Chapter 997: The Psionic Songstress

From Gawain’s perspective, what Rosetta was doing hardly qualified as a conspiracy—everything was happening out in the open.

It even gave him a strange feeling, as if Rosetta August, far away in Aldenard, had just thrown him a knowing glance from thin air, silently signaling him to take the next move…

After some serious thought, Gawain realized there was no choice but to follow through—because this was exactly what he had been hoping for.

No matter what methods were used, it was essential to minimize the number of carriers infected by spiritual corruption, to weaken the War God’s influence in the material world, and to keep the enemy at the borders. In this regard, Rosetta was simply coordinating tacitly with Cecil…

“Ancestor, are you sure this is alright?” Hetty couldn’t help but furrow her brow. Rosetta August’s series of maneuvers had far exceeded her expectations. In her experience, such bold and unconventional moves were only something their resurrected forefather could pull off. “The Typhons are using our hands to purge those infected by spiritual corruption…”

“The question now isn’t whether this is right or wrong, but that it’s the only way,” Gawain replied calmly. “Rosetta has thrown us a ball we have to catch, and now we have no choice but to play along. In fact, this aligns perfectly with my own thinking—we don’t have the resources to fight the sane Typhons, but if the enemy is infected… that’s a different story.”

Hetty’s uneasy feeling lingered. She pressed her lips together, disbelief flickering across her face. “But he’s doing this so openly… those soldiers and nobles tainted by the War God’s corruption are no longer themselves, yet he moves them at will. And the War God doesn’t react at all during this process…”

“Just as we’ve been analyzing the birth and operation of gods, Rosetta August has his own research on the matter,” Gawain’s expression grew serious. “He’s clearly found the pattern… When a god is in a semi-mad state, he exploits a loophole in the domain of ‘war.’ Even sending those infected War God followers to the front lines to die is, in essence, supporting the war effort. As long as it stays within that framework, he won’t provoke the War God’s backlash. And those corrupted nobles and soldiers will obediently follow orders from Aldenard.”

“The problem is, even a mentally unstable army retains some intelligence on the battlefield. In fact, because they’ve lost normal human fears and weaknesses, those infected often fight far beyond the capacity of regular soldiers,” Hetty said gravely. “By sending these uncontrollable nobles and soldiers to Winterwolf Fortress, Rosetta is steadily draining our combat strength…”

“Of course he wants to drain our strength. We have hundreds of thousands of mechanized troops stationed on Typhon soil—do you think he can sleep peacefully?” Gawain waved his hand dismissively. “His plan isn’t hard to guess. I have to say… it’s a pretty clever scheme.”

To Gawain, Rosetta August’s intentions were crystal clear—the sudden chaos of this war had thrown both empires into a whirlpool, leaving countless people bewildered about the future. But to the rulers of these empires, everything was as clear as rivers and mountains under the sun.

This war might have erupted suddenly, but in the long run, a conflict between Typhon and Cecil was inevitable. So when it finally came, Rosetta would do everything possible to bring the situation under his control and extract the greatest benefit. He sent those War God-controlled troops to the front lines to quickly reduce domestic instability, while those reckless, uncontrollable legions served to weaken Cecil’s forces. At the same time, these wild units bought Rosetta precious time to restore order and gradually reverse Typhon’s early disadvantages in the war.

This might not give him a decisive advantage, but at least it would bring Typhon and Cecil back to an even footing.

Beyond that, Rosetta would seize the opportunity to sweep away all the internal instability in Typhon, gaining a chance to thoroughly reorganize the state like Cecil once did. His rule would be stronger than ever, and the upper echelons of Typhon would finally unite…

Of course, all of this hinged on one big assumption—that events would unfold according to his plan.

“Ancestor, do we need to draft a plan to attack Aldenard?” Hetty broke the silence after noticing the change in Gawain’s expression. “Maybe it’ll come in handy.”

Gawain glanced at her, a bit surprised, then fell silent for a few seconds before slowly replying, “Plans… you always need to have them.”

“I understand,” Hetty said, bowing her head. Then she looked up to see Gawain’s gaze fixed on the continental map not far away—a map crisscrossed with countless lines and markings. Amid the apparent chaos, a hidden order to the war was faintly revealed.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” Gawain said slowly. “Could there be something deeper behind all this…?”

Hetty blinked, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “You mean…?”

“That out-of-control War God has only been projecting its power onto its mortal believers to sow chaos. But is a divine catastrophe really just about chaos? Intelligence reports show Rosetta August is conducting large-scale purges at home, shutting down, suppressing, and scrutinizing the War God’s church. While this looks like normal reordering, could it be actively provoking the already unhinged War God?” Gawain tapped the armrest of his chair thoughtfully. “Rosetta’s bold moves feel like a gambler’s… but he can’t be just a gambler. Or rather, he’s not a ‘pure gambler.’”

Hetty pondered this. “Not a ‘pure gambler’…?”

“A pure gambler risks everything recklessly. But Rosetta… he must be calculating every cost and chance of failure precisely, carefully betting only what he can afford,” Gawain said in a low voice. “So when he decides to take a gamble, there’s only one possibility—he actually holds a certain ‘stake’ and believes there’s a real chance of success. The potential gains and losses are both acceptable to him.”

Gawain’s expression was resolute as he spoke. Though he’d only met Rosetta August once or twice personally, as the ruler of the empire, Cecil had tangled with Typhon countless times.

Those trade laws, the circulating intelligence, records of Typhon’s reforms and the August family—all these third-party sources had long painted a complete “portrait” of Rosetta August.

To Gawain, this intelligence-assembled portrait was even more vivid and reliable than Rosetta himself.

He fell silent, beginning to sift through the information he had, speculating on Typhon’s next moves. He wasn’t really worried about the war itself—he trusted his army, trusted Philip and the other generals, trusted the empire’s technology, industry, and people. What truly concerned him was what stood behind this war.

“The Psionic Songstress project…” He suddenly looked up at Hetty. “How far along is it?”

The Psionic Songstress—specialized soldiers designed to combat all forms of spiritual corruption, including that from gods—were developed using the sirens’ “Deep Sea Song” as core technology and modeled after the Sleeper’s “Psionic Choir.” They relied on neural thorns and a suite of biochemical, spiritual, and arcane devices to enable mass production. From the start, this special forces project had been a particular focus of Gawain’s.

As a nation that had endured divine disasters and studied gods for a long time, Cecil had developed some technologies to counter spiritual corruption. But each had its flaws—the basic “Mind Shield System” was a crude, passive defense using siren runes, limited in effect; the most advanced “Humanity Barrier” operated within neural networks, actively clearing or even “consuming” spiritual corruption in range, and could interface with mortal minds for effective “healing.” However, it depended on network operation and required high-end equipment and infrastructure.

For Cecil today, neural networks didn’t even cover the entire country, and maintaining network connectivity for troops abroad was even harder—after all, there were no communication satellites in this era. Neural networks still relied on arcane web nodes, and even the most advanced “Iron Ambassador” multifunctional war vehicles could only maintain limited signal range.

These issues hadn’t been urgent before. The Mind Shield System and Humanity Barrier were enough to protect Cecil within its borders. But this sudden war disrupted Gawain’s plans—he urgently needed a new unit that could actively resist divine spiritual corruption, operate flexibly on the front lines, and function independently of network constraints, maintaining protection even in complex expeditionary conditions.

The original Sleeper archbishop, “Spirit Song” Wendy, was training the Psionic Songstresses, who best fit these requirements—yet the project had stalled for a long time.

“Regarding the Psionic Songstress, Lady Wendy sent a message just yesterday,” Hetty said. “The current prototype soldiers still can’t be deployed… stability is a big problem. But if you have time, you could go see for yourself.”

Sure enough, these things weren’t as simple as just wishing them into existence…

Gawain thought for a moment. “Do I have any other appointments today?”

Hetty recalled, “There’s a council meeting in the evening. Nothing else before that.”

“Then let’s go take a look,” Gawain stood up. “At least see what the prototypes are like at this stage.”

…

On the northern shore of the Whitewater River, near the pyramid-shaped computing center, a research facility under the empire’s military science department was still conducting tests on the Psionic Songstress prototypes.

The spacious, brightly lit laboratory was rectangular, with a large open area in the center. At each corner stood four alloy pillars, shimmering with metallic luster and faint rune glows. Surrounding the central space were neatly arranged half-meter-high cylindrical devices. Technicians in white short robes bustled around these cylinders, many familiar faces among them.

At the forefront stood a young woman with her hair elegantly tied up, her features refined and graceful. She was the former Sleeper archbishop, now an imperial researcher and expert in neurobiology and spiritual fields—“Spirit Song” Wendy. Former archbishops Yuri and Semler stood beside her. Also present was Pittman, a biochemical specialist assisting the project.

The test subject was a young man standing in the center of the open space, freckles still visible on his face.

The young man was clad in a specially designed lightweight armor—not so much armor as a close-fitting framework meant to hold various rune plates in place. The experimental rune devices embedded throughout the suit emitted faint glimmers of light. His hands and forearms were equipped with unique bracers that resembled the second-generation military magi-tech terminals now widely used, but without any visible weapon modules. Where one would expect to find ray guns or lightning emitters, there were instead numerous intricately structured metal protrusions, clearly serving some specialized function.

While the technicians around him bustled about their work, the young man was busy checking the clasps on his bracers, occasionally flexing his wrists with a hint of nervousness.

When Gawain and Hetty arrived on the scene, this was exactly the sight that greeted them.

Gawain stepped among the busy technicians, raising a hand to signal that formalities weren’t necessary. He smiled and nodded in response to the young man, who bowed nervously in his direction. Then his gaze shifted to Wendy, the “Soul Singer,” standing nearby.

“To be honest,” Gawain began, “the Soul Singer isn’t quite what I imagined… With a name like that, I expected at least some equipment related to ‘singing’ in the lab. But all I see are rune armor, magi-tech terminals, and a containment box for neural thorns.”

Wendy wasn’t surprised by his comment. She smiled faintly. “The ‘song’ of a Soul Singer isn’t something you hear with your ears, nor is it something they ‘sing’ with their mouths. Please don’t be misled by the name. They’re called ‘Singers’ simply because their power originates from the deep-sea songs of the sirens.”

Gawain blinked, realizing he’d misunderstood the concept until now. Wendy continued with a smile, “In theory, a Soul Singer doesn’t even need to know how to ‘sing.’ Mastery over neural thorns and a series of brainwave amplifiers is enough.”

Hetty, who had come along with Gawain, glanced at Wendy and said, “I’ve heard the songs you recorded for the show—I thought…”

“Just a personal hobby,” Wendy replied lightly. “The ‘songs’ of the Soul Singers are weapons against the mad gods and evil spirits of chaos. Those beings… have no appreciation for music.”

(End of chapter)