Chapter 406: Upheaval

Although Gawain’s population relocation and southern region restructuring plans had initially stunned everyone present, as the discussion deepened, the feasibility and necessity of the proposals became clearer. The initial shock gave way to focused attention on the practical details of implementation.

“Everyone, let’s be clear: population relocation is a long-term project. The construction of cities, roads, and administrative offices will take three to five years to complete. We must ensure everything proceeds smoothly,” Gawain said solemnly, scanning the room after answering most of the officials’ questions. “Step one: we’ll select pilot areas. The first to undergo population relocation will be the House of Hosman. Our legions are currently stationed nearby, and news of the war’s outcome has spread throughout the region. Count Karlov Hosman has been confirmed dead. Next, ‘receiving forces’ will enter the Hosman territory, negotiating—or if necessary, using artillery—to open the gates of Hosman Castle. Then, we will announce the change of lordship and new decrees.”

“Given Hosman’s geography and current development, I plan to relocate half of the serfs and slaves there to the Cecil region, while moving the scattered local population into the city. We will build a new city based on the old Hosman town.”

Gawain stopped there, but Hetty, standing nearby, could faintly sense the reasoning behind her ancestor’s plan.

Choosing the lands of the confirmed-dead Count Karlov Hosman as the pilot area served two purposes. First, such a territory would offer the least resistance, making the plan easier to execute. Second, it was a final chance for the surviving nobles—over twenty southern nobles and their knightly retinues were still imprisoned in POW camps. Her ancestor clearly intended to extract their last value: their residual influence, their intellectual circles, and their symbolic significance among the common folk.

These remnants allowed the nobles to survive in captivity, but their choices would determine whether they left the camps alive. The Hosman pilot project was essentially a countdown for them to make that choice.

Before the countdown ended, her ancestor would not touch their lands, preserving stability for the millions living in the south. After all, the feudal land system had been in place for seven centuries; wiping out all the lords overnight would plunge everyone into terror—even if the ultimate goal was to improve their lives.

But once the countdown ended, this seemingly gentle yet iron-fisted ancestor would likely declare all lands outside the Cecil sphere as “no man’s land.”

“Any other questions?” Gawain lightly tapped the table after noticing no one else spoke.

“Regarding the construction of new cities during the relocation process,” Hetty spoke up, a hint of embarrassment on her face. “We currently lack spare magic network cores, and the supply of basic magical materials is also an issue. This spring’s budget was allocated to the North Shore development and the new western district, with a large amount of magical materials used for building the Defiant Fortress…”

Her voice faltered as she glanced at Gawain. Hetty had drafted that budget, which Gawain had reviewed, but clearly no one had anticipated establishing magical industrial cities outside Cecil at the time.

Yet Gawain’s expression remained unfazed. “No need to worry about that.”

Hetty blinked. “Ancestor, you have other arrangements?”

Gawain chuckled. “In the regions I’ve selected, there are already existing magic networks. No need for us to build new ones. We’ll just send a few magitech engineers to inspect the interfaces and install equipment directly.”

Hetty, overwhelmed by the meeting, hadn’t caught on immediately. But Gawain’s words sparked a sudden realization. “Ah—you’re using the existing magic networks…”

“Thanks to our neighbors’ promotion, magic networks cover the southern lands,” Gawain said with a nostalgic shake of his head. “They only know how to use magic networks for lighting, powering mage towers, and mining machinery. They don’t realize the value of universal energy… Speaking of mining equipment, we can temporarily use local mining machines—though they’re old models sold by Cecil—but they’re more than enough for the initial construction phase.”

He paused, then added, “Of course, those old nobles only laid magic networks around their manors and castles, so the coverage is limited. We’ll need to expand them later. Fortunately, we now have mana obelisk technology, which allows remote mana transmission, so network range won’t be a big problem. After the meeting, place an order with the mechanical manufacturing bureau to prioritize producing a batch of mana obelisks.”

Hearing this, Hetty finally breathed a sigh of relief. Thinking of the magic networks already operating across the south, a strange smile crept onto her face.

Gawain noticed and smiled back.

Every official in the room saw the lord’s smile. They recalled the past six months of southern nobles selling everything to build magic networks and buy mining equipment, and smiles spread across their faces.

A shared understanding, a tacit bond.

The meeting room was filled with a lighthearted atmosphere.

Yet, a thousand miles away in the capital, inside the ancient and magnificent Silver Fortress of Saint Suniel, the air was heavy and oppressive.

A white gown swept like a snowstorm down the fortress’s long corridor. The Northern Duchess Victoria Wilde and several attendants hurried through. Usually cold and expressionless, today the duchess seemed even colder, but the flurry of tiny snowflakes stirred by her swift steps betrayed her inner turmoil. Such haste was rare for her.

She entered the “Golden Rose Hall” at the fortress’s top floor—a small chamber reserved for the kingdom’s highest powers—and saw the refined, scholarly Duke Bertram Franklin of the Western Region.

The middle-aged gentleman stood by the window, gazing down at the courtyard below. Hearing Victoria enter, he glanced at her briefly before turning back.

Through his view, the courtyard bore fresh scars of fire and trampling—marks left just days ago.

Of course, those were the traces left when the castle’s rebels were killed.

A few days prior, a sudden riot erupted in the Silver Fortress. Assassins set fire to King Francis II’s study and Prince Edmund’s chambers. The chaos was quickly suppressed by the fortress’s extraordinary defenders, but the assassins’ last desperate attack left those glaring marks in the courtyard.

Outside the fortress, in Saint Suniel city, a dozen acts of sabotage had occurred over the past few days. The perpetrators seemed intent on destabilizing the capital—arson, poisoning, and more. Though suspects were swiftly caught and executed, the damage unsettled Duke Bertram, who sensed a dark storm gathering over the kingdom.

Now Victoria had arrived in such a hurry—she must bring worse news.

The rumor that reached the Silver Fortress two days ago was likely true.

“It’s confirmed. The news is real,” the Northern Duchess spoke rapidly. “Francis II died at Longwind Fortress. Silas Loren and Edmund claim the king was assassinated by agents sent from the capital. They’ve rallied nearly all the Eastern nobles and have already raised troops to attack the Holy Spirit Plains. Several small skirmishes have broken out along the border between the plains and the East.”

She added, “The news should have come earlier, but my spies in the East were eliminated, and magical communications were disrupted… Silas Loren and Edmund have clearly prepared for this day a long time.”

Bertram closed his eyes, his body trembling slightly.

Two minutes later, he opened them, took a deep breath, and forced himself calm. “As we expected, the minor unrest in the capital was only a prelude. A shocking conspiracy has unfolded right under our noses.”

“The news will spread quickly. I fear Prince Edmund Morn has more than just those minor sabotage acts prepared… I suspect he has allies among the capital’s nobles who will stir unrest once the news breaks, manipulating emotions and spreading slander from the East,” Victoria said with chilling composure. “We must act before that happens.”

“We can’t root them out before they act, and if we strike after the news spreads, it will only worsen things,” Bertram frowned. “Our only option is to release the news ourselves first…”

The two fell silent. After a long pause, Victoria sighed—a rare show of emotion.

“Then let it be announced,” she said. “Prince Edmund Morn has committed patricide and regicide. Silas Loren has rebelled. In the name of preserving the kingdom’s order and avenging the king, we declare war on the East.”

Bertram nodded silently. Seconds later, he sighed deeply. “Our king said he would bring peace—he never returned, and peace never came.”

This was the final day of the second week of the Fire Moon, year 736 of Ansu.

On this day, Ansu’s second civil war officially erupted.

(End of chapter)