Chapter 421: The Beast Unleashed

In Amber’s eyes, Gawain rarely gave such long-winded explanations to clarify a concept. This man, who seemed to rise from the grave itself, was always brimming with ideas—ideas that often transcended the understanding of ordinary mortals. So instead of lecturing, he preferred to quietly lead by example, guiding everyone to work together on a shared cause. Along the way, he would explain and steer them gently, but seldom preach. If he ever did “preach,” it was mostly confined to the academy’s textbooks.

Gawain had personally written much of the curriculum for social studies and history classes, because he once said: “It’s incredibly difficult to change an adult’s worldview; only children can be shaped from a young age.”

His approach was clear—subtle influence and labor reform for adults, formal education and worldview shaping for children. Unfortunately, Amber neither cared much for school nor took meetings seriously, often slacking off and avoiding responsibility.

But she wasn’t stupid. On the contrary, she was exceptionally sharp. She quickly sensed the deeper meaning behind Gawain’s words. After some reflection, she realized a shocking truth.

“You’re planning to destroy the land-owning nobility, including…”

“Yes,” Gawain said calmly, locking eyes with Amber. “Including myself, including the Cecil family. Haven’t you ever paid attention to how the government operates?”

Amber blinked and scratched her head awkwardly. “I don’t think about those things… It’s not really my field…”

Nearby, Light had been silent, lost in thought. Finally, he exhaled and looked up. “Lord, I think I understand now… Please forgive my earlier question.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s good that you’re thinking more deeply about this,” Gawain said, noticing that Light seemed to have broken through some mental barrier. He deliberately guided him further. “You can take this line of thought further—consider the changes in the Church of the Holy Light, and the nature of faith itself.”

Light’s expression grew solemn, but beneath that solemnity was a faint trace of contemplation and confusion.

“Abandon the false god, embrace the true Light, and regain its power. But will you stop there?” Gawain continued. “Are you content with simply regaining power, or will you push forward, delve deeper, seek the truth behind the Light? Will you keep your enlightenment to yourself, or spread it so others can understand the true meaning of the Light’s virtues?”

Light fell into a brief silence, then lifted his head. “I won’t stop there—I already know the true meaning of the Light. It belongs to everyone. The Church that monopolizes it is the real blasphemer.”

“That’s good to hear,” Gawain nodded knowingly. “Regarding the changes in you, I’ll bring Pittman in to study it with us. You might be the first in history to voluntarily abandon faith in the god of the Light, yet still control the Light’s power through your own strength. The only similar case might be the druids from three thousand years ago who transformed natural magic into druidic arts. Pittman is an expert in this area; he might offer some guidance for your path ahead.”

“That would be best,” Light nodded eagerly. “I have many questions.”

“Rest for now,” Gawain said. “Take some time to organize your thoughts.”

Gawain left with Amber, leaving Light alone in the small chapel.

He stood before the wooden pulpit, staring long at the empty space where the holy icon once stood. Sunlight streamed through the window, dust motes drifting in the light like tiny stars.

“Breaking the monopoly on the Light… returning what belongs to the people…”

Light murmured softly, then bowed his head and closed his eyes, silently praying.

There was no longer a holy icon here, and he no longer needed one. He prayed to the Light within his own heart—his prayer was the virtues and beliefs he had held for decades.

The chapel was silent, save for a faint glow that began to rise from the air. A hazy, clear halo enveloped the armored priest, like sunlight condensed into flowing water. Within the radiance, tiny specks of light drifted and gathered, slowly coalescing into a small figure.

The tiny figure floated gently down onto Light’s shoulder, as light as a weightless leaf. She looked around, saw no one noticed her, and quietly curled up, slipping into a peaceful sleep.

…

On the way to the lord’s manor, Amber fidgeted restlessly beside Gawain, circling like a restless hamster. Every now and then, she shot him strange looks. At first, Gawain ignored her, but her annoying, scheming behavior eventually wore him down. He stopped and casually pinned the short-statured girl in place.

“What exactly do you want to say?”

“Nothing much, I’m just curious how your brain works,” Amber said boldly, crossing her arms despite having her head held down—an utterly unconvincing pose. “It’s just the two of us now, so be honest—was what you said in the chapel true?”

“Don’t you ever read the newspapers?” Gawain said, half amused, half exasperated. “If you read the news, you’d know I’m serious.”

“I do read them—then I toss the weird stories to Betty,” Amber said matter-of-factly, shaking her head and brushing his hand off her head with a puzzled look. “But why do you want to do this… give up your privileges, even those of your descendants, just to bury your own class? Sure, it sounds noble, but why?”

Gawain saw a rare seriousness in Amber’s usually unreliable expression and smiled. He pointed to the rapidly growing city around them.

“Which do you prefer—the city or the old noble castles?”

“Obviously the city,” Amber answered without hesitation. “I know what castles are like—they just look grand, but inside, they’re worse than worker dorms. No running water, no heating. Outside, they’re filthy and stinky, and inside, you freeze to death.”

“That’s the first reason. I want to live in a better world. Only a stronger, more advanced, more enlightened society can build a city like this—and even more advanced ones beyond it. The old noble order has reached its limit. They can’t create the strong, advanced, enlightened world I want, so I’m building it myself.”

Amber blinked. “Is there a second reason?”

“The second is that this world isn’t safe. The Typhon are already ahead of us. To the south lie the wastelands. We face civil war in Ansu. To survive these threats, we must become strong. Becoming strong quickly and efficiently is the only way to survive,” Gawain said, revealing the original and most important reason behind his new order. He hadn’t expected Amber to be the first to hear it, but seeing her rare seriousness, he continued. “Every path humanity has taken has failed to achieve this. So I had to forge a new path. When change is a matter of life and death, what reason is there to cling to the old order? And in fact… this new path seems to be the right one.”

“Even if you’re right…” Amber pouted. “You still haven’t answered my earlier question—if the old nobility is gone, how can you guarantee the new government won’t become corrupt? What if they form a new… ruling class?”

“That’s why from the start, I’ve worked to ensure that extraordinary powers like magic can be controlled by ordinary people,” Gawain interrupted before Amber could finish. “Guess why I keep emphasizing that every step of the magitech industry—from research to manufacturing to use—must be independent of supernaturals?”

Amber’s eyes went wide, speechless.

Gawain smiled faintly but said no more on the subject.

From the beginning, he knew the “new order” he was building was bound to have flaws. He also knew his reforms would never be complete.

Not just because tradition and inertia resist change, but because the people’s awareness and the realities of productive forces limit what’s possible. He couldn’t force a perfect social order onto a society whose foundations weren’t ready. Even if he did, it would be a fleeting utopia, one that would crumble under the magical tides.

He could only push society forward as far as current productivity allowed, as far as possible, while tolerating the inevitable flaws and risks. In fact, one of the biggest flaws in this new order came from himself: to keep the new order from spiraling out of control, to ensure maximum efficiency and to prepare for the magical tides, he had to centralize power—concentrate it in his own hands, or at least in the government he controlled. And that was a risk.

This risk wouldn’t explode in his lifetime, and maybe not even for a generation or two after his death—if his strange life even had a limit—but eventually, it would.

So from the start, Gawain had planned a parallel “corrective path” for his new order: magitech power fully controlled by mortals.

He remembered a saying from his past life: society develops in spirals. Whether that’s absolutely true, he wasn’t sure, but it made sense. Yet in a world with supernatural powers, society couldn’t even spiral upward. Once supernatural power took hold, it almost permanently froze social structures. The lower classes had no real ability to resist, so even if the upper classes became grotesquely corrupt, society would sink into darkness and decay.

“Magitech” was the beast Gawain had tamed to break this cycle.

He might not be able to build the most advanced social order in one step—that was a castle in the air—but he could give future generations the power to overturn the table.

From the start, the “Cecil New Order” wasn’t his greatest achievement. The greatest was “returning supernatural power to the people.”

The former let him build the Cecil Empire; the latter let ordinary people overthrow it.

But this was too complex and shocking to explain fully—Amber, usually carefree, was already a little scared. So he didn’t press further.

Instead, he patted the somewhat dazed half-elf on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go find Pittman and talk.”

…

Saint Suniel City, Silver Fortress.

The study where Francis II once worked diligently was now completely cleared out.

Veronica Morn stepped into the place that had been ravaged by flames. Though the burnt debris had been removed, the bare stone walls and floor still bore large, dark scorch marks.

A holy light drifted through the air, dispersing dust and lingering ashes. Dressed in a flowing white priestess’s robe, Veronica approached the spot where the desk had once stood. She lowered her gaze, as if she could still see the old king sitting there, looking up and smiling gently at her.

“What a pity…” the saintly princess whispered softly, words meant only for herself. “You did more than enough…”

Footsteps echoed behind her. Veronica turned to see her elder brother, Wales Morn, standing in the doorway, nearly twenty years her senior, his eyes filled with confusion. “You’re not at the chapel today?”

“Today is the day we return to the castle,” Veronica replied, bowing her head slightly. “Father usually meets me here.”

A shadow of sadness crossed Wales’s face. He glanced at his sister standing in the center of the study and shook his head gently. “Everything’s either burned or moved out.”

“I know,” Veronica said quietly, stepping toward the door. Passing by him, she asked, “You’ve gone to war with Edmund, haven’t you?”

“It’s the royal family at war with the Eastern rebels.”

“You now represent the crown, my brother.”

“Yes… I have declared war on Edmund,” Wales said, looking at his remarkably sharp sister. He never quite understood what she was thinking—not when she was a child, and even less now. “Does this have anything to do with the Holy Church?”

“The Church only carries out the Lord’s will; it does not meddle in royal affairs,” Veronica shook her head. “I just wanted to remind you, as family, that troubling news has been coming from the south.”

“…The Rockfort Fortress sent some intelligence, but Duke Bertram believes the Eastern rebels pose the greater threat.”

“Perhaps that’s true,” Veronica met Wales’s eyes and then shook her head softly. “I’m only warning you. The founding ancestor isn’t as secure as you think. He’s unleashed a beast—you’d better not wait until it’s fully grown.”

Veronica turned and walked away. The comforting warmth of the holy light gradually faded. In the now empty study, Wales Morn remained staring in the direction she had gone.

After a long moment, he shook his head. “What good would my words do anyway?”

(End of chapter)