Chapter 758: Intelligence
At the Intelligence Bureau headquarters, a modest office lay shrouded in dimness. Thick curtains blocked out the brilliant sunlight outside, allowing only faint slivers of light to seep through the gaps, casting shadowy patterns across the room. A magical network terminal sat beside the desk, its projection crystal glowing with a soft blue light. Connected to the terminal, a printer clicked and whirred steadily, gears and rollers turning as sheets of paper were printed and deposited into the tray.
The freshly printed pages floated up as if lifted by invisible hands, fluttering noisily in midair. When the last sheet had turned, a faint sigh echoed through the room: “Sigh…”
Moments later, the papers folded themselves neatly in midair before vanishing inch by inch into the ether. Shadows shifted subtly in the dim room, a barely perceptible breeze stirred, and then the magical terminal fell silent. The entire office sank into a heavy stillness.
In his study, warm air from a silent heater gently warded off the biting winter chill outside. Incense burned quietly in the corner, its calming scent slowly dispersing with the faint currents circulating the room.
Seated behind his desk, Gawain felt a subtle weight on his mood. He set down a document and looked up. “Not feeling well?”
“…It’s alright,” Amber’s figure materialized from the air, handing him a folded report. “These are internal reports from three departments: the Western River Valley Reconstruction Zone of the Holy Spirit Plains, the Southern Peibo region, and the Eastern Suram Plateau. Take a look.”
Gawain took the papers casually, scanning the names and preliminary investigations. His expression remained unchanged. “…Not so bad, right?”
Amber pursed her lips. “I don’t see anything good about it. Some people are as bad as the old nobility—some even worse.”
Gawain gave the half-elf a faint, knowing smile. “Still not used to it?”
“…Not exactly,” Amber frowned. “I just feel regret. Some of these opportunists slipped in because of lax screening and understaffing. But others have been working in the administration since the duchy era—promoted from commoners, selected from progressive scholars. Yet…”
“A world bathed in light is a beautiful dream, but ultimately impossible,” Gawain shook his head. “Especially with how fast we’re developing, there’s no way to thoroughly vet and test every official in the administration. Such problems are inevitable. Sometimes, we can’t expect any group to be inherently moral or conscientious—that kind of thinking is no different from the old ‘nobility is superior’ ideology. That’s why we rely on systems and laws to maintain order.”
Just as Gawain had predicted long ago, rapid growth in the Cecil Order inevitably bred individual corruption. With the empire’s expansion and vast new territories under the Supreme Administration’s control, some remote regions could only form temporary offices staffed with uneven-quality officials. Disconnects between local and central administrations led to unavoidable disorder in certain areas.
Though disappointed, Gawain was not surprised.
From the start, he never expected his order to be flawless. He only hoped it would fit the reality of the times—be the “best fit” for this era.
He trusted that Amber, who dealt daily with intelligence from all corners of the empire and walked through darkness, understood this well.
“The Internal Affairs Department Three is just one tool,” Gawain said, looking at Amber. “Ultimately, it’s run by people. Cross-supervision, long-term accountability, traceable responsibilities, and the continuous improvement and enforcement of these systems—that’s what ensures longevity.
“On that basis, we should actually be grateful. At least we can catch these people in time and list their names. That means many of the systems we set up in advance are effective, and there are people capable of enforcing them. If one day your list is empty, then as Director of Intelligence, you’ll really be in trouble.”
“Too bad most in the administration just follow orders,” Amber sighed. “Few think about the reasons behind those orders, fewer understand their logic and foundation, and almost no one fully grasps your vast system… Don’t you ever get tired?”
Gawain smiled but said nothing.
After a brief pause, he asked Amber, “What about you? Which category do you belong to?”
“I don’t really fit any,” Amber thought for a moment, then laughed. “I’m not exactly a thinker.”
“To avoid overtime, you’re willing to dull your own mind? That’s dedication,” Gawain said with a wry smile, pointing to the document he’d just been reading. “Typhon has tentatively agreed to our proposal—long-term ambassador exchanges, embassy establishments, expanded trade cooperation. As for students studying abroad, they’ll send a delegation before spring. Leading it is Rosetta Augustus’s eldest daughter, Mathilda Augustus.”
Amber blinked, then quickly pulled up the relevant intelligence in her mind. “Mathilda Augustus, 22 years old, Rosetta’s eldest daughter. Intelligent, excellent in martial arts, skilled in one-handed swordsmanship. Her personal strength is high-level, though exact rank unknown. Rarely appears in public but holds a good reputation among Typhon’s nobility. Due to her noble status, impeccable conduct, and outstanding knowledge, she’s called the ‘High Mountain Flower’ of the Typhon Empire…
“According to Intelligence Bureau assessments, she has about a 40% chance of becoming the next Typhon emperor. Her younger brother, Prince Hadrian Augustus, is a strong rival, especially since he commands the Obsidian Guard and has priority in succession. But this doesn’t mean they’re at odds. So far, Mathilda and Hadrian present a harmonious and respectful relationship, especially after the unexpected death of Rosetta’s eldest son. The remaining heirs and siblings are unusually united.”
“That’s all the intel I have. Since it involves the upper echelons, leaks are limited.”
“A perfect, standard image…” Gawain stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And I feel like I’ve heard a similar character somewhere before…”
Amber frowned, unsure what he meant. “Hmm? What are you getting at?”
Gawain’s thoughts drifted. “I’m thinking of bringing Veronica out to have these two face off. Which one do you think would be stronger?”
Amber was puzzled. “Why put them together? Because they’re both princesses? But Veronica already…”
“Because their character designs are… ah, never mind,” Gawain waved his hand dismissively. “Just a random thought. Nothing serious.”
“Oh…” Amber scratched her head. She was used to Gawain’s occasional strange ideas and cryptic remarks, so she didn’t press further. Instead, she quietly made a note to tell Veronica about it later.
“By the way, aren’t you planning to make use of those two special ‘citizens’ in Solinburg?” After a moment’s thought, Amber added, “One’s just sitting around photosynthesizing, and the other mainly labels crystal jars dug up from ruins and studies the giant tree’s photosynthesis. Given their unique status, it feels like a waste.”
Gawain knew exactly who she meant.
Bard Wendell, researching giant tree photosynthesis in Solinburg, and Bertilla Augustus, who spends her days photosynthesizing—these two are Cecil’s most unusual “citizens,” especially when it comes to Typhon affairs. The former is the father of Typhon’s current Wolf General; the latter is an ancestor of the reigning Typhon emperor.
It seemed that if they were pushed to the border at the right moment, the military and political leaders of Typhon, along with many key figures, would clutch their chests and scream “Noooooo—”
If luck was on their side, a few might even drop dead from high blood pressure on the spot.
The biggest challenge was that Bertilla was hard to move to the border. The Solinburg Druid Research Institute hadn’t yet solved the problem of transplanting her root system. If she went herself, she might trample the entire Eastern Corridor and the Longwind Twelve Fortresses in one go… assuming she could even pull her roots from the ground.
Because these two were such powerful cards, Gawain preferred to keep them hidden rather than expose them prematurely.
“These two are too big a gamble,” he shook his head. “Using them now to shake Typhon’s resolve would be a waste. Rosetta has countless ways to neutralize the impact of ‘rumors.’ Better to save them for the future, when they can have a greater effect.”
Amber exhaled softly. “Understood.”
Gawain rubbed his temples, easing the tension in his mind.
“Anything to report from Office 25?” he asked casually.
“The main focus remains designing contingency plans for fluctuations in the psychic network,” Amber reported clearly. “According to recent intelligence from Daniel, the worst-case scenario is a temporary or permanent shutdown of the psychic network. We’d have to ‘freeze’ Daniel’s line temporarily, then look for other ways to restore contact with him and his surrounding agents. Fortunately, Typhon has developed some backup channels. Daniel’s apprentices, emerging Typhon investors, and minor nobles contacted through the ‘Trajectory Project’ have been recruited or compromised. Our intelligence network there no longer relies solely on Daniel’s personal activities…”
Amber’s report was methodical, and Gawain nodded slightly as he listened.
—The “Trajectory Project” Amber mentioned was a year-long operation to introduce magical trains into Typhon, using the opportunity to infiltrate and recruit lower-tier nobles and fallen knights, establishing regular intelligence channels.
Though still in its early stages, the project had already yielded some results.
Capital’s power was formidable, especially in loosely monitored environments. Typhon’s newly minted “investment nobles” were almost powerless against its allure.
Amber didn’t mention what would happen to the intelligence system within the Sleeper Cult if the psychic network collapsed. The reason was obvious—if the psychic network truly blew, the Sleeper Cult would likely collapse as well…
“From here on, let’s hope Daniel’s line holds steady,” Gawain leaned back, his gaze calm and steady. “And that the Sleeper Cult’s leadership stays sharp and vigilant.”
Typhon Empire, Aldern, the mage district near the Obsidian Palace.
As the thick fog began to rise, the already weak sunlight slanted into the room, filtered through half-drawn curtains, casting a dim, muted glow. In a large, comfortable armchair, the elderly master, dressed in casual clothes, sat with his head bowed, drifting in a light nap during the lazy afternoon.
Nearby, Mary, with her black hair, sat at a square table close to her mentor, her head bent intently over a calculus test.
Suddenly, the rustling of paper and the scratching of pen on page abruptly ceased—and for a long moment, no sound followed.
Daniel’s eyes snapped open, and he looked toward Mary. “What’s wrong? Stuck on a problem?”
In the next instant, the old master’s relaxed, carefree expression hardened.
He saw the black-haired apprentice sitting at the table turn her face toward him—and somehow, that face had changed into another entirely.
The sunlight streaming through the window and the dust motes dancing in its beams seemed to freeze in place.
“Daniel,” the apprentice—Mary—said calmly, “we have some questions for you.”
(Oh man!!!!!
Out of drafts, feeling utterly drained.
I’ll be dropping back to a slower update pace for a while to regroup and build up some chapters again… Don’t worry, once I have enough stockpiled, there’ll be another stretch of double updates like this.
Finally, since I’ve been doing double updates lately, if you still have votes, please consider casting one =.= Spread the word, and let’s get those who’ve been waiting ready for the next big push~~~)
(End of chapter)