Chapter 641: The Situation

That evening, the ground forces of the Cecil Legion established their second artillery position on the southern plains of Saint Suniel, completing the initial phase of fire coverage along the capital’s front-line defenses.

The battle was far from over. Large numbers of crystal cluster giants still roamed the southern and eastern regions. Driven by their instinct for destruction, these monsters continued to launch attacks on areas dense with magical and life energy—much like the mutated aberrations that once plagued the wastelands of Gondor. But one thing was clear: the immediate crisis in Saint Suniel had been temporarily averted.

Over the next twenty hours, Gawain refrained from blindly expanding the ground forces’ front. Instead, he maintained fire superiority while steadily thinning the crystal cluster legions across the open southern plains. At the same time, he called in a batch of engineers from the armored cargo ships docked on the Gorgon River.

Under the cover of overwhelming firepower and aided by numerous engineering magi devices, the engineers worked through the night to set up the first interception nets and temporary fortifications along the southern battlefield. By noon on the seventh day, squads of seven magi infantry equipped with individual flamethrowers were deployed to man these defenses. At key points, the more powerful White Knights, armed with heavy flamethrowers, took up guard.

This defensive line was designed to intercept the crystal cluster giants advancing from the Holy Spirit Plains. Interlocking flamethrower bunkers, barbed wire, and anti-charge stakes formed the most effective weapons against the monsters’ relentless assaults. The engineers would continue their work until the entire plain was dotted with interception works and firepower bunkers—until the supply stockpiles carried by the transport fleet were half depleted. After that, the ground forces would shift to a more conservative posture, awaiting the arrival of Philip’s main army from the north.

On the towering walls of Saint Suniel, knights and soldiers finally caught a moment’s breath, leaning against the battlements to rest. The threat of a defensive collapse had been temporarily lifted, but there was no room for complacency. A significant number of crystal cluster creatures still prowled outside the walls, and no one dared leave the line until those monsters were completely wiped out.

A griffon emblazoned with the royal blue and gold crest soared into the sky. The soldiers and knights all looked up as it departed Saint Suniel, heading south.

Countless eyes on the walls followed the brave griffon rider as the beast flew over the western ramparts, past the ruined Mill Town and the Crow Plateau to the south of the capital. A few arcs of arcane lightning shot up from the ground, streaking through the air, but they fell far behind the griffon. At last, the creature safely crossed the battlefield.

Wales watched the griffon’s departure and exhaled softly.

Since the siege began, this was the first griffon rider to successfully break through and carry out a reconnaissance mission. Dozens of well-trained griffon riders had already perished in the dense arcane fire, usually shot down as soon as they left the protective barrier. Though the number of crystal cluster monsters had sharply declined, the courage required to fly beyond the walls remained immense.

May he return safely.

…

South of the capital, within the camp established by the Cecil Legion’s ground forces, Gawain gazed distantly at the towering walls of the city now within sight.

Beyond the camp, in the direction of the two artillery high grounds, piercing shrieks continued without pause. The thunder of exploding shells came from even farther away, as if the battle never ceased for a moment.

A faint chill brushed past from behind. Gawain turned to see Victoria approaching.

The duchess had arrived with the second wave of landing troops, but her mountain infantry had little role in the “Cecil-style” front line. Her main function here was as an advisor. Though Gawain had satellite maps, their resolution and detail were limited, and he himself was unfamiliar with the capital’s surroundings. Victoria’s presence helped fill that gap. In fact, the location of the second artillery position had been chosen based on intelligence she provided.

“The enemy’s main force on the front no longer poses a threat,” Gawain nodded to the Northern Guardian, speaking calmly. “Our next objective is to seal off the southern and eastern passes, cutting off the monsters’ reinforcements.”

Victoria’s usually frozen expression softened slightly. The stern duchess seemed to shed a burden in Gawain’s presence. She exhaled deeply, a faint smile touching her lips. “You have saved this kingdom.”

“But it’s too soon to say that,” Gawain replied casually. “The crisis is far from over.”

His words carried two meanings: first, the crystal cluster legions on the Holy Spirit Plains were far from eradicated; second, the End of All Things cult had created a catastrophic threat deep within those plains, one that could erupt at any time. Victoria, of course, only understood the first.

She nodded gently. “As you say, we cannot relax yet… Holding the capital is only the first step.”

“To hold the capital…” Gawain murmured, his gaze drifting northward, toward the towering walls of Saint Suniel. “It’s so close now.”

Victoria followed his gaze, sweeping over the gleaming accelerated rail cannons, the armored vehicles and battalions ready to deploy, the Cecil banners fluttering in the camp’s breeze, and finally resting on the distant city walls.

Amid the distant thunder of artillery from the two high grounds, a sudden silence fell beside Gawain.

Saint Suniel had indeed been held, but as the kingdom’s capital, it was now a hollow shell. Its armed forces and ruling system were all but gone.

And outside the walls, a mighty Cecil Legion was camped—its commander having just accomplished the kingdom’s salvation.

At that moment, Victoria’s mind drifted back a hundred years, to the Mistmoon Rebellion that changed Ansu’s fate, to the day the head of the Wilde family stood before the capital’s gates.

“Duke Cecil, you…” Victoria began.

Gawain cut her off. “Guess what Wales is thinking right now.”

“I’m not sure I can predict his moves anymore,” Victoria shook her head slightly. “Looking back, maybe I never truly understood him.”

…

The griffon sent south returned.

The rider brought back astonishing news: roaring war machines, soldiers spewing jets of flame, incomprehensible engines of war, and their terrifying power.

Wales listened silently atop the walls.

The Cecil Legion had effectively taken control of the entire region. Their strength could level this battlefield…

Perhaps it was time to face the hardest choice of his life.

Wales left the walls.

For the first time since his coronation seven days ago, the king returned to Silverkeep.

The noble council convened once more in the Golden Oak Hall.

Reinforcements had arrived, the crisis was over. Though small enemy bands still lingered outside the city, the dark cloud that had hung over Saint Suniel for days was lifting. Except for the Holy Light Cathedral, which remained tightly shut, the inner city was filled with a light, joyful atmosphere. The nobles, as the city’s elite, responded most noticeably—

Many faces that had been pale with fear just days before now beamed with smiles. Those who had planned to flee with their families now dressed in finery and sashes—these former fugitives, opportunists who switched sides at the king’s coronation, now gathered happily in the Golden Oak Hall, speaking eagerly of a bright future.

Now, they were all heroes who had defended Saint Suniel.

When Wales entered the hall, this was the scene before him.

“Your Majesty, history will remember this day,” a nobleman wearing a white wig stood and bowed deeply. “It proves that noble blood will always shine.”

Wales gave no reply, only a faint nod as he slowly approached his throne.

That noble had packed up his valuables and sent them to the west gate seven days ago, but sensing the change within Silverkeep, he had hurriedly recalled his wagons and servants.

Several nobles seated along the long table’s west side were fence-sitters, ready to flee before the coronation but pledging loyalty at once on the day itself.

For centuries, nobles had lived by such shrewd calculations—measuring gains and losses, protecting their interests, choosing sides, adjusting alliances, and directing their investments.

The kingdom had weathered turmoil and upheaval. Even the royal bloodline had faced near extinction during the Mistmoon Rebellion. But the shrewd nobles always steered their course through the storm, and except for a few who fell, most remained eternal beneficiaries.

Just like today.

Wales sat on the throne, the clink of his bloodstained armor echoing coldly.

Many eyes turned to him.

“The Cecil Legion has established a position south of the city,” Wales said slowly. “Only a day’s march from the capital.”

Murmurs rippled through the hall. Some faces grew serious; others looked at Wales with complicated expressions.

The nobility was decadent, but not foolish.

Almost everyone instantly grasped the risks of the current situation—for the royal family.

The capital was shattered, royal power a mere shadow. The knightly orders had suffered heavy losses defending the city. Most of the southern fiefs were lost.

And now, a powerful ducal legion camped just outside the walls.

Its commander was not a royal appointee.

Another duke who had turned the tide, another situation reminiscent of the Mistmoon Rebellion.

The whispered conversations died one by one. Inside, nobles began calculating the kingdom’s future power balance, planning their next “investments” and alliances. The king on the throne looked increasingly awkward in their eyes.

Ordinary nobles could choose their positions in this game; the king could not.

Wales saw all their reactions but said nothing.

After all, these people were now the kingdom’s honored defenders.

But at least, as king, he still held the power to issue orders.

“Before Duke Cecil enters the city, we need to secure the area around the southern city wall,” Wales said deliberately after a brief pause. “Gentlemen, this concerns the honor of many noble families in Saint Suniel.”

No matter the situation, his words struck a chord with everyone present.

“We will organize our forces to retake two key positions outside the southern wall as a ‘gift’ to welcome Duke Cecil,” Wales continued. “One is Mill Town, and the other is Crow’s Plateau further south.”

After a moment of silence, the hall filled with voices of agreement.

Both locations lie close to the city walls, and the sentries have already reported that these areas are virtually free of enemy presence.

They will serve as the perfect symbols to uphold our dignity.

(End of chapter)