Chapter 643: The King’s Price

As the armored griffons of the Cecil forces swept across the sky, Count Uriel still had the leisure to admire the view of Crow’s Plateau. Once a strategic outpost of Saint Suniel, complete with several watchtowers and a small fortress, the highland was now a ruin ravaged by war. Among the scattered remnants of broken walls and shattered stones lay abandoned banners and equipment, alongside the mangled corpses of the crystal giant legion. New flags fluttered defiantly amid the devastation, their vibrant colors striking a strange, poignant contrast against the desolation.

A cool breeze drifted by, carrying with it the faint, acrid scent of battle. Uriel inhaled deeply and smiled wryly. “The past few days were tough… but at least those hard times are finally over.”

“We didn’t meet much resistance,” a viscount standing nearby remarked. “Only a few badly wounded monsters left to die. But I’m afraid these gains aren’t enough.”

“No matter,” Uriel replied casually. “We can gather these remains. Our king will be busy from now on—he probably won’t have time to fuss over minor details.”

“Our new king, huh…” The viscount chuckled softly, then glanced up at the sky with curiosity. “Strange, why are those griffons still circling nearby?”

“Those must be the Cecil griffons,” Uriel said, looking up. “Are they here to greet us?”

The armored griffons circled the plateau a while longer, then suddenly flapped their wings and veered off toward the horizon.

Uriel narrowed his eyes. After a moment, a creeping unease began to gnaw at his heart.

He thought of Count Lucre, executed by the king.

“This is a trap—”

Uriel’s shout was cut short by a sharp, piercing whistle echoing from afar…

Crow’s Plateau was engulfed in a cataclysmic explosion, the ground trembling as flashes of light erupted and clouds of smoke billowed into the sky.

From the walls of Saint Suniel, Wales stood silently, watching the chaos unfold. After a long pause, he murmured, “He is truly decisive.”

Everyone else on the walls—noble scions loyal to the king, the city’s defenders, and others left behind for various reasons—watched the terrifying scene with shock and dread.

The crowd erupted in alarm. Chaos broke out on the battlements as some rushed toward the king, seeking further orders. But Wales raised his sword, his voice imbued with magic ringing out across the walls: “Silence! Inner court nobles, royal guards—follow me out of the city. We will meet the Duke of Cecil.”

“Your Majesty!” an inner court noble cried out. “Absolutely not! They just bombarded Crow’s Plateau—they just killed—”

“Do they know there are noble knights stationed there?” Wales interrupted calmly. “Do they know the orders I left in Silverkeep?”

“Your Majesty, but—”

“This may be a terrible misunderstanding, which is why it must be cleared up face to face,” Wales said firmly. “Regardless, the Cecils saved the capital, clearing the monsters from the plains. Their army waits outside the city. We must meet them.”

The king’s final words struck a chord with everyone present. The inner court nobles, caught between shock and fear, suddenly realized who truly held the initiative. The wiser among them sensed something darker beneath Wales’s unusual composure—a bloody truth unfolding in broad daylight. After a brief moment of confusion, they understood they had no choice.

No matter what the truth behind the bombardment of Crow’s Plateau was, they must obey the king’s command and go out to meet the Cecil forces.

…

“The meeting point is Milltown,” Victoria said after ending her magical communication with Duke Bertram. “It’s already a ruin. Wales and the inner court nobles have set out.”

Gawain nodded. “We’ll depart as well.”

His calm demeanor unsettled Victoria, who couldn’t help but ask, “Aren’t you worried it’s a trap?”

“I am. That’s why I’m bringing a tank battalion,” Gawain replied. “But I doubt we’ll need them. Wales is smart, and Bertram Franklin even more so.”

Victoria was momentarily taken aback, then glanced toward the Dark Raven standing nearby.

This terrible event, played out in the sunlight, had been set in motion by a single letter delivered by the royal shadow guard. At first, Victoria wondered why Bertram hadn’t contacted her directly via magical transmission, especially since she was already in the Saint Suniel region, within range. But she soon understood—Bertram knew her well. He knew she would never agree to such a bold and extreme “conspiracy.” Contacting her in advance would only have given her the chance to stop it.

Duke Bertram, master of Ansu commerce, acted like a shrewd merchant—calculating precisely what was best for the country, then stopping at nothing to achieve it. This was something Victoria, trapped within Ansu’s outdated noble constraints, could never emulate.

Gawain strode toward the command post, and Victoria quickly gathered herself to follow. But just before boarding the magi-car, she noticed someone missing. “Where’s Miss Amber?”

Gawain, heading toward the vehicle parked inside the camp, replied casually, “She went to investigate something.”

Deep within the camp, in a barracks heavily guarded by soldiers, a maginet terminal hummed steadily. Connected to it, a printer spit out sheet after sheet of paper, covered with dense text, black-and-white images, and finely detailed hand-drawn crests.

Amber sat beside the terminal, flipping through the freshly printed pages with a strange smile—part satisfaction, part mockery.

“There’s really a lot… It’s impressive Wales managed to hold the city this long, even with so many dragging him down…”

…

The Cecil legion had dispatched a guard detachment to Milltown’s ruins outside Saint Suniel, arriving at the agreed time and place. But Wales had already reached the site.

The ruins, reduced to little more than rubble, no longer warranted occupation or repair. The crystal giant legion had razed the town, demolishing nearly every building and wall. It seemed the only solution was to level it completely and rebuild.

The royal knights stationed here swiftly cleared out the few lingering monsters, then planted the Ansu banner amid the broken bricks.

When the distant rumble of cannon fire came from Crow’s Plateau, the knights stood silently on guard, ordered not to leave their post no matter what happened. And if nothing occurred at the plateau…

Their mission was to intercept any returning nobles.

The Ansu flag fluttered beside the ruined town, the shattered bricks and collapsed walls casting a mournful shadow in the sunlight. A silent knightly force guarded the debris, while Wales Morn stood outside the town with the surviving nobles and soldiers loyal to him, watching the grotesque, alien war machines roll into the open field.

As the steel tracks churned, shield glows shimmered, and the railgun barrels gleamed coldly in the sun, Wales could feel the tension rising among those around him. Several swallowed nervously.

Even he couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion at the sight of those war machines.

The magi-car, escorted in the center by armored vehicles, opened its door. Gawain stepped out, followed by the Northern Duchess Victoria, dressed in a white gown, her expression cold and distant.

The nobles and knights beside Wales stirred uneasily but made no move. Victoria stood quietly behind Gawain, fully aware of what it meant to stand by his side after the bombardment of Crow’s Plateau.

She was fulfilling the promise she had made to Gawain.

The atmosphere was tense and awkward, a heavy silence hanging over everyone. Gawain sensed it but only smiled faintly as he approached the new Ansu king.

“We finally meet safely, Your Majesty,” he said. “Though the mood here seems less than warm.”

“Because we may need to clear up a terrible misunderstanding,” Wales met Gawain’s gaze and spoke before any other noble could. “We need to talk, Duke of Cecil.”

Gawain studied Wales for a moment, then nodded. “Of course.”

Though the town lay in ruins, finding a room for the king and duke to discuss matters was easy. A sturdy little chapel was the only building still standing. After a quick cleanup, it became their meeting place.

Everyone else was kept outside—the nobles and guards accompanying the king, the commanders of the Cecil legion, and Victoria.

The battered wooden door creaked shut behind them. A shaft of sunlight filtered through the shattered stained glass, illuminating the broken altar and collapsed statues. Gawain and Wales faced each other.

Gawain glanced around. “I never expected our first serious conversation to be in a place like this.”

“This is cleaner than Silverkeep,” Wales smiled. “At least here, there aren’t so many eyes watching.”

“But there are plenty outside,” Gawain said. “I’m curious—what do you plan to do next?”

“And you?” Wales countered. “Have you considered what you’d do if this is a trap? If I only wanted to put you in an impossible position by provoking the bombardment of Crow’s Plateau? If I intended to eliminate my rivals and secure the throne? Have you thought about how you’d respond then?”

“There’s nothing to consider,” Gawain said, locking eyes with Wales. “Power is won by the sword.”

Wales looked at him in surprise for a moment, then paused for two seconds before bursting into laughter.

The new king laughed loudly in the ruined chapel—without any noble restraint or decorum, unguarded and unrestrained. He laughed as if he had never truly laughed before, as if all the joy he’d denied himself in his life was pouring out now. Minutes passed before the laughter finally subsided. He straightened slowly, took a deep breath, still smiling.

“Yes, yes… you really are that kind of man.”

“We of our generation are all like that,” Gawain said, slipping into memories of Gawain Cecil, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “So, what about you? What’s your decision?”

“Do you know,” Wales began calmly, “that over the past year, the Holy Spirit Plains and the northern and western regions have been undergoing all sorts of reforms? We’ve tried everything—new factories, town management systems, updated military codes, even new schools and a new system for free citizens.” He paused, then continued slowly, “All of this was meant to challenge the old order. Yet Dukes Victoria and Bertram pushed these changes with all their might, because we all believed these reforms could restore Ansu to its former strength…”

A faint, distant clamor drifted in from outside the church, growing gradually louder.

Wales glanced once at the church’s firmly shut doors, then turned back to continue, “But in the end, nearly all the reforms failed. The factories became just another way to amass land. The new military codes had little effect. The new systems never took hold. The schools… the schools never even got built. The only real change was that the nobles in the capital split into bitterly opposed reformists and conservatives, bickering endlessly, tearing each other apart from within…”

“But you know, this wasn’t the first time Ansu tried to change.

“Long before your resurrection, for decades even, we tried again and again—though back then I was far from Silverfort. Strictly speaking, it was my father, the king, and several protector dukes who made those efforts.

“Duke Selas Loren once proposed reforms inspired by Typhon.

“My father considered establishing a parliament.

“The previous Northern Duke pushed for the Kingdom’s Constitution.

“Grant Duke Bertram implemented new commercial policies.

“All of it failed.”

The noise outside grew louder still, but it didn’t interrupt the conversation between Gawain and Wales. Gawain nodded slightly. “I’m familiar with some of that.”

“I left Silverfort, but I kept watching,” Wales said. “For a long time, I’ve been wondering what exactly has blocked the kingdom from moving forward. Is it that we lack wise men? But before Typhon’s reforms, their scholars and advisors weren’t any more numerous than ours. Is it that we lack enlightened nobles? But the king and every protector duke were reformists, and there have always been supporters of change among the nobility. Is it money? Food? Time? But in truth, Ansu was no worse off at the start than Typhon was when they began their reforms.

“So what exactly are we missing?

“Comparing ourselves to Typhon, I began to sense some key differences. And after the southern regions rose, after we tried to imitate your new order with even more radical reforms—and met with even fiercer resistance and conflict—I think I finally understand…

“The problem lies in the entire Ansu system itself: a kingdom led by the king, built on a feudal lordship structure, with land and serfs as its lifeblood.

“I don’t agree with the methods of Edmund and Duke Loren, but now I have to admit… they helped me see something important.

“Duke Cecil, do you know what the hardest part is when trying to push reform from the top down?”

Wales smiled gently, his eyes fixed quietly on Gawain.

But before Gawain could answer, Wales spoke the truth himself.

“It’s overthrowing yourself.”

With that, Wales strode toward the church doors. Outside, the noise had erupted into a roar of shouts and cries. He threw the doors wide open.

(End of chapter)