Chapter 637: Stalemate

This was indeed major news.

Gawain sat quietly, her calm face betraying little emotion, but it was clear she was deep in thought. Standing beside her, Victoria instinctively sought confirmation from Amber. “Wales has been crowned? Is the news reliable?”

“Reliable,” Amber replied with a glance at Victoria. “Our intelligence operatives in Saint Suniel have been maintaining their network. They’re far more dependable than your royal shadow guards in this regard. The full details aren’t clear yet, but it’s confirmed—the new king’s coronation has temporarily stabilized the capital. All the city’s knight orders and military units have sworn allegiance to the king. The Silver Keep has also announced reinforcements are on their way, which has calmed the residents somewhat. In short, the situation in the capital is improving—though only for now.”

Gawain nodded thoughtfully as she listened, then turned to Victoria. “You said you know Wales well. Did you expect this move?”

Victoria hesitated briefly, then slowly shook her head. “No… this was beyond what I anticipated.”

“I had some inkling,” Gawain exhaled softly. “Saint Suniel is a quagmire. You and I both know how those nobles operate. Even with news of reinforcements reaching the city, their hearts remain divided. To control the situation, Wales and Berdewen had few options.”

“Is that so…” Victoria murmured, her face perpetually veiled in an icy frost that concealed all her inner thoughts. No one knew what this ‘Ice Duchess’ was truly feeling at this moment, but everyone understood one thing clearly: the newly crowned king had already placed himself at the eye of the storm. And with this coronation, the century-old regency system in Ansu was officially over.

Gawain said no more, closing her eyes briefly as if to rest, but deep inside, her mind drifted back to a visit last year from Coenloren, the vice commander of the Royal Knights, just before the grand Wall of Glory project began.

…

The new king’s coronation had shored up the capital’s faltering defenses and restored some semblance of order within the city, but morale alone couldn’t change the grim reality of the battle. In this life-or-death siege, the defensive lines worsened day by day—an irreversible trend.

The monsters came in overwhelming numbers, seemingly endless, while the defenders dwindled daily. The monsters never tired, never feared death; human will, however, was steadily worn down. The monsters cared nothing for supplies or losses, but Saint Suniel’s resources were limited. Its shields and walls were no mythical fortress of war gods, impervious and eternal.

On the fourth day, the crystal giant assault intensified suddenly. A massive horde wandering in from the southeast plains of the Holy Spirit was drawn to the front lines and launched a fierce attack on the eastern city wall. This unexpected strike nearly breached the eastern defenses. After a brutal, bloody battle, the knights and royal mages repelled the enemy, but at a terrible cost—over a thousand soldiers fell in a single engagement.

The bodies taken down from the walls were not brought inside the city but burned at the foot of the outer walls. Thick smoke and a pungent stench hung over the outer district all day, even overpowering the infamous odor of Trout Street, which lingered year-round.

Near the inner city walls, in a modest home, a tall, thin man wearing a headscarf pushed open the door and stepped inside. As he hung his coat on a hook, he glanced toward his companion seated at a nearby table. “The reserves have been sent up to the walls. The shield’s becoming increasingly unstable. Those monsters’ attacks are piercing through more often, striking the battlements.”

His companion was a middle-aged man with a yellowed face, large hands and feet, and unkempt hair and beard. He fiddled with a device on the table, scratching his head before looking up. “Director Amber sent word—they’ve reached the river mouth near the Valley Corridor and engaged the monsters there.”

“…Having concrete news is better than anything,” the tall man sighed softly. “These days have been so hard.”

The burly man nodded in agreement, but before he could speak, a sudden wave of sacred, fervent energy swept in from the street, interrupting their conversation.

The tall man quickly moved to a nearby window, peering through a crack. He saw a squad of knights clad in white armor and cloaks marching resolutely toward the walls. None wore helmets; each bore tattoos of sacred inscriptions and symbolic runes etched across their faces. A visible holy radiance shimmered over their heads and shoulders. Their expressions were fanatical, as if they were not marching to a deadly battlefield but to the eternal kingdom of the divine.

The tall man stepped away from the window and said to his companion, “The Holy Order knights… their faces covered in tattoos.”

“The Pope’s inner guard… even the Holy Light Church’s reserves are being deployed now,” the burly man said gravely. “Looks like their situation isn’t any better.”

…

At the Cathedral of the Holy Light, atop a towering spire, Veronica stood by the window, watching the devout Holy Light knights, led by two battle bishops, march off to the front. She sighed softly.

In her eyes, those fervent knights and their bishops were blazing torches of holy light—pure and bright, but no longer fully human.

She turned from the window and looked at another torch of holy light standing beside her. “Sandy, go to the Great Hall of Light.”

The priestess named Sandy immediately replied, “You still need rest. You suffered heavy losses in the last battle.”

Veronica shook her head. “When fighting for the Lord, a little fatigue means nothing.”

At her words, the torch called Sandy brightened and voiced agreement. “You’re right. Let’s go to the Great Hall of Light.”

Inside the Great Hall, a sacred mist hung in the air, faint ethereal hymns echoing endlessly.

Pope Saint Ivan III had left his throne. The powerful holy devotee gripped the platinum scepter symbolizing the divine’s voice. Though his body was bent with age, he stood unwavering in the hall’s center. A radiant beam of holy light descended upon him, forming an illusionary gate above his head. Around him, the archbishops qualified to enter the Great Hall gathered.

They were conducting a special prayer ritual, heads bowed, hearts fervently calling for the Holy Light God’s response. No one spoke aloud, but layered prayers echoed continuously, all directed toward the gate above Ivan III. Amid the murmurs, the pope closed his eyes slightly, listening intently, discerning the divine oracle.

When the first prayer segment ended, Ivan III opened his eyes and saw Veronica standing before him.

The “Saint Princess” had entered the hall midway through the ritual but had not interrupted it, waiting quietly until now.

The pope spoke gently, his voice resonating with a strange harmony. “Veronica, the Lord’s most devoted child, you have come.”

Veronica bowed her head slightly, avoiding direct eye contact as usual. “Your Holiness, I have come to hear the will of God.”

Ivan III nodded softly, a complex expression of solemnity and excitement crossing his aged face. “The forces of sin press ever closer. Our holy warriors suffer heavy losses. The afflicted pray for the Holy Light’s protection. The Holy Light God can no longer bear to see this continue. He commands me to prepare for the coming, to withstand the darkest hour.”

He paused, his tone tinged with compassion. “Mortals will always need shelter and guidance…”

Veronica bowed reverently. After a brief silence, she whispered, “…Indeed.”

The pope smiled, nodding with satisfaction. “During the descent ritual, the Great Hall will be sealed completely. No lower clergy or priests may enter. Veronica, you are the Lord’s most devoted child and the bridge between the divine and mortals. You will guard the gate until the crisis passes.”

Veronica kept her head bowed, responding softly and obediently, “Yes, Your Holiness.”

…

Far beneath the endless ocean, beyond storms and chaotic magical fields, on the “Eo Continent” ruled by the sea witches, a massive structure was taking shape.

Located in the eastern stranded zone of the sea witch capital, Antavien, a broad, flat plateau faced the towering alloy walls of the city. The sea witches were building a vast plaza here, large enough to hold tens of thousands of sea witches—whether in their smaller mermaid forms or tightly coiled sea serpent shapes.

At the plaza’s center, construction machinery assembled a towering structure hundreds of meters high.

The tower was beginning to take form, resembling layers of shells spiraling around each other. Its streamlined design carried a unique beauty born of the deep sea. Sea-blue decorative lines divided the tower into three main sections: a heavy, low base; a tall, straight shaft; and at the top, a large sphere suspended midair. The sphere shimmered with rippling water light, as if made of pure water, yet miraculously held its shape without any sign of collapse.

Deep-sea engineers bustled around the tower, installing auxiliary equipment and calibrating systems. Nearby, a woman in a sea-blue gown, regal and elegant, with a coiled serpent tail for legs, stood atop a giant rock, watching the construction.

A sea witch officer wielding a trident climbed the rock and bowed before Queen Petia. “Your Majesty, the Elemental Warp Tower will be ready within twenty-four hours. After that, we only need to wait for precise location signals from the western continent.”

“Excellent—thank you all for your hard work.”

“It is our duty,” the officer said. “However… building and activating the Elemental Warp Tower is costly. It’s essentially like using up one chance to ignite a reactor.”

Petia wanted to say, “It’s not like we could have lit it otherwise,” but the queen thought better of it.

“The arcane energy extraction technique that Til sent back is already enough to make up for these losses,” the Sea Witch Queen said softly after a brief pause. “Besides, we might even gain a substantial amount of extra energy material.”

“…Yes, we’ve connected the energy conduits from the storage units over here, and the equipment for conversion, purification, and extraction is all set up. But whether the new food source Til mentioned meets our standards still needs to be verified.”

“That’s alright. Even if it can’t be used to power the ship, at least it’s still edible,” Petia said with a relaxed attitude—or rather, the sea witches have always been easygoing. “If it helps us better adapt to this world’s environment, that’s a bonus.”

As she spoke, she cast her gaze toward the distance again, watching another group of deep-sea technicians operating heavy machinery to install various protective devices around the plaza. She spoke calmly, “This time, besides keeping order during meals, the sisters need to be extra careful with safety. After all… these little biscuits are alive. Squid that occasionally get lively are hard enough to handle; living little biscuits should be no different.”

(Friend’s book recommendation: a xianxia novel titled A Commoner Wields a Sword and Heads East Along the Great River by Dao Yigeng. The author is still new, but with a master writer’s touch, you usually don’t have to worry about what comes next.)

(End of chapter)