Chapter 521: Impressions from the Southern Border

The Rockhold Fortress.

Once a heavily fortified stronghold directly controlled by the royal family, it had now been transformed beyond recognition.

Originally, Rockhold Fortress was built to keep the southern forces in check. It boasted a sturdy southern wall but a relatively weaker northern wall. The Gorgon River rushed through a gap on the fortress’s western side, flanked on both sides by the desolate, rugged mountains of the southern borderlands. But after the Cecils took control, the entire fortress underwent a thorough overhaul.

The southern wall was demolished and left unrepaired. Instead, the Cecils expanded southward from the gap, establishing Rockhold City at the fortress’s base and erecting new walls around it. Meanwhile, the northern wall of the fortress had been undergoing continuous reinforcement and reconstruction since the end of summer—and the work was still far from complete.

As the elegant carriage rolled beneath the northern gate of Rockhold Fortress, Victoria lifted the side panel of the carriage and gazed up at the ongoing construction. She was struck with awe. Over the original stone walls, the Cecils had layered thick steel armor over every vulnerable spot. Massive steel frameworks and support structures now covered the jagged outer walls and towers, forming a terrifying, monstrous shell of metal and stone. At the top of the walls, reinforced metal plates gleamed brilliantly under the blazing sun, faint magical currents flowing through the seams of the armor. These currents converged at the wall’s summit, where rows of magical devices with straight guiding rails were neatly aligned, their rails pointing far off toward the Holy Spirit Plains.

This was no mere wall—it was a beast forged from steel and rock, its veins coursing with immense magical power. And the Cecils were sharpening its fangs. Anyone who had seen the northern wall’s reconstruction from the Holy Spirit Plains would understand this clearly. As a powerful mage and ruler of the northern lands, Victoria’s mind raced with questions: Where had the Cecils sourced so much steel? Had they melted down every piece of steel in the entire southern region to reinforce Rockhold’s walls? Where did such potent magic come from? Was there an undiscovered magical nexus beneath the fortress? And how had they accomplished all this in such a short time?

The convoy reached the foot of the northern wall. As loud bells rang from the battlements above, the massive gate—reinforced with a metal framework—slowly rose. Mechanical sounds and magical energies emanated from the gate area; many of the fortress’s facilities seemed powered by magic.

Victoria Wilde sat calmly inside the carriage. As the Duchess of the North, she had long mastered the art of concealing all emotion behind her frost-like composure.

A fortified fortress was still just a fortress, immobile and fixed in place. By building such a stronghold, Duke Gawain Cecil was making a clear statement: the southern border was powerful enough to brook no interference, yet he had no intention of stepping foot onto the Holy Spirit Plains.

At least, not for now.

One of the purposes of Victoria’s journey south was to understand the founding hero’s true stance toward Saint Suniel City—and if he was dissatisfied with merely being a duke in the south, how long he might wait before making a move.

The Ansu royal family, mired in civil war, had no strength left to open a new front.

The guests from the capital were led into Rockhold Castle within the fortress. The castle was still far from fully repaired. Scaffolding still clung to the upper levels, which had been shattered by a calibrated beam attack. The visitors could see the gaping holes and the crystallized streaks left by molten rock flowing down the walls—silent testimony to the terrible assault the fortress had endured.

Veronica and Victoria saw the damage with heavy hearts but said nothing.

The Cecils had effectively occupied and controlled the entire southern border. With no power to change this reality, discussing the relationship between the royal family and Rockhold Fortress was pointless. Whether the northern guardian duke or the princess who had joined the church, both understood one thing clearly:

Only interests you can fight for are truly yours. Interests you cannot fight for become nothing but shame.

In the castle’s great hall, a commander clad in white armor, a magical sword at his side, greeted Victoria and Veronica. He was the new commander of Rockhold Fortress—Walder Perich.

This veteran knight from the Kant region had never imagined in his long life that he would one day command a border fortress and receive a duke and a princess on behalf of the guardian duke. This would surely become a story to boast about to his descendants. But for now, he had to perform his duties with dignity, neither offending his guests nor bringing shame upon Duke Cecil.

“Welcome to Rockhold Fortress, welcome to the southern lands,” Walder Perich said with impeccable courtesy. “I, Walder Perich, current commander of Rockhold, salute Your Highness and Your Grace. Please rest here for a while—the banquet has been prepared, and I hope the castle’s warmth will dispel the chill of your journey.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sir Perich,” Veronica smiled. The saintly princess didn’t know his exact rank, but according to Ansu tradition, commanders of key fortresses automatically received the non-hereditary title of “Sir” upon appointment. This title was independent of other noble ranks and granted them equal standing with most nobles, reflecting Ansu’s respect for martial nobility and ensuring that even commanders of lower birth but exceptional ability had the authority to command nobles within the fortress.

Standing beside Veronica, Victoria Wilde recalled the incredible magical devices she had seen upon entering the fortress, as well as the impressive northern wall. Her tone carried a hint of admiration. “Duke Cecil has created a marvel here.”

“Believe me, you’ll be even more amazed when you see Cecil City,” Walder Perich smiled, leading the two guests toward the castle’s inner courtyard. “His Grace already knows of your arrival. A special convoy will come to escort you tomorrow.”

Victoria paid little mind to the “escort convoy” mentioned by the old knight. She assumed it was just a customary courtesy: when important guests visited, the local ruler naturally sent a welcoming party.

That casual assumption lasted until the next day, when she saw the steel-forged magical machines roll down the avenue and line up neatly in the open space before the castle.

Despite her best efforts to maintain composure, Victoria couldn’t help but show surprise as she looked at the strange contraptions that were neither quite car nor carriage. “These are… your vehicles?”

“Magic Energy 475 series magi-cars, model ‘Pioneer Mark I’—creations of magi-technology,” Walder Perich introduced proudly. Though this was his first time seeing a magi-car in person, he was well-prepared and accustomed to witnessing new technologies from the homeland. He recited the introduction he had memorized the night before with the calm of a seasoned driver, careful not to let his smile falter. After all, before him stood the kingdom’s northern guardian duke and the renowned saintly princess. He did not want to risk offending them. “This is a new innovation. I believe the experience will make you forget horse-drawn carriages.”

“Magi-technology…” Victoria repeated softly, connecting the term with the intelligence she had gathered about the southern border over the past year.

The rapid rise of the Cecil family in the south seemed closely tied to this rumored “magi-technology.”

It was said this technology was brought back by Gawain Cecil after his resurrection—a variant of the lost ancient magic of the Gondor Empire.

Yet, as a mage well-versed in ancient texts, Victoria had found no mention of “magi-technology” in any of the old Gondor tomes. Instead, scattered fragments about magic networks from the south hinted at something like a modern magical array optimized to an extreme degree…

Her gaze fell on the few magi-cars with their bold lines and unusual shapes. These “magi-technology creations” clashed completely with the elegant, refined style favored by northern nobles in recent years. Yet their rugged, mechanical steel details held an inexplicable beauty. “I’ve heard of magi-technology… but I never imagined it could be used to create such incredible magical devices.”

“That’s the charm of it. Of course, the cost to produce such devices is considerable,” Walder Perich said honestly. The magi-car factory assembly line was still under construction. The few magi-cars before them were personally crafted by Master Craftsman Nicholas Egg—though the master had no hands. His personal touch ensured these cars were reliable, but their cost was far beyond mass-produced models.

“Considerable cost…” Victoria repeated quietly, her expression unchanged, then nodded. “Since it is Duke Cecil’s goodwill, I am happy to accept. And I am very interested in this incredible ‘magi-technology.’”

“Please, step aboard. Also—allow us to assign an escort to accompany you,” Walder Perich said. As he finished, a spirited young female knight approached. “Margarita is a trusted knight of the duke. She will share the story of the magi-cars and serve as your guide to ensure your journey is anything but dull.”

Victoria had initially intended to decline the offer of an escort—she was not used to sharing a carriage with anyone except her black-haired maid Maggie. But after hearing Walder Perich’s words and seeing the young knight Margarita, she nodded.

Perhaps she could glean some useful information from this young knight. Margarita seemed capable and straightforward; Victoria didn’t mind allowing such a person to get closer.

“Margarita Kreet, I salute the kingdom’s northern guardian,” the knight said with a bow. Her slight nervousness and proper etiquette pleased Victoria. This was exactly how a competent young knight should behave. Even in this remote southern frontier, there were still excellent talents.

Afterward, the Wald knights assigned another female knight to accompany Veronica—the ever-approachable princess accepted the arrangement graciously and thanked Wald for his thoughtfulness.

Victoria Wilde boarded the magi-car and noticed a young man in uniform sitting up front. She had seen someone inside the vehicle earlier but only now paid attention to the various control devices surrounding him.

So this is the mage who operates the magical apparatus?

Unlike a traditional coachman who would sit outside the carriage, this “driver” sat inside alongside the passengers. Such a setup might strike some rigid traditionalists as improper, but Victoria didn’t mind. Compared to etiquette, she was far more curious about how this magi-car was even constructed.

She and Margarita took seats in the back row, while the black-haired maid Maggie sat up front next to the driver.

Some of the entourage boarded other magi-cars; they would travel with Victoria and Veronica to Cecil City. The rest would continue by horse-drawn carriages that had come all the way from the capital, following behind at a slower pace. This arrangement was Wald’s suggestion, made after considering the speed difference between magi-cars and carriages.

The whistle blew, and the convoy set off.

Riding this incredible magical vehicle for the first time was a novel experience for Victoria. It had been many years since she’d felt such a mix of curiosity and puzzlement. She sensed the complex magical machine gradually accelerating—the hum of machinery vibrating beneath the carriage—but the ride was much smoother than a horse-drawn coach. The “mage” controlling the vehicle manipulated a circular dial, several levers, and pedals—without casting a single spell.

The northern duchess watched all this with interest but didn’t want to appear frivolous, so she tried to divert her attention. Soon, her gaze landed on the sword resting by the female knight’s side.

It was a sword inscribed with magical runes—clearly an extraordinary weapon. The fortress commander also carried a nearly identical rune sword.

Such exceptional arms were painstakingly crafted by mages and runemasters at great cost. Only those with status and wealth could commission custom-made weapons like these, so it was rare to see two identical pieces. Yet in Cecil… many magical artifacts seemed to be mass-produced.

From small swords to massive magi-cars, even the magical devices mounted on the city walls—identical extraordinary items were everywhere.

Victoria understood what this implied: at least to some extent, the people of Cecil had the capability to mass-produce magical equipment.

Magical items were precious and considered impossible to mass-produce—this belief was deeply ingrained in most Ansuan hearts, and given current technological limits, it was true for now. But that didn’t mean the kingdom’s rulers were unaware of the significance of mass production.

“Miss Margarita, that sword is beautiful.”

Praising a knight’s weapon was a common and polite way to start a conversation, especially when a superior wished to open dialogue. Such compliments carried the weight of appraisal while showing respect to the lower-ranked party. Victoria was well versed in these social nuances.

The young female knight smiled shyly, brushing the sword’s hilt with the back of her hand, pride evident in her voice. “It was a gift from the duke—it’s my pride and joy.”

“It appears to be an extraordinary weapon?”

“Yes, it’s a rune sword,” Margarita smiled. “But I can’t demonstrate it here—once activated, the blade could easily cut through the magi-car’s hull. It’s too dangerous.”

Victoria couldn’t help but show a look of admiration. Whether or not it was partly polite, Margarita took the opportunity to explain further: “Of course, it’s not just powerful. The blade’s balance has been finely tuned by the best swordsmiths, making it comfortable and agile for one-handed use, yet devastating when wielded with both hands. The hilt is specially designed too—unscrew the pommel, and inside is a single-dose healing potion. In other words, as long as the sword stays with me, even if other supplies are lost, I have at least one chance to save my life…”

Victoria listened intently, glad to have gleaned some useful information. Yet somehow, the knight’s polished phrasing made it feel like she’d rehearsed this speech.

After finishing her sword’s introduction, Margarita also piqued the northern duchess’s interest in the white commander’s magi-armor she wore.

The magical energy flowing through the armor’s seams and the intricate runes made it clear this was another extraordinary piece.

“This armor was also a gift from the duke—it protected me through the deadliest battlefields,” Margarita said, “Watching the artillery bombard the fortress walls outside Rockhold, facing five times the enemy’s numbers without a scratch when receiving prisoners. I even wore it when we breached the fortress gates.” (In truth, by the time the second legion entered, the gates—and even the walls—had been blown to rubble.) “It’s a reliable armor—and look closely, it has unique patterns…”

Victoria nodded instinctively. “It’s… truly beautiful.”

The young female knight was surprisingly talkative.

It seemed this journey wouldn’t be dull after all.

(End of chapter)