Chapter 674: The Age of Empire

This was not a coronation.

Calling today’s ceremony a “coronation” was simply because most people in this era were more familiar with that term.

High King Gawain stood firm atop the skull of the False God, gripping the Sword of the Pioneer like a mountain peak. The black platform beneath him exuded a solemn gravity, a stark departure from the old royal pomp. Steel wings unfurled on either side, and banners bearing the imperial crest stretched all the way to the ground. Before the emblem, the Iron Cavalry battalion was marching into the square.

Unlike the black armor of the arcane infantry, these soldiers wore fully enclosed helmets that radiated an aura of mystery. Their formations were tighter, their weapons sharper and more advanced. The arrival of this second battalion stirred a wave of murmurs both inside and outside the square, a ripple of awe that even reached the castle’s viewing platform.

Noble lords of the capital, merchant delegates, former knight officers, and church representatives—all dressed in their finest ceremonial attire, having rehearsed dozens of times at home, prepared to welcome a king’s coronation and cheer—now found themselves at a loss. When the moment truly came, nearly all of them forgot how to react.

This was not a coronation. It was a demonstration, a profound declaration.

Count Cromwell of White Mountain stood on the Silver Fortress platform. The knight lord of dwarven blood fixed his gaze on the marching soldiers and their immaculate gear. Only now did he realize this force was fundamentally different from any army he had known—and why Cecil’s rise was inevitable.

He sighed softly. “Your Majesty of Wales… I see now why you asked me to stay.”

“Seeing it with our own eyes is good for those of us who survived by chance,” said Count Barin beside him, adjusting his collar. The slightly portly noble glanced at the faces on the platform—some bowed in thought, others trembling slightly—but all bore a trace of reverence they could not hide.

Nearby, Duke Bertram and Duchess Victoria of the West were conversing quietly. The duke murmured, “Only by securing food production first can education be widely spread. Only with basic education and food supply can factory production and professional soldier training be realized. Only by ensuring equipment, food, and rigorous retraining of soldiers can an army like this be built. It’s a complete chain, each link inseparable from the next.”

The Duchess of the North nodded slightly. “The old reforms failed because we only copied a few links. Those few became mere ornaments, self-indulgent and unable to grow into a forest…”

Cromwell listened to the voices behind him, deep in thought. His eyes drifted toward the square, where orderly war chariots were entering along the broad eastern avenue.

At the edges of Silver Fortress Square, the gathered citizens had gradually recovered from their initial shock and confusion. Though they didn’t understand the significance of this unconventional “coronation,” the sight of Cecil’s legions marching in formation was enough to thrill these people starved for entertainment.

The soldiers and chariots were imposing and awe-inspiring. On the battlefield, they were undoubtedly a terrifying force that would strike fear into any enemy. But here, they were not foes. A subtle excitement stirred the crowd, sparking eager discussions and bursts of cheers.

Amid the cheering and commotion, a small cordoned-off area held a group of technicians in mage-engineer robes, operating several mechanical devices. Calibrated optical crystals pointed toward Silver Fortress. A young man in formal dress stood beside the machines, his voice brimming with excitement:

“…This is Saint Suniel live. The Iron Ambassador battalion is now being reviewed by His Majesty… Cheers are coming from all directions, Miss Witch, can you hear it? The whole place is alive with applause!”

No sooner had he spoken than a shout rose from the eastern side of the square, accompanied by a spreading, mist-like holy light.

The White Knight battalion entered, clad in heavy armor, wielding war hammers and iron-bound prayer books, their footsteps heavy and resolute.

The surging holy light pulsed within their ranks. Though the smallest in number, their presence and might were among the strongest. Following them came the Papal knights and sisterhoods, also bathed in sacred light…

The crowd continued to cheer and talk. Ordinary folk rarely grasped the symbolic weight behind such staged ceremonies; they simply found the spectacle novel and magnificent. But on the castle’s viewing platform, the atmosphere suddenly grew heavy and silent.

Nobles exchanged glances. Knights and merchant delegates looked uncertainly toward the church representatives, only to see the clergy standing quietly, expressionless, calmly observing everything.

Among them, Veronica, holding a platinum staff, gave a faint smile and whispered, “Now, the army of God will be reviewed by the Emperor.”

In a tower room of Silver Fortress, Melita Pernia, veiled, stood by the window, watching the square through crystal glass. When the knights and sisters representing the church entered, the humanoid dragon smiled softly and returned to her desk.

A stack of manuscripts lay there, opened to the last page. On the tough enchanted parchment was written a single sentence:

In summary, though the road is arduous, our success is inevitable—this is the law of history…

The agent blinked, muttering softly beneath her veil, “I’m not sure how to price this…”

Because the new empire’s forces were few, the “review” did not last long. After all battalions had been inspected and the religious warbands exited last, the arcane combat troops returned to the open ground before the drawbridge. At the commander’s order, they quickly reformed into three ranks facing the crowd.

Only then did Gawain move. One hand rested on his sword’s hilt, the other raised slightly. His voice rang out across the square:

“All units—raise your swords, ignite your blades—salute the citizens of the Empire!”

The previous cheers and noise vanished instantly. After a brief silence, a ripple of expected unrest spread through the crowd. As the imperial soldiers raised their swords in salute, nearly everyone instinctively stepped back in fear and confusion, then exchanged bewildered looks.

They could not comprehend the scene.

Gawain knew this was inevitable. He only wished to leave this moment for history.

Before the unrest could grow, the massive holographic projection device before Silver Fortress activated.

With a low hum of magic, towering light screens rose like clock towers from the ground. The crowd was stunned into silence, eyes wide, fixated on the images unfolding.

The mage-engineer legions departed from Rockhold Fortress, crossing the Holy Spirit Plains, marching north.

Cities and villages lay in ruins, shattered by the Crystal Army. Desolate wastelands littered with corpses, monstrous beasts prowling the battlefield.

Soldiers fought bravely; the earth turned to scorched soil. One city after another was reclaimed, refugees ferried to safety.

Armored trains fired along tracks; steel fortifications in the mountains roared with cannon fire. Lines were broken and retaken again and again.

These scenes were carefully selected; potentially panic-inducing moments were omitted. Yet the crowd still stirred repeatedly, some gripped by fear, even attempting to flee. The shock of facing such vivid holograms was immense, especially for those who had just endured the Battle of Saint Suniel.

But in the end, order held. People had seen holograms before. Magic was everywhere in this world. Even if they couldn’t wield it, they understood these were magical recordings. After initial tension, they calmed and watched the stirring scenes unfold.

Beyond Saint Suniel, in places unseen by them, the war had been this brutal.

Finally, the images ended. A full-body projection of Gawain appeared, towering above the square.

“People of this land—whether slave or free, merchant or farmer, soldier or general, commoner or noble—no matter who you are or where you stand—

“Your Emperor now speaks to you.

“This nation has faced severe trials and hardships. We have all just survived a catastrophe—enemies tried to bring us down with plague, monsters, war, even stolen divine power. But in the end, we endured.

“We have won.

“But no victory is permanent.

“Challenges and hardships will always remain—war, hunger, plague, or other disasters. Living in this world, we cannot hide; we must fight back, for survival is our foremost need.

“To survive, to face the threats that seek to kill and destroy us, I stand here now to declare—a new nation will rise from these ashes.

“The Cecil Empire will be a sanctuary for all who dwell here. Citizens of imperial glory, future members of this realm, each of you belongs to it, and it belongs to you. With your labor and wisdom, we will rebuild its ruins, cleanse its stains. It will grow strong because of each of you, and shine with your honor.

“We will overcome hunger, plague, ignorance, and folly. We will be clothed, fed, and safe. No matter how long it takes, that day will come.

“I am your Emperor, Gawain Cecil. I promise you, all I say here today will be the foundation of the Cecil Empire, forever binding.”

The hologram faded.

The cheers came a few seconds late. People seemed still to be digesting the Emperor’s stirring words, but the applause finally erupted, echoing through all of Saint Suniel.

On the Silver Fortress viewing platform, Rebecca, dressed in court gown, stared wide-eyed, overwhelmed with excitement. She tried several times to raise her hand, but hesitated, glancing at Aunt Hetty in her splendid attire, then withdrew it.

The nearby attendants, unsure of the princess’s intentions, looked awkward. Finally, Hetty leaned in and whispered just loud enough for Rebecca to hear:

“Today is an exception.”

“Let’s make it a big one—consider it a commemoration of this historic moment.”

As the massive fireball—almost as large as a magic-powered vehicle—soared out from Silverkeep and exploded with a thunderous boom in the sky, the salute cannons simultaneously roared from both sides of the plaza.

The ceremonial carriage began to turn, preparing to head back to the castle courtyard. High King Gawain exhaled softly and glanced up at the sky.

His nerves finally eased a little, and he couldn’t help but wonder—

Years from now, would the question “How big was the fireball Princess Rebekka Cecil set off at the Empire’s founding ceremony, and what did it symbolize?” become a dreaded, loathsome history exam question?

The ceremony continued, with the remaining rituals and closing events stretching until sunset, but for Gawain, the newly appointed sovereign, his duties were largely complete. Before the evening banquet, he could return to the castle and rest.

When he entered his chambers, it was no surprise to find Melita Pernia already waiting.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty Gawain Cecil,” the agent smiled warmly, offering her felicitations. “The era of the Empire has begun.”

(End of chapter)