Chapter 522: The Reception

The guests from the royal capital had finally arrived.

Everyone in Cecil City—from the officials in the Administration Hall to every commoner in the streets—was thoroughly prepared.

Half a month ago, news had spread across the southern territories that both the Duke of the Northern Territories and the Saintess Princess would be visiting Cecil’s domain simultaneously. For the recently unified and newly established Duchy of Cecil, fresh from the consolidation war and the birth of a new order, this was a momentous occasion.

Ordinary people might not grasp the political significance or the tangled interests behind it all, but at the very least, they recognized the legal legitimacy of the duchy and the rightful authority of the Cecil name over this land. Though Gawain himself cared little for such matters, people of this era still clung to these beliefs.

So it became a grand event, and preparations had been underway for two weeks. On this increasingly cold winter day, a magnificent welcoming ceremony awaited the long-expected guests in Cecil City.

A convoy of seven magi-tech carriages rolled along the North-South Avenue—the first modern highway completed on the carefully planned “Cross Axis” centered on Kant City. The smooth cement road allowed the new magi-tech vehicles to glide steadily, while the open winter plains on either side eased the minds of everyone inside. Grant Duchess Victoria sat in the second carriage, gazing quietly through the crystal window on the door toward the distant end of the broad road.

The road was paved with some kind of artificial material, resembling the “petrified mud” alchemists from the North produced, but certainly cheaper—otherwise, the Cecilians wouldn’t have used it for paving.

Along both sides stood neatly arranged magic crystal lamps, indicating that the avenue was lit at night. But these lamps were far from the city, out in the wilderness… How did the Cecilians power these magic crystals? Was it connected to the legendary magic network?

From the Rock Fortress to Cecil City, nearly eighty percent of the route was this uniform, wide road. Only a few sections remained old cobblestone or flagstone, and those were clearly under construction—proof that the ambitious founding hero intended to connect his entire duchy with this kind of road.

The duchess thought of the “Crossroad Avenue” built by Ansu before the Misty Moon Rebellion, which ran east-west and north-south across the Holy Spirit Plains. Though in the rebellion’s later stages, rebel forces had used that avenue to storm Saint Suniel, the fact remained that such a unified, kingdom-wide transportation system could have an astonishing impact on development.

As long as the ruler maintained central authority, unobstructed roads would only aid the kingdom’s growth. But when the Second Dynasty’s power crumbled, the kingdom’s avenues were fragmented by feudal lords. Here in the southern territories, however, Cecil had risen, and no one dared challenge the Cecil family’s authority. Their “Duchy Avenue” was rapidly spreading across the plains…

If royal authority could be restored, the first priority should be to rebuild the kingdom’s avenues—even if it meant using force to end the lords’ road divisions, the duchess thought, her gaze drifting southward to the Holy Spirit Plains.

“We’re almost there,” Knight Margarita whispered, breaking Victoria’s reverie.

She looked up to see an unfinished city wall stretching across the plains ahead. The road led straight to a guard post before the wall, and through several gaps in the incomplete fortifications, clusters of houses and buildings were visible.

“Is that Cecil City?” Victoria asked, watching the distant scene. “It’s quite large…”

“No, that’s just the new northern district—and the unfinished part at that,” Margarita shook her head gently. “We have to pass through this area and cross the mechanical bridge before reaching the riverfront square of Cecil City.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Victoria’s eyes, but she asked no more. She felt she had already asked enough questions on this journey. Whatever she saw next, she would judge with her own eyes.

The convoy passed the guard post and entered the northern new city of Cecil. As soon as they entered the urban area, Victoria noticed huge banners hanging on both sides of the road:

Welcome to Cecil.

This novel form of greeting amused her, and soon that amusement turned to surprise.

The massive banners were fixed to three-story buildings lining the street, stretching across the entire road. Many magic crystal lamps wrapped in colorful drapes connected the banners, extending neatly along the avenue. The buildings stood like sentinels on either side, and in the open spaces between them, countless people had gathered—thousands of healthy, warmly dressed citizens braving the cold winter, lining the streets!

When Victoria had left the royal capital, she never imagined such a welcome. Not even when she saw the imposing Rock Fortress or the vibrant Carol and Kant cities did she expect this.

It was winter, after all!

Yet the crowds only grew larger. The magi-tech convoy entered the city, and the lead vehicle sounded its horn—a loud whistle produced by some kind of airbag and copper pipe device. At the sound, the gathered crowd erupted in cheers, though it was unclear whether they cheered for the guests or the vehicles.

At the same time, from side alleys came the sharp, rhythmic clatter of hooves. Several squads of cavalry appeared, clad in uniform white armor and cloaks bearing the Cecil crest. They raised banners high and quickly closed ranks alongside the convoy, jogging in step with the now slower-moving vehicles.

Victoria watched the scene outside in astonishment, but her ingrained poise and etiquette guided her response. Following Margarita’s instructions, she rolled down the window and gave a slight nod to the knights and citizens outside.

As the convoy neared the riverfront district, figures already prepared appeared on the buildings lining the road. Petals fluttered down from above like winter snow, scattering over the convoy and the escorting cavalry. Ahead, Victoria spotted the mechanical bridge gradually lowering—

A massive steel bridge?

She clearly saw huge gears and lever mechanisms operating beneath it. A powerful machine was slowly lowering the bridge sections, meshing the two halves tightly together. The convoy maintained its speed, crossing onto the bridge just as it closed. The cavalry beside them matched the pace perfectly, every horse’s step in flawless rhythm.

How long had these soldiers trained? How many such troops did Cecil have?

Feeling the mechanical vibrations through the magi-tech carriage, Victoria watched the city across the river, powered and operated by magi-tech, drawing closer. Loud music echoed from ahead, amplified by some magical means. But the tune was unlike any courtly welcome music she had heard before. It was brisk and melodic, reminiscent of a military marching band’s drum and bugle call, yet more majestic and powerful.

Margarita’s voice came beside her: “That’s the ‘Phalanx March.’ I hope you enjoy its stirring rhythm.”

A preference of the founding hero? A reflection of the martial spirit?

Victoria nodded as gracefully as she could, expressing appropriate admiration and satisfaction. By now, the convoy had crossed the mechanical bridge. Ahead, more welcome banners and large crowds awaited.

She had grown accustomed to seeing such throngs braving the winter chill.

Maintaining a nearly neutral smile, she presented the most proper expression to those outside the window—until she suddenly noticed some people standing by the roadside holding strange devices, likely magical in nature, pointed at her. Her expression stiffened for a moment.

But she forced herself to suppress the instinct to cast a spell, noticing knights and soldiers in Cecil armor standing nearby. She guessed these magical devices were part of the welcoming ceremony, so she quickly adjusted her expression back to a calm, slightly distant composure.

Then, with a series of loud booms, pale blue spheres suddenly shot into the sky from the city ahead, bursting into brilliant fireworks.

The entourage from the royal capital all looked up in surprise, even Victoria couldn’t help but show a flicker of astonishment.

But she quickly regained her usual composure.

These were probably fireworks set off by Cecil’s mages to liven the atmosphere, she thought. Such displays were common among the nobility; mage fireworks were a staple at high-society banquets. There was no need to be overly impressed.

Though Cecil’s fireworks were somewhat different—how did they make their fireballs explode with such force? And how many mages did it take to create such a grand display?

“What a grand welcome—I almost forgot it’s winter,” the duchess said sincerely. “I think I can feel Duke Gawain Cecil’s enthusiasm and sincerity. This ceremony must have cost a fortune.”

Beside her, Knight Margarita smiled and nodded. “Important guests deserve a grand reception.”

“Welcoming those two really drained the budget,” Hetty whispered beside Gawain in the newly arranged riverfront square, sounding a bit pained. “It’s almost enough to build a new rune forge…”

“Important clients deserve a grand welcome,” Gawain said with a smile, glancing at Hetty, then turning to Rebecca standing on his other side. “The fireworks design was well done.”

Today, Rebecca finally wore a proper noblewoman’s gown—a pale blue court dress. The Cecil heiress tried to maintain a composed and dignified demeanor beside her ancestor, but upon hearing Gawain’s words, she couldn’t help but mutter, “I actually wanted to cast a few fireballs myself—the grenades definitely aren’t as big as my fireballs…”

Gawain sighed. “We’re here to welcome guests, not blow them up.”

“I’d just toss them into the sky…”

“You said the same thing before you blew up the courtyard wall last time.”

“Wow—”

Hetty had to cough softly to remind the pair of grandfather and granddaughter, “Ancestors, they’re here.”

The convoy reached the square.

Victoria and Veronica had witnessed Cecil’s prosperity along the way, the cheering crowds, the magnificent fireworks. They crossed the mechanical bridge over the Whitewater River, traveled down the broad, orderly riverfront avenue, and under the escort of cavalry and countless flowers, the delegation from Saint Suniel finally arrived before Gawain Cecil.

They had seen everything there was to see, and surely felt all they needed to feel.

Once again, the military band on the square struck up that memorable march of the phalanx. Petals—byproducts of the routine lessons in druidry and alchemy at the General Academy—fluttered through the air above the plaza. The mage-powered carriage came to a steady halt at the center, and under the vigilant escort of dashing knights, Victoria and Veronica stepped down.

“An impressive journey,” Victoria Wilde, ruler of the Northern Territories, bowed respectfully before Gawain, observing the proper etiquette of a junior greeting a senior. Then, following the protocol for nobles of equal rank, she lifted her skirt slightly in a graceful curtsy. “Far beyond what I imagined.”

“Cecil has always welcomed visitors, especially old friends,” Gawain smiled, nodding as he returned the full set of formalities. Then he turned to Veronica standing nearby. “This is our second meeting here, Princess Veronica.”

“Completely different from the last time,” the saintly princess, clad in her high priestess robes, smiled gently, her voice melodious. “I never would have believed a city could grow so much in just two years if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“All for survival in this barren land—for survival, humanity is capable of anything,” Gawain said, turning slightly and spreading his arms wide. “Welcome to Cecil. It’s ready to receive you.”

(End of chapter)