems to have lost that sense of judgment. He’s… too reckless.”
“Not just reckless, duke. I suspect… that mad curse has begun to affect His Majesty.”
Ferdinand’s eyebrows twitched. “What have you observed?”
He knew Winterfort was a formidable spellcaster and a scholar of the arcane. While Ferdinand might surpass him in martial prowess, few in the empire could match Winterfort’s knowledge of magic and curses. Magical light shimmered in his friend’s eyes as his expression grew grave.
“I haven’t seen anything concrete, but some signs don’t require magic to notice. The emperor deliberately avoids my ‘magical gaze.’ When we met, four royal mages stood by his side, their powerful wards blocking all my sight. That’s the most suspicious part.”
“His Majesty knows something’s wrong…” Ferdinand’s breath quickened. “But he’s consciously preventing you from helping him?”
“That’s the most unsettling part—he’s consciously indulging his madness. That’s far worse than mere insanity,” Winterfort said, locking eyes with his old friend. “I’ve lost his trust. He ordered me back to my lands and forbade me from entering the capital without pardon. So now, I’m powerless. Only you can act—you must watch the palace closely and prepare for the day His Majesty fully succumbs to madness. By my estimate, he still retains most of his clarity, though his personality has changed. He can still rule competently for now, but this won’t last more than a few years…”
“I am loyal to the emperor,” Duke Ferdinand said suddenly, pausing for a few seconds before continuing slowly, “but I am more loyal to the nation founded by our ancestors.”
“That’s exactly what I expected you to say,” Winterfort smiled faintly, though the smile soon turned strange. “Speaking of founders… our decaying neighbor has actually raised a founder from the dead.”
Ferdinand’s expression twisted. “You mean… the rumored resurrection of Grant Duke Gawain Cecil? Do you believe it?”
“Whether true or not, it’s become a fact. And based on my intelligence and several divinations, the truth seems more likely,” Winterfort said solemnly. “You must have heard too—the revived ‘pioneer hero’ is currently in the Dark Mountains of southern Ansu. He’s established a frontier domain and is trying to expand human civilization near the ruins of Gondor. He’s also dealt with several cult outbreaks along the way. These actions are clearly not for pleasure. If this were a lie concocted by Ansu, they wouldn’t go to such lengths. A resurrected founding hero used as a totem in the capital to legitimize their bastard dynasty would make more sense.”
“I have received those reports. His actions match the historical accounts… but it’s still hard to believe.”
“Whether or not it’s unbelievable, we must treat it as a variable,” Winterfort said seriously. “Cultists run rampant in Ansu, and their nobles are overwhelmed trying to contain them. This has pushed our emperor to seize the moment and launch a war. He’s ordered the Winterwolf Legion on the border to begin a new round of infiltration. Some of their routes are very close to the Dark Mountains.”
The old duke immediately understood what Winterfort meant. “Andersa is there.”
Andersa Wendell, heir of the Wendell family, daughter of Bard Wendell, the youngest wolf general in history. After her father disappeared on the battlefield, this young, gifted woman quickly rose to prominence. It was as if she sought to erase her family’s disgrace on the frontier and avenge her father. She now stood on the very border where her father once commanded—a line on Ansu’s southeastern edge, near the eastern guardian Selas Loren’s lands and close to the Dark Mountains.
If the emperor’s infiltration orders reached the front, Andersa would undoubtedly choose the Dark Mountains as her route. To most, it was a dangerous, polluted wasteland, but to elite imperial soldiers, it was a path forward. It also bypassed the main defensive lines of Ansu’s eastern defense corps. Ferdinand admitted that if he still commanded the Winterwolf Legion, he would choose the same route.
“If luck runs out, they might run straight into Duke Gawain Cecil. In that case, I’d rather believe all the legends about him—including his resurrection—are true,” Winterfort said earnestly. “Andersa is brave and strong—I’ve watched her grow—but facing a legend from seven centuries ago…”
“She should know her limits. As a commander, she won’t act alone…” The old duke frowned. Though he said this, he thought of his granddaughter’s stubborn nature and her hatred for Ansu after her father’s disappearance. He added, “I’ll warn her not to act rashly. She has powerful elven rangers under her command. I’ll remind her to send the right people on these missions.”
The two talked long into the evening—about the empire’s situation, the border, Ansu, and the resurrected pioneer hero. Both understood this was likely their last meeting in Oldern.
Afterward, Count Winterfort would return to Winterfort, and Duke Ferdinand could not leave the capital lightly. These two battle-hardened old friends knew time was precious—but time was limited.
The sun set.
The city lights of the capital flickered on. Standing by his carriage, Duke Ferdinand couldn’t help but think of that legendary age—when human civilization fell into darkness, and the descendants of the Gondor Empire carved out survival in the wild wastelands.
Back then, the nights were dark, but hearts were bright.
“What do you think that resurrected Duke Cecil would think of this age?” he paused by the carriage, glancing at his old friend. “Cultists run rampant, society decays, the frontier lies abandoned, and once-brotherly human kingdoms prepare for war.”
“…He’d probably be disappointed in all of us,” Winterfort replied quietly.
—End of Chapter—