Chapter 520: Heading South

A widespread snowfall had arrived.

Delicate snowflakes drifted down from the dark mountain range all the way to the north of Rockhold Fortress, blanketing nearly a third of the Southern Territory in pristine white. Beyond Rockhold Fortress, to the north across the vast Ansu plains, parts of the eastern region and the entire Northern Territory were also swept by heavy snow. It was as if overnight, the entire world had been transformed. The bustling human settlements quickly retreated into hibernation under the cold winter’s grip. The Holy Spirit Plains fell silent; armies along the eastern front settled into tense standoffs; border trade in the western lands ground to a halt; and the Northern Duke had arrived at the noble estates closest to Rockhold Fortress.

Inside the family castle of Count Pompei, the fireplace blazed warmly. Fine golden oak logs burned, releasing a calming, fragrant scent. The bright firelight illuminated the reception hall, where golden and silver vessels and candelabras cast flickering shadows across the rich crimson carpet. Amid the dancing light, Count Pompei’s round, plump face wore a smile that was both ingratiating and tinged with nervousness.

Leaning forward, the great noble of the frontier plains said, “Your arrival is a great relief. Ever since that fortress down south changed hands, I haven’t had a single peaceful night’s sleep. Those Cecile people have installed all sorts of magical devices in the fortress—I’m afraid my poor castle might collapse one night without warning…”

Duchess Victoria Wilde wore a long gown of snowy white embroidered with pale blue patterns. Her silver-white hair was swept up high at the back, with two strands falling gracefully by her ears. Golden threads woven through her hair shimmered in the firelight. She glanced at Count Pompei and said, “As far as I know, since Rockhold Fortress changed hands, the Duke of Cecile has neither expanded his territory nor attacked your lands.”

“That’s true,” Pompei wiped his brow—though he wasn’t sweating, no one could help but feel tense in the presence of the so-called “Queen of the North,” Duchess Wilde. She was the kingdom’s most powerful field noble, known for her stern and ruthless reputation. More importantly, she now controlled Silverkeep. Meanwhile, Pompei had not only lost nominal control over Rockhold Fortress but had also suffered heavy losses among his family knights and soldiers while supporting the fortress. He had to carefully maintain relations with the Southern Territory while trying to secure aid from the capital. Naturally, he spoke cautiously. “The Cecile forces haven’t stepped beyond Rockhold Fortress, but they’ve been reinforcing the northern walls of the fortress, which is unsettling.”

“It seems that founding hero doesn’t want us to ‘disturb’ him…” Veronica, a calm and composed priestess in white robes standing beside Victoria, suddenly broke the silence in a soft voice.

Victoria nodded slightly and looked at Pompei. “Besides fortifying the walls, what else are the Cecile people doing?”

The plump count thought for a moment. “They demolished the southern wall of Rockhold Fortress—or rather, blew it up—and haven’t rebuilt it. Instead, they built a ‘Rockhold City’ just south of the fortress. They forbid people from crossing Rockhold City, but the city itself is open to merchants and envoys.”

“So they’ve transformed Rockhold Fortress into a fortress city with commercial functions…” Victoria mused. “Have you been to Rockhold City yourself?”

“I… I’ve been busy with my own affairs and haven’t visited personally,” Pompei wiped his shiny forehead again, embarrassed to admit he hadn’t dared to go. “But I’ve kept an eye on it and sent envoys. The city is filled with magical devices built by the Cecile people, and there’s a huge market. They opened the Gorgon River’s floodgates, allowing merchant ships from the Holy Spirit Plains to dock at the market’s wharf. That market has attracted many merchants—you know, merchants will risk anything when money’s involved…”

Victoria said nothing, only giving Pompei a faint, appraising look.

He was descended from a once-renowned knightly family, but after generations of comfort on the peaceful Holy Spirit Plains, the spirit of courage and decisiveness had long since faded from their bloodline. Still, as the land’s lord, the count had at least done his duty by trying to understand the situation at Rockhold Fortress.

Outside, the wind and snow had gradually ceased.

Victoria rose from her seat. Maggie, her black-haired maid, immediately stepped forward to smooth the slight wrinkles in her gown. The Northern ruler looked at the also-standing Count Pompei and said calmly, “Do your best to compile statistics on trade between the Southern Territory and the Holy Spirit Plains over the past year. Count how many merchants have been in contact, how many were dispatched, and what goods they mainly purchased after Rockhold Fortress changed hands.”

Pompei’s round face finally showed a bead of genuine sweat. “I… I will do my best…”

Extracting reliable numbers from the chaotic piles of paperwork was no easy task. Many merchants took back roads or bribed soldiers, so they never appeared on tax officials’ lists. As the land’s ruler, Pompei couldn’t even say how many merchants passed through his lands each month. But since the duchess had given the order, he had to try.

Looks like it would be a sleepless night.

Seeing Pompei’s troubled expression, Victoria sighed inwardly.

Statistics, registries, standardized laws… Seven years ago, at a conference in Silverkeep, the Duke of the Eastern Territory had introduced these concepts. He had learned them from the Typhon people and tried to teach the Ansu as well. But now, seven years later, the East had become a rebel force, and the demands made by Duke Selasloren at Silverkeep had yet to reach the southern Holy Spirit Plains…

Selasloren… have you lost all hope?

Victoria Wilde left the castle’s inner chambers and passed through the weathered outer corridor. She arrived at the highest terrace of Count Pompei’s castle.

The snow had stopped, but flakes still drifted down occasionally—loosened from the towers and rooftops by the night wind. The snowflakes swirled around the terrace, mysteriously avoiding a radius of about ten meters around the duchess, as if out of reverence.

Compared to Winterhold, built atop the mountain peaks overlooking endless ice and snow, Pompei’s family castle was small and modest. Yet it still occupied the best position and boasted a fine terrace. From here, Victoria’s gaze stretched over the Southern mountain passes and the Rockhold Fortress nestled among them.

Between lay the nearly unobstructed plains.

No wonder Count Pompei was so restless.

Under the deep night sky, Rockhold Fortress was the brightest light in the dark mountains. With her keen sight as a transcendent, Victoria could see that the glow came from numerous lights set along the walls and towers—each shining in different directions. These lights illuminated the checkpoints and disrupted attackers’ aim, making it difficult to target archers or mages on the battlements and watchtowers.

Beyond the lights, a faintly glowing shield enveloped the fortress, shrouding its other details in a hazy veil, making them hard to discern.

“That must be the great shield of Rockhold Fortress…” Veronica’s voice came from beside her. The “Saint Princess” had quietly joined Victoria. She gazed toward the fortress, surrounded by her usual faint holy light. “I heard that on the 58th day of the Fire Moon, the Cecile people used a powerful magic to destroy that shield… I didn’t expect they’d repair it so quickly.”

“The great shield is a vital defense for Rockhold Fortress. The Cecile people would have repaired it immediately. Besides, magical barriers are easy to fix as long as the energy source and projection structure aren’t seriously damaged. A shield breach alone is simple to mend.”

“Is that so…” Veronica murmured, looking up thoughtfully toward the south. “I don’t know much about magic…”

Hearing this clearly half-hearted reply, Victoria smiled faintly. Then, together with the “Saint Princess,” she stood quietly on the terrace, enjoying the peaceful winter night after the first snowfall.

The next day dawned clear.

In the castle’s main hall, Count Pompei handed Victoria a scroll of parchment still fragrant with ink.

It contained a rough summary of trade in the Southern Territory over the past year and merchant activity since Rockhold Fortress changed hands. The data was crude and vague—probably only thirty percent reliable, with the rest guesswork by Pompei and his advisors.

Even with Victoria’s sharp mind, it was unlikely to yield much valuable intelligence.

But seeing Pompei’s bloodshot eyes and the weary looks of his advisors, the duchess knew this was the best they could manage.

At least Pompei had something to show, unlike those truly rural nobles who would stare blankly and ask, “What’s a statistic?”

“Go rest, Count,” Victoria said, easing his tension. “We will bring good news.”

“Your wisdom is Ansu’s greatest fortune,” the plump count bowed sincerely. “May your journey be smooth.”

Victoria nodded and turned to leave. Veronica deliberately lagged behind and whispered beside Pompei, “Don’t speak as if this is a battlefield farewell. As nobles of the kingdom, show some courage—those are our ancestors, not man-eating beasts.”

Pompei gave an awkward, ashamed smile and lowered his head. “As you say.”

The Northern duchess and the saintly princess departed, leaving the plump count alone. Yet in his heart, an undignified thought surfaced:

The one who beat me hardest growing up was my grandfather…

If even my grandfather was like that, what chance do I have against an ancestor from another family, separated by dozens of generations and no blood ties, who’s now taken up arms? How could I not be terrified?

The royal envoy’s caravan departed from Count Pompei’s castle. On this winter day, with roads still covered in snow, the horses and carriages set off along the kingdom’s snow-blanketed highways.

Seated inside the ornate carriage, Victoria Wilde raised her hand, and a controlled gust of wind suddenly swept through, swirling around the procession. The snow on the road was blown aside, and the biting winter chill was held at bay.

The knights escorting the convoy struck their shields hanging from their saddles with their longswords, loudly praising their lady. Soldiers clad in red and blue livery sounded their horns at the front of the column, and the military band began to play. With stirring rhythms and melodies, the envoys from Saint Suniel set off toward Rockhold Fortress.

In Cecil City, within the lord’s manor, a half-body projection of Sir Walder Perich—the venerable commander of Rockhold and leader of the Second Legion—hovered above the arcane communication device before Lord Galvin. The dignified old knight stood straight and reported, “Your Grace, the royal capital’s envoys have approached Rockhold Fortress.”

“Prepare to receive them properly,” Galvin nodded slightly. “The escort carriage has already departed to meet them.”

He paused briefly, a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t treat them lightly—they represent a very lucrative opportunity.”

(End of chapter)