Chapter 724: Heading South

Winter was approaching, and the temperature dropped day by day. The once lush greenery lining both banks of the Gorgon River had withered into a bleak, desolate scene. The riverside paths grew quieter, with only the occasional large caravan appearing—mostly along the west bank.

The eastern plains remained barren, scarred by fire and war, the wounds still far from healed.

A low, resonant whistle echoed across the river. The prow of a steel-plated ship sliced through the water, leaving the slow, old-fashioned cargo boats far behind. The “Highlander,” a magically powered mechanical vessel connecting the north and south, glided proudly like a swan across the Gorgon’s surface. Its arcane energy wings flared high in the cold wind, scattering sparkling motes of light.

A young man with blond hair, clad in a dark blue wool coat, stood by the railing, gazing toward the desolate eastern shore. His eyes were deep and tinged with melancholy. A biting northern wind caught up with the sleek ship, prompting him to pull his collar tight and retreat back into his cabin.

Warmth greeted him inside.

The cabin was simply furnished but neat and comfortable. A small writing desk sat by the window, scattered with ink, paper, and quills.

He settled into the chair, quietly reflecting for a moment before drawing a sheet of stationery toward him. Taking up a dip pen, his calm, composed expression remained as he began to write a letter destined for far away:

“My dearest Mountain Flower—

“The farther I travel from home, the stronger my longing for you grows. This long journey is my first of its kind—I never imagined I would leave my homeland and come so far…

“…Though loneliness visits me at times, the journey has been fascinating. I’ve met countless people and seen many things. With my horizons broadened, I realize how narrow my life once was. So much of the world cannot be learned from books alone. As Father said long ago, a truly great playwright must undertake a soul-stirring journey to break free from the dusty tomes and truly grow—but, ironically, Father does not support this trip of mine…

“You know he’s a cautious man, and with age, he’s only grown more so…

“You probably don’t want to hear all this, so let me tell you about what I’ve seen on the road.

“Riding aboard a ‘magical mechanical ship’ is a novel experience. It’s hard to imagine how the southern mages and craftsmen built such a creation. It’s a massive magical contraption, and many of us live day and night inside its belly as it sails. If you ever get the chance, you should try it yourself… Though the fare is steep, I believe it’s worth every coin.

“…The eastern bank of the Gorgon is the battlefield. Seeing it stirred my inspiration and thoughts. What a breathtaking and monumental war it must have been! Brave warriors holding the scorched plains against waves of monsters—knights, soldiers, mages—each day they held the line was perhaps more stirring than any clichéd knight’s tale…

“…Below me in the lower decks is a family from Saint Suniel. They sold nearly half their belongings for tickets south, hoping to ‘try their luck in the south,’ as the father put it. Many aboard this ship share that hope. The empire’s capital lies to the south, drawing countless souls seeking a new life. When they come up for air, they talk about the future, sometimes about their old livelihoods. Most live in the cheapest lower cabins, some like me in the middle decks, but all are chasing new opportunities…

“My dear, you can’t imagine what a sight it is. I know it’s not as romantic or thrilling as the knightly stories, but being here, I feel something unprecedented. So many people, carrying hope, heading toward an unknown land—many say this war shattered the kingdom’s ancient, solemn order and threw everything into chaos, but I sense something new waiting for us ahead.

“I don’t know if you’ll understand, but it’s… like the river breeze I felt today on deck—fresh, sharp, yet invigorating.

“Compared to tales of knights and princesses, aren’t these stories unfolding on this ship more fitting for the stage I envision?

“Forever loving and missing you—Philm.”

A faint smile touched the young man’s lips as he carefully penned the final punctuation. Folding the letter neatly, he tucked it close to his chest. When the ship next docked, he would hand it to the designated crew member, who would deliver it north for a silver coin. Of course, there was a cheaper option—ten copper coins for a “budget letter”—but it was rumored those often got lost, and he would never choose that.

Footsteps approached outside the cabin, followed by a knock. Philm rose and opened the door to find a young man with silver hair, wearing a silk jacket of gold and blue, his smile bright and sunny.

This was Fendir, a northern companion Philm had met on the journey—an outgoing, friendly fellow with impeccable manners. Philm didn’t know exactly where he hailed from, but on this voyage south, they traveled together and got along well.

“Hey, friend,” the silver-haired youth grinned. “Lunch is almost ready—want to join me in the dining hall?”

“Gladly,” Philm smiled back, stepping out and closing the door behind him. “I’m starving.”

The two young men laughed and chatted as they walked across the open deck, through enclosed corridors, past fellow travelers bound for the south.

A tall, stern man passed by—a northern apothecary holding guild papers and a contract from a southern factory. Though serious-faced, he was known to be generous.

An elderly couple from Brentad, west of Saint Suniel, strolled the corridor; they were clockmakers.

A group of young men and women cautiously ascended the stairs ahead, dressed in coarse linen. Their eyes sparkled as they spoke, carrying the modest fare and family hopes, along with study recommendation letters signed by Grant Duchess Victoria. They, too, were heading south to seek a new life.

There were fallen artisans, knowledge-seeking scholars, opportunity-chasing merchants, and even mages from the old royal capital drawn by the lure of magical technology.

Some were wealthy, living in luxurious upper cabins; others were poor, barely affording a lower berth. Some carried missions from wealthy merchants or nobles; others fled destitution, boarding the ship as if escaping famine.

This mechanical ship, enforcing the “Cecil Order,” was like a floating miniature city on the Gorgon River, its steel and wood belly holding all these souls. It sailed through the biting cold, carrying each person’s dreams toward the legendary southern lands.

The hum of the engine thrummed behind the corridor walls. Arcane crystal lamps lit the path to the dining hall. Fendir slowed beside a rune device exposed for repairs, curiously studying the self-operating magical machinery. Philm’s voice came beside him: “Incredible, isn’t it? I hear the south is full of these.”

“I’ve heard the same…” Fendir smiled. “Tell me more about your idea—I’m genuinely interested.”

“Of course, my friend. But you should tell me your story, too. Why are you heading south? Also chasing opportunity?”

“Ah… I wasn’t eager to leave. My aunt’s letter practically forced me out.”

“Oh? Sounds like your aunt’s a formidable woman if a single letter could get you, a stubborn guy, moving.”

“…Haha, indeed. She might be the toughest person in the north. We’re all a bit afraid of her…”

Fendir’s hearty laughter rang out like the rugged northern mountains, drawing a genuine laugh from Philm.

A deep whistle sounded across the river. The “Highlander” spread its wings like a proud swan, its steel-plated prow cutting through the waves, carrying its passengers—each seeking chance and future—southward.

…

Behind crystal glass, the cold wind was kept at bay. A fireplace crackled warmly nearby. A magical network terminal projected a hologram into the air. Victoria Wilde stood before it, bowing slightly to the figure within the image.

“Your Majesty, the third group of craftsmen and young scholars bound for the south have departed aboard the ‘Highlander.’ All carry proper documentation and are accompanied by guides. They are expected to arrive at Rockport by the Winter Solstice.”

The holographic figure of Gawain nodded. “Excellent. By the way, your nephew is on that ship, isn’t he?”

“…Yes, Fendir is aboard,” Victoria’s expression shifted slightly but settled into her usual cool detachment. “I ordered him to study in the south. As the future heir of the Wilde family, he cannot afford to stand still.”

“Don’t be too hard on the young,” Gawain smiled. “Any other changes in Saint Suniel?”

“All is well here. The administration is fully operational. Agents left by Director Amber are active, having ‘dealt with’ many unstable elements, greatly advancing the restoration of order. If all goes smoothly, I won’t need to remain here in person by spring.”

“Good. You should return north soon to handle matters there—the empire’s northern stability is crucial.”

Victoria bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Gawain nodded in the hologram, then added, “By the way, Maggie is doing well here. Rebecca and she have become good friends. You needn’t worry.”

“Thank you for looking after her,” Victoria said, her usual cold demeanor softened by genuine gratitude. “Maggie is my most trusted friend. I’m glad she can assist you.”

Gawain gave a brief affirmative sound, and the atmosphere fell into a brief awkward silence.

Whenever anyone spoke privately with Victoria, such moments of tension were inevitable.

The Ice and Snow Duke was hardly one for small talk. Her perpetually cold expression often drained the atmosphere during conversations, leaving an awkward silence once the business at hand was done.

She was used to it, but on the other end of the communication line, Gawain seemed a bit thrown off.

Perhaps trying to ease the tension and wrap things up smoothly, after a long pause, Gawain suddenly said, “You’re not exactly young anymore, you know…”

Victoria’s calm, indifferent face stiffened slightly. “Pardon?”

“Even though you have Findel and don’t have to worry about an heir, have you ever thought about settling down yourself?”

Victoria blinked. “Your… Majesty?”

“You’re only two years younger than Hetty. You two are so alike in many ways. I even advised Hetty recently—she really should think about starting a family. Don’t take me as being nosy; I’m somewhat of a friend to Snow, so I feel responsible for his descendants…”

“Your Majesty, this… this isn’t the time to discuss such matters,” Victoria said, unusually flustered. “I will consider my own affairs. I will, truly!”

With that, Victoria abruptly ended the magical communication. Gawain sat back at his desk, a bit dazed.

Amber, standing nearby, couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “You really are getting old. How do you always manage to steer the conversation toward marriage pressure?”

“What’s wrong with chatting about family after the serious stuff?” Gawain looked innocent. “Besides, I just said it offhand.”

Amber pursed her lips, about to retort, but before she could, the office door suddenly swung open.

Hetty appeared, arms full of documents, and headed straight for Gawain.

Seeing the mountain of paperwork in her hands, Gawain felt a dull ache start behind his forehead.

Not wanting to suffer alone, he glanced up at Hetty and casually said, “Hetty, you’re not exactly getting any younger either…”

Hetty froze, the chill running down her spine before she could even bring up the documents…

(End of chapter)