Chapter 356: The Thawing Winter Snow

For Gawain, the question of whether to accept those exiled by the Holy Light Church was never really up for debate. In the rapidly developing land of Cecil, a realm built entirely on a new order, anyone who entered had to be quickly molded into a functional cog in the industrial machine. It didn’t matter if you were once a believer, a noble, a merchant, or a slave—your first step upon arrival was to face the buffer camps, undergo long periods of indoctrination and transformation, work in factories, attend classes in barracks, and grow into a proud, qualified citizen of Cecil.

This was an era where propaganda and education lagged behind the pace of change. The impact of Cecil’s industrial and educational systems on the native populations was overwhelming. And the identities these natives held before entering the territory? They were irrelevant to the land itself.

Put another way, any native from this era was essentially unqualified for the mage-industrial society. Since everyone needed to be reformed and educated before they could be useful, the only real difference between people was how quickly and easily they could be transformed.

Of course, accepting those exiled heretics might bring some extra trouble—Gawain had considered this. The Holy Light Church might stir up trouble, spread rumors in areas where their influence was strong. But none of that was beyond Gawain’s tolerance. The southern lands were not the Church’s domain, so their slander and restrictions would at most cause some ripples on the Holy Spirit Plains. And facing the natural prestige of Cecil, the Church wouldn’t dare make their accusations too blatant. Even if the most fanatical believers truly opposed Cecil, what could they do?

Gawain’s future plans were bound to clash with the stubborn forces in the Holy Spirit Plains anyway.

The priest Leight had left, departing with the trade caravans. This clergyman would return to where his missionary work began—or rather, where he was first exiled—to witness firsthand what the Holy Light clergy were really up to.

Meanwhile, more and more people poured into the new land of Cecil.

As the weather warmed, the water level of the Whitewater River rose with the melting snow from the mountains. Larger merchant ships appeared more frequently on the river, and overland transport gradually revived. Covered wagons traveled endlessly along the newly built north-south highway (connecting Cecil’s main city with the Kant region) and the east-west highway (built along the Whitewater River, linking Cecil’s main city with Tansang). They brought a steady stream of raw materials—and people.

By overt and covert means, Cecil’s alchemical potion trade, mining equipment, and magic network technology had generated vast wealth. But this wealth was consumed at an astonishing rate, converted into raw materials and industrial labor to fill the land. At first, the daily gold income of the territory made Heddy, the “Grant Steward,” tremble. Seeing the daily expenditures made her nearly choke. But after so much time, she had come to accept the numbers calmly—and agreed with something Gawain had said:

“Development is change. Flowing capital is true wealth. Gold piled up in castles is just shiny metal.”

Traditional nobles were used to hoarding wealth. After cunningly seizing gold and silver, they would stash it in castles or convert it into more expensive treasures in their vaults. Heddy once believed this was the proper way to build family fortunes. Now she understood that sometimes spending gold was the fastest way to grow wealth.

At the dock square, atop the tall port watchtower, Gawain looked down at a group of ragged people slowly moving along the west side of the plaza. Cecil soldiers clad in armor, carrying combat backpacks and wielding molten-cutting swords, maintained order nearby.

An hour earlier, an unusually large wooden ship had docked, unloading over a hundred people. Intelligence indicated these were exiles from the western regions. Since last autumn, after Tansang town began selling mining equipment to noble territories in the west, many miners and slaves lost their livelihoods. Advanced mining machines could replace hundreds of manual laborers. In this era, commoners had almost no savings, so wherever mining equipment was sold, miners there faced mass unemployment. And the lords of this era would not support surplus populations. To them, every non-working mouth was a drain on productivity. Without a developed industrial system in their own lands, they had no way to convert these excess people into productive labor. Their only choice was to expel them.

These people were raw material for Cecil’s expanding mage-industrial complex. But before that, Gawain needed to issue a warning.

He tilted his head slightly and instructed Heddy, standing beside him, “Increase security at the buffer camps. Scatter the new immigrants across different camps. Also, assign some experienced immigrants who have worked in factories for a while to serve as ‘life mentors’ in the camps, to explain the benefits of factory work and life in the territory. Finally, prepare the territory in advance—arrange jobs, housing, and education for every immigrant.”

“Yes,” Heddy nodded, then asked, “Are you worried they might cause trouble?”

“Not because there are many people,” Gawain said seriously. “The key is that they’ve just lost their jobs. Unlike previous refugees, these newcomers lost their work because of machines.”

“…They come with hatred?” Heddy was sharp and caught on quickly. “Will they hate Cecil?”

“No. Given the knowledge and courage of most commoners in this era, they wouldn’t—and couldn’t—hate their lords or the lord’s land. But they will hate the machines that took their jobs. This hatred is blind, but it’s the only outlet they have,” Gawain explained. “They don’t understand Cecil. They come here seeking a livelihood, but they never imagined they’d have to deal with machines. We must guide them properly from the start.”

“I understand,” Heddy bowed her head slightly. “But is that guidance enough?”

“It is. These people aren’t rioters. They come here simply to survive. As long as their survival is assured, their hatred of machines will fade easily,” Gawain said calmly. “But elsewhere… in places that only import mining equipment without considering the aftermath, the situation is very different.”

Heddy fell into deep thought at Gawain’s words. Gawain looked up toward the watchtower window.

A figure materialized from the air, transforming into a petite girl—Amber, like a nimble swallow, flew over the windowsill and lightly landed before Gawain, holding out a small scroll. “Intelligence!”

Gawain took the scroll, glancing behind Amber at the windowsill. He couldn’t help but exclaim, “You climbed through the watchtower window? Such a high wall—don’t you find it exhausting?”

Amber wore a proud grin. “For a Shadow Master like me, if there’s any shadow in the cracks between bricks outside your tower, I can climb up along it.”

Gawain ignored her and unrolled the scroll. The contents came into view:

“Duke Loren of the Eastern Territories recalls over half of his high-ranking knights… A messenger has entered Ansu territory from the Winter Wolf Fortress direction…”

This was intelligence from the East, gathered by spies embedded with Cecil’s alchemical potion trade caravans, who had finally extended their reach into the Eastern Territories.

Gawain rubbed his hands as the paper turned to ash in his palm, drifting away on the wind.

“Looks like both the king and emperor have settled their internal affairs,” he mused.

Heddy, having read the note, asked, “So the negotiations are finally about to begin?”

“Yes. But this won’t affect Cecil,” Gawain nodded, then smiled faintly. “Neither our king nor Typhon’s emperor wants an old ancestor meddling in these talks—not because I lack a voice in their matters, but because my voice is too powerful, more so than theirs. So let them handle it themselves. We’ll focus on our own development.”

In Ansu’s Eastern Territories, at the Loren family’s stronghold—Longwind Fortress—Duke Selas Loren stood atop the high walls, gazing out over the vast eastern plains.

The snow had been melting for over ten days, leaving only scattered white patches across the great plain. New shoots of green sprouted alongside the fading snow, creating a tapestry of winter’s last breath and spring’s first stirrings on the tawny land.

This sight made Duke Loren think of what was about to happen on this plain. In a way, the end of a century-long tense standoff between two nations and the signing of a new peace treaty was itself a passing of winter into spring.

With this thought, the duke turned his gaze to the distance, where a fortress was taking shape.

This was the site prepared for negotiations—a buffer zone on the border, a “balance point” directly overseen, attacked, and protected by both nations’ border fortresses. Over the next half month, extraordinary individuals and craftsmen from both sides would spare no expense to build the “Treaty Fortress,” which would serve as the meeting place for the leaders and later stand as a lasting symbol of peace.

Clearly, the two nations were building a new castle together rather than negotiating in their own existing fortresses. On the surface, this symbolized peace, but in reality, it revealed a lack of trust.

But none of that mattered. The negotiations were set in stone.

(End of chapter)