Chapter 452 — The Ancestor Has Truly Arrived

At Silverkeep, in Saint Frostrest, the royal capital of Ansu.

In the military hall, several capital nobles and knight lords sat around a broad long table of heavy oak banded with gold, while Ansu's two current regent dukes and the nominal crown prince, Prince Welsh Morn, sat at the head of the table—a high-level military council was in session.

The light of the crystal lamps illuminated the somewhat oppressive hall. The metal shields hanging on the north wall reflected the lamplight and vaguely mirrored the backs of the two regent dukes and the crown prince; in that blurred reflection, Prince Welsh's bright red coat stood out like a streak of blood.

The man who had returned to the position of crown prince only in middle age watched the nobles speak, deliberate, and argue around the long table. His eyes flickered now and then, but he said almost nothing. He sat there like an outsider, listening to matters that in theory should have been his alone to decide.

A gray-haired old knight braced both hands on the table. He was short in stature but exceptionally strong; despite his years, his eyes still burned with a cold, youthful light. He looked at the other knight lords and capital nobles beside him and said in a deep, powerful voice: "The battle to retake Sorin Fort has failed, my lords. We must face the fact—the rebels in the Eastern Province are few, yet it is we who hold the disadvantage."

"The good news is that we have pinned the rebels in the hills around Sorin Fort," one noble said. "With the Holy Spirit Plain at our backs, we have more land and more men. A war of attrition favors us."

The old knight could not help tapping the table: "Do not be too optimistic, Count Barlin. A war of attrition presupposes that we can actually sustain this situation—the Loren family has faced the Typhonians for years; their soldiers are tougher and better able to endure pressure, while our army's morale falls every day. If we cannot achieve some result soon, then even with ample food and replacements, we will be the first to break..."

Duchess Victoria, seated at the head of the table, suddenly interrupted the old knight: "Lord Cromwell, calm yourself."

Welsh Morn turned his head slightly to glance at the regent duchess beside him, then looked back at Cromwell Whitehill across the table—he knew this aging knight lord. The surname "Whitehill" was uncommon in Ansu, but it was a typical dwarven surname, because Cromwell Whitehill's ancestor had indeed been a dwarf: in the pioneering expedition seven hundred years ago, the nonhuman races who fought alongside humans had not been elves alone. Some dwarves had also become builders of human kingdoms during the Great Expansion, and some of them had ultimately chosen to merge into human society, even to become members of the Ansu nobility. Cromwell Whitehill's family had come from exactly that.

Perhaps influenced by his ancestral blood, this knight lord's temper seemed too blunt among nobles who prized elegant etiquette, but Welsh Morn knew that what Cromwell said was the truth. Only... since Duchess Victoria had already spoken, he need not speak.

"Forgive me, Grand Duchess, but we must acknowledge the facts," Cromwell Whitehill said. Though he apologized, his words still carried full force. "The rebellion in the Eastern Province is not as easy to handle as we imagined. We failed to drive them from the Holy Spirit Plain before the end of the Fire Month; they have taken root in Sorin Fort—the Harvest Month has arrived, and the rebels will feed themselves on the grain we spent half a year growing. Grand Duchess Vild, Duke Franklin, and Your Highness the Prince, I am willing to lead the knight order on campaign, to help Count Sorin retake the fortress. We cannot let the rebels spend the Harvest Festival on the Holy Spirit Plain..."

"I have never thought the Eastern rebels easy to deal with," Victoria Vild said lightly, "but the capital's knight order cannot be moved, Count Cromwell. Our rear is not secure."

The old knight glared. The other knight lords and martial nobles exchanged glances and began to talk in low voices.

Duke Baiyu Franklin, seated to Welsh Morn's right, now rose: "Let me speak. This news has only just reached Saint Sunil—Boulder Fortress has fallen."

The entire military hall fell silent at once.

The Duke of the Western Province's words were clear, and the short sentence contained no ambiguity, yet perhaps the information was too astonishing, or the news too far beyond everyone's expectations, for every noble who heard it seemed unable to react. At last Count Barlin, sitting beside Cromwell, was the first to break the silence: "Your Grace, you mean the one in the south of the Holy Spirit Plain... Boulder Fortress?"

"Is there a second Boulder Fortress in Ansu?" Baiyu Franklin said, glancing at the somewhat plump Count Barlin.

One capital noble could not help murmuring in shock: "That place is so far from the Eastern Province, with the southern mountains of the Holy Spirit Plain between them—how could the rebels have..."

Perhaps the Eastern rebellion had taken over this noble's thoughts, or perhaps the notion that 'all those country lords of the Southern Region are beneath notice' still lodged in his mind, for the gentleman actually assumed the Eastern rebels had somehow invaded the Southern Region and made a surprise attack on Boulder Fortress, never connecting it to the other sleeping giant in that vast, remote southern land.

But others had already reacted. After a brief shock, Cromwell was the first to read something from the grim, severe expressions of the two regent dukes. He asked in disbelief: "Is it... Cecil?"

"Correct. Not the Eastern rebels—the Cecil family," Baiyu Franklin said evenly. "Gao Yang Cecil, the Founding Duke, destroyed Boulder Fortress's defenses fifteen days ago—on the 58th of the Fire Month—seized the fortress, and detained every soldier and civilian within it."

Cromwell Whitehill's beard trembled; he seemed about to speak, but Grand Duchess Victoria Vild followed Duke Franklin: "I know what you want to ask—but all intelligence has now been cut off. The Cecil army broke into the fortress in an extremely short time, said to be only a few days, and then sealed the entire stronghold. The garrison had no chance to send out any useful intelligence.

"Only two griffin messengers who risked death to break through brought word of the day the fortress fell to the capital. What we can now confirm is that Duke Gao Yang Cecil used some unknown means to produce a large number of extraordinarily powerful transcendent armaments and, in a short time, built an army of abnormally formidable fighting strength...

"Sir Maki Onar, the knight lord who held the fortress, is still of unknown fate. Before the fortress fell, Sir Maki led the last knight order out to give battle, but immediately afterward the fortress's barrier was destroyed by Cecil magic.

"Count Pompey has also sent a magical transmission confirming the fall of the fortress."

Only after Duchess Victoria finished all the known intelligence did Cromwell Whitehill finally find a chance to speak. The knight lord, who had some dwarven blood, knit his brows: "Cecil... is the Cecil family also like the Eastern Province..."

"At present the Cecil army has made no move to continue north. After taking Boulder Fortress they closed its northern gate, as if intending to hold it," Duke Baiyu Franklin said. "According to Count Pompey's message, they did not even bother with the granaries and manor estates outside the northern wall, ripe for the taking, nor did they plunder any undefended border village."

To take a fortress but not plunder the villages and manors around it was plainly abnormal. The nobles present again fell to whispering. Seeing this, Cromwell Whitehill could not help clearing his throat: "Ahem—their not going north now does not mean they never will."