Chapter 742: The Invisible

Gawain held great hopes for the young man before him—the creator of the magical shadow play.

Philm would receive direct sponsorship from the Cecil royal family. Whatever team he needed, whatever funds, equipment, or venues—everything would be provided.

Gawain never minded if someone else came up with an idea before him, especially since he was a traveler from another world. Nor did he mind if others took the lead in bringing those ideas to life. He had long understood that human energy and talent were limited; he couldn’t single-handedly build every aspect a society required. Ultimately, it was the “people” who made up society who had to do the work.

After his conversation with Melita Pernia, especially after her subtle hints about “spontaneous social development” and the “hidden dangers of the Machine God’s descent,” Gawain’s conviction only deepened. His focus should be on advancing society’s growth, letting the masses build their own lives, rather than conjuring things out of thin air as a traveler.

Of course, as an experienced man, he still needed to offer some guidance and corrections during the early, immature stages of new developments—that was all.

“Your Majesty, I… I’m truly grateful,” Philm said, his surprise and excitement evident upon learning the extent of the support he would receive. “I won’t let you down. I’ll create the best magical shadow play for you!”

“Don’t make it for me,” Gawain immediately shook his head. “That’s not why you created magical shadow plays. They’re meant for ordinary people, for those who can’t enter theaters. Just write the stories you love, stories the public loves. If the citizens of the Empire enjoy them, then consider that a gift to me.”

Perhaps no noble or monarch had ever said such a thing before—at least, not in Philm’s experience. The young man from Baren was deeply moved. Gawain continued, “Besides, this new art form deserves to be promoted. As the patent holder of magical shadow plays, you shouldn’t just be a playwright or director. I want you to spread your creation far and wide—that will benefit the development of magical shadow plays, and you can also profit from licensing.”

“I…” Philm calmed down from his excitement but looked a bit uneasy. “Thank you for your trust, but… I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never dealt with these matters before.”

“Your Majesty, if you allow, I’d be happy to help Philm,” Findel suddenly said. “Though I don’t know much about performances or scripts, I do know how to deal with people.”

Gawain smiled. “If Mr. Philm has no objections.”

Philm turned to his “noble friend” in surprise. After a brief moment of shock, confusion, nervousness, and thought, he finally smiled. “If possible… of course. I’d be very honored.”

“Just say you’re willing. Honor’s too formal. I’m the one honored to be part of such an exciting endeavor,” Findel laughed heartily, his laughter instantly dispelling Philm’s tension. Then the young noble from the North looked at Ilaven. “Hey, aren’t you joining us?”

“Me?” Ilaven was surprised. “Why include me?”

“You’ve got the family’s business acumen,” Findel spread his hands. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the connection between magical shadow plays and commerce.”

“…My father wants me to study magic technology and social order in the South,” Ilaven said hesitantly, sneaking a quick glance at Gawain before quickly looking away. “Your Majesty knows I’m here to learn—just like you.”

“Come on, friend, you’re an adult!” Findel exaggeratedly widened his eyes. “Are you the type who can only learn by locking yourself in a study with a tutor? This is the South. Everything you encounter here is a learning opportunity!”

Gawain watched the scene with a smile and suddenly felt a pang of nostalgia—youth is truly wonderful.

He broke the silence. “Given your status and responsibilities, you should engage in social activities. The Imperial Academy’s coursework won’t be too demanding for you, and it encourages practical experience.”

Findel looked at Ilaven. “See? Even His Majesty says so.”

“Well… I’m willing to join,” Ilaven smiled and extended his hand to Philm. “Mr. Philm, I hope we get along well.”

Rebecca, who had been pretending to read nearby, seized the moment to chime in, “If you run into technical problems, you can come to me—I’m usually busy and can’t join you, but I can help out a bit… I think the magical shadow play is really interesting!”

…

The young men left, leaving only Gawain and Amber in the study.

Philm hadn’t taken the “projection equipment” with him; it remained on Gawain’s desk, still looping video clips. After watching it so many times, Amber had finally lost interest. She was more curious about Gawain’s unusual enthusiasm and couldn’t help but ask, “Is this magical shadow play really that important? You seem different from before—your attention to it far exceeds that of ordinary folk inventions… almost like when you heard about the successful flight trials.”

“Of course it’s important. Building the spiritual realm is just as vital as the material,” Gawain glanced at Amber. “Have you forgotten how newspapers and magical broadcasts quickly and widely influenced the public? Have you forgotten how you used propaganda in Saint Suniel?”

“I remember that. The Intelligence Bureau even held a review meeting later. Old Mr. Gawain was a consultant and introduced the concept of ‘information coverage efficiency per unit time and its impact on groups.’ Now both the Intelligence Bureau and the Propaganda Department have teams researching it. But magical shadow plays… they seem different from newspapers and broadcasts?”

“You’re perceptive. They are different,” Gawain nodded slightly. “They’re not direct propaganda, but they can be used for it. Essentially, they’re entertainment tools designed to satisfy spiritual needs. That means people absorb what they show more actively and unconsciously. They might not openly promote anything, but they subtly and persistently convey messages—that’s their unique effect.

“Of course, I’m not only focused on that. Even without considering propaganda, magical shadow plays are just plain fun, aren’t they?

“After people have enough to eat and wear, they seek spiritual fulfillment. Now they have football, board games, newspapers, and broadcasts. Next, they’ll have magical shadow plays. I call it spiritual nourishment.”

“…Your theories always come in sets,” Amber pouted. “But there’s some truth to it.”

Gawain smiled, unfazed by Amber’s little jab. He lowered his head, looking over some documents and letters on the desk, lost in thought.

After a few seconds of silence, he looked up. “Typhon mentioned in his last diplomatic letter that he hopes to send exchange students and establish a more positive and harmonious diplomatic relationship with Cecil, right?”

“Yes,” Amber nodded. “But it’s obvious they have ulterior motives. And the idea of exchange students… it sounds like they want to steal our secrets.”

“I actually think it’s a good thing,” Gawain said, surprising Amber. “In fact, I’ve already decided to agree.”

Amber’s eyes widened, but before she could exclaim or question, she suddenly guessed Gawain’s plan.

After all, having been at the helm of the Intelligence Bureau for two years, she had a heightened sensitivity in certain areas.

“Looks like you thought of it too,” Gawain saw her reaction and nodded. “Since Typhon wants a friendlier, more open diplomatic relationship, there’s no reason for friendly and open Cecil to refuse. We can have broader, deeper commercial activities. Look, since it’s business, it’s not unreasonable for some Cecilians to invest in new-style theaters in Typhon.”

Amber blinked. “Wouldn’t Rosetta notice?”

“At first, he won’t. Then, he won’t be able to refuse,” Gawain said slowly, his tone suddenly distant and profound. “After a while, he might not like what we’re filming, but so what? The people of Typhon will like it.”

“…Oh my.”

After a small exclamation, Amber quickly refocused on the topic of exchange students. “But anyway, a batch of Typhon people will definitely come as exchange students… Ugh, just thinking about it gives me a headache.”

Gawain only smiled faintly. “Like I said, it’s a good thing.”

Amber’s ears twitched. “Oh?”

Gawain lifted his gaze, eyes drifting past Amber’s head to the map of the entire continent hanging on the wall.

His voice was calm.

“Typhon’s exchange students will come here—to this bustling, novel, earth-shaking Cecil. They come for knowledge and intelligence. They’re carefully selected, loyal to Rosetta Augustus. But when they return… how many will still be Typhon loyalists? That’s uncertain.”

He paused, smiling faintly at Amber. “Don’t you think so?”

Amber sighed, her ears and shoulders drooping. “Ugh, that’s why I said it gives me a headache.”

The half-elf looked utterly dejected, as if the words “no overtime” were etched in her eyes.

Gawain ignored her.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on some distant point. After a long moment of thought and silence, he murmured as if to himself, “Honestly, if the Typhon people just come to learn some technology… I really wouldn’t mind.”

The map of the entire continent hung on the wall. The Typhon Empire and the Cecil Empire lay side by side, their jagged borders interlocking like teeth, as if flesh and bone were intertwined.

Gawain didn’t mind using any means to keep this hungry neighbor in check—laying traps, hiding daggers, poisoning—because it was another empire, a not-so-friendly empire with sharpened claws and teeth.

If he were Rosetta Augustus, he would do the same, probably already was. The civil war in Ansu, the blood and fire of Treaty Fort were still fresh memories. History had proven that when it came to national interests, Rosetta’s methods were no gentler than Gawain’s.

But Gawain also didn’t mind if Typhon’s industry developed, or if more Typhon civilians survived the coming challenges.

Because before the magical tide and the gods, everyone was mortal.

Every bit of power in mortal hands increased the chances that this season of civilization would survive.

Gawain sighed softly.

This contradiction and inner turmoil would probably haunt him forever, forcing him to make countless difficult choices—until the day the wall finally fell.

…

Saint Spirit Plains, Eastern Region, Solinfort.

Nature’s power seemed to have created a singularity here—a strong vitality covered this land. Even though the entire northern continent had entered winter, life and warmth still lingered here.

It was as if spring had arrived early.

A magic-powered vehicle bearing the banner of the “United Reconstruction Corps” stopped at the border of Solinfort.

Beyond the direction the vehicle came from, just a few hundred meters away, lay ice and snow, with biting cold winds.

Ahead of the vehicle, a massive canopy loomed like a small mountain in the distance. Vibrant life radiated outward from the towering Sorin tree—lush greenery still carpeted the ground, flowers bloomed in full color, and animals played freely.

A vast magical field enveloped the area, creating effects akin to a gentle protective breeze and a blessing of nature itself. Inside and outside this magical boundary, it was as if two different worlds existed.

Norris sat atop the magi-car, gazing far off toward the Sorin tree.

(End of chapter)