Chapter 532: Feedback

With a heavy iron gate slowly rising under the power of the winch, the towering Ansu royal city opened its gates to the kingdom’s guardians. Under a leaden sky, a procession of more than ten carriages, accompanied by numerous knights and guards, entered the city.

The wheels of the carriages rolled over the ancient cobblestone streets, worn for centuries. The slightly loosened stones trembled faintly, and small pebbles creaked and squeaked beneath the wheels. But these noises didn’t last long before being drowned out by the sudden burst of flutes and drums played by the musicians in the procession.

Victoria slightly lifted the side panel of her carriage and peered through the narrow gap. Outside, the streets were deserted—a heavy snowfall had just blanketed Saint Suniel, covering the entire city. On such a bitterly cold day, even the capital’s residents rarely ventured out, let alone in this poor district near the outer city walls. From the Duchess’s vantage point, all she could see was a white expanse of snow-covered streets and rooftops. Some areas had been cleared, but most still looked as if the snow had just stopped falling.

In the corner of her vision stood a collapsed house, seemingly crushed under the weight of the snow. The ruins were long abandoned; no one knew where the former residents had gone—or if they had perished somewhere.

The flute and drum music continued to echo lonely and strange through the empty streets, like a troupe of clowns performing jokes on a stage with no audience—absurd and eerie. But the musicians paid no mind. Their music wasn’t meant to lure out the locals to welcome the noble procession; it was to help the soldiers behind them quickly form ranks once inside the city, and to warn any passersby ahead—if there were any—to clear the way.

So whether anyone responded or not was of no consequence.

The carriage panel was closed.

The procession passed through the slums of the southern city, then through the middle-class residential district, heading toward Silverfort. After crossing Iron Cross Street, the monotonous drumbeats from outside finally ceased, replaced by the growing murmur of voices from all directions.

They entered the inner city, home to the upper middle class and minor nobility. Beyond that street, the capital finally showed signs of its status as the kingdom’s heart.

Wide streets were cleared of snow, and well-dressed wealthy citizens and minor nobles, bundled in colorful heavy winter clothes, had already heard the sounds from the middle city. They poured out of their homes to line the streets and welcome the procession. The biting north wind and swirling snowflakes could not dampen their enthusiasm. They craned their necks to watch the carriages bearing the banners of the Wilde family, the royal crest, and the Holy Light Church pass by. Cheers and applause erupted, and magically conjured winter flowers and colorful silk ribbons were tossed into the air, falling like a vibrant floral rain. Those throwing flowers eagerly hoped the carriages would open their windows, that someone inside would appear and greet them. In the past, the Northern Duchess and the Saint Princess lived secluded in the castle and cathedral, and ordinary wealthy citizens and minor nobles never had the chance to see their faces. This was a rare opportunity.

But today was different. Despite the crowd’s eager anticipation, not a single carriage opened its panel. The procession maintained its pace, passing through the crowd without pause, crossing the entire district outside Silverfort, and entering the distant castle…

Dressed in a white gown, Duchess Victoria, accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting and attendants, walked through Silverfort’s courtyard and main castle corridors to the upper-level study. Duke Bertram Franklin of the Western Territories sat in a comfortable silk robe by the fireplace, engrossed in a hefty book. Surprised by the Duchess’s sudden arrival, he quickly rose to greet her.

“Ah, Duchess Wilde—please forgive me for not meeting you in the great hall. This book has such a strong pull on me.”

Victoria glanced at the cover of the book in his hands, noting the gilded title: The Evolution of Currency and Trade Routes in the Northern Continent.

The Franklin family was known as “Ansu’s purse strings.” Bordering the multi-ethnic, trade-rich Ogure tribal nation, the Western Dukes had long been skilled merchants, and Bertram Franklin was among the best. Naturally, his favorite reading was on commerce.

But at this moment, Victoria couldn’t help but sigh. “Perhaps this trip to the southern territories should have been yours.”

“Oh?” Bertram raised an eyebrow. “It sounds like things didn’t go smoothly? Did our founding hero give you trouble?”

“No, everything went well. Duke Gawain Cecil was kind and friendly, and we even closed a major deal—that’s why I say you should have gone.”

Though her tone was calm, Bertram, who had known the “Ice Queen” for years, caught a faint trace of irritation in her eyes. He set the book aside and grew serious.

“What did you see in the south?”

“…A place better than Saint Suniel,” Victoria chose her words carefully, taking a long moment before speaking. Then she shook her head. “I’ll tell you more about the south later. For now, let’s talk about the results of this trip.”

Bertram listened intently as Victoria summarized the negotiations. His brow furrowed and relaxed in turn, his fingers absentmindedly stroking a ruby ring on his left hand. Though she only gave a brief overview, he could sense how deeply the “Northern Queen” had been moved by that mysterious southern land.

It surprised him—there really was something in the world that could shake this icy lady.

“So, Duke Cecil at least tacitly accepted Prince Wales’s coronation and won’t openly support the Eastern Territories… and he also said he wouldn’t invoke the seven-hundred-year-old emergency succession rights,” Bertram said slowly after she finished. “That’s better than we expected.”

“Indeed,” Victoria nodded. “Besides that, he agreed to provide paid military equipment aid to the kingdom’s army. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed that supernatural arms could be mass-produced.”

Bertram’s interest peaked. “What kind of equipment? Do you have samples I could see?”

“He gave me a sword, along with several sets of armor and weapons as samples,” Victoria said, then turned to an attendant standing by the door. “Bring them in.”

A heavy chest was carried into the room. The samples—magical armor, a molten-cutting sword, crystal grenades, and a scorching ray emitter—were laid out before Duke Bertram.

“…Truly exquisite weapons.” Bertram admired the machine-made arms, picking up the molten-cutting sword for a closer look. Following Victoria’s instructions, he activated the sword’s magical mechanism. A low hum filled the air as the blade, coated with a thin layer of purple steel, was enveloped in a searing magical field.

“Incredible…” His eyes widened, but then he frowned. “There’s a flaw in its internal mana circulation.”

Victoria nodded. “Exactly. As I said, the magical mechanism is fragile. According to Duke Cecil, that’s to save costs.”

The Duke deactivated the magic, and as the blade cooled, his curiosity gave way to sober reflection. After a moment, he looked at Victoria.

“You said each replacement of the magical core costs a gold coin?”

“That’s right.”

“…Besides this molten-cutting sword, the other equipment’s magical cores also need frequent replacement?”

“Exactly,” Victoria confirmed, speaking before Bertram could respond. “No need to remind me—I know it’s expensive. Though the individual cores are cheap, the consumption rate is high.”

Bertram gave her a steady look, then slowly shook his head.

“No, Duchess Wilde, you don’t know—you’re underestimating just how costly ‘expensive’ really is. In fact, the cost of replacing the magical cores is the true price of this deal. Compared to that, the swords and armor are practically free.”

“Is it that serious?” Victoria’s eyes finally showed a flicker of surprise.

“Don’t doubt my business sense,” Bertram said with a deep sigh. “But don’t be discouraged by the truth either. We’re facing an open trap, and we have no choice. Duke Cecil counted on this, which is why he set those terms. Even if I were there, I’d have to accept it. And despite the high cost, these weapons are still worth it.”

“Worth it…” Victoria studied Bertram’s resigned expression and calmed herself. “First, gather the mages and scholars. We need to start reverse-engineering these weapons, dismantling their magical mechanisms, and figuring out how they work.”

“Of course. We must understand them,” Bertram said gravely, a hint of awe in his voice. “What a lesson… I never thought business could be done this way.”

“This lesson is only the beginning,” Victoria said, glancing at the thoughtful Western Duke with a complex expression. “After seeing how the Cecils live, I realized something: in these seven hundred years of peace, Ansu hasn’t really progressed. Compared to our ancestors, we’ve fallen far behind.”

“Oh?” Bertram’s tone lifted with curiosity. “Tell me more…”

Victoria paused briefly, then began carefully.

“Let’s start with their Department of Administration…”

…

“Cecil’s commerce is incredibly advanced. What we saw at the Kord Trading Company is just a fraction of their commercial wisdom,” Belcrolyn stood in the great hall of Solinfort, reporting to his father and Prince Edmund on his southern investigation. “I managed to contact many merchants there and, posing as a merchant myself, gained access to their ‘Department of Administration’ and numerous approval and management processes. Their commercial oversight is extremely rigorous—shockingly so. This is completely different from the impression we had when we first heard about the Cecil Duchy’s new policies promoting open trade.”

Silas Lorren listened intently to his son’s report, his gaze occasionally drifting to Prince Edmond seated at the head of the hall. The young prince had long shed his youthful naivety. Clad in black steel light armor, a wolfskin cloak draped over his shoulders, his face bore the marks of hardship rather than boyish innocence. He sat upright in the castle’s main seat, fully focused as Belk relayed the information, occasionally furrowing his brow in thought.

Below the dais, Belk Lorren continued, “Their commerce is indeed open, but it’s a carefully controlled openness. That explains how their guilds and emerging ‘companies’ operate with such high efficiency and minimal errors…

“Under the operation of their ‘factories,’ Cecil’s material output is astonishingly high. There’s an abundance of goods available for trade, which has given rise to many merchants specializing in bulk wholesale and transportation, shipping large quantities over great distances…

“Duke Cecil has built an extensive network of roads connecting all major cities and raw material sources, working in tandem with canals. They’ve developed a new magical device called the magi-carriage—an automatically operated mechanical vehicle…

“To manage such a vast and complex system, their administrative office is divided into multiple departments, each with clear responsibilities and oversight measures. Everyone is monitored, everyone supervises others, and all have defined tasks and evaluation standards. While there may still be some loopholes, their administration has reached an almost unimaginable level of efficiency and management. I’ve copied their department lists and all the regulations I could access…”

“Looks like the five-year mining rights in the White Sand Hills weren’t wasted,” Prince Edmond suddenly remarked from his seat. “We’re finally seeing something useful.”

“Your Highness,” Silas Lorren stood and said, “it seems your earlier reforms were on the right track—Duke Cecil has simply taken a step further in this direction. The experience he’s gained is invaluable to us.”

“Exactly,” Prince Edmond nodded solemnly. “This knowledge will make us stronger. We must grow stronger quickly. Our time… is running out.”

Indeed, time was running out.

In the great hall, everyone grasped the weight behind Prince Edmond’s words.

The ever-watchful Typhon Empire… the time left for the Ansu people was growing dangerously short.

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(End of chapter)