Chapter 605: The End of Winter

Andersa stared at her sovereign with a flicker of astonishment.

At first, she hadn’t caught anything unusual in Emperor Rosetta’s words—after all, any Typhon noble who understood the shifting tides of the empire over the years could see that war between Typhon and Ansu was inevitable. It was a certainty. But soon, she realized there was a deeper meaning beneath Rosetta’s statement.

High King Gawain Cecil would ultimately become Typhon’s enemy.

For so long, Rosetta Augustus had viewed Ansu as the prey. But now, among the prey, there was a hunter—a hungry hunter.

“Your Majesty, if that’s the case, why cooperate with him at all?” Andersa asked.

“War takes many forms,” Rosetta said calmly. “‘Cooperation’ is just one of them. The benefits the empire gains from this alliance are immense. The Cecilians hold things we desperately need, but at the same time, we have things they crave… We scheme against them, and they scheme against us.”

Andersa lowered her head slightly, pondering the emperor’s words and their hidden implications.

“The ‘magical industry’ the Cecilians have created is changing the very rules of society. I can’t yet see what it will ultimately become, but I sense that the existing order—built on land and agriculture—will soon be shattered by factories and machines. In this field, the Cecilians are ahead of us. But they have their strengths, and we have ours,” Rosetta continued. “Send that vehicle back to the homeland, to the Imperial Engineering Association. Disassemble it, no matter the cost—we must understand how it works. We may not be able to build something better right now, but at least we must build something that can run just as well.

“Also, inform Duke Ferdinand to convene the court advisors and compile a report on the nation’s iron mines, magical materials, as well as grain and cotton production and demand. We need to plan the initial transport routes.

“Organize scholars in machinery and magical technology to work and live alongside the road builders from now on, preparing them to become ‘workers.’ The Cecilians will likely not allow our mages and scholars to participate in the technical aspects of building the ‘railway,’ but they cannot refuse to hire laborers.

“Draft an order for Duke Severn to begin preparations for the ‘bank’…

“And have the council assess all associated risks…”

Risks. The word flashed through Andersa’s mind as she committed every one of Rosetta Augustus’s commands to memory.

The great sun hid behind the murky, chaotic clouds, its light slowly creeping toward the western horizon. The sky darkened rapidly, and one by one, the camp’s street lamps flickered on. Bright magical crystal lamps cast a steady glow, turning the small encampment into a beacon amid the chaos—radiant and resplendent, their light mingling with the hazy grandeur of the towering walls.

Rosetta Augustus returned to his palace carriage and sat quietly in his high-backed chair, reports and documents related to factories, roads, and cotton production spread before him.

As night deepened, the emperor glanced out the window at the fading light, then leaned back, closing his eyes for a brief rest.

Boundless darkness, profound and absolute, seemed to envelop his senses and spirit in an instant.

When Rosetta opened his eyes, he found himself inside a magnificent palace.

The palace was breathtaking—soaring columns, a grand dome, walls and ceilings adorned with exquisite paintings and colorful patterns. Narrow, pointed windows in the distinct Typhon style were set into the walls, their crystal glass etched with intricate designs.

Before him stretched a vast hall, large enough to host a thousand guests for a ball—yet the entire palace was empty.

An indescribable stillness hung over the lavish, cavernous space. No attendants, no guards, not a single soul. Only the dim, twilight-like light filtered through the tall narrow windows, casting alternating shadows across the hall.

Rosetta gazed quietly at this dreamlike, deserted palace, his expression calm and detached. After a moment’s pause, he stepped forward.

The instant his foot moved, countless low, indistinct whispers and murmurs erupted from all directions.

The omnipresent voices mingled with overlapping chatter and laughter, as if the empty palace had suddenly filled with unseen guests or residents. They wandered the vacant corridors and halls, talking, laughing, shouting, crying—all around Rosetta Augustus. Yet he walked on silently, as if ignoring the cacophony.

Finally, amid the chaotic murmurs, a clear whisper reached the emperor’s ears—hoarse and low: “…Ah… you’ve come again… so stubbornly unyielding…”

Rosetta pressed onward. As he moved, the vast hall silently shattered, revealing a deep, endless corridor stretching ahead. Narrow windows lined both sides, twilight light streaming through, casting patterns on the opposite walls. Portraits hung silently along the corridor.

He saw his elder brother, his father, his uncle…

Each ancestor who bore the Augustus bloodline and had passed from this world hung quietly there, their cold eyes staring through the cold oil paintings.

Closest to him was his prematurely deceased eldest son.

The young man, frozen within the frame, looked at Rosetta and suddenly spoke: “Father… will you never stop to rest?”

But Rosetta’s steps did not falter; he continued forward.

The low whisper returned: “On both sides of this path lies death. At its end, death awaits as well…”

Rosetta ventured deeper into the corridor. The light dimmed further; the portraits grew older, more faded, more distant. The Augusti of long ago seemed to glare at the emperor with malice. The whisper persisted:

“…Why not stop and rest? You need not challenge this impossible task…

“How painful the truth is… better to cast it aside. Sometimes, ignorance is a mortal’s blessing…

“The Augusti before you were just as stubborn, but what became of them? None succeeded. They went mad—all of them… You were not meant to see this, but since you have, better to accept the curse calmly…”

At the corridor’s end, the maddening whispers abruptly ceased. Rosetta quietly lifted his gaze to the portraits hanging there.

These were the origins of the Augustus name as rulers of Typhon—the ancient family’s beginnings. Earlier Augusti had vanished with the fall of the Old Gondor Empire; though their names survived, no images remained in this “palace.”

In the faint glow, Rosetta saw several portraits: Roland Augustus, Betomond Augustus, Talia Augustus…

At the end of the row was the place for Beltira Augustus, but the dark frame was shrouded in an impenetrable shadow, obscuring the face of the saint who had lived seven centuries ago.

Rosetta studied the portrait calmly for a moment, then looked away and broke the silence for the first time: “Is Beltira Augustus really still alive?”

No answer came from the empty depths of the palace.

Seeming to expect this, Rosetta merely smiled wryly and turned back the way he came.

The whisper returned: “Why haven’t you gone mad yet?”

Rosetta paused briefly, his voice low: “We possess resilience beyond your imagining.”

The palace began to tremble violently, as if the dream was ending.

Rosetta looked up as the endless corridor crumbled, bricks and stones falling away. From the darkness behind him came a distant sigh: “Ah…”

That sigh carried endless regret and helplessness, very different from the maddening, malicious murmurs before.

With that final breath, the palace’s last supports collapsed into nothingness.

As the walls fell away, the outside world came into view: a city, collapsing rapidly as if the sky itself were falling. Towering spires and massive walls shook and crumbled; the earth split open with terrifying fissures. In an instant, the entire city was swallowed by the ground. Amid the ruins, deep below, Rosetta’s last sight was a transparent dome, within which floated indescribable starry clusters…

…

The sun rose and set; day and night cycled; the stars moved across the heavens.

Ancient constellations, solemn and indifferent as gods, watched the world, the passage of time, and the busy lives of mortals.

The constellation Frostsky passed the zenith, and winter unleashed its final fury in the last month of the season. Bitter winds howled, and the earth froze.

Supported by engineering machinery and other advanced technologies, the “Sub-Tower” project at Cecil’s Peak Base was completed a month ahead of schedule. A series of “purification devices” extending northward from the sub-tower also reached their main structural completion. From here on, installing and fine-tuning magical apparatuses would become the primary task for the magitech engineers.

Technical exchanges between the Silver Empire and the Cecil Duchy had finally gained momentum. After initial adjustments and small-scale tests, elven mages in the southern continent and human magitech researchers in the north had established a preliminary rapport. Both realms set up more signal relay towers and boosters in their respective territories. With a more stable and efficient communication network, researchers from both races began a series of remote technical exchanges and collaborative projects spanning the continent.

On the 35th day of the Cold Moon, year 738 of Ansu, Gawain received a magical network message from Hetty.

“The Typhon envoy has arrived in Cecil City,” the elegant and composed Grant Chancellor of the duchy reported seriously through the holographic projection. “Per your orders, they will be shown the operation of the Eastern Magic Train line tomorrow.”

“They’ve finally arrived… Though it’s understandable—after all, this is such a crucial project. Rosetta Augustus and his advisory team must have gone over the evaluations countless times before making the final decision,” Gawain said, seated behind his desk. Outside the window, the distinctive horns of heavy transport vehicles echoed through the air: a shipment of rocks, soil samples, and monster specimens gathered from the wastelands had just been loaded and was ready to be sent to the research department in Cecil City. “How’s the situation in the duchy?”

“Everything’s stable. The last group of exiled knights in the northern region has surrendered. All the magical monitoring and detection devices along the border and in key urban areas have been installed and activated. According to plan, the next step is to extend these detection devices to the villages.”

Gawain exhaled softly.

With that, the current phase of social security in the Duchy of Cecil was finally complete.

The so-called “magical monitoring and detection system” was a special facility developed under Kamail’s leadership and installed by the Administrative Office. Its concept was inspired by the ancient Kingdom of Gondor, while its technology was a fusion of contemporary “magic detection spells” and arcane network communication. Its primary function was to sense any spellcasting within its range and immediately send out an alert. The “Overseers” in the Administrative Office’s security department could then pinpoint the exact location of unauthorized magical activity on the city’s tactical map, enabling rapid response.

Of course, this system wasn’t designed to prohibit spellcasters from using magic. As long as they carried a specially issued “Spellcaster’s Permit,” which contained a runic array, they could cast spells normally. This permit had to be obtained through the Administrative Office and was subject to regular inspections, rune updates, and qualification assessments. In other words, all spellcasters within Cecil’s borders had to register. Naturally, this policy met some resistance at first, but thanks to the overwhelming victories of the Unification War, nearly 90% of the southern region’s spellcasters were already under the duchy’s control. Those who remained unregistered were few, so the system was eventually implemented smoothly.

The installation of this system began in mid-last year, and now it was finally taking shape.

Managing all spellcasters effectively might sound progressive, but the idea itself wasn’t new.

Not to mention the Kingdom of Gondor a thousand years ago, just across the border, Typhon had already implemented registration and professional management of spellcasters years ago. Their specialized “Engineering Mages” were proof of this.

The Typhonians used their numerous mage towers and a large number of royal mages loyal to the empire to register and monitor most urban spellcasters. They also established extensive training facilities to cultivate more loyal and obedient “full-time spellcasters.” This approach was costly, but backed by their immense financial resources, Typhon ultimately achieved it.

Ansu was a step behind in this regard, so Gawain had to compensate for the late start with more advanced technology and systems. At least within the duchy, he had to ensure tighter control over spellcasters.

Of course, these facilities and systems weren’t flawless. There would always be those who found ways to mask their magical signatures. High-level or legendary spellcasters might even be able to shield themselves from detection. The battle of countermeasures and counter-countermeasures, monitoring and evasion, would never end. But no matter what, as long as the new management system had even a small effect, the southern region would be safer. At the very least, those cultists trying to sneak in and conduct their dark rituals wouldn’t be able to slip through so easily anymore.

From now on, any cultist operating in the south—whether they worship the Sleeper or the End of All Things—would find themselves handcuffed to a radiator for even muttering a spell in public.

…

After ending the call, Hetty stretched her back hard, loosening the stiffness in her neck.

Outside, the cold wind howled. The snow from a few days ago still lay piled on the rooftops of several buildings, and translucent icicles hung from the window ledge, a clear sign of the biting cold.

A gentle warm airflow circulated through the vents on either side of the office, maintaining a comfortable temperature inside. Despite the chill outside, the room was cozy enough to lull one into drowsiness.

In fact, Rebecca was already asleep on the nearby sofa.

Hetty glanced at her niece, who was snoring softly, and shook her head with a smile.

“…And she still wanted to chat with the ancestors… fell asleep before the connection was even established…”

She muttered quietly but didn’t wake Rebecca or truly scold her.

She knew the girl had been exhausted lately—between technical exchanges with the Silver Empire and organizing a series of new projects, the pure-hearted young woman hadn’t had a proper rest in over half a fortnight.

This child needed a good sleep.

Hetty found a blanket nearby and gently covered Rebecca, which made her think back to when the girl was little—a restless child who was a master at kicking off covers. Even with two maids assigned to watch her, they could never keep up with Rebecca’s speed.

As if sensing something, Rebecca shifted slightly on the sofa and mumbled indistinctly, “…Ancestor… I’ll figure it out… the elven runes…”

Then she suddenly chuckled in her sleep, as if she’d been praised in a dream.

Watching Rebecca’s movements, Hetty couldn’t help but smile. She then stood up and glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall not far away.

Cold Moon, Day 35.

Twenty-five days left until winter ended.

(End of chapter)