Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 427 - 426: The Sun Has Set

The massive sun disc gradually sank near the distant mountain range, with jagged peaks stretching into the distance like an irregular spine rising from the earth. The glow of the sunset cast a hazy light along this spine, and as the giant sun slowly descended, the color of this light became increasingly deep and dreamlike.

This is truly a wonderful scene—only from the highest tower of the rocky ridges Fortress can one fully appreciate such magnificent scenery.

However, Sir Maryland was not in the mood to enjoy the beautiful view before him.

On the tower of the fortress, Sir Maryland was withdrawing his gaze from the western mountains, and in the corner of his eye, he saw a mighty beast with strong wings, adorned with majestic white feathers, draped in blue-black straps, flying from afar.

Hopefully, it’s good news—the general guarding the fortress couldn’t help but murmur to himself.

After a while, when the sun had sunk by another third, a personal soldier finally rushed up the tower, handing over a sealed document to Sir Maryland: "General! A reply from the royal capital!"

Sir Maryland immediately took the document, quickly opened it, and read the intricately elegant words line by line, while his brows furrowed more and more during the process.

The personal soldier, who had followed Sir Maryland for many years and knew all of the knight’s expressions, couldn’t help but ask, "General... what does it say?"

"The lords of the royal capital have finally agreed to send a detachment of knights over..." Sir Maryland said with barely concealed irritation, "Just one detachment of knights."

"One detachment of knights?" The soldier was taken aback, "A hundred knights and their retainers? Just that?"

"Eighty knights and their retainers," Sir Maryland threw the document aside with a bit of gritting his teeth, "Did you think the knights dispatched from St. Soniel would be fully equipped?"

"What good is that?! Just the first round of the Skyfire Explosion at Broken Stone Ridge killed more knights than that..."

"I know that, but whatever we say is useless," Sir Maryland interrupted the soldier, shaking his head as he sighed at his trusted subordinate, "In fact, there were originally no reinforcements at all. This detachment of knights is support provided by Prince Wales in his personal capacity, merely to save face."

The soldier instinctively asked, "Why..."

However, Sir Maryland did not respond to him. The high-level knight, who directly served the royal family for many years, proudly and elegantly but now constantly worried, merely waved his hand forcefully, then turned and left the tall tower.

Descended the spiral staircase of the tower, walked through the narrow and cramped "Sword Corridor," Sir Maryland arrived at the southern wall of the fortress. He walked along the wall, and at its midpoint, saw a familiar figure.

Viscount Carol was standing at the edge of the city wall, staring blankly into the distance.

This young aristocrat, once proud and famous throughout the southern borders for his graceful demeanor, had long lost that valiant look, even though he had put on clean and neat silk garments again and his complexion restored to health, a hard-to-describe deep pressure entangled him, making him look like a statue battered by wind and rain.

Viscount Carol seemed to have aged twenty years overnight. At this time near midsummer, he stood there without any movement, wearing a thin coat, looking south, until Sir Maryland stood behind him, he didn’t react at all.

Sir Maryland had to break the silence: "My friend, you’re looking south again."

Viscount Carol jolted, saw Sir Maryland, and smiled bitterly while shaking his head, raising his hand and pointing to the southern undulating hills: "From there, through the woods, there’s a path that leads, in three days on horseback, to my beloved Midsummer Manor... another three days, to my castle..."

Sir Maryland looked seriously into Viscount Carol’s eyes: "My friend, that is a dangerous thought, the south is quite dangerous now!"

"I know, I know, the Cecil Clan is taking over the entire southern borders, manor by manor, throwing our knights and household staff out of the castles... I fear many knights and household staff have already sworn loyalty to their new masters," Viscount Carol sighed, slowly retracting his gaze from the distance, "To me, the south is both home and nightmare, I have been dreaming these days, dreaming of returning to the castle and then being burned alive in it..."

Sir Maryland shook his head: "Perhaps you should learn from Viscount Konsko and Viscount Mari Oran to relieve some pressure."

"Relieve myself with alcohol and Magic Potion? Or go to the city and hire some high-class prostitutes? I’d rather not die in a vat of wine or on a woman’s belly," Viscount Carol shook his head in pain, then seemed to recall something, a glimmer appeared in his eyes, and he grabbed Sir Maryland’s hand, "By the way! Sir, I just saw the gryphon messenger fly into the tower, is there news from the capital?"

Sir Maryland looked at the southern territories aristocrat who had some acquaintance with him, unsure whether to tell the truth, but eventually said, "There are no additional reinforcements from the capital... only a detachment of knights sent in the name of Prince Wales Moen."

Viscount Carol widened his eyes, stunned for a full half-minute before exclaiming in a somewhat dismayed manner, "Just these?! Have all the aristocrats in the royal capital perished?!"

"Just these," Sir Maryland said quietly. He looked into the viscount’s eyes, using his gaze to calm the other down, "My friend, mind your demeanor—you look like a gambler about to lose everything."

"I’ve already lost everything!" Viscount Carol grabbed his hair, "The entire southern borders have completely fallen into the hands of the Cecil Clan. Do those people in the royal capital truly not understand what this means? Have they forgotten the purpose established at the dawn of this rocky ridges Fortress? Are they not at all worried that the Cecil Clan might charge into the Plains of the Holy Spirits to settle old scores with them?!"

"The mission of the rocky ridges Fortress is to defend the Plains of the Holy Spirits and guard against the Cecil Clan, monsieur Viscount. I swear on my clan’s name, even without reinforcements, I and my pioneering knights will fulfill this duty," Sir Maryland said sternly. "Calm down, do not forget the fortress’s inherent solidity and the strength of thousands of elite knights and warriors. We still have abundant supplies and water from the Duoergong river. From the outset, the fortress was designed to withstand tremendous assault pressure."

Viscount Carol’s facial expression seemed to soften somewhat but was still rather worried: "...You haven’t faced the Skyfire Explosion; you don’t know how terrifying those things are. Once they advance to the plains under the city walls, beyond the range of catapults, they can slaughter everyone in the city... I have calculated the range of those weapons and observed the flight trajectories of those magical devices. Relying on catapults and city walls of rocky ridges Fortress is not enough to defend against them."

"The rocky ridges Fortress has special defensive methods," Sir Maryland reassured Carol. "Rest assured, even if those ’Skyfire Explosions’ fall from the sky as you say, we have ways to counter them."

"Let’s hope so..." Viscount Carol sighed. These days might be the time he has sighed the most in his life, and as he slightly calmed down, his initial excitement settled. He noticed a detail that Sir Maryland hadn’t clarified earlier, "Sir, can the royal capital truly not send a single real army? Even amidst political turmoil where the royal capital’s army cannot be mobilized, what about the aristocratic Soldiers of the Plains of the Holy Spirits and the troops from the West?"

Viscount Carol could understand why the royal family prefers focusing on the East in the face of dual crises: the Eastern Territory Rebels and southern chaos. Whether from a political standpoint or actual threat, the East’s rebels led by Prince Edmund and Duke Silas Loland are far more severe than the southern crisis. No matter how chaotic the southern situation becomes, when news reaches the royal family, it’s likely dismissed as "aristocratic warfare" among southern nobles over territory. If not for the Cecil Clan’s rise within this conflict, the royal family, even amidst crisis, likely wouldn’t concern themselves with such "minor issues." Nevertheless, with word reaching the royal capital about the Cecil Clan swiftly sweeping over forty noble clans in the south, the royal family ought to show some response, right?

A rising and formidable Cecil Clan capable of swiftly eliminating all aristocratic coalitions in the southern borders, once they breach rocky ridges Fortress to enter the Plains of the Holy Spirits, proceeding onto the King’s Avenue—who dares bear such consequences?

Faced with Viscount Carol’s questions, Sir Maryland could only sigh deeply, "Eastern Holy Spirit Plain’s significant town Sorinburg has already fallen—Prince Edmund’s army has stepped into the kingdom’s heartland."

Viscount Carol’s eyes widened.

Sir Maryland did not continue speaking, merely turned around, intently gazing at the stretch of mountains on the western side of the city wall.

The sun was setting.

...

Whenever the sun set, magical crystal lamps and various other city lighting facilities inside Cecil Castle automatically activated under the control of a sensory magic symbol. The brilliant magical brilliance shone from the White River to the foot of the Dark Mountain Range, from Mine Avenue to Frost Wood Village, illuminating the city like stars on the earth. And every time these bright street lamps lit up, Gawain would habitually come to the second-floor window of the feudal lord’s mansion, gazing outside.

The neat and bright magic crystal lamps always made him involuntarily recall the city street lamps of the previous life and reminisce about the torches and fire pans that lit up between tents and fences when he first came to these pioneering lands.

Where the light touched was the reach of civilization. Even in another world, even if the medium of light shifted from electric lamps to crystals, this part remained universal.

But even when the lights were bright, there were always things moving in the shadows.

Like Amber, stealthily wriggling out of the shadow at the corner of the wall.

"Where are you going?"

Gawain had long sensed Amber’s presence in the room and suddenly spoke, breaking the silence, before the elf disgrace could reach for the silver seal on the desk.

Amber, slightly flustered, jumped out from shadow walk sneak status, casting a rather dissatisfied glance at Gawain— today’s plan of sneaking had failed once again, and obviously, it wrecked her cheerful mood.

Though she never succeeded.

"I simply can’t understand why you relish such a tedious thing," Gawain looked at the half-elf helplessly, "Anything to report?"

"Confidential intelligence, rocky ridges Fortress."