Chapter 391: The Day War Descends
In the study of the lord’s manor in Cecil, High Lord Gawain carefully examined a piece of intelligence just delivered by Amber.
“Looks like the news from the 25th Battalion has safely reached their master,” Gawain said, looking up at the half-elf standing beside him. “Right now, over forty knightly estates from the southern territories have gathered their knights, retainers, and militias under Count Hosman’s banner. Their movements are completely out in the open—those knights answering the call are striding boldly down the roads in broad daylight, and messengers carrying news between noble lands are everywhere.”
Amber casually picked up an apple from Gawain’s desk, biting into it quickly as she mumbled, “Honestly, the nobles never really try to hide this kind of thing. Besides Cecil’s intelligence bureau, who else would have the brains to set up a system like this? And given how things stand, there’s no point in them keeping secrets anymore.”
Gawain chuckled and shook his head. “I’m just waiting for the formal letter. According to those old-school nobles’ customs, a declaration of war always comes first.”
Amber paused mid-bite, a puzzled look crossing her face. “But… even though Ansu and Typhon signed a peace treaty, if Ansu plunges into civil war, won’t the Typhon side just tear up the agreement and strike while the iron’s hot?”
Gawain looked at her with mild surprise. “You’re actually thinking about that? Progress.”
“I do try to think sometimes! I just don’t have your dirty, underhanded tactics,” Amber shot back, cheeks puffed out in mock indignation. “And I’ve been meaning to ask this from the start—I just never found the right moment.”
Gawain smiled at her earnest frustration. “Typhon won’t invade. At least, not now.”
Amber frowned. “Why not?”
“Typhon has dealt with Ansu for centuries; they know their nature well,” Gawain explained patiently, adding his own speculation. “Remember when I confirmed something with Clement? There are members of the ‘End of All Things’ cult even within the Typhon Emperor’s circle… So from the start, this ‘peace treaty’ was just a performance. But for now, the play goes on. Rosetta Augustus will watch Ansu tear itself apart in civil war, watch it weaken year by year until the kingdom nearly collapses. Only then will he step in to reap the rewards. But before that, he won’t strike, because he knows—if Typhon attacks now, Ansu’s civil war will end immediately.”
Amber blinked, seeming to grasp Gawain’s meaning.
“An invasion would unite Ansu’s factions quickly. The three border dukes haven’t yet built enough hatred; they might even band together,” Gawain said, setting down the dossier. His mind ran through his impressions and analysis of Ansu’s three border dukes. “Victoria Vild of the North backs a puppet king to stabilize the realm; Seras Loren of the East pledges loyalty to the Morn bloodline to restore the First Dynasty’s glory; Franklin Berdewen of the West stays out of royal politics but controls half of Ansu’s economy through border trade… No matter what roles they play in this civil war, whether their moves are wise or foolish, one thing’s certain: they’re all acting according to their own logic to preserve the country. I’m sure Rosetta Augustus has studied this too.”
Gawain sighed softly. “The only thing I’m unsure about is whether Prince Edmond and the Typhon Emperor share some kind of ‘understanding’—if this is all a high-stakes gamble. If so, the death of Francis II is truly tragic.”
“Just a death in a play, and a gamble behind the scenes…” Amber muttered, staring at her apple, suddenly finding it tasteless. “Maybe everyone’s been waiting for this civil war, except the old king, who truly believed in peace… I really don’t like the stupid logic of nobles.”
A knock interrupted their conversation.
The study door opened, and the tall, sturdy priest Leight appeared.
Gawain looked at the only priest in the territory with some surprise. “Mr. Leight, what brings you here?”
“My lord,” Leight bowed slightly, then spoke plainly, “I want to go to the battlefield.”
Gawain blinked, caught off guard. “To the battlefield?”
“I saw the news in the papers. War’s coming, right?” Leight pulled out a special bulletin he’d found. “I want to join the fight.”
Gawain was about to explain the difference between the professional military system and the chaotic private armies of the nobles, but seeing Leight’s serious expression, he simply asked, “Why?”
“I know a group of church clerics and knights have joined the southern nobles’ army,” Leight said calmly. “I want a chance to face them directly.”
Gawain studied Leight quietly for a long moment, then exhaled softly. “You should know, the Cecil Combat Corps isn’t like ordinary noble mercenaries. It’s not enough to just be strong to qualify for the battlefield. And currently, there’s no official chaplain position in the army.”
“I know. I’ve seen those ray guns—they’re new to me, and there’s no time to learn now,” Leight nodded. “But I can help with logistics, build fortifications, or carry the wounded. I know first aid and herbal medicine; those skills should be useful.”
“…The medical corps needs hands,” Gawain considered, then nodded. “Go register with Knight Byron. Tell him I sent you. Also, you’ll need to learn to use the ray gun and grenades. I’ll have Byron prepare suitable gear for you. Even if you’re not skilled, you’ll at least be able to protect yourself.”
A smile broke across Leight’s face as he bowed deeply. “Thank you for understanding.”
He stood and headed for the door, but just as he was about to leave, Gawain called after him.
“Mr. Leight.”
Leight stopped and turned. “My lord?”
“Facing your church brethren on the battlefield is not the same as a street brawl in the countryside,” Gawain said, looking him in the eye, his tone calm. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
“I have, my lord,” Leight answered earnestly. “On the battlefield, they become true enemies.”
“Not just that,” Gawain said seriously. “Before you face them, I want you to consider one more thing… Do you believe in the Holy Light, or the God of the Holy Light?”
Those words struck a deep chord in Leight. The tall priest fell silent for several seconds before taking a deep breath and bowing. “I will think carefully about that, my lord.”
“Are you really sending that big guy out there?” Amber asked curiously after Leight left. “You do know he’s lost the Holy Light, right? Besides being a big guy, he’s basically just a normal man—never trained with the Combat Corps… Someone who’s never even touched a ray gun. Won’t he get into trouble on the battlefield?”
“That’s why I’m sending him to the medical corps. And I trust Leight’s skills—he can protect himself even without the Holy Light,” Gawain shook his head. “Let him go. He’s a believer; he deserves a chance to test what he truly believes.”
On the last day of the Month of Revival in the spring of Ansu 736, a messenger rode a tall steed along the south bank of the Whitewater River, bearing the black-and-red banner of Count Hosman.
The messenger was stopped at the Cecil checkpoint, and an hour later, the letter he carried was delivered to Gawain.
Inside the lord’s manor, Gawain took the long-awaited letter from Amber. It was an exceptionally formal, even grand, document—sealed in a lacquered tube embroidered with gold thread, written on the softest, most durable lambskin parchment with spiced ink. Between the ornate calligraphy and the convoluted noble syntax lay the message Gawain had been waiting for.
Amber leaned over Gawain’s shoulder, curious. The letter was a carefully polite but utterly hostile diplomatic note—
Count Hosman and forty-three southern lords of illustrious titles and pure bloodlines sent their greetings to Duke Gawain Cecil, and issued stern protests against the recent suspension of alchemical supplies; the soaring prices of ore, mining machinery, and metal goods; the Cecil family’s stripping of noble privileges and encroachments on neighboring lands; demands that the Cecil family immediately cease undermining the noble order, restore noble privileges within their territories, and regulate the behavior of commoners to prevent this malignant trend from spreading and corrupting other lands…
They also listed a dozen or so accusations against Cecil: recruiting vagrants across the south, spreading heretical teachings, harboring suspected cultists, mass freeing of slaves, arresting “honest and lawful merchants,” conspiring to overthrow the Kant domain, assassinating the former Kant viscount, and fabricating cult rumors—some true, some dubious—enough to leave Amber in awe.
At the end, the letter finally revealed their intent: “To maintain order, we are compelled to resort to forceful negotiation.”
Amber watched as Gawain read the letter carefully, then saw him calmly pick up the inkwell pen.
“Are you going to write a reply?” she asked.
Gawain shook his head and casually wrote a single word at the bottom of the letter:
“Read.”
“Just one word?!” Amber stared in disbelief, double-checking what she’d seen. “This is a declaration of war! Don’t nobles usually exchange a dozen heated letters first?”
“This is enough,” Gawain smiled. “As for any other replies… Count Hosman will see them.”
Amber left, puzzled but carrying the “reply.” Meanwhile, in the military workshop beneath the mechanical factory, under the direct control of Nicholas “Egghead,” a heavy railgun shell was carefully placed into a munition crate.
Stamped clearly on its polished surface was a new steel inscription:
“Dear opponent, here is our argument.”
On this final day of the Month of Revival, news of the king’s assassination and the Eastern Duke’s “revenge” uprising were still en route—but the first war to bring change to Ansu had already begun.
(End of chapter)