Chapter 853: Progress

Gawain finally uncovered the truth behind the Augustus family curse.

The reality was far more twisted and bizarre than he had anticipated.

As an insider familiar with the events, Melchior III believed that the “Eye of God” that had escaped back then had undergone a fall from divinity after entering the Augustus bloodline. Over generations, diluted and degraded by mortal blood, it had essentially become a form of spiritual contamination devoid of true godhood. But Gawain wasn’t so optimistic.

After all, he knew about the ancient godslaying wars, the countless times gods had changed faces and returned to the world, and he understood that divine power was essentially a projection of mortal collective will. With all this knowledge, he doubted the “Eye of God” embedded in the Augustus lineage would simply vanish so easily.

Yet, there was no way to verify this now—even if a member of the Augustus family stood right before him, current technology offered no means to confirm the Eye’s true state. So, for the moment, it was all just speculation.

Melchior III hadn’t heard Gawain’s quiet muttering. Recalling the Orlandell incident two centuries ago stirred a deep sigh from the dream pope, no longer fully human. After half a minute of silence, his voice emerged again from the shifting starry light: “Your Majesty, that is all I know about the Augustus family curse.”

Gawain snapped out of his thoughts and glanced at the former pope before him, nodding gently. “These are all crucial pieces of information—very valuable.”

He paused, then added, “It truly was a miracle that you all survived Orlandell.”

“Everyone underestimated the resilience of those ancient ruins. Some unfathomable ancient technology made the core and lowest levels nearly indestructible, while the collapse of the upper layers conveniently concealed the intact interior,” Melchior’s voice carried a hint of awe. “At the time, Typhon was thrown into chaos by the imperial capital’s collapse and the massive casualties among the upper nobility. They had to focus most of their efforts on restoring order and relocating the capital… Moreover, with the technology of that era, they couldn’t even confirm what lay beneath Orlandell.

“As for us, we had backup passages to evacuate through exits outside the city, but we knew that leaving then was a death sentence. So we hunkered down in the catacombs, surviving the first few months on stored supplies and whatever meager rations we could scavenge from the ruins above. Only gradually did we send out scouts to assess the situation. Years later, we repaired the mid and lower levels of the catacombs within the sturdy ancient framework and built new domes beneath the collapsed areas… It was no easy feat.”

“I can imagine,” Gawain nodded, then asked, “I’ve been thinking about something. Back then, you used the term ‘evil god’ to negotiate with the Typhon emperor, convincing him that what lay beneath Orlandell wasn’t a god but a malevolent spirit. He believed you. But surely the Augustus family wouldn’t have let the matter rest there—if only to investigate the curse that suddenly befell them. Do you think they ever uncovered the truth about what was really beneath Orlandell?”

Melchior was silent for a few seconds before replying slowly, “I believe they uncovered part of the truth. They roughly understood that the curse they suffered actually originated from a god.

“The reason is simple—not all the Sleeper priests remained in the catacombs. When the Orlandell incident occurred, some priests were active outside. Inevitably, some of them later fell into the hands of the Augustus family. With the core and upper echelons of the order buried beneath Orlandell, these priests were unaware that we still lived. Losing their psychological anchor, many of them likely revealed everything to survive.”

Gawain frowned deeply, his voice low. “So, the Augustus family knew the curse was brought by a god, and to some extent—they, like you, knew the gods were gradually descending into madness, that their very nature was a ticking doomsday.”

“The captured priests probably disclosed this part of the truth, but how much the Augustus family believed is uncertain,” Melchior answered. “They might have dismissed it as the ramblings of heretics. Yet, given the curse’s reality and the evidence from the Orlandell incident, they may have given some credence to the priests’ words.”

“At the time, Typhon’s main religion was the worship of the war god, with smaller churches devoted to the god of commerce, the blood god, and the death god,” Amber suddenly interjected. “The Typhon royal family neither actively suppressed nor supported these churches.”

Gawain glanced at Amber, surprised—he hadn’t asked anything, yet she had already provided exactly the information he needed.

After a moment’s thought, he asked, “Are any members of the Augustus family openly religious or baptized in any form?”

“No,” Amber shook her head. “At least, no intelligence indicates that. Though secret baptisms can’t be ruled out, the likelihood is low.”

Gawain pondered, then asked, “Before the Orlandell incident, were there religious believers within the Augustus family?”

“I don’t know,” Amber admitted. “Military intelligence hasn’t specifically investigated that. But this information isn’t classified; clues should be available in Typhon’s official records…”

“I can answer that,” Melchior suddenly interrupted. “Yes, and more than one. Before Orlandell, some Augustus family members had received the war god’s baptism. Not many, and often as a symbol of the royal family’s alliance with the church, but baptized members did exist.”

Gawain exhaled softly.

“Then we can assume the Augustus family forbade members from becoming believers after Orlandell,” he said quietly. “As for why they didn’t suppress the churches domestically… that’s not surprising. It’s likely a consideration of social needs and national interests.

“After all, even today in Cecil, the dominant faith is the Church of the Holy Light, alongside several smaller churches.”

Gawain’s last remark was casual, but Melchior thought of the heavily armed “war priests” loyal to the emperor in the Cecil Empire. The starry light and mist enveloping him seemed to contract slightly.

Gawain couldn’t read Melchior’s expression through the shimmering cloud, but he tapped the armrest of his chair thoughtfully, murmuring to himself, “Things are starting to get interesting…”

…

After discussing a few scattered questions, Melchior III took his leave.

The spacious study was left with only Gawain seated at his desk and Amber standing before him.

“Tonight, I heard some big secrets,” Amber stretched lazily, muttering as she did, “Looks like the Augustus family and the Sleepers really are… tangled up with each other.”

“Reality is always stranger than fiction. It surpasses even the tales of bards,” Gawain said calmly. “Which makes Rosetta Augustus’s current large-scale acceptance of domestic Sleepers all the more dramatic.”

“After all, the Orlandell incident happened two hundred years ago,” Amber blinked. “For most ordinary humans, that’s ‘ancient history’—a buried story in dusty archives. Even for the modern Typhon emperor and Sleeper priests, it’s just a story.”

“You’re starting to sound more like me,” Gawain laughed, glancing at her.

Amber grinned but didn’t launch into her usual barrage of witty remarks. Instead, after a brief pause, she said thoughtfully, “Speaking of which… based on Melchior’s intelligence, the relationship between the ancient Inverse Tide Empire and the gods was probably more complicated than we first thought.”

“They had the technology to build advanced devices capable of containing and controlling divine power, yet used it to construct altars to welcome the gods…” Gawain’s expression grew serious. “Melita Pernia once said that possessing advanced technology without breaking free from the gods’ shackles only brings disaster. I’ve been pondering her words deeply. The ruins beneath Orlandell seem to answer some of my questions.”

“Too bad those ruins are truly gone this time,” Amber lamented. “Before evacuating, the Sleepers blew them up from the inside. Those secrets are lost forever.”

“Perhaps someday we’ll find another way to unearth those secrets,” Gawain shook his head. “For now, at least the Sleepers brought a wealth of materials. Among them, there’s bound to be something valuable.”

…

After a night’s rest and a morning of final deliberations, Sir Gorosh and his advisory council returned to Gawain Cecil’s presence.

Gawain sat in his favored high-backed chair, watching the dragonkin take their seats opposite him. The clerks and aides stood ready nearby. His expression was calm and composed.

The intelligence Melchior had shared the night before had given him much to consider and many projections about the future. But his concerns extended beyond Typhon and the “Eye” of the dream god. Now, he steadied his mind to continue the unfinished negotiations with these powerful dragonkin from the far northern mountains.

Sir Gorosh first bowed to Gawain, then cleared his throat and spoke candidly yet respectfully: “Your Majesty, first, thank you for receiving us again.

“We have carefully considered the many proposals and future visions you presented yesterday. To be frank—please forgive my bluntness—I personally prefer straightforward honesty—

“The Holy Dragon Principality is not yet prepared for comprehensive commercial engagement with Cecil, especially regarding mining development, joint academies, and infrastructure projects. The dragonkin have no intention to proceed.”

Gawain’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, imperceptible to others.

Though Gorosh claimed to be frank and honest, his words were already quite tactful. Yet no amount of politeness could mask the meaning.

Everyone present understood perfectly: the dragonkin had rejected over seventy percent of the proposals Gawain had put forward the day before.

And their stance seemed firm—this was a carefully considered decision, possibly made after consultation with the Dragonblood Grant Duke. It was not something to be overturned with a few words.

But driven by curiosity, Gawain couldn’t help but ask, “I’d like to hear the specific reasons.”

Gorosh exchanged a glance with Asralena beside him, then turned back to meet Gawain’s gaze with seriousness and openness.

“Your Majesty, the dragonkin approach this exchange with sincerity and candor, and I believe you do as well.

“We all seek new friends in this vast world, for a shared, bright future.

“There is a saying in the Holy Dragon Principality: ‘A lone climber has courage; those who climb together have both courage and wisdom.’ The dragonkin are not as closed or xenophobic as outsiders imagine. In truth, we welcome friendship—but only with those who can climb the peaks alongside us, advancing and retreating together.”

“Your Majesty, for thousands of years, the Dragonborn have rarely ventured beyond the northern mountains. The events unfolding across this continent simply never captured our interest. But now, we have opened the gates—of our own accord. We seek an ally, and the Dragonborn hope this alliance can be built on equality, respect, mutual benefit, and honesty.”

Gawain met Sir Goloch’s gaze quietly. After two seconds, a smile slowly spread across his face.

“Of course,” he said, his tone light and cheerful. “Then let us revisit the proposal.”

His demeanor was calm, as if he had anticipated this all along.

(End of chapter)