Chapter 333: In the Last Days of This Winter
A cold wind swept through, rustling the nearby banners with a sharp clatter. Ropeni Grant lifted her gaze, quietly staring toward the ancient castle in the distance.
The Riftstone Keep, with its two centuries of history, sat perched atop the hill like a stone sentinel. Its sheer cliffside resembled a razor’s edge against the horizon. The sinking sun cast its fading golden light over the jagged rocks and the castle’s towering walls, bathing their contours in a soft, warm glow.
The keep was essentially a mountain of stone—one side steep and treacherous. Riftstone Keep clung to the cliff’s summit as if crouching on a blade’s edge. Its weathered outer walls bore the scars of time, cracked and worn in many places. When the sunset hit just right, light would shine through some of those fissures, tracing bright, vein-like patterns across the stone.
Many feared the day the ancient fortress would finally collapse in the sunset’s glow—when tons of heavy rock would tumble down the cliffside in a thunderous crash, burying the proud family name that had ruled this land for generations.
But Ropeni recalled her husband’s words, the old pact between the castle and the earth elemental spirits. Back when the Grant family was still a minor vassal under the Cecils, their ancestors had forged a covenant with the earth elementals: as long as the name “Grant” ruled this land, Riftstone Keep would never fall apart on its own…
Yet the cracks in the fortress had undeniably grown worse over the years.
“Milady,” the butler’s steady voice broke her reverie. The dependable middle-aged man handed her a wooden box. “Here is the soil sample you requested.”
Ropeni looked down at the dark, rich earth inside the box. She pinched a bit between her fingers and gently rubbed it. A faint glow of magic shimmered between her fingertips, and the soil dissolved into a wisp of blue smoke that drifted away on the breeze.
“The potion is working,” Ropeni’s usually somber expression softened slightly. She nodded to the butler. “Half the farms in the domain will need this druidic elixir to restore the land’s balance. It must be done before spring. Go negotiate with the Cecil apothecaries—see what price they’ll offer.”
“Yes, milady.” The butler bowed his head but hesitated before adding, “You really don’t need to leave the castle to come out here to this dirty countryside. These farmers are crude and ignorant—they might offend you.”
“You’ve said enough on that subject,” Ropeni said coolly, casting him a sharp glance. “Just do your job.”
The butler quickly lowered his gaze, unwilling to argue further.
“Duke Gawain Cecil will arrive in five days,” Ropeni broke the silence a few moments later. “Start preparations as soon as you return.”
“The duke is coming?” The butler was startled but, seeing her calm demeanor, swallowed his questions and nonsense. “Understood. I will arrange the most proper reception. But may I ask the purpose of his visit? Should I prepare anything special?”
“Just a routine meeting,” Ropeni replied lightly. “The Kant region has finally become a legitimate fief under the Cecil family.”
“Kant… understood.”
Several days later.
A double-horse carriage bearing the Cecil family crest rolled along the road east of the Kant domain, approaching the ancestral lands ruled by the Grant family for generations.
Besides the coachman and three soldiers riding behind, only Gawain and Amber occupied the carriage.
“This is even less impressive than the last time we went to Kant,” Amber muttered, sitting opposite Gawain. “I mean, you’re a duke. Even if you’re visiting nobles beneath you, shouldn’t you at least show some style? A couple more carriages, a few more attendants…”
Gawain chuckled, glancing at the half-elf girl. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Amber didn’t really care about his prestige—she just wanted to enjoy the pomp and circumstance of traveling with a grand entourage, the drums and horns announcing their arrival. Her idea of a good life was simple: glory, wealth, and fanfare—no lofty ideals, just the spotlight.
If she had any real ambition, it was probably to organize some kind of con artist championship and win first place.
“You’re laughing!” Amber shot him a glare. “I once saw a count roll out with seven or eight carriages!”
“Carriages like that will be obsolete soon enough,” Gawain said with a smile, shaking his head. “One day, I’ll show you something way cooler than a carriage.”
“Something cooler than a carriage?” Amber’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “What new toy have you cooked up now?”
“Not yet. Just an idea, but the timing and technology aren’t ready,” Gawain waved her off. “But let’s get back to the Grant family. Besides the suspicious circumstances around the previous viscount’s death a few years ago, what else have you uncovered?”
“Well, it goes back even further. Before the last viscount died, he implemented a series of almost unbelievable ‘new laws’ across the domain. Not just here—nobles in neighboring lands were affected too…”
“New laws?” Gawain frowned. “Tell me more.”
“First, he freed all the serfs and slaves across the domain…”
Meanwhile, as the Cecil duke’s carriage neared the Grant lands, a messenger clad in a red-and-blue cloak galloped furiously down the main avenue of Saint Suniel city, holding high a banner of safe passage.
The banner bore the king’s seal—no one dared block a messenger bearing the royal token. Pedestrians scattered in alarm and fear, startled from their peaceful routines. The capital’s calm was shattered that day, though no one yet knew what news the rider carried.
The messenger thundered past King’s Street, the curved plaza before Silver Keep, then leapt from his horse at the castle gates, rushing straight to the king’s chambers with the banner held aloft.
Minutes later, urgent intelligence from the western Holy Spirit Plains reached King Francis II.
The news soured the king’s mood. Today was a rare day when Veronica had left the cathedral to reunite with him at Silver Keep—a precious moment between father and daughter, king and saint. Yet this brief happiness was interrupted.
Veronica read the dispatch and offered a gentle, reassuring smile. “Father, state affairs must come first.”
“I know,” Francis sighed, picking up the report. “But I wish I didn’t have to receive any ‘unexpected incidents’ right now… Those greedy nobles will never be satisfied. They don’t care about the kingdom—only about causing trouble.”
Veronica smiled faintly. “Perhaps this isn’t about the nobles.”
The king forced a smile and broke the seal.
Within seconds, his smile faded.
Veronica noticed the change. “Father, this says…”
“Read it yourself,” Francis handed her the letter. “You’re allowed to see this—because it will soon reach the Holy Light Cathedral as well.”
Veronica frowned and scanned the contents:
“…Tensions between Holy Light followers and Blood God worshippers in the Holy Spirit Plains are escalating… On XX month XX day, violent clashes erupted in Giantstone City. Radical Blood God cultists smashed the statue before the Holy Light church… The next day, Holy Light followers retaliated by burning the Blood God temple.
“Lord…” Veronica gasped, sorrowful, tracing the Holy Light emblem over her chest. “Even in defense of faith, must it come to this?”
Francis glanced at his daughter, shaking his head. “Keep reading.”
Veronica’s eyes widened as she read the second half:
“…The regional bishop of the Blood God sect led a counterattack but was struck by a hidden arrow en route to the Holy Light church. Near death, he mutated into a grotesque flesh-and-blood monster witnessed by many…
“The lord of Giantstone City and the Holy Light bishop jointly slew the creature… A search of the Blood God temple uncovered a secret chamber with evidence of bloody rituals… Also found were the Mark of the End of All Things and notes filled with blasphemous knowledge and evil doctrines…
“All Blood God temples in Giantstone City have been sealed… Half the cultists expelled…”
“A regional bishop, and a follower of the End of All Things cult…” Veronica whispered in disbelief. “They’ve infiltrated this deeply…”
“So you understand now, my daughter,” Francis said grimly, “why I’ve insisted that Ansogen is utterly unprepared for war with Typhon—especially this year.”
Veronica was silent for a moment before returning the letter. “Father, what will you do?”
“The crown does not interfere with the church, nor does the church meddle in the crown’s affairs—that’s always been the rule. But now blood has been shed over this. The king must act,” Francis said, voice low. “We’ve been hunting these cultists, investigating every noble, even the registered supernaturals in the royal family—but we overlooked the church itself. The very institution least likely to be corrupted has become a breeding ground for evil.”
He clenched his fist and rapped the table. “Veronica, the church must be examined. But… I cannot allow this to further destabilize the kingdom.”
“Father, I can assure you the Holy Light Church will cooperate. Any rational follower understands that rooting out cultists among us benefits everyone,” Veronica said solemnly. The power of the Holy Light stirred around her, casting a pure, radiant glow. “I believe other faiths will also cooperate once they learn what happened in Giantstone City… No one wants cultists hiding in their own homes.”
(End of chapter)