Chapter 594: Early Warning and Response

Once he confirmed the communication was secure, Gawain didn’t hide anything from Hetty. Instead, he directly shared the intelligence he had intercepted in his dream about the Sleeper.

The information clearly caught Hetty off guard on the other end of the communicator.

“…They’re apparently researching the Divine Blight, and it’s highly likely they’re looking for an opportunity to unleash it. Their so-called ‘Great Evolution’ is probably about turning humans into monsters,” Gawain explained slowly, laying out his conclusions. “Right now, we don’t have the capability to venture deep into the wasteland to verify this, nor do we understand how the Cult of All Things’ members survive in such harsh conditions. For the time being, our main focus should be on the cultists hiding within human society…

“No need to send additional warnings to the capital or the Eastern Territories…

“Keep a close eye on all merchants and itinerant populations coming from the northern regions. Strengthen quarantine measures and magical inspections, and set up more magical detection towers along the borders…

“Order Baisha Mining Company to monitor the area from Baisha Hills to Solinfort, focusing on gathering intelligence related to plagues, disappearances, and cult rituals. Any developments must be reported immediately.”

Gawain methodically assigned Hetty the tasks she needed to prioritize, his instructions becoming increasingly clear and organized.

He had initially considered sending another warning to the capital and the Eastern Territories but ultimately decided against it—

Firstly, he knew the efficiency and temperament of the traditional northern nobility. He had already sent a warning a few days ago; more alerts now wouldn’t improve the situation. Secondly, he couldn’t detail the cultists’ activities too explicitly in letters sent north. He couldn’t reveal the source of his intelligence without risking the Cult of All Things realizing that Gawain Cecil had been eavesdropping on their communications, which would also alert the Sleepers to vulnerabilities in the psychic network and the intrusion of otherworldly wanderers. Thirdly… rather than trust the northern nobles’ responsiveness, he trusted his own team more.

He planned to have Amber select elite intelligence operatives to work alongside the Cecil Trading Company’s intelligence network on the Holy Spirit Plains, directly gathering and monitoring cultist activity in the north. Those operatives were experts at stirring up trouble and causing a scene—if they uncovered cultist traces, making a big fuss would naturally draw the attention of local lords. This was the best way to get the notoriously inefficient traditional nobles to take action.

But if even that failed to contain the cultists’ destruction… then Gawain would have no choice but to let the northern nobles fend for themselves.

The power of the Duchy of Cecil was limited, as was the influence of Duke Cecil himself. Issuing warnings, dispatching intelligence agents for investigations, and pressuring the royal family and the Eastern Territories were the limits of what he could do. He had neither the legal authority nor the capacity to directly intervene in the Holy Spirit Plains or the Eastern Territories’ affairs. Even if he did, it would likely only ignite the fragile peace and drag the Duchy of Cecil into a civil war vortex.

By then, the grand project to repair and reinforce the Great Wall would be doomed—and that was a cost they could not afford.

Hetty listened carefully to her ancestor’s arrangements. She could sense the limitations of these measures and understood his concerns.

After all, the Duchy of Cecil was still just a duchy; it couldn’t reach into the northern regions.

Once the tasks were assigned, Gawain paused briefly, his expression growing even more serious rather than easing.

Noticing the change, Hetty cautiously asked, “Are you worried that the Cult of All Things’ schemes… might be more dangerous than just spreading plagues?”

Gawain nodded gravely. “They’re not just a cult.”

To most ordinary people, the Cult of All Things was just a fringe cult, a shadowy presence tangled in rural horror stories, wizard legends, and mythic tales. But Gawain, having dealt with them multiple times and studied their origins, thought otherwise. This was a dark sect as old as the human kingdoms themselves, with deep roots and vast influence. They wielded arcane biochemical technology and plotted obscure, sinister conspiracies. Over centuries, they had even infiltrated the noble ruling class. Given the current centralized power of the kingdoms, a dark cult like this could almost topple the royal order.

“They’ve always lurked in the shadows of the Ansu civil war. Their presence is felt in the Eastern Territories, on the battlefield, and I even suspect Typhon’s actions in Ansu bear their mark,” Gawain continued. “So we have to view them on a higher level and make arrangements accordingly.”

Hetty seemed to detect a hint of iron and fire in Gawain’s tone, causing her to instinctively hold her breath. “…You mean…”

“Convert all payments and supplies intended for the royal family and the Eastern Territories into tank production lines. All mechanized units, except for essential southern garrisons, are to be deployed to Rockhold Fortress and the Grant region,” Gawain laid out the worst-case scenario plan, his voice cold and sharp as the wind. “Adjust the production schedule at the First Tank Factory. Tanks from production lines four to eight must be equipped with heavy flamethrowers. Also, notify Nicholas—he needs to expedite the lightweight version of the White Knight heavy flamethrower, so that ordinary soldiers can use it.”

This was Gawain’s approach.

No matter how complex the dark faith or conspiracy, the answer was an iron flood.

Armored units blaze the trail—just charge forward and get it done.

“Yes,” Hetty responded in a low voice, nodding firmly.

Indeed, it was the unmistakable scent of iron and fire.

After ending the call, Gawain rubbed his temples lightly, reviewing his plans in his mind to ensure nothing was overlooked.

Flame was the best weapon against those fallen druids, and magical fire—raging and overwhelming—was the ultimate weapon.

The Divine Blight was a magically infused creation, but no matter how magical, it was still an organic entity. Those fallen druids, no matter how powerful or technologically advanced, couldn’t change that fundamental truth. According to intelligence from Kamail and Pittman, fire was highly effective against them.

Even if the Divine Blight crafted by the Cult of All Things had magical properties that could resist natural flames, the heavy flamethrowers made by Cecil spewed “magic fire” imbued with arcane power. With enough quantity, the Blight would burn just the same.

But were the cultists only researching the Divine Blight? Could there be a greater conspiracy?

Bertilla Augustus—the earliest member of the Typhon royal family, one of the most powerful human druid priests, once the most devout and steadfast protector of life.

If Selina Gelph had been the spiritual guardian of the pioneers, a haven for souls and dreams, then Bertilla Augustus had undoubtedly been the “Healing Saint” of the pioneers. She selflessly healed everyone, from nobles to commoners, saving thousands of lives. She had faithfully worshiped the nature gods, even when her prayers went unanswered. What left the deepest impression on Gawain was her most frequent phrase after unanswered prayers:

“Though the gods do not answer me, they have given us the miracle of healing life, a miracle that continues in our hands. I do not pray to them—I only thank them.”

So, if such a “saint” learned the truth, if she fell and became a dark priest… what would she pursue?

Gawain quietly sifted through his memories as Gawain Cecil, speculating on Bertilla’s—and by extension, the Cult of All Things’—ultimate goal. He had to suppress any emotional bias, such as his favorable impression of Bertilla, to analyze objectively.

Half an hour later, he rose from his desk and walked to the window coated with alchemical resin, gazing into the distance.

He saw the faint, shimmering illusion of the Great Wall, dust devils swirling over the wasteland, a gloomy, chaotic sky—and at the horizon, a grand tower standing silently amid the mist and light.

That was another Sentinel Tower, on the eastern side, in Typhon’s territory.

Regarding the Ansu civil war, Gawain was almost certain Typhon was one of the main masterminds behind it. And in the Typhon emperor’s actions, he could smell the presence of the Cult of All Things.

Daniel had reported seeing two nearly identical twin elves beside Rosetta Augustus, their words and actions perfectly synchronized—just like the twin elven sisters Gawain had seen in his dream the previous night.

Late that night, Gawain had contacted Daniel through the psychic network, showing him the image of the twin elves, and received confirmation.

So, would the Typhon emperor, who had direct ties to the Cult of All Things, know of Bertilla Augustus? Would he be in contact with her?

The distance wasn’t far.

Returning to his desk, Gawain quickly wrote a letter, sealed it with his signet, and sent Amber to fetch the elven messenger, Sonia.

“I’d like you to deliver this letter,” Gawain said with a smile as Sonia arrived, curious and brisk. He handed her the freshly wax-sealed letter. “I hope you don’t mind helping.”

Sonia took the letter with interest but didn’t activate her psychic senses to read its contents. Instead, she raised an eyebrow. “I’m a messenger, so delivering letters is part of my job—but where is this going? You even stamped it with the full ducal seal…”

“To the Typhon camp, for Rosetta Augustus. I’m planning to pay a visit,” Gawain answered calmly.

Amber, who had been watching nearby, was stunned. “What?!”

“Since the Great Wall was completed, the wasteland’s aura has isolated the kingdoms. For hundreds of years, there hasn’t been such close cooperation among the continent’s nations,” Gawain said solemnly, sitting back at his desk. “This is a major event—humanity coming together again after so many years of cold isolation. Now that the Typhon and Ansu camps are so close, I think it’s necessary to visit an old friend. It’s the right thing to do.”

Sonia was moved by Gawain’s earnest tone. She looked deeply at her old friend, as if seeing the stormy days from seven centuries ago—the time when people of all races stood united and marched forward together. She gladly agreed to deliver the letter and even offered to charge half price—

Her fee as a messenger was free, but Gugu needed meat, and flying so close over the wasteland meant Gugu would need psychological counseling afterward.

Considering Sonia was the best messenger available and that sending a whole Cecil courier team across the Strip Plains would be more costly, Gawain said nothing.

After Sonia left, Amber leaned in close and stared directly into Gawain’s eyes.

Gawain’s earlier solemn speech to Sonia had been stirring and could have been polished into a textbook passage, but Amber didn’t buy it.

That old schemer is wicked through and through. Every time he puts on a righteous front, it’s just a cover for some plot designed to leave some poor soul utterly ruined—after all, they still haven’t managed to gather all the bones of Count Hosman.

“You’re not seriously thinking of going straight to Rosetta Augustus to ask about Beltira Augustus, are you?” the half-elf lady guessed, piecing together what she knew about Gawain’s intentions. “That’s a bit too blunt and straightforward, isn’t it?”

“Of course not—Rosetta Augustus is connected to the Cult of the End of All Things. If I did that, I’d be practically announcing to those fanatics that I hacked their communication system,” Gawain shook his head. “I’m just going to observe, confirm a few things, and then… see if I can strike a deal.”

Amber blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic. “Strike a deal?”

Gawain smiled. “Exactly. Strike a deal—cross-border trade.”

That was indeed his plan, and not some spur-of-the-moment idea.

He had long intended to reach out to Typhon—though Typhon was fated to be Ansu’s rival, and though Typhon had sharpened claws and fangs, always ready to devour Ansu’s flesh and blood, from Gawain’s perspective as a ‘traveler,’ as long as Ansu and Typhon hadn’t gone to war yet, he didn’t mind doing a little ‘business’ with Typhon.

Consider it war before the war.

Amber blinked again. She saw that familiar smile on Gawain’s face—one that to others might seem no different than usual, but she knew that when this resurrected old schemer smiled like that, it usually meant he was cooking up another ruthless, all-consuming plot.

And he wouldn’t leave a single bone behind.

(End of chapter)