Chapter 842: Another Group of Guests

Pea was a lively little girl.

She had mastered a remarkable skill—the ability to babble nonstop while eating and drinking at the same time. This talent was probably thanks to her peculiar magical device, which she called the “Neural Thorns.”

The banquet was still underway, but Asalina had little interest in following the “diplomatic progress” on Sir Gorosh’s side. Thanks to the eloquence and charm she had honed during her travels years ago, she had quickly become friends with this girl named Pea. They had slipped away to a quiet corner, sampling some of Cecil’s local delicacies. Meanwhile, Pea’s mouth was stuffed full, yet she never stopped talking.

“…My dad’s usually super busy. Last winter, he finally got a long break, but half the time he was out wandering—either drinking with people or watching ball games. I told him so many times, but he wouldn’t listen. You know about ball games, right? The Emperor invented them. I’m not interested, but all the boys love them… Mom? I was adopted by Dad, so I don’t really remember what my birth mother looked like…

“Now? There’s no one. Dad never remarried, but he always says he had lots of close women when he was younger… I think he’s just bragging, because I’ve never met any of them… Huh? You don’t think so? Why not?”

Pea was chatting away enthusiastically, but then a flicker of doubt crossed her face. “Oh, by the way, sister, why are you so interested in my dad’s business?”

Finally, Asalina found her chance to speak. She smiled gently. “I know your father, little one.”

Pea’s mouth was so full of cake that she could barely speak, her eyes wide as saucers. The strange gurgling noises from her speech device filled the air.

“I met him twenty years ago, when he was still a mercenary captain,” Asalina said with a smile. The more she talked, the more she found Pea fascinating—even the look of surprise on the girl’s face, almost choking on her food, was endearing. “Little one, your dad isn’t bragging—at least when he was young, he certainly had no shortage of women around him.”

Pea swallowed hard, then her voice came through the device, tinged with suspicion: “…Really?”

“Of course,” Asalina said, handing her a glass of water. “You can ask him yourself later.”

Pea blinked, her expression a mix of surprise and confusion. After a long pause, she finally managed to say, “…Then I shouldn’t be calling you sister. Auntie.”

Asalina’s hand froze mid-air as she passed the water.

At that moment, she was absolutely certain: this little girl named Pea was indeed raised by Byron.

…

Sir Gorosh had a friendly chat with Emperor Gawain Cecil, but it was nothing deep.

As a first meeting at a banquet, this wasn’t the place for serious political talks. Two men from completely different social backgrounds—and even different races—needed time to adjust to each other’s rhythms. They casually exchanged stories about their homelands and cultures, spoke briefly about hopes for future peace, and then Gawain excused himself, leaving time for Sir Gorosh and his advisors and entourage.

A few minutes later, Sir Gorosh finally spotted the Dragonmark Witch wandering the hall. He hurried over. “Lady Asalina, I’ve been looking for you. Where did you go… Lady Asalina? You look a bit pale.”

Hearing Gorosh’s voice, Asalina snapped out of her daze. She shook her head and tapped her temple with a finger, muttering, “I’m fine, I’m fine… Ah, Sir Gorosh, what did you and Emperor Gawain talk about?”

“Just some pleasantries and introductions about our countries,” Gorosh replied casually. “Emperor Gawain is straightforward and knowledgeable. It was a pleasant conversation… Lady Asalina, are you sure you’re okay? You look like you just ate a whole bowl of spoiled pickled peas…”

“…Sir Gorosh.”

Gorosh jumped at Asalina’s dark glare. “What’s wrong?”

“Your jokes that are three centuries out of date are not funny at all!!”

“?”

…

After leaving the Autumn Palace banquet hall, Gawain took only a few attendants and headed to a small courtyard behind the palace.

A magi-tech carriage had been waiting there for some time.

Gawain approached the carriage, and the air nearby shimmered and twisted. Amber’s figure gradually materialized, and she lightly jumped to his side.

“I thought you’d stay with the guests from the Holy Dragon Principality the whole time,” Amber said, opening the carriage door and glancing at Gawain. “They’re the mysterious ‘Dragonborn,’ you know.”

“Dragons are even more mysterious, and I’ve dealt with them plenty,” Gawain said as he bent to sit inside, watching Amber climb in behind him. “Hetty and Rebecca will handle the second half of the banquet. Having two direct royal family members there is enough protocol. As for me, I have more meaningful things to do than reciting diplomatic pleasantries at a feast.”

“I agree with your last point—let’s go,” Amber said with a raised brow and a smile. She greeted the engineer driving the carriage, then turned back to Gawain. “Another group of ‘guests’ is already waiting at the North Shore Development Zone. They seem a bit uneasy but are following orders.”

“Uneasy?” Gawain frowned. “I’m not holding them prisoner.”

“No, not only are they not imprisoned, you even sent priests and nuns to care for them,” Amber rolled her eyes. “You might as well have sent the army.”

Gawain’s eye twitched.

“There’s no other way,” he sighed. “They’re experts in the spiritual realm. Although they’ve pledged allegiance, I can’t let ordinary personnel interact with them until the observation and testing are complete. Compared to regular soldiers, the White Knights and warrior nuns—who have iron wills, specialized mental training, and are constantly protected by intense holy light—are the most reliable guardians I can think of.”

Amber nodded helplessly. “Fair enough.”

At the North Shore Development Zone, inside a gathering hall not yet open to the public, Yuri and a large group of Sleepless priests—disguised in new clothes—were resting.

Among them were priests who had crossed the border on the last train, as well as cult members who had crossed earlier in two groups. The latter had stayed in the White Sand Hills for two days until Yuri’s final group arrived. Today, all of them had taken the magi-energy train to Cecil City together.

The hall had a newly installed ventilation system, and the facility’s management provided ample food and water. For a group of “heretics” newly arrived in a foreign land and still keeping a low profile, this was decent treatment. Yet Yuri’s comrades still felt uneasy.

Because a group of fully armed holy light warriors guarded every entrance and exit—and their presence was truly imposing.

Half of them were towering men nearly two meters tall—perhaps their height was partly due to their equally impressive silver-white armor. These heavily armed men wielded massive war hammers, with metal prayer books chained to their belts. They called themselves Cecil’s Holy Light Priests, but to Yuri, the only connection to “priests” was the many holy runes stamped on their helmets or attached to their armor with wax seals and scripture ribbons. Rather than sacred symbols, these looked more like battle scars knights proudly displayed after slaying foes.

The other half—thankfully—were women who at least seemed a bit more approachable.

If only these ladies weren’t carrying mysterious war spears (or maybe staffs or pole hammers? Or some other head-cracking weapons?) and weren’t equipped with cold, glowing mechanical gauntlets, it would be even better.

Archbishop Semler, who had arrived a day earlier than Yuri at the White Sand Hills but reached this gathering hall the same day as everyone else, sat on a bench in the hall. He whispered to Yuri, “I kind of miss the ‘miners’ dormitory’ back in the White Sand Hills… At least the mining company’s armed guards there seemed friendlier.”

“I don’t understand why His Majesty the Emperor would assign these Holy Light priests to watch over us,” Yuri said quietly, worry creasing his face. “Could it be true, as rumors say, that he has completely taken control of and transformed the Holy Light Church within Cecil, turning them into his ‘loyal militia’?”

“That seems to be the case. He wouldn’t side with the ‘Holy Light God,’” Semler said gravely. “And I think…”

Heavy footsteps suddenly interrupted Semler’s words. A two-meter-tall, fully armored White Knight approached the Sleepless, standing before the bench. From beneath the rune-covered helmet came a muffled, deep voice: “You all look unwell. Do you require a touch of Holy Light or a calming prayer?”

As he spoke, the towering warrior hefted his massive war hammer, resting the deadly weapon horizontally in his hands, and began twisting a switch on its handle.

Semler’s face changed instantly. “No, we don’t need that!”

He strongly suspected the “touch of Holy Light” meant swinging that hammer with full force.

In fact, as an archbishop-level Sleepless priest, Semler’s power was no weaker than these self-proclaimed “priests” in armor. But these iron giants had a strange style, their surging holy light was formidable, and most importantly, this was all happening under the watchful eyes of the Outerworld Wanderers. Every guard here was sent by the Wanderers, and all these factors combined made Semler and Yuri tense.

“Understood,” the burly White Knight said in a gruff voice, not pressing the matter. “If you need anything, just ask.”

The iron tower finally left.

Yuri and Semler both exhaled in relief, then exchanged a helpless smile. Yuri muttered softly, “This place… is weirder than I imagined.”

At that moment, Wendy, who had been silent, suddenly broke the quiet. “Actually, I think it’s fine. I mean, those warrior nuns—you don’t think their gear has a certain aesthetic, do you?”

Yuri gave Wendy a strange look. “Lady Wendy… are you serious?”

Fortunately, this odd topic and the strange atmosphere in the hall were broken the next second.

“His Majesty Gawain Cecil has arrived—”

The herald’s loud announcement sounded like a blessing, instantly lifting the spirits of Yuri and Semler alike.

The sleepers in the hall all looked up, their gazes turning toward the entrance. They saw the door swing open, and the white knights standing guard stepped respectfully aside, followed by the martial cultivators who did the same, forming neat lines to welcome the arrival. Then, a figure even more imposing than the white knights appeared there, backlit by the sunlight, entering the hall as if descending from the heavens.

An otherworldly wanderer.

Alive. Breathing. Real.

A strange sensation swept through the sleeper priests present, as if some mythical being had suddenly materialized before them—yet here it was, appearing as a mere mortal, harmless and tangible. These priests, accustomed to weaving dreams and having just endured a great upheaval, found themselves momentarily dazed. It wasn’t until Gawain’s voice rang out sharply that they were pulled back to reality—

“Welcome to Cecil, future citizens of the Empire—I hope most of you will soon earn that title.”

(End of chapter)