Chapter 564: The Choice

The shadow of the great dragon vanished beyond the horizon. Except for a few, hardly anyone knew that a legendary race was watching over this land. The world continued its steady rhythm—the blazing sun rose and set day after day, the weather gradually warmed, and summer quietly approached. It was as if spring had slipped away in the blink of an eye, leaving people scrambling to catch up.

In the eastern part of the Holy Spirit Plains, the renewed flames of war had burned fiercely for a time, only to fade away almost unnoticed.

At the Giantwood Pass, the fortress where the two armies faced off, the landscape was carved up by a tangled web of fortifications—large and small—splitting the region into fragmented zones. Everywhere were blockade lines, banners of the Kingdom’s forces and the Eastern Territories fluttering side by side. Fully armed soldiers and knight officers patrolled cautiously between these intersecting lines, vigilantly guarding the land temporarily under their control, while keeping a wary eye on the banners just a stone’s throw away. Yet, undeniable as it was fragile, a brief ceasefire had been established.

Rumors swirled. In an age when information was nearly impossible to control, any news that reached someone’s ears—and any bold traveler who moved between regions—would spread like wildfire, mutating into countless bizarre versions along the way.

Some said the Kingdom’s army had suffered a crushing defeat, that Silverfort could no longer hold, and that the royal nobles were negotiating peace with the Eastern Territories. Others spread the exact opposite story. Some claimed the Typhon Empire was stirring along the border, and that external pressure forced the two armies to halt. Still others linked the strange stalemate to the recent outbreak of plague near Giantwood Pass…

Among all these tales, the most credible came from a horsekeeper serving the Eastern Legion. He swore he had seen the elves’ giant eagle fly in from the northwest, and that an elven messenger had entered Prince Edmond Morn’s fortress. The ceasefire order was issued shortly after.

On the eastern side of Giantwood Pass, inside a newly built fortress, a tall watchtower rose above the walls. Prince Edmond Morn, clad in black armor and sporting a beard, stood atop the tower, gazing out over the scattered banners and wooden camps dotting the plains. The southwest wind howled past the tower, whipping the prince’s banner into a fierce flutter.

The sound of iron boots echoed behind him. Duke Selas Loren, fully armored, climbed up to the tower. The Eastern Duke spoke in a low voice, “The elves have left, Your Highness.”

“If they’d come seven days later, Giantwood Pass would have been ours,” Edmond murmured. “Those undisciplined allied soldiers are no match for us. Even with new equipment, they’d just rush in blindly to their deaths.”

Duke Loren gave the prince a long, serious look. “But we must cease fighting—for the greater good.”

“Yes, for the greater good,” Edmond said lightly. “We fight for Ansu’s future, not just for a position inside Silverfort. Duke Loren, how’s the situation in the rear?”

“Everything is stable, Your Highness. No cause for concern,” Selas nodded. “Only Berke sent a worrying letter—he says the Cecileans are mining the White Sand Hills with astonishing speed and methods. His description is exaggerated; I’m not sure whether to believe it.”

Edmond’s curiosity was piqued. “What exactly did he say?”

“…The Cecileans might blow up ‘Little Crow’s Beak Mountain’ within this year, and next year they plan to demolish a second one.”

“…Berke doesn’t strike me as someone who exaggerates.”

“He’s not, Your Highness.”

“Then I’m inclined to believe him,” Edmond said. “If the Cecileans have the power to blast through the walls of the Rock Fortress with some kind of magical weapon, it stands to reason they’d use similar explosions for mining.”

He sighed. “Though we’ve built new factories in the Eastern Territories, the Cecileans’ true technological foundation clearly isn’t in those factories… We’re already behind in this regard.”

“We’re negotiating with immigration officials in the Southern Territories, hoping to send some literate apprentices to their ‘schools.’ The South doesn’t seem to forbid this entirely.”

Edmond nodded slightly. “Keep a close eye on that—talent is truly vital.”

After a moment, Duke Loren left the tower, leaving Edmond Morn alone on the watchtower’s platform, standing quietly in the wind.

Then, a voice reached his ears: “You truly are a wise ruler, Your Highness.”

Edmond seemed to have been expecting the voice. He calmly turned his head toward the flickering brazier nearby, watching as a shadow took shape within the flames. The figure stepped onto the ground, transforming into a woman clad in priestly robes, her lower body a terrifying tangle of plant-like roots. He nodded coldly. “You’ve come, Beltira.”

“You no longer deny the title of wise ruler?” Beltira’s root-like feet rustled as she moved, her voice laced with mockery. “How mature of you… Last year, you’d be anxious to deny it.”

“I have no need to argue such matters with you. Our relationship hasn’t reached that level,” Edmond’s tone grew colder. “If you’re here to cause trouble for the elves, I can only say you’re too late—they’ve already left for Saint Suniel.”

“I have no interest in those elves,” Beltira chuckled. “But you—originally, you planned to declare your coronation after taking Giantwood Pass. Now, that plan’s been ruined by the news they brought… Don’t you regret it?”

Edmond said nothing. He raised his sheathed sword, pointing its tip at Beltira’s throat. Black cracks spread through the air between the blade and her skin, as if alive. “If you die here, will anyone mourn you?”

“Put away that toy. It’s better suited for the battlefield than threatening a woman here,” Beltira waved aside the sword with a casual hand. “I’m only here to remind you, Your Highness, time is running out—if you want to secure a place for Ansu’s people in the new era, you’d better decide soon.”

Edmond stared into her eyes. “I have no interest in your so-called ‘Great Evolution,’ nor your doomsday theories. Even if this ‘new era’ truly exists, the people of Ansu will find their own way to live. You needn’t worry about that.”

Beltira studied Edmond silently for a moment, then shook her head and stepped back toward the roaring brazier. “Impressive words. But it’s alright—we still have a little time. You still have time… to make your choice.”

…

Often, what’s called a “choice” is just an illusion—a carefully disguised predetermined fact placed before the chooser, designed to give them a fleeting sense of control, or to let the powerless mask their embarrassment.

Inside the Golden Oak Hall, Ansu’s most powerful nobles were still engaged in heated debate. These illustrious families voiced their views on the kingdom’s situation, citing theories, precedents, and arguments to prove their judgments were sound, and that every word they spoke was for the kingdom’s bright future. But Victoria, seated at the head of the long table, knew well that these discussions were merely paving the way for a conclusion that needed no debate.

“…The Eastern Territories have accepted a temporary ceasefire. That’s just basic reason—they still don’t have the right to represent Ansu…”

“The royal line is in Silverfort. Those who can represent Ansu are in Silverfort!”

“But we must consider the tension on the Holy Spirit Plains. We face a group of traitors on the brink of madness…”

“Let’s think long-term, think long-term…”

Counts, marquises, the kingdom’s prime minister, and senior military officials spoke one after another, stating facts obvious to any clear-eyed observer. Victoria watched coldly. To her left, Prince Wales wore the same expression of indifference; Duke Bertram yawned widely. To her right, several elven envoys in special seats looked on with confusion and boredom.

—Due to the exceptional circumstances, the Golden Oak Hall had unprecedentedly allowed foreign observers to attend the noble meeting. But it seemed the guests from the Silver Empire didn’t quite understand some of human society’s “rules.”

The elf named Sonia Frostleaf blinked toward Victoria and mouthed a few words. Victoria heard her voice in her mind: “Why do they keep repeating the same points for so long?”

Victoria sighed and summoned her magic to send her voice back: “Because some words carry great responsibility.”

“We understand that, but their discussion is just too long,” Sonia’s voice remained puzzled. “We elves live for thousands of years, but these meetings seem such a waste of time… Do these speakers have lifespans different from ordinary humans?”

Victoria: “…”

That question was beyond her knowledge.

She shook her head and decided to end the time-wasting debate. She lightly tapped the table. “Ladies and gentlemen—we must reach a conclusion.”

The buzzing discussion ceased immediately. All eyes turned almost in unison toward Victoria, Wales, and Bertram.

The northern duchess sighed inwardly: in the end, no one dared speak the only real choice.

Well, it didn’t matter. The Wilde family had been privately called “usurpers” for the past century. As a northern duchess, her image was already one of authoritarian rule.

“The royal line’s legitimacy is not up for debate. But the fact is, we must temporarily set that aside—the Eastern rebels cannot represent Ansu, and… neither can we, for now. The only person who can step forward is not in Silverfort, but in the Southern Territories.”

A slightly stout, meticulously groomed middle-aged noble spoke at the right moment, his face solemn. “Duchess, you make a good point. But the South has yet to express any stance on Ansu’s royal succession. If we entrust the responsibility to Duke Cecile, then…”

Victoria glanced at him. “Count Barin, you may nominate whoever you deem fit.”

“My meaning is that Duke Cecile is the most suitable candidate for this responsibility!”

“Very well, then it’s settled.”

At the special seats by the long table, the elven envoys watched the entire long, tedious meeting with puzzled expressions. Only when Victoria Wilde suddenly announced the conclusion did they breathe a sigh of relief.

Sonia Frostleaf shook her head and whispered to her companions, “Compared to them, the efficiency of the Gaoling Kingdom is far higher.”

“Human meetings are always like this.”

“They live barely a hundred years and still dare to be so slow. They’re really something…”

(End of chapter)