Chapter 397 — Unfriendly Guests

The thunder of the great cannons from the south bank of the Whitewater River could be faintly heard even at the dockside square.

The people of Cecil knew that those were the booming reports of the battle corps' unique magic-conduction weapons; behind every roar lay an explosion capable of rending heaven and earth, and even a great mage's Flame Burst could not compare with the power of those great cannons. The Cecil folk, who had once witnessed the explosive might of Rebecca's crystal and read the analyses of this war in the newspapers, believed that before those formidable cannons Count Horsman and the rabble he had scraped together stood no chance at all—no more chance than the aberrations that had twice attacked the domain and been twice beaten back.

People of this age had not yet been baptized in an information explosion, nor had they formed the habit of questioning their liege. The effects of a time when information was scarce and labor was crushing still lingered upon them; now that they finally had a channel to the outside world and the ability to read and think, they accepted almost instantly and unconditionally everything the newspaper and the liege said. They did not much care—did not even wonder—what Count Horsman's two armies, seventy thousand men in all, might mean. The liege had said they would win, so of course they would win.

As education advanced and culture developed, this would one day certainly change; but for now, this nearly blind trust and devotion was the necessary condition that kept the Cecil people united and high in fighting spirit.

Nearly half the city had gathered around the dockside square, listening to the rumble of gunfire drifting down from upstream, yet Cecil's remarkably effective discipline still held the working populace in check. Most remained at their posts, going on with their allotted tasks, waiting for tomorrow's "extra" to publish the latest news from the front.

A pair of pale golden, illusory eyes floated above the southern wall. Their color was so faint that they blended almost entirely into the backdrop of the sky, and after several seconds these eyes, congealed from the power of holy light, slowly dissolved.

In a small grove just outside the southern wall, hard against the Dark Mountains, an old man wearing a white priest's robe trimmed with gold and a triple crown of intricate design slowly opened his eyes. A wisp of pale golden radiance flashed and vanished within them.

"Truly astonishing. With war upon them, with invaders outnumbering the whole population of the city, Xuanyue City remains so calm..." The old man in the priest's robe could not help but voice his admiration. "I truly cannot imagine by what bewitching means that Duke Gao Yang Cecil has kept such perfect order in this city..."

A middle-aged pastor at the old man's side could not help shaking his head. "I fear the people in the city do not even know there is a war. If they knew what manner of army was marching upon their city, they would surely have fled long ago."

"Deceit and concealment... That is indeed in keeping with the conduct of a duke who shelters heretics," the old man said mildly, his expression placid. "No doubt those sinners who defied the Lord's will and worship false gods are hiding in the city even now... Brothers, come with me. It is time those heretics faced reality and realized that even fleeing to the Southern Frontier, even hiding in a city of the Cecil, will not let them escape the Lord's punishment."

As he spoke, the old man strode out of the forest, and behind him, one after another, armored figures emerged from their hiding places.

Twelve Church knights in all, surging with potent holy light. They wore sacred enchanted armor forged of pure gold and lightcast iron, and over the armor pale golden cloaks embroidered with holy scripture. The pure, primal power of holy light rippled along the enchanted longswords in their hands; even the warhorses beneath them were armored in the finest forged steel. Every one of these knights was of high-rank strength, seasoned and skilled in coordination, and with such sumptuous equipment, even against a Legend they could hold out long enough.

These were the pride of the Blazing Sun Church, the foundation that let this holy-light-faithful, pastor-dominated "healing" church become the strongest church in Ansu. The mighty Church knights possessed both the power of holy light and the bodies and skill of consummate warriors; their customary method of proclaiming the power of holy light was, as a rule, to cut down those who did not believe in it.

The old man in the gold-trimmed priest's robe—Bishop Le Shuang of the Blazing Sun Church's Southern Diocese—surveyed the force he had brought with satisfaction. The Blazing Sun Church was weak in the south, but not without reserves. Half of these twelve knights who had broken through to high rank were reinforcements sent from the Central Diocese; the other half were the Southern Diocese's own strength. These devout, fervent warriors would fight to their last breath for the faith, and today was the day these noble warriors would prove their faith to the Lord.

Even the founding duke of the kingdom himself must not undo the Lord's great work.

The old man led his attendants and the twelve knights out of the grove, and a vast holy light erupted from them. Though they numbered only fourteen, they radiated the power of a thousand armies and a presence impossible to ignore. These Church warriors had no thought at all of concealing their trail—they were deliberately parading themselves.

For their task was precisely to appear openly before Xuanyue City. They knew a Legend kept watch over the city; to slip through to the grove outside the walls in small squads was already the limit of high-rank superhumans. To sneak into the city under a Legend's very nose and wreak havoc was all but impossible, so better to show themselves boldly. Nor was their task to take Xuanyue City—they need only pin down Gao Yang Cecil, the Legend.

Le Shuang knew the fighting in the north had begun. Count Horsman and his fifty thousand might already have taken the Kant region and even now be marching south along the Wilderness Road, while Count Peppo, coming downriver along the Whitewater from the west, should reach the Cecil domain before long. Once the seventy thousand joined forces, taking this city less than a year old would not be difficult. The Cecil had raised high walls and had the Whitewater River as a natural barrier, but seventy thousand men could simply encircle Xuanyue City and starve it out.

Everything was assured—save that Gao Yang Cecil, the Legend himself, was a tremendous threat.

Le Shuang knew what sort of goods Count Horsman's "coalition" was made of. The long-peaceful Southern Frontier could not field many proper soldiers; relying on numbers to crush ordinary foes was all very well, but at the first setback such an army would likely collapse at once. A single Legend could move through such a rabble as easily as through empty air. If Gao Yang Cecil appeared, cut a bloody swath through the coalition, or ignored the noble rules of the game and simply struck down the coalition's nobles, tens of thousands of men would likely descend into chaos.

An ordinary noble would not stoop to ambushing and killing fellow nobles on the battlefield, but Gao Yang Cecil was another matter. Since the day he rose from his coffin, he had hardly ever observed the rules of nobility. Laughable as it sounded, the nobles of the Southern Frontier all knew the fact by now: the Mystic Meridian Sect—he defied ancestral law!

So to ward off the one variable that might appear on the battlefield, Le Shuang and his Church knights must appear at the Cecil capital while the coalition was locked in battle, and pin Gao Yang Cecil firmly here.