Chapter 749: A Glorious Era
On the outskirts of Cecil City.
A towering magic network relay tower stood at the edge of snow-covered fields. In the bright sunlight, the tower gleamed with metallic and crystalline brilliance. At its peak, massive antenna arrays and crystal formations slowly rotated under the control of intricate mechanical systems, relaying magical network signals to the city and the vast surrounding region.
At the very tip of the tower, on the base of the quietly spinning antenna, a long serpent-like tail clung tightly to the cold steel surface.
The tail twitched and coiled. Tyr peeked out from beneath the antenna, tilting her head up to face the biting wind. Her long hair fluttered in the breeze, and a haunting melody—only a sea witch could hear and understand—rippled through the magical currents, whispering softly in her ears.
“Naga…” The sea witch frowned, murmuring to herself with a hint of confusion. “I haven’t been back for a while… and yet such strange things have happened…”
She shook her head gently, bent down, and loosened her tail, preparing to descend the tower back to the ground.
“It doesn’t matter. The deep sea always has its oddities. I just wonder if Gawain will find any of it interesting… hmm?”
Tyr blinked in puzzlement and pushed forward, but the lower half of her tail remained frozen in place.
She glanced back and saw that her tail was still tightly wrapped around the antenna base, its scales encased in a layer of translucent ice crystals, the interior shimmering with a semi-transparent glow.
“Ah…” The sea witch’s voice grew anxious as she struggled harder, “No… it’s frozen… why is it so cold up here… someone help…”
A faint cracking sound echoed suddenly, and Tyr’s frantic movements halted. She stared blankly toward the source of the noise, watching as the frozen tail began to fracture, cracks spreading outward through the crystalline ice.
She looked back toward the path she had come from, spotting the smooth, icy slope of the tower’s upper section and the distant ground far below.
With a sharp snap, her tail broke off.
“…Gentle deep sea… today has truly been a failure for this fish…”
Inside Cecil City, three young people from different corners of the land—brought together by fate—walked along the winter streets.
The streets were impeccably clean, lined with tall, elegant buildings. Shops, homes, cafés, and public facilities were arranged in harmonious order, weaving together the fabric of this incredible city. Citizens dressed warmly and walked with lively spirits; despite the cold, no one seemed to worry about hunger or hardship.
At every intersection, in the squares, and wherever crowds gathered, holographic projections from magic network terminals floated in the air. They displayed the latest broadcasts, government announcements, or advertisements from guilds and companies.
Philm’s eyes were wide open, absorbing everything around him like a magic network terminal running at full power. To this young man from Barren, Cecil City was a stage filled with fantasy, wonders, and unbelievable people and events. Everything unfolding here felt like a play, every detail marvelous and surreal—but all of it was real.
Findel was also observing the city, but from the perspective of this young noble from the northern mountains, his impressions were quite different from Philm’s.
This was a city without a divide between noble districts and commoner quarters. All city facilities were open to every lawful citizen, prioritizing survival and comfort.
To the old-fashioned nobility, this might seem rebellious.
But the era of classical aristocracy was over. The order here had become the new “norm,” and sooner or later, it would spread to the mountain regions of the North.
His aunt seemed prepared for this, and the northern nobles still holding castles and estates would have to be ready as well. As for Findel himself… he finally understood why his aunt insisted on sending him here—to immerse him in the Cecil order firsthand.
Some things simply couldn’t be fully grasped from books or secondhand accounts.
“I thought we’d start working on your ‘magic shadow play’ right away,” Ilaven said as they walked, glancing at Philm. “We’ve got the venue ready and have recruited some people, but it seems you still need some time to prepare?”
“Yes…” Philm hesitated, then spoke more naturally. “His Majesty reminded me to keep the script authentic, to really observe what the South looks like. Only after walking around today did I truly appreciate His Majesty’s thoughtful advice. My earlier scripts had too many assumptions. The real South is beyond what I imagined. Without careful observation, my play would probably be laughed at by the locals.”
“Though I don’t think it’s as extreme as you say, you do have a point,” Findel smiled and shrugged. “After all, we saw that the city’s residents don’t heat their homes with plenty of charcoal—they use magical heat exchangers.”
Philm chuckled awkwardly.
“Starting tomorrow, I’ll visit some people,” he said. “I heard the West District has many immigrant families who experienced the city’s first expansion and know those days well. I also want to visit some gentlemen in the artisan district who arrived from the Old Capital just two months ago. From them, I should hear how immigrants really start new lives here.”
“Down-to-earth—a good start,” Findel nodded with a smile. “Ilaven and I will also officially register at the academy in a couple of days. You’re welcome to come by and see how those who come south to study live and learn.”
Ilaven chimed in, “And don’t worry, we’ll keep helping you with the magic shadow play. I doubt the academy’s workload will be so heavy that we can’t find time to help a friend. No matter how busy, we’ll be here to brainstorm with you.”
“Thank you so much—without you, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’m nowhere near as mature as my father,” Philm said gratefully, then hesitated before continuing, “Honestly, I never thought I’d have the chance to work with people like you.”
Findel looked at Philm. “Still uneasy about our backgrounds?”
Philm glanced at the tall northern noble, thought briefly, then nodded. “I can’t go against my feelings. I’m still a bit reserved when talking with you, but I feel myself slowly adapting. You give me a different impression than the nobles I’ve met before. There’s a special… atmosphere about you. It’s strange—I don’t know how to describe it.”
Findel studied Philm for two quiet seconds, then chuckled and shook his head. “Actually, if you’d met us before the Silverfort signing ceremony, you’d have felt no different about us than the other nobles you knew.”
Philm was momentarily stunned.
“The grandeur you’ve seen? We have it too, but we’re better at restraining our habits,” Findel said calmly. “Noble etiquette… ha, it’s like a room full of fish and shrimp—the smell seeps into everyone inside. No one in our circle escapes it, or rather, no one is allowed to.
“My friend, Ilaven and I came out of that room too—but as His Majesty said, a new era has arrived. Anyone who knows history understands that only those who embrace the new era in time can survive.
“Of course, I’m not saying our friendship is fake. On the contrary, I’m very satisfied with where we are now. After all, among a thousand bottles of wine, one will break by accident; among a thousand nobles, there are always one or two odd ones.”
Ilaven added, “Thanks to the Silverfort signing ceremony—at least now some nobles unwilling to stay in that fishy room can legally step out. I can already see that ceremony being recorded in history books, a lesson future scholars must study.”
Philm listened thoughtfully, then shook his head with a hint of embarrassment. “I understand, but I’m not very familiar with history… most of what I know comes from exaggerated old scripts. You know, in the past, commoners weren’t allowed to access real history books.”
“…The Imperial Academy offers history classes,” Findel said after a pause, his voice soft. “I think that might be His Majesty’s greatest achievement.”
Philm looked a bit lost.
Noticing this, Findel patted his shoulder. “If you get the chance, buy some books and read. There are far more books available to commoners now than before.”
“I want to visit one place,” Ilaven suddenly said, looking at Findel. “You want to see it too, right?”
Findel immediately understood and nodded gently. “Sure. After all, he’s here…”
Philm looked between them, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re going to see someone—a mutual friend,” Findel said quietly. “You should come along and meet him.”
Philm’s gaze flicked between Findel and Ilaven. He noticed a subtle change in their expressions but couldn’t tell why. Still, he nodded. “Of course… is it far?”
“Not far,” Ilaven looked toward the end of the street. “I heard… he’s been placed over there.”
Philm caught the odd word in Ilaven’s tone: “Placed?”
Ilaven didn’t answer, simply following Findel’s lead toward the street’s end.
Philm, still a bit confused, hurried to keep up.
At the end of the block stood a solemn building on a small plaza.
It looked brand new, as if recently completed.
“The Ansu Civil War Memorial…” Philm looked up curiously at the sign by the entrance. “Your friend is here?”
“That’s right.” Findel nodded and led the way up the ten steps to the memorial.
Guards stood at the entrance, informing the trio that the memorial was closed to the public today. But Philm saw Ilaven and Findel speak with the guards, showing their identification. After some negotiation, the two soldiers nodded and opened the doors.
“Please leave within an hour, and do not enter the side halls or rear corridors,” the guards warned as they stepped aside.
“That’s using a bit of ‘privilege,’ isn’t it?” Findel teased as Philm climbed the steps.
The three entered the building, which felt somewhat special. Shortly after passing through the doors, Philm found himself in a spacious hall.
Since it was a closed day, the place was unusually quiet. Less than half the lights in the hall were on, casting a dim glow. The moment Philm entered, his eyes were drawn to a solitary “figure” standing in the center of the hall.
As he followed Fendir and Ilaven closer, he realized it wasn’t a person at all—it was a lifelike statue.
A young man clad in armor, leaning on a longsword, stood bathed in the soft light of a single magical crystal lamp, quietly gazing toward the hall’s entrance.
By then, Philm understood.
This had to be the “mutual friend” Fendir and Ilaven had mentioned.
“That’s Belk—Belk Loren,” Fendir finally spoke, his eyes fixed on the vivid sculpture, reluctant to look away. “He’s the oldest among the three of us.”
“He chose a path none of us dared to imagine, and met an ending we never expected,” Ilaven sighed softly. “He used to talk to us about the times and the changes coming, but back then, I never truly understood. By the time I did, he was already gone.”
Fendir stood facing Belk’s stone likeness, staring long into those cold, rock-carved eyes. Then, breaking the silence, he said:
“Belk, as you wished, this golden age has finally arrived.”
A heavy, solemn atmosphere hung in the air. Philm didn’t know what to say. After a long pause, he finally asked, “Could you tell me more about him?”
“Of course,” Fendir replied slowly, “though we only know part of the story. The rest—soldiers who fought in that war might know some, the former lord of Pompey City might know some, and the commanders of Rockhold Fortress might know some as well… I’m not sure if these scattered fragments can ever form a complete tale. But if it’s possible, if the chance ever comes, I hope you’ll write this story down—include it in your Shadow Magic plays.
“Consider it a tribute to the last knight of the old era.”
(End of chapter)