Chapter 555: Tangled Threads

As the elven messenger named Sonia Frostleaf delivered her report, the Duchess Victoria’s expression grew increasingly grim.

None of the news was good.

Especially not at a time like this.

“We understand that Ansu is engulfed in… chaos, and that you face many urgent problems,” Sonia said bluntly. The short-haired elf looked young and delicate, but she was likely an elder who had witnessed the rise and fall of human kingdoms for centuries. Her calm assessment of Ansu’s civil war left everyone present unable to argue. “The Silver Empire has no right to interfere in the internal affairs of human realms. But what we face now is a crisis beyond any single nation—one that threatens the survival of civilization itself.”

“We understand that well,” Duke Bertram nodded. “The Magnificent Wall stands before us, and everyone can see it’s in a precarious state. But this civil war is not something we can decide.”

“That’s a problem you must solve yourselves,” Sonia said with a hint of helplessness. “Outside of internal politics, the Silver Empire will do everything it can to support its friends—technical data, specialists, all will be provided. But Ansu’s internal issues… those only Ansu can resolve.”

Bertram Franklin and Victoria Wilde exchanged a long, heavy look.

In each other’s eyes, they saw the same deep exhaustion and helplessness.

Did they not know about this crisis? Of course they did—Ansu’s nobles had known for a long time, perhaps even before the elves.

How many times had Duke Gawain Cecil sounded the alarm? Every noble who frequented Silver Keep knew this well. The resurrected founding hero had warned from the moment he rose from his tomb about the threat of the Gondor Wastelands. Yet every warning was ignored, twisted, or dismissed as conspiracy theories. The capital’s nobles called it “uncontrolled anxiety,” “a pretext for warmongering,” even claimed the ancient hero was hallucinating, haunted by battles from seven centuries ago and provoked by monsters from the Dark Mountains. Still, until last month, Duke Gawain’s warnings reached Silver Keep.

The capital’s nobles pretended to debate the letter for two weeks—and still hadn’t finished.

The Northern Duchess glanced at Prince Wales, seated at the head of the table. The heir’s face was expressionless, but beneath his calm eyes flickered a faint trace of mockery.

“We will do everything possible to communicate with the Eastern Realm—for Ansu… for humanity. The royal family will make every effort,” Victoria said calmly. “But this matter is extremely complicated… we need a little time.”

“Then make it as soon as possible, Duchess Wilde,” Sonia nodded slightly. “We will also provide maximum assistance. If necessary, we can reach out to the East ourselves. In this chaos, the elves remain neutral.”

…

In Cecil City, inside the lord’s manor.

Before Gawain could continue investigating the secret connection between dragons and the mithril treasury, Amber brought him another piece of intriguing intelligence.

“According to agents sent to the Holy Spirit Plains, giant eagles of the elven kind have been spotted in the northern region—heading toward Saint Suniel City.”

Gawain set down the plan report he’d been reviewing—a detailed proposal for building a southern gate fortress at the Rebellious Stronghold’s southern border. He looked up at Amber. “When was this sighting?”

“Three days ago. The agents sent the message to the Rock Fortress at top speed, then relayed it back via the magic network,” Amber said, unusually serious. “At the eagles’ speed, the elven messenger should already be at Silver Keep.”

“So they really sent someone…” Gawain murmured. “The Magnificent Wall’s condition must be worse than we thought…”

After the report, Amber’s usually sharp military intelligence director demeanor softened into something more playful. She swayed over to Gawain’s desk, grabbing some nuts and munching as she muttered, “Can you guess what those elves want?”

“I can make a good guess,” Gawain, long accustomed to Amber’s unruly style, gave her a sideways glance and shook his head. “And I know I’m about to get busy—whether I want to or not.”

Amber blinked, curious. “Huh? Aren’t you busy enough already?”

“The elves sent a messenger at this moment to discuss the Magnificent Wall,” Gawain explained casually. “Three days of overload must have severely damaged the sentinel towers. Given the current situation, it’s impossible to rebuild the barrier as the Silver Empire once led seven centuries ago. So the elves probably want the human kingdoms to help repair or strengthen it. If my assessment is correct, they’ve sent envoys to every human kingdom. But here’s the problem… Ansu is in civil war.”

Amber thought for a moment, then realization dawned. “A question of legitimacy?”

“The barrier must be repaired. No matter how slow or foolish Ansu’s nobles are, they won’t ignore this forever. But the key is who represents Ansu in the repair,” Gawain smiled wryly. “To ordinary people, fixing the barrier is just a matter of safety and survival. But to those in power, it’s a crucial symbol.

“At this critical point in Ansu’s civil war, whoever can reach an agreement with the elves, whoever can go to the wasteland border to repair the sentinel towers—that person represents Ansu.”

Amber wasn’t well-versed in “noble rules,” but after so long by Gawain’s side, she understood some of the complexities. Now she caught on. “To send someone to fix the Magnificent Wall, the civil war must pause. But as long as the royal family and the East Realm keep disputing legitimacy, the war won’t stop. So if Ansu is to send someone, it has to be someone completely uninvolved in the royal power struggle, yet qualified to represent the kingdom… so they’ll come to you?”

“Repairing the Magnificent Wall is a massive project. With the civil war ongoing, neither the royal family nor the East can spare forces. But if the barrier isn’t fixed, no one survives. They have no choice,” Gawain sighed. “Nor do I. Prepare yourself—this isn’t just my responsibility. It might be an opportunity.”

Amber blinked, looking at Gawain’s ever-confident expression, almost forgetting to keep eating her nuts.

“No matter what happens in this world, it’s always an opportunity for you?”

“Not always. But circumstances force me to turn everything into one,” Gawain shook his head. “Notify Philip and Byron. They need to come here. Military preparations must begin.”

“Call them here?” Amber’s eyes widened. “Are you planning to take the Rock Fortress while the royal family and East are distracted?”

“No. That would only weaken my foundation and leave the kingdom unstable for decades. I won’t do that,” Gawain shook his head. “But we must prepare for the worst. I don’t believe this civil war will truly stop, nor that the South will remain uninvolved. The royal family and East are smart—they’re not the only ones looking for opportunities in this barrier crisis.”

Amber sized him up, then her figure slowly faded into the air. “Tsk, tsk. You schemers are impossible to play with. You keep plotting here—I’ll go fetch those two.”

Gawain watched her vanish, then returned his gaze to a blueprint on his desk.

A vehicle—or rather, a weapon.

A land king assembled from engines, tracks, armor, and turrets.

Though the Magnificent Wall’s repair was urgent, Gawain knew the kingdom’s efficiency. “Urgent” here was a world apart from the South’s production plans. With the capital nobles’ slow pace, they’d bicker over this until summer. In the meantime, there was much he could do.

“The Origin Lab’s tested blueprint… I hope it goes as smoothly as I expect.”

Gawain murmured, reaching for a food box at the desk’s corner.

His hand grasped nothing.

“…Why did they take the box too?!”

…

Ansu’s situation was a whirlpool; human society a tangled mess. These terrifying upright apes, short-lived and fragile, had a knack for creating chaos that even sea witches marveled at. Miss Tyr felt this deeply.

At Dockyard One on the North Shore, the sea witch Tyr curled into a ball, listening half-heartedly to the craftsmen discussing current events from the newspaper, her mind wandering.

Humans, though tailless, could entangle themselves into a hopelessly tangled mess in their own way.

But that had little to do with sea witches. At least until humans mastered ocean navigation, these land-dwelling apes were hardly our concern.

What Tyr cared about most now was the project ongoing since last summer finally bearing fruit.

Before the sea witch stood a dry dock beside the shipyard, where a brand-new, strikingly unconventional ship rested quietly, awaiting launch.

A massive steel behemoth with elegant, continuous curves and two broad decks. Three pairs of “arcane wings” folded neatly along the hull’s sides and upper deck rear. On the lower deck’s front, middle, and rear were six huge turrets crouched silently in their mounts. Sunlight filtering through the overhead gaps glinted dazzlingly off the cold metal.

Two “Calibrator”-class prismatic generators, four specially modified “Truth” large railguns designed for naval platforms, and numerous defensive small railguns scattered across the hull armed this giant into a terrifying sea predator.

A product of new design, blending human shipbuilding style with sea witch technology—a truly advanced warship. Though Tyr still found it somewhat primitive, to the countless craftsmen at the shipyard, it was a miracle.

(End of chapter)