Chapter 652: Breaking Ground

Faced with an ancient rebel shrouded in mystery—someone who controlled the Cathedral of the Holy Light with unclear motives—Kamail, himself a former rebel, advised Gawain to stay vigilant and keep his distance. Yet, as the Primate of the Southern Church and a staunch advocate for the new Holy Light doctrine, Leight believed cooperation was possible. This unexpected divergence caught Gawain off guard.

He turned to Leight. “Explain your reasoning.”

Leight spoke earnestly. “From a practical standpoint, we can’t simply ignore the Northern Church. Faith is a volatile matter, prone to fierce conflict. The clashes between the Holy Light and other sects over the past two years during our expansion are proof of that. Setting aside whatever motives Princess Veronica might have, the fact remains she holds the Platinum Scepter, and the Northern Pope and the entire bishopric have fallen. Just on that basis alone, she has value as an ally—she can help us maintain control. Otherwise, the turmoil in the Northern Church could spiral into disaster.”

“Is it just about value?”

“No, there’s a second point,” Leight continued. “If her identity is genuine, then regardless of her intentions, she is at least one of the ‘Rebels Against the Divine.’ There aren’t many like us on this path of defiance, so even a temporary ally is precious.”

After a brief pause, he added, “Our mission is to spread the true faith. Violence may be unavoidable in this process, but it cannot be our foundation. Faith comes from the heart, and the masses must ultimately become friends, not enemies. We must discern who can be won over and who cannot. In my view, Princess Veronica—or Ophelia Norton—belongs to the former group. At least for now, it’s necessary to try.”

Gawain looked at Leight with some surprise.

He had often spoken to his circle about distinguishing primary from secondary conflicts, understanding the nature of opposing groups, and knowing who must be defeated and who can be courted. But Leight had clearly mastered this skill, wielding it effortlessly.

It seemed that since taking the position of Primate, this “pastor” had grown considerably. When his mission shifted from preaching to scattered individuals to guiding an entire community, his perspective changed dramatically.

Gawain pondered.

He was well aware of the potential dangers posed by Veronica/Ophelia—the enigmatic “inhuman” figure. Bringing such a mystery into his cause was undoubtedly risky. Yet her value was undeniable, and the urgent task of absorbing and reforming the Northern Church loomed large. Between risk and reward, he needed a balance.

Finally, he nodded slightly. “Perhaps we can cooperate with her—within limits.”

Gawain could not, in such a short time and with limited intelligence, fully trust a mysterious rebel. But he also couldn’t outright reject her without sufficient information. After careful thought, he decided to pursue limited cooperation with Ophelia Norton—if she was willing to cooperate, operate under some supervision, and share knowledge and intelligence.

After all, Gawain himself was curious. What had this ancient rebel been doing within the Holy Light Church all these years? How much of the vast rebellion plan was still unknown to Kamail? Such a rare source of intelligence, right inside the Cathedral of the Holy Light—he wasn’t about to let it slip away.

…

Far to the west, the frontline had quieted somewhat, but the war that had ravaged a third of the Holy Spirit Plain and dealt a heavy blow to Ansu’s heartland was far from over.

At the edge of the plain, east of Solinfort, the mountain pass rumbled with the thunder of war.

This pass, formed by several ridges and uneven plateaus, was the largest gateway to the Eastern Territories. Its former lord was Duke Selas Loren, the Eastern Guardian who had charged through this barrier to strike Solinfort with a thunderous blow, igniting the kingdom’s civil war. Now, the pass was held by the Cecil Legion—a formidable mechanized magic corps occupying the ridges and high ground, their steel defenses repelling the frenzied crystal clusters attempting to break through and enter the East.

Between the ridges, thunder rolled. Rock shelters conjured by engineering spells concealed crystal railguns, their acceleration tracks emerging from the rocks and trees. Each flash of light sent deadly shells hurtling into the distance. On the heights, tongues of flame spewed forth; heavy flamers inside bunkers scorched the mountain paths, turning any crystal cluster monsters lucky enough to evade the artillery into ash.

At the heart of the pass, amid layers of bunkers, walls, and watchtowers, stood the core fortress and command center of the defense line—a mighty armored train known as Iron Throne Zero.

This mobile fortress, clad in black armor and thick shields, slowly approached its designated position. The hum of machinery filled the air as repulsion nodes locked the train firmly onto the tracks. Simultaneously, the main cannon in the armory section fired, and with sharp whistles, heavy crystal shells tore through the air toward distant targets.

Inside the tactical compartment of Iron Throne Zero, Commander Mariland stood before a magical network terminal, reporting to Gawain via the screen. “A new batch of war machines has arrived at the front. The Solinfort defense line is reinforced. The Eastern Territories are secure.”

Behind Mariland, a crystal window shielded by reinforced barriers revealed scorched earth, blackened by artillery and flamers. Towering watchtowers and armed platforms gleamed with metal and concrete, illuminated repeatedly by the flashes of crystal railgun fire. Transfer devices on the platforms connected to the Iron Throne, unloading the new war machines brought from the White Sands region. These machines were ready for mechanical adjustments before deployment. A large contingent of soldiers drawn from the Kant region disembarked, fully armored in black plate, assembling on the platform for inspection by their commanders.

The holographic display above the terminal glowed softly. Gawain’s voice crackled slightly through the comms. “Any signs of large-scale anomalies on the plain?”

“None so far,” Mariland replied gravely. “We’ve pushed the northern line forward to the Slantwood Pass, setting observation posts along the way, but no anomalies detected. We’re now opening a southern front and constructing a second railway line. Perhaps we’ll find something there.”

Outside Iron Throne, between the rocks, a sleek metal rail suddenly extended toward the battlefield. A low hum filled the air as a piercing, terrifying white beam cut through the dusk’s gloom, sweeping slowly over the Iron Throne, the armed platforms, frontline barricades, and bunkers, scanning the plain.

The intense flash penetrated the window, casting light on Mariland’s face and illuminating the interior of the tactical compartment. Gawain frowned. “Was that a rainbow beam? Are the monsters attacking fiercely?”

“Yes, I was about to report. This has been happening over the past two days. The crystal cluster monsters’ attacks are increasing in frequency and intensity, sometimes even charging in large hordes. We rely on four calibrator beam cannons on the mountains to clear them out. Such large-scale assaults were rare after the clusters went into frenzy.”

“This could be a sign. The strongest ‘monsters’ created by the Apocalypse may have begun to stir,” Gawain said quickly. “Keep a close watch on the plain. Report any anomalies immediately. Also, remind the armored assault teams entering the combat zone: if you encounter strange, powerful, and overwhelming enemies, do not fight to the death. Retreat immediately and prioritize intelligence gathering.”

“Understood.”

The comms ended. Mariland exhaled softly and moved to the shielded window, gazing at the steel defense line and the scorched plain beyond.

The rail system carrying the Iron Throne extended to the edge of Solinfort, pushing the defense line to the city’s outskirts. At the foot of the mountains connecting the Eastern Territories and the Holy Spirit Plain, countless temporary bunkers, watchtowers, artillery positions, and the Iron Throne itself formed an impregnable barrier. But this defense was not just about walls and shields—its primary method was to crush any who dared approach.

Mariland, a seasoned commander of the Rock Fortress, had always been confident in defensive warfare. But it was only after encountering the Cecils that he seemed to unlock a new world—the true essence of defense.

The best defense is offense. As the White Knights often said: the best cure is to eliminate the attacker first.

Behind the Iron Throne’s docking platform, atop a stone ridge, stood a watchtower framed in metal, swaying in the wind. A faint shield shimmered around it. At its peak, a crystal device for communication and signal relay slowly rotated, driven by mechanical gears. Below, inside a steel-plated hut, a sentinel vigilantly scanned the plain.

The sentinel held a military-grade telescope enhanced with magical sight-amplifying spells, improving its effectiveness beyond ordinary optics. Through the clear view, his gaze swept slowly over a distant wasteland.

Apart from the occasional frantic crystal cluster monster darting about, everything seemed normal.

He lowered the telescope and rubbed his eyes. Just as he was about to look elsewhere, a strange flash caught his eye.

The light, faint at first, seemed imbued with some magical force, radiating a strong presence. At first, he thought it was a trick of his eyes, but then a second flash appeared, followed by a steady glow rising in the distance.

In a battlefield saturated with all manner of magic, a few lights were hardly cause for alarm. Yet, as the sentinel stared, a sudden chill gripped him—he sensed a tangible malice emanating from the glow.

Without hesitation, he slammed the nearest button.

A piercing alarm blared through the tactical compartment of the Iron Throne. Mariland snapped to attention and heard the sentinel’s voice over the comms: “Commander! Unidentified flashes observed southwest! The light carries supernatural power!”

Mariland quickly spotted the glow on the plain. It had stabilized into a hazy beam, radiating a strong presence. Within the shifting light, an eerie sense of malice and madness pulsed.

Though intangible, the phantom aura was enough to put Mariland on high alert—he realized this might be the “anomaly” Gawain had warned about.

“Connect me to Saint Sunir immediately,” the commander ordered loudly, then turned to his subordinates. “Knights of Ampel, dispatch a reconnaissance unit at once to investigate where the light is rising—under no circumstances are you to underestimate the situation!”

…

To the southwest of the Iron Throne’s defensive line, near the scorched ruins of Solinfort, the earth had cracked open. From the fissure emerged a colossal figure bathed in sacred radiance, yet exuding an unsettling aura of chaos. It stood silently, motionless.

It was a massive stag, its antlers gleaming like forged light, its eyes shimmering like crystal. Pure, radiant light swirled around it, faint echoes of holiness drifting within the glow. But the creature’s body was grotesque and terrifying: its fur split open in great patches, revealing corrupted flesh writhing beneath. Its limbs were marred by countless wounds—some charred, others festering—and swollen, misshapen growths ringed the injuries. Every muscle, every inch of skin trembled and pulsed, as if the flesh was forcibly stitched together from countless chaotic fragments, struggling desperately to tear itself apart.

Yet the stag seemed utterly oblivious to its horrific wounds and mutations. It simply stood at the edge of the ruined town like a soulless husk.

(End of chapter)