Chapter 701: The Duke of the Eastern Border’s Legacy

As he gently turned the page of the report, the lessons and hard-won experience gained by countless soldiers on the Paramel Highlands that day came into view.

That day, standing blade-to-blade on the frontline, were not only the Typhon but also the Cecilian troops.

Every new invention is imperfect at birth—often, the more advanced it is, the more so. Even with scholars exhausting their efforts to theorize, even with Gawain’s guidance—himself a man who carried the accumulated wisdom of three generations spanning a million years—human creations could never be flawless.

Relying on technology and doctrines that had once crushed an entire era, the Cecilian legions had swept through the Southern Territories and the Holy Spirit Plains. Yet, when facing the Typhon, previously unseen weaknesses began to surface. Though the Typhon followed a different path than the Cecilians, they had become formidable enough to demand the full attention of the magi-engineer corps. Against such a foe, any flaw could prove fatal.

“The armored train is a new thing,” Gawain muttered to himself. “Even the most seasoned veterans had to feel their way slowly against the Iron Throne. It’s only natural that mistakes would happen during this process. What matters most is that Philip was able to identify and summarize these flaws in such a short time…”

“Now that the Typhon have seen the armored train firsthand, the unit that successfully withdrew will surely bring back critical intelligence,” Amber said from beside him. “Do you think they might halt the railway construction agreement with us? After all, once an armored train rolls into their territory, the damage it could cause far surpasses that of ordinary troops…”

“They’ll recognize the threat, but they can’t deny the immense value of rail transport. I’m not too worried about that,” Gawain shook his head. “But they will definitely try to counter it—either by changing the track gauge to prevent Cecilian-standard trains from entering, or by installing emergency cutoff mechanisms on key border railways… any of these are possible.”

As he spoke, his gaze returned to the thick report. He noticed there were many more pages—this hefty document was far from finished.

Turning the next page, his eyes suddenly froze, and his expression grew complicated.

On that page, Mariland had written only one sentence: “…The above intelligence on Typhon military matters and the recommendations for improving the Longwind Defense Line are not solely my own insight, Your Majesty. The merits of Duke Selas Lorren of the Eastern Border should not be forgotten.”

Amber noticed Gawain’s change in expression and leaned in curiously. “What is it?”

Gawain flipped through the pages. What appeared before him were scanned copies of handwritten documents from the Longwind Fortress archives.

They were left behind by Selas Lorren—detailed intelligence on the Typhon border legions. Some were personally written and compiled by Duke Lorren himself, others were reports from subordinate commanders, and some were original intelligence documents smuggled back to the fortress at great personal risk by former Eastern Border spies.

There were written records, hand-drawn topographical maps, identification marks of several main Typhon knightly orders, descriptions of their new weaponry and equipment, and even the insignia and organizational details of the Iron River Knights.

Some copies bore Selas Lorren’s annotations and markings; others were stained with what looked like blood.

Behind these files was another batch—letters and logs, mostly in the handwriting of Selas Lorren and his son Belk Lorren. They detailed the construction and reinforcement of the Longwind Defense Line, the threat posed by the Typhon supernaturals, and the structural weaknesses of the Ansu state at the time.

Gawain saw letters from Selas Lorren to the nobles of the capital, pleading for financial aid due to the heavy burden of building Longwind Fortress. There were also letters addressed to the king and to the other two Dukes Protector.

Gawain didn’t know whether Francis II and the other two Dukes Protector had responded (most likely they did, or the Longwind Defense Line wouldn’t have been completed), but the appeals and calls to the capital’s nobility seemed to have fallen on deaf ears.

Because, just as “my vassal’s vassal is not my vassal,” the noble lords of Ansu also lived by the rule: “my neighbor’s land is not my land.”

The latter half of the report was filled with these copies, but they were clearly only a fraction. Mariland had made it clear at the end: “…The above materials represent only a small portion. In the Longwind Fortress archives, we found a vast amount of surveillance records on the Typhon and intelligence on the defense line. Once整理完成, I will send a complete copy back to the imperial capital. Your Majesty, please await it patiently.”

Amber came over to Gawain’s side and read through everything. She finally shook her head and muttered, “What a pity.”

“Beyond history itself, we have no right to judge Selas Lorren’s merits or faults. But at least in terms of intelligence, the Eastern Border Duke left behind a precious legacy,” Gawain sighed. “I’ll reply to Mariland and tell him to make good use of this inheritance—I’ve also approved his construction plan for the Longwind Defense Line.”

“Understood.”

Setting down the heavy report, Gawain rubbed his temples wearily, then leaned back in his chair, relaxing his tense shoulders. “Philip mentioned the limitations of the Gryphon Knights… I wonder how Rebecca’s project is progressing.”

“A few days ago, I went to watch,” Amber said casually. “They were digging something out of a deformed frame that looked like a giant spinning top. Maggie was there too, half-dragon, half-human form, with a bunch of iron plates hanging from her wings. No idea what she was doing—looked like a clothes rack or something…”

“Rebecca seems to be trying to use the principle of dragon flight to power the aircraft,” Gawain smiled. “If she succeeds, it’ll be a one-step leap—no need for transitional propeller designs…”

“I’m really looking forward to the day they actually get it flying,” Amber said. “I’ve always wondered what it feels like to see the world from high above. But I can never learn how to control a gryphon. That Pittman guy said he wanted to master druidic animal transformation magic so he could turn into a giant eagle and fly me around. Ten years later, he’s only managed to turn into a quail—and he still needs me to give him a kick just to get airborne…”

Gawain: “…”

He’d never heard of Pittman’s ‘glorious achievements’ or special skills before.

Just then, footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by a steady knock on the door. Gawain looked up and signaled the visitor in. The study door opened, and a servant in blue-and-white uniform stepped inside.

“Your Majesty, a special intelligence report,” the servant said respectfully, handing over a printed document. “From the Rockhold City Administration.”

“Rockhold City?” Gawain said, surprised, taking the printout. After a moment, his expression turned strange.

Amber immediately leaned over, curious. “Hey, what is it?”

Gawain: “The Rockhold City Administration reports that there’s an unlicensed spellcaster and illegal immigrant supernatural in their prison, loafing around in his cell and refusing to leave no matter what.”

Amber was stunned. “That’s it? Such a small matter brought all the way to you?”

Gawain’s mouth twitched. “This person calls himself Bald.”

Amber blinked, trying to place the name. “Bald… sounds familiar. Wait! The one Byron blew up?”

“Wendel is a noble Typhon surname. Same name, same family? Not likely,” Gawain said with a strange look. “Reality really is the most dramatic story of all…”

…

Typhon Imperial Capital, Oldern.

After receiving orders, Andersa hurried back and once again stepped onto the streets of the city where she was born and raised.

Riding in a Wendel family carriage, listening to the wheels crunching over the road, Andersa opened the side panel of the carriage and gazed absentmindedly at the passing scenery and the bustling pedestrians.

She knew she had been away for a long time, but the changes in the city still exceeded her expectations.

Some old buildings had been torn down; unfamiliar structures had sprung up on the streets. Even familiar houses now bore strange signs—some called “XX Company,” others “XX Factory.” A thin mist hung over Oldern, shrouding it in a gray haze. A faintly odd smell permeated the fog—unpleasant enough to make Andersa frown instinctively.

Is this the “new atmosphere of the capital” described in the letters from home?

Frowning, she watched the hurried crowds. She remembered the city’s former self—the leisurely, proud citizens, the comfortable, unhurried rhythm. But now, Oldern seemed like a wound-up clockwork mechanism, driven by a rapidly spinning gear. The pedestrians hurried along as if not daring to waste a single minute, and at the end of the streets they flooded toward stood either tall, ugly factory buildings or towering smokestacks.

Most of the city was still as she remembered when she left, but beneath the surface, something had changed everything. Andersa felt like she no longer recognized this place.

As the carriage rolled down the long street, drawing closer to the Wendel family estate, Andersa’s thoughts finally settled. She began to consider the matters she must face.

She was home—but this return was far from glorious.

The carriage came to a smooth stop at the front door. Servants emerged, their faces bright with smiles—after all, the return of the young lady was cause for joy. Beyond the ordinary servants, the familiar butler stepped out and approached the carriage.

Bowing slightly, the butler said, “Young lady, welcome home.”

Andersa leaned out. “Is Grandfather at home?”

“Yes, he’s waiting for you in the conservatory.”

(End of chapter)