Chapter 419: Behold This City, Strong as Fort Knox

Ever since unsettling news kept pouring in from the North, the situation in the South seemed suddenly shrouded in a thickening gloom. The atmosphere at Rockhold Fortress grew tenser by the day. This fortress, standing proudly at the southern edge of the Holy Spirit Plains, served as the gateway to the southern territories—a symbol of strength and pride for all. Yet now, it felt like an isolated island caught between two storms.

All the southern nobles had abruptly gone silent. The Cecil family, dormant for a century, appeared to be plotting something significant. But the messengers sent northward for aid brought only disheartening news:

The capital was in turmoil. Civil war loomed large. The two regent dukes and the prince acting as regent had begun rallying nobles across the land to prepare for the eastern rebellion. The capital had no spare resources to support Rockhold Fortress, especially since the fortress had yet to face any real attack. The bigwigs in the capital seemed oblivious to how rapidly the southern situation was deteriorating. To them, the prince and the militaristic duke leading the eastern rebels were a far graver threat than the “chaos” unfolding in the South.

Caught in this tense and delicate moment, Rockhold Fortress shut its gates tight and imposed the strictest lockdown. No one was allowed passage except merchants bearing travel permits personally signed by Count Pompey and the gifted individuals living near the fortress. In truth, even without these restrictions, the number of merchants passing through had already plummeted to an all-time low.

Sharp-eyed traders had sensed the danger early on. At such a sensitive time, no one dared risk being mistaken for spies by the noble lords and taken captive. In recent days, the daily count of merchants passing through the fortress gates had sometimes dropped below double digits. Compared to the bustling peak seasons of last autumn and winter, or even previous years, this was an alarmingly low figure.

Then, today, Rockhold Fortress finally received a large group of “guests”—nobles from the South who had been defeated and driven out.

When the fortress guards saw the ragged, gaunt, yet armed procession of nearly a thousand, the entire garrison nearly went on high alert. The soldiers could hardly believe this was a noble retinue; they assumed it was a band of destitute mercenaries and bandits converging to pillage the city. After a tense standoff and a painstaking identity verification process, Sir Mariland, the fortress commander, finally confirmed that this motley crew—looking more like beggars and thieves than aristocrats—were indeed the fallen nobles of the South.

He would never forget that moment.

The fortress’s massive gates, reinforced with purple steel rivets and edged with mithril plates, swung open. Sir Mariland, tall and broad-shouldered with a mop of black curls, led the knights out to greet these battered gentlemen and ladies. He stared in disbelief at a young man in a tattered coat, greasy hair hanging in strands, face pale and cracked like old parchment. It took all his effort to recognize him as Viscount Carol of the Carol Domain—the closest noble domain to Rockhold Fortress. Mariland and Viscount Carol had met several times before, but never under such dire circumstances.

“By the ancestors! My Viscount! What have you been through?!” Sir Mariland exclaimed, his voice thick with shock. He spotted several other familiar faces among the group. “So those terrible rumors were true after all?”

“A disaster—a terrible, merciless, brutal war without a shred of the old chivalric honor—has destroyed everything,” Viscount Carol said, his voice trembling slightly. “And, respected sir, please don’t invoke the ancestors anymore… I get nightmares whenever I hear those words now.”

Nearby, Viscount Konsko pressed a hand to his forehead, pain etched in his tone. “We were beaten by the ancestors themselves…”

“…May the gods watch over you all. Things will get better,” Sir Mariland said, though he had seen many storms in his lifetime, nothing quite like this. Unsure how to continue, he quickly ushered the fallen nobles inside. “I’ve prepared hot water for you. It must have been miserable trudging through the mud out there.”

“We need food first—cheese, steaks, wine! Bathing can wait!” Viscount Marolan said urgently. “Is there any food?”

“Of course. I ordered the city to prepare provisions as soon as I left. Rockhold Fortress is well stocked,” Sir Mariland nodded. But as a seasoned knight guarding the fortress, he couldn’t help but cast a wary glance at the nearly thousand-strong group. “But forgive my caution—letting so many in at once is risky. I must conduct thorough checks to prevent enemy spies from sneaking in. This kind of thing happens all too often.”

Viscount Konsko glanced back at the soldiers and knights who had followed them through the war zone, then spoke loudly to Sir Mariland: “Sir, these men and women have fought and bled with us. They are loyal and honorable. Of course, I understand the fortress’s rules, so I only ask that you complete the inspections quickly, so these brave warriors can rest and eat.”

The soldiers were visibly moved by his straightforward, generous words. Konsko then rode over to Sir Mariland and lowered his voice. “Do whatever checks you need, but get us to food first.”

The nobles, knights, and clerics were escorted into the city by Sir Mariland and the fortress knights, while the rest underwent inspection by the fortress guards. Lady Ropeni simply cast a cold glance at the soldiers conducting the checks before falling in step with the other nobles.

She knew exactly how these inspections worked and wasn’t worried in the slightest. Without a proper registration and identification system, these checks were little more than asking members of the same group to vouch for each other. Perhaps this method could catch a few spies, but who would suspect that an entire noble retinue could be infiltrated from top to bottom?

She lifted her gaze as the towering gates of Rockhold Fortress loomed closer, then stepped inside.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you are safe now,” Sir Mariland said from horseback as they crossed the fortress threshold. He smiled and looked back at the nobles, who finally showed signs of relief. “This fortress is impregnable.”

Viscount Carol looked up at the black walls shimmering faintly with magical auras. The famous ramparts did bring him some comfort, but he couldn’t help speaking his mind. “Sir, if I may say—Gawain Cecil’s threat is beyond your imagination! He has forged a terrifying army by some unknown means. We barely faced them before we were routed. Now, I fear he is gathering forces in the South, biding his time. He may very well set his sights on this place…”

Sir Mariland turned back, unable to hide his concern. “But I heard he wasn’t the one to start the war?”

“That’s true,” Viscount Carol admitted, pain flickering across his face. “But I must say, it was a trap from the start! We were lured in! Duke Cecil was prepared for war all along. Our defensive stance was just a ruse. He’s been on the offensive from the beginning. Sir, don’t be fooled by the fact that he hasn’t attacked Rockhold Fortress yet—he will come!”

“I will take your warning seriously, Viscount,” Sir Mariland said, locking eyes with Carol. “And I will report your plight to… the capital as soon as possible. But, frankly, the help you can expect is limited. Even Rockhold Fortress can only offer you shelter.”

“Sir, the Cecil family has returned! They intend to reclaim everything lost over the past century! Have you forgotten why Rockhold Fortress was built in the first place…?”

“Viscount, I remember perfectly well why Rockhold Fortress was built,” Mariland interrupted gently, raising a hand. Then he sighed softly. “But remember this: it was you who betrayed the Cecil family and carved up their lands—not us, not any family on the Holy Spirit Plains.” He looked troubled. “And it’s not that I don’t see the danger in the South. From your very presence, I can tell the threat Cecil poses. But my hands are tied.”

Seeing the complex expression on Sir Mariland’s face, Carol and the other nobles sensed the shift in mood. Viscount Konsko hesitated before asking, “Sir, what has happened?”

“Don’t you know yet?” Mariland shook his head and spoke quietly. “The king is dead.”

…

Cecil Domain, Commercial District, “Libra Square.” A new large structure was rising.

A tower-like frame made of alloy stood in the center of the square like a strange monument. Its outer panels—both decorative and designed to provide illumination at night—had been carefully and lightly affixed after undergoing weight-reduction enchantments. Mage engineers climbed to key points on the tower using levitation devices and safety cables, welding the panels securely to the frame with beams of searing energy.

At the tower’s peak hovered a large obelisk, glowing softly with a pearly light.

The structure was nearly complete, with only final touches remaining. The magical obelisk at the top was the core device, supplying power to the various arcane apparatuses on site. Below it, alloy pillars connected to the underground magic network were gradually being concealed by the tower’s panels. Glowing runes drew surging energy from the network, channeling it into the obelisk’s base, which then radiated it outward, creating a magical field covering the entire district.

Gawain stood nearby, watching the runes and crystal lamps on the tower light up and dim one by one as the mage engineers tested the system. He felt a pang of emotion.

Once this tower was finished, the westernmost blocks of the commercial district and the newly established West District would be fully covered by the new magic network.

This also meant that Cecil City would be entirely within the range of “magic network communications.” Soon, once the relay towers with magical obelisks along the North-South Avenue were completed, it would be possible to communicate from any corner of Cecil City to the Cond Domain.

Of course, that all depended on whether the production of communication devices could keep pace.

Gawain glanced toward a nearby group of soldiers guarding a large cart. On it sat several sizable devices with triangular bases and crystal structures—“public magic network communication terminals” personally crafted by Nicholas Egg before the production line was operational. They were now awaiting installation.

Rebecca stood beside Gawain, her face glowing with pride. After all, it was her idea to place the Arcane Obelisks atop the towers—a concept born from her ongoing monitoring of how each obelisk in their territory actually functioned. “Mounting the Arcane Obelisks on specialized towers significantly improves signal stability and range,” she explained. “Of course, it also makes them more visible and easy targets for long-range magical attacks. That’s why I embedded a set of mana shield runes within the tower itself. The obelisks have plenty of surplus energy, so powering a shield is more than manageable.”

“Just a shield?” Gawain tilted his head, giving her a sideways glance. “Then why did I hear you originally planned to bury three hundred pounds of magic crystals as bombs beneath the tower?”

“Uh… well, that was because you insisted on setting up relay towers even in the wilderness to ensure full signal coverage,” Rebecca scratched her head awkwardly. “But the wilds are dangerous—what if enemies come to sabotage them…”

“These are energy broadcast and signal relay towers, not frontline fortresses,” Gawain said, tapping her lightly on the head. “They just need to be sturdy enough. You don’t expect a signal tower to wipe out eight thousand enemies during wartime, do you?”

Rebecca gave a sheepish chuckle, trying to brush it off, but after the little scolding, Gawain found himself stroking his chin thoughtfully.

Her idea to plant bombs under the Arcane Obelisk relay towers was indeed reckless—too risky and not worth it—but there was some logic behind her concern. This world was far from peaceful.

The wilderness was riddled with dangers, and humanity had barely spread the light of civilization across the wilds. Now, in these turbulent times of war, the self-defense capabilities of relay towers outside major cities truly needed reconsideration…

Self-destruction was out of the question, but maybe a controlled arcane explosion could work…

Noticing the elder suddenly lost in thought, Rebecca dared to tiptoe forward and wave her hand in front of Gawain. “Ancestor, I’m starting to think you’re agreeing with me.”

“I’m just considering the defense issues of various outdoor facilities…” Gawain brushed her hand away, about to say more, when out of the corner of his eye he spotted Amber rushing over at full speed.

When Amber reached them, panting, Gawain asked curiously, “What’s going on?”

“Light has returned!” Amber gasped, catching her breath. “He seems to have gone through something… and regained the Holy Light!”

(End of chapter)