Chapter 621: Turbulence Rising
Fly.
The words of her mistress echoed softly in the black-haired maid’s heart.
It wasn’t a command—it was a blessing.
She glanced down at the two long swords in her hands, then casually fastened them to her belt. Without hesitation, she strode toward the edge of the terrace, her pace quickening until she broke into a run.
Finally, she leapt off the terrace’s edge—just then, a fierce gust of wind swept in, swirling with snowflakes, enveloping her falling figure and lifting her upward into the sky.
Amid the flurry of dancing snow, a massive shadow streaked toward the southern horizon. It passed so swiftly that everyone who caught sight of it dismissed it as a trick of the eye.
Even malformed, degenerated wings can take flight when carried by the wind.
Victoria watched quietly as the sudden whirlwind gradually dissipated into the distance. Her gaze followed the enormous form cutting through the leaden clouds far away. Snowflakes swirled in her eyes as she sighed softly:
“You hide terribly—especially given the centuries of dealings between the Wilde family and the Holy Dragon Principality.”
With that, the duchess withdrew her gaze from the sky and fixed it on the castle walls not far off.
Now was the time to fulfill her duty as Protector Duke.
…
From the direction of the Holy Spirit Plains, an overwhelming horde of humanoid monsters surged forward. The terrifying crystal giant legion smashed through countless fortresses and strongholds. Elron City, Wind City, and the Valley Corridor were struck one after another. Hastily assembled noble armies scrambled to respond but suffered devastating losses…
Relentless bad news poured in from the southeast. Beyond the growing reports of attacks and mounting casualty lists, the exhausted royal intelligence service kept receiving horrifying updates: kingdom military equipment had been spotted among the monster ranks, and frontline soldiers were being transformed into crystal giants.
Saint Suniel City had entered the highest state of martial law. A grim, tense atmosphere hung over the entire city. Fully armed knights and soldiers patrolled ceaselessly between the walls and watchtowers. Citizens shuttered their doors, afraid to venture outside. Nearly all nobles canceled their leisure banquets and countryside hunts.
Every day, messengers clad in blue-and-white tabards galloped into the city, or griffon riders soared overhead. More soldiers came and went through the gates—emergency reserves summoned, knights dispatched to the front lines. News spread rapidly through the streets.
Inside Silverkeep, the kingdom’s nobles gathered in the Golden Oak Hall. The urgency of the situation finally broke their usual refined restraint. The gentlemen and ladies, accustomed to speaking with elegant airs, now debated fiercely, proposing one plan after another, exchanging the latest intelligence. The atmosphere was heated, chaotic, and heavy with fear and exhaustion.
When the flames reached Saint Suniel, they grew more resolute.
“They’ve begun attacking the Valley Corridor—both fortresses there are under simultaneous assault. These monsters aren’t just numerous; their strength far surpasses our soldiers!” A tall, thin noble from the capital spoke sharply. “If we can’t hold them at the Valley Corridor, no fortress or stronghold will stop them!”
Another stood and raised his voice: “We should send the Black Iron Fortress Knights and the Chaniel Fortress Knights as reinforcements. The local knights alone won’t hold the enemy…”
“I say again, we cannot send more knight orders out,” interrupted the highest commander of the Royal Knights, Count Krenwell Whiteshield, of dwarf descent. “We must concentrate our effective forces and contract our defenses around Saint Suniel City. That’s the only way to hold.”
The stout Count Barin couldn’t help but stand: “What good is holding out? Starvation and siege mean death. Do we even have reinforcements? The situation is clear—the kingdom’s main army and the mountain knights are finished! No one will return from the Holy Spirit Plains to support us. We have no reinforcements!”
The hall fell into a suffocating silence. Barin’s blunt admission of the grim truth—one everyone feared but dared not voice—stifled the courage of many who had wanted to speak.
Krenwell Whiteshield’s eyes widened, his beard trembling with frustration. Yet he knew Barin was right. His plan to contract defenses might be the only viable way to hold the city, but that strategy depended on reinforcements arriving or on wearing down the enemy’s morale and numbers. The truth was, the monsters’ morale and manpower likely far exceeded Saint Suniel’s, and reinforcements…
The kingdom’s main forces and mountain troops were probably truly lost.
The royal knight commander slammed his fist on the table.
Even he could only offer a desperate plan to prolong Saint Suniel’s survival—without any follow-up strategy.
At that moment, the Golden Oak Hall’s doors suddenly burst open. An officer clad in royal knight armor rushed in.
Normally, no one dared barge into the Golden Oak Hall unannounced, but now, no one cared.
Krenwell recognized the officer and felt a terrible premonition rise in his chest. “What’s happened?”
“The Valley Corridor has fallen. Count North is missing in action. Count Bariel has died in battle,” the officer’s voice trembled. “The knight orders… the knight orders and the recently dispatched papal guard have been completely wiped out…”
A collective gasp swept through the hall.
There was no longer any question of sending aid to the Valley Corridor.
“We… we have nowhere safe to hold,” a noble in a dark blue velvet coat leaned on the table, sweat beading on his face. “The Valley Corridor’s defenses are gone. They’re only two days’ march from the capital…”
“There really is no fortress or stronghold left to stop them,” another voice added grimly. “Next target: Saint Suniel.”
Krenwell Whiteshield said gravely, “We must immediately contract our forces and strengthen the capital’s defenses.”
“But holding out isn’t a solution, Your Excellency,” said a noble wearing a white wig and brown coat. “Perhaps we can retreat westward—then leverage the fertile lands of the western border and the western Holy Spirit Plains to regroup and plan for the future…”
“Moving north is also an option. The cold northern lands might slow the monsters, and the mountains there provide a natural barrier…”
Duke Bertram Franklin of the West said nothing, seemingly lost in thought over possible defense plans or weighing the proposals to abandon the capital. No one could read his deep, reserved expression.
In contemplation, he glanced up and saw Prince Wales Morn sitting at the head of the long table, his face as calm and inscrutable as still water. The crown prince appeared to be silently observing everything, his eyes deep and unreadable. No one could guess what he was thinking—not even Bertram Franklin.
Along the sides of the table, those truly wielding power over the capital and the kingdom’s remaining forces refrained from joining the noisy debate.
Some focused their attention on Bertram Franklin; others watched Wales Morn.
Outside the castle, a force originally scheduled to march to the Valley Corridor halted before leaving the city. A silent papal knight order also stopped abruptly due to a sudden command.
No one knew what fate awaited the capital. All they knew was that its darkest day had arrived.
At the same time, in the Great Cathedral’s Hall of Radiance, the low prayers had just ended. The brilliant holy light still shimmered in the lingering energy waves. Within the dome’s sacred light cloud, faint ethereal voices echoed endlessly.
“We have lost many papal knights and battle clerics,” an archbishop with white hair and beard said after the prayers, addressing the central holy throne. “They were the finest and most devout believers—loyal and fearless warriors of the Lord. Your Majesty, we should exceptionally grant sainthood to the most outstanding among these martyrs.”
“Their glorious martyrdom is the highest offering to the Lord. They fulfilled their vows to the Holy Light, protecting the Lord’s kingdom and people. They truly deserve the title of saints,” Pope Saint Ivan III’s aged voice came from the throne. “Prepare the list. Loyalty and purity must be honored.”
Another archbishop stepped forward: “Your Majesty, the profane armies are closing in on this sacred city. How shall we respond?”
“The Lord has revealed to me that we must fight to protect it,” Saint Ivan III answered without hesitation. “This is a test of our faithful belief—the dark days have come. The first holy light shone brightest in the darkest hour. Now, we must fulfill our vows to the Lord.”
The archbishops in the Hall of Radiance echoed in unison: “The first holy light shone brightest in the darkest hour… we shall fulfill our vows to the Lord.”
On the central throne, Saint Ivan III’s aged face seemed to glow with a faint, otherworldly light. His brows lowered as he whispered a prayer: “It is time… to serve the Lord faithfully…”
Beside the devout pope, Veronica Morn stood silently, as if in quiet prayer herself. The light pouring down from the holy cloud above bathed her, brighter and more radiant than ever.
“Dark enough… and it will be bright enough…”
The saintly princess whispered softly, words only she could hear.
…
Ansu was already engulfed in near-apocalyptic disaster.
Yet, miraculously, the trade route between Cecil and Typhon had opened on schedule—and from the start, it was booming.
To Emperor Rosetta of Typhon, this was a strange phenomenon.
It seemed that the wondrous “principality” had completely resisted the man-made calamity unfolding around them. In fact, amid the war caused by this disaster, they were rapidly developing. Their merchants, machines, vehicles—all flowed steadily across the border through specially opened trade channels into Typhon. In return, Typhon’s vast exports of cotton textiles and industrial goods were fully absorbed.
The grand wall repair project overseen by Typhon had finished ahead of schedule. Rosetta had returned to his imperial capital, seated in the obsidian palace study. The visionary emperor carefully reviewed the intelligence compiled by his advisors, which precisely and vividly summarized all key data on Ansu-Typhon trade, along with some hard-won intelligence from Ansu.
“Industrial production is rapidly advancing, spurred by the war…”
“The reason lies in the fact that a large portion of industrial production is tied to the military. They have widely applied magical machinery in warfare, and the military’s demand has driven the entire industrial system…
“Cecil’s homeland doesn’t seem to be directly involved in the war; their battles are fought beyond their own borders…
“Cecil has consumed an astonishing amount of cotton textiles, yet no one knows exactly what they’re using them for. The only certainty is that a portion goes toward battlefield losses…
“The inexpensive, everyday magical products made by the Cecil people have become extremely popular within the Empire…”
Rosetta Augustus set down the documents, his face clouded with thought.
Trade between the Empire and Cecil had proceeded surprisingly smoothly—and was growing steadily.
The Empire appeared to be reaping the enormous benefits it had anticipated: exporting vast quantities of cotton textiles, bringing great profits to the textile mills in the Aldernan region. In return, the Empire gained access to Cecil’s advanced transportation technology. Recently, the Guild of Artificers had even made significant progress in replicating magical vehicles…
Everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction.
Yet Rosetta Augustus couldn’t shake the vague feeling that they were sinking into a quagmire—an invisible trap.
At that moment, a voice came from outside the door: “Your Majesty, Master Daniel has arrived.”
Rosetta Augustus immediately composed himself, set the documents aside, and cleared his throat.
“Please, Master, come in.”
(End of chapter)