Chapter 824: Dyeing

The streets of Cecil were as bustling and vibrant as ever, the familiar cityscape stretching out in every direction. Yet for Byron, walking through Cecil today felt different—

Pea was walking right beside him, chattering nonstop.

She spoke with boundless enthusiasm, recounting her experiences at the academy, the new friends she had made, everything she had seen—the weather, her mood, the books she’d read, and the new magical shadow play they were working on. This girl, who had only just regained her ability to speak, seemed as if she were seeing the world for the first time, almost babbling incessantly, as if she wanted to describe every single thing she had ever experienced all over again.

Even the little shops they passed every day couldn’t escape her cheerful visits. She’d run inside with a bright smile, greet the shopkeepers, receive surprised exclamations, and then a round of congratulations.

Byron kept smiling, staying by Pea’s side.

What should have been a short walk home ended up taking half the day.

When the father and daughter finally neared Knight Street, Byron spotted a figure lingering at the corner—it was Philip, who had returned to Cecil just a few days ago.

Byron approached with a smile, and Philip, sensing someone nearby, turned to greet him. But before either of the old friends could speak, it was Pea who broke the silence. She beamed happily at Philip, her voice coming through the neural thorn device with a bright, synthetic tone: “Uncle Philip!!”

Philip was about to respond but froze upon hearing the unfamiliar, mechanical voice. After a full two seconds of stunned silence, he looked at Pea with a mix of surprise and disbelief: “Pea… you’re talking?”

“It’s me!!” Pea laughed joyfully, spinning halfway around to show Philip the metal device at the back of her neck. “Look! Grandpa Pittman made this for me! It’s called a neural thorn—it lets me speak for myself!!”

“We just got back from the research institute,” Byron quickly explained before Pea could launch into another monologue. “According to Pittman, it’s a miniature artificial nerve bundle, but way more complex than the usual ones. Helping Pea talk is just one of its functions—though you know me, I don’t really get into the technical stuff…”

“I’ve heard about this project…” Philip’s eyes widened as he looked at Pea with delight and surprise. “But I didn’t expect it to happen so fast… This is wonderful, Pea. Today definitely calls for a celebration!”

“Celebrations are fine, but no drinking with my dad!” Pea immediately glared. “I know you have strong self-control, Uncle, but my dad can’t hold himself back at all! If someone offers him a drink, he’ll get himself completely drunk every time. Then he comes home reeking of alcohol and sleeps in the living room until the next day, and I have to clean up after him… You don’t know, even if you stop him on the spot, he sneaks drinks at home anyway, saying it’s about seeing things through, out of respect for the brewery… And last time, you guys…”

Her mind raced, the magic device powered by brainwaves didn’t need to pause for breath or rest, and a torrent of words poured out, overwhelming Philip. The young—well, not so young anymore—knight started with a smile but soon grew bewildered. He blinked at Byron repeatedly until Pea finally quieted down, giving him a chance to speak: “Byron… what… what’s going on with this child?”

“Surprised?” Byron wore a ‘serves you right’ grin. Though he was the one usually on the receiving end of lectures, this time it was Philip getting the full storm, and that oddly lifted his spirits. “None of us realized how much Pea had bottled up inside her…”

Pea shot Byron a warning glare, as if to say, ‘Keep it up and I’ll start talking again.’ Byron quickly waved his hand: “Of course, I’m glad she can finally say what’s on her mind…”

Before Pea could respond, Byron shifted the topic, looking at Philip: “By the way… what are you doing here?”

“I heard you were heading north, so I came to say goodbye,” Philip said earnestly. “Things have been busy lately, and I didn’t want to miss the chance.”

“…Hearing you say that makes me feel weird all over,” Byron rubbed his arm awkwardly. “Like I’m about to die out there or something.”

Philip thought for a moment, then analyzed seriously: “In theory, that won’t happen. There’s no war in the North, and your mission won’t conflict with the locals or the Violets across the strait. The only real risks are getting drunk and jumping into the sea, or picking fights out of boredom. Other than that, you should come back alive…”

Byron: “…Honestly, are you trying to mock me?”

Philip’s serious expression didn’t waver. “Mockery isn’t knightly behavior.”

Byron thought it over and made an even stranger face. “I still think you’re mocking me—Philip, you’ve grown up!”

Pea stood nearby, glancing between Byron and Philip, then slowly broke into a happy smile.

…

Count Duller leaned back comfortably on a plush sofa, beside a large floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto the garden and the bustling city beyond. The warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the crystal-clear glass, filling the room with a bright, cozy glow.

Soft, gentle music played from a magical device tucked in the corner, its exotic melodies relaxing the nobleman from Typhon even further.

In his hands was a finely printed book titled A Brief Record of Northern Continent Folklore and Mythology. The paper wasn’t luxurious, but the book contained exquisite illustrations and neat, elegant typography. He turned a page, scanning the opening lines, then looked up thoughtfully at the man sitting opposite him.

“Master Habier, I must admit, the printing technology of the Cecil people is far superior to ours. The quality of this book’s printing even makes me want to start a printing press myself.”

The man across from him was no longer young, with a scholarly, refined air and a bald head. This venerable gentleman was Habier Reston, a renowned scholar and master of grammar from Typhon, also part of the Typhon delegation. He was reading a popular booklet printed by the Cecil people—not a heavy tome, but a thin magazine with a colorful cover and short articles.

Hearing Duller’s words, the old scholar looked up. “Indeed, their printing is incredible, especially their ability to reproduce colorful images so accurately and in such volume. Their technology in this area is truly fascinating.”

“It’s said this technology only appeared in Cecil a few months ago,” Duller remarked casually, his gaze drifting to the magazine in Habier’s hands. “Are you still reading that booklet?”

“It’s called a ‘magazine,’” Habier lifted the booklet, its cover featuring a handsome figure shining under the sunlight’s ink gloss. “The content is simple but surprisingly engaging. The grammar and overall structure have given me a lot of inspiration.”

“But if I may be frank, I find the content a bit too simplistic,” Duller smiled. “I thought a scholar of your stature would disdain such things—they’re not nearly as profound as this mythology collection I’m holding.”

“The Emperor assigned me to compile the Imperial Gazette, and over the past six months, my greatest lesson has been to abandon the old obsession with ‘elegance’ and ‘depth,’” Habier said seriously, setting the magazine down and meeting Duller’s gaze. “Newspapers and magazines are a new phenomenon. Unlike the rare, expensive tomes of the past, their readers don’t hold high status and don’t require deep knowledge. Heraldry and ceremonial codes don’t interest them—they wouldn’t understand anyway.”

He gestured to the magazine on the table. “What they truly understand is straightforward, accessible content. In this regard, the Cecil people clearly outperform us. The Emperor hopes we can learn from their strengths—how they unite hearts, boost morale, and guide the common folk. That’s why I was sent here, and naturally, I’m paying close attention to their achievements.”

Duller raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Have you made any discoveries these past few days?”

“Many. These magazines—and other popular reading materials circulating in the market—all have their charms. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but even many young members of our delegation have taken an interest. They often discuss these simple stories in private, and some have already seen two magical shadow plays, becoming quite fond of the characters. The allure of novelty is undeniable,” Habier smiled. “I also spoke with Mr. Gawain Orlando, a man of vast knowledge who almost made me forget he’s a Cecil citizen.”

“Nearly half of those magazines and newspapers were founded by Gawain Orlando. His ideas for such publications were eye-opening. Honestly, I even considered inviting him to Typhon, though I know that’s unrealistic—he holds a high position here and is deeply valued by the royal family, so he wouldn’t come to work for us.”

“Ha! It’s rare to hear you so openly praise someone,” Duller chuckled. “If you were serious, maybe we could try to recruit some of the apprentices Gawain has trained—after all, recruiting and evaluating talent is part of our mission.”

Habier shook his head with a smile. “If it weren’t for our upcoming visit schedule, I’d seriously consider your suggestion.”

…

“The signing ceremony this morning went smoothly,” Heddy said as she placed a thick stack of documents on Gawain’s desk in the spacious, bright study. “After days of bargaining and revisions, the Typhon delegation finally agreed to most of our terms—and we reached mutual understanding on many reciprocal clauses.”

“That’s what you call a win-win,” Gawain smiled, setting aside the pile of materials he’d been reviewing. He picked up the documents Heddy brought, flipping through them casually. “New trade categories, new diplomatic memoranda, new peace declarations, and… investment plans…”

His eyes lingered on certain passages, and he leaned back in his chair with a smile.

Among the new investment permits were “film and television production and distribution” and “audio-visual and printed media.”

Heddy’s gaze fell on the materials Gawain had just set down, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “What’s this?”

“A new magical shadow play script,” Gawain said. “Beacon of Fire—a tribute to the brave and fearless Marquis Belk Loren, commemorating that disaster that must never be forgotten. It will premiere this summer, or possibly earlier. If all goes well… the people of Typhon will see it shortly after.”

Heddy’s eyes deepened with thought as she heard the calm voice of her ancestor echo softly:

“Give them shadow plays, magazines, more popular stories, and anything else that can glorify Cecil. Let them worship Cecil’s heroes, let them become familiar with the Cecil way of life. Keep telling them what advanced civilization looks like, constantly hinting at how far their own lives are from the true ‘civilized and enlightened nation.’ Throughout this process, we must emphasize our goodwill, stress that we stand with them. That way, when a message is repeated a thousand times, they’ll start to believe it’s their own idea…

“And then, the era of peace will arrive, Hetty.”

Hetty’s gaze slowly drifted across the desk, finally settling on a document lying by Gawain’s hand, as if just completed.

On the cover, a single phrase was printed:

The Dyeing Project.

(End of chapter)