Chapter 642: Gifts and Choices

The eighth morning dawned.

By the king’s order, the remaining battle-ready troops within Saint Suniel were swiftly reorganized to launch the first counterattack since the city’s defense began.

The forces set out in two groups: one was the royal knight order loyal to the king, the other a mixed cavalry formed from the noble scions and private guards of the capital’s aristocracy. Both passed through the city gates at dawn, but their appearances couldn’t have been more different—

The royal knights were few, with only about forty percent of their original strength still combat-capable. Their armor was battered and scarred, weapons still stained with blood they hadn’t had time to clean. They moved like rust-colored statues of war, silent and disciplined, their killing intent restrained but unmistakable.

In stark contrast, the other group was loud and flamboyant. Colorful banners fluttered above them, noble youths clad in gleaming armor with rosy cheeks rode tall steeds. They resembled a traveling troupe in full regalia, trumpets blaring and drums beating, a lively spectacle. Among the various banners, some bore ornate crests trimmed with colorful embroidery—a blatant display of noble pride in leading the charge.

Of course, they had to show off. This upcoming “battle” was little more than a near-riskless performance, like the annual autumn and winter hunts. The high-born would wield enchanted bows, hunting down beasts already cornered and desperate, protected by their knights. No matter how the hunt unfolded, as long as their arrow struck the beast, the archer earned the title of “valiant warrior.” And that was exactly what they were after.

After all, the opportunists knew their own stains. Especially those who had prepared to move their wealth and only swore loyalty after the king’s coronation—they desperately needed some “victories” to decorate their reputations.

But these victories weren’t for the king’s eyes—they were for Duke Gawain Cecil.

A duke famed for his military achievements, now single-handedly turning the tide with force. Upon entering the capital, he would surely scrutinize everyone’s performance during the siege. Securing some battle honors now was an investment in the political capital to come. Anyone with foresight could see that the situation in Ansu would be completely reshuffled after this war. The East and North would decline, even the West was badly wounded. Only the South would emerge victorious—just as a century ago, after the Misty Moon Rebellion, the Wilde family took control of Ansu under the guise of regency.

As for the king… poor king. His royal authority would likely end the moment Duke Gawain Cecil entered the city.

Count Uriel of the capital, dressed in his finest, glanced back at the towering walls of Saint Suniel where the royal banner fluttered. He shook his head, sighing in a distinctly northern aristocratic lament: “Poor king—he’s only been free for eight days.”

Another nearby agreed, “Yes, breaking free from Wilde, only to welcome Cecil… who would have thought this a few years ago?”

Uriel smiled with restrained pride. “I’ve purchased a large quantity of alchemical potions and magitech arms from the South. As an important client, I’m sure Duke Gawain Cecil remembers me.”

“Of course, my friend. Your investment acumen has always been admirable…”

…

Wales stood atop the city wall, watching the lavishly outfitted troops march toward the “Raven Plateau,” silent for a long time.

Duke Bertram’s voice broke the quiet beside him. “Your Majesty.”

“Look at them—a dazzling sight,” Wales lifted his chin toward the advancing troops. “Brand-new armor, horses without a scratch, banners that look like they just came out of storage. Bertram, where do you think they’ve been hiding all this time?”

“…In the filthy guts of those men,” Bertram replied dryly.

Wales turned, surprised. “You actually curse.”

“Only when necessary,” Bertram said calmly. “More importantly, Your Majesty, are you sure your choice is necessary?”

“I’ve seen your efforts with Duke Victoria, witnessed the split between reformists and conservatives. I’ve seen lords amass wealth by encroaching on free farmers’ lands, and how so-called ‘factory reforms’ became excuses for land grabs, displacing commoners. I know all the rules governing this kingdom’s upper class. And within those rules, I’ve found one truth…”

Bertram looked steadily at the king.

“Our reforms have failed because we haven’t risked enough. The prosperity Ansu desires isn’t won at the negotiating table.”

Wales smiled suddenly. “And I’m genuinely curious—how will that founding hero face such a dilemma? I’ve set the stage; let’s see if even he can be caught off guard…”

…

The cannon fire from Hill Two gradually subsided. In the command post, reports from the front lines were continuously compiled and presented to Gawain.

Overall, the battle was unfolding as planned. Once the crystal cluster giants turned into frenzied monsters, the Cecil legion’s task became simpler—these mindless beasts lacked command and tactics, so the prearranged strategies, if executed without major errors, matched the battlefield reality. As commanders and soldiers adapted, the situation stabilized with little chance of drastic change.

Above the map table, a holographic projection of Philip’s bust appeared on the maginet terminal. “…We’re approaching the valley corridor. We should reach the Saint Suniel area by tomorrow at the earliest…”

“Good,” Gawain nodded with approval. The original rendezvous was set for three days later, but Philip’s ground forces had forced their way forward two days ahead, tipping the scales further in their favor. “How did you move so fast?”

“The enemy’s counterattack was weaker than expected. It seems many monsters that once roamed the central plains have been drawn to Saint Suniel,” Philip explained. “Still, we set up sufficient fire blockade points along the way. You can rest assured.”

Gawain nodded, exchanged a few more words about the battle, then ended the communication.

The northern and southern blockade lines were finally about to close.

He exhaled slightly, feeling some relief. Turning to discuss the next steps entering the capital with Victoria, he was interrupted by Amber’s voice nearby:

“You say you’re just a messenger, so just be a messenger! Why hide? With your skills, hiding’s pointless!”

Curious, Gawain looked up to see Amber dragging a young man along by the arm. The man, clad in black lightweight leather armor, looked somewhat familiar and wore an embarrassed expression.

Victoria immediately recognized him. “Dark Crow?”

Only then did Gawain recall—the old friend, a royal shadow guard who couldn’t perform the two-handed greatsword whirlwind slash.

“I caught him sneaking outside the camp,” Amber said, pushing Dark Crow toward Gawain, hands on hips and chin raised. “He said he came to deliver a message.”

“Dark Crow, what message do you bring?” Victoria frowned, addressing the shadow guard.

Dark Crow glanced at Victoria, then at Amber with a helpless look, before bowing respectfully to Gawain. “I have a sealed letter from the king himself, to be delivered to Duke Gawain Cecil.”

He produced a letter from a hidden pocket and handed it over.

Gawain took the letter, sealed with the Ansu royal wax stamp, curious about its contents. Though the southern battlefield was mostly cleared, a lone royal shadow guard crossing the war zone to reach the Cecil camp was no small matter. What urgent situation required the new king to contact him this way?

He broke the seal and read a simple sentence:

“The Raven Plateau has been corrupted and polluted. Duke Cecil, please assist in its cleansing.—Wales Morn.”

Gawain’s gaze froze. After several seconds of silence, he slowly set the letter down and looked at the shadow guard. “Did the king say anything else?”

“He asked me to tell you,” Dark Crow repeated Wales Morn’s words, “that he left a ‘thread ball’ there.”

“…”

Victoria read the letter and heard Dark Crow’s words. She didn’t know what the “thread ball” meant, but by intuition and guesswork, she vaguely sensed what Wales was doing.

She suddenly looked at Gawain. “Duke Cecil…”

“Your king has given me a difficult problem,” Gawain murmured, glancing again at the letter.

The letter bore no self-destruct seal; it lay intact in his hand, every word sharp and clear.

It was a challenge, perhaps also a test. Behind this thin sheet, Gawain felt Wales Morn’s eyes—watchful, scrutinizing.

Amber read the letter too, and after a moment’s shock, she exclaimed, “Oh my god.”

Then she warned, “Be careful. This might be a trap. He could be deceiving you. What do you call that… ‘using a borrowed knife’ or something?”

“Honestly, I don’t mind if it’s a trap,” Gawain said, looking at Amber. “But I do need to verify the situation on the Raven Plateau. Notify Jina—have her take to the skies.”

He then turned to Victoria, whose expression was complicated. “We’ll wait here a moment.”

They didn’t wait long before aerial reconnaissance footage from the griffon knights arrived at the command post.

Armored griffons swept over the Raven Plateau, colorful banners and crests fluttering vividly in the wind.

Gawain and Victoria stood before the maginet terminal, watching the holographic image. Gawain quietly asked, “Do you recognize them?”

For a moment, Victoria seemed transported back to her youth, recalling the nervousness and fear she felt standing beside her father. Even this simple question weighed heavily on her. She took a soft breath before answering, “I do.”

“What’s your assessment?”

“…Duke Cecil, you’re about to make a terrible decision. It will…”

Gawain calmly repeated his question, “What’s your assessment?”

Suddenly, the scene Victoria had recalled not long ago resurfaced vividly in her mind—the moment when her father had once asked her a question:

“…If pruning, fertilizing, watering, and applying medicine all fail, what would you do?”

She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, the cold, icy grand duke seemed to have returned.

“All of it should be uprooted.”

“Very good.”

Gawain nodded, then turned to the nearby officer.

“The Raven Plateau has been contaminated. Purify it.”

(End of chapter)