Chapter 638 — Stalemate

This was indeed major news.

Gao Yang sat quietly, his calm face betraying little emotion, but he was clearly sinking into thought. Beside him, Victoria instinctively turned to Amber for confirmation: "Wales is crowned? Is the information reliable?"

"It's reliable—our people in Saint Frostrest have been running continuously, and they're considerably more dependable than your Royal Shadowguard in this regard," Amber glanced at Victoria. "The details of the proceedings aren't clear yet, but we can confirm that the new king's coronation has temporarily stabilized the capital. At present, every knightly order and military corps in Saint Sunil has sworn allegiance to the king, and Silverkeep has announced that reinforcements are on their way, which has set the city's residents somewhat at ease. In short, the situation in the capital is improving—though only temporarily."

Gao Cen nodded as he listened, then looked at Victoria: "You say you know Wales. Did you anticipate this move?"

"That..." Victoria hesitated a moment, then slowly shook her head. "This exceeds my expectations."

"I actually guessed something of the sort," Gao Yun said with a soft breath. "Saint Sunil is a quagmire. You and I both know how those nobles operate. Even with word of reinforcements reaching the city, their hearts will remain divided—to control the situation, Wales and Bai Yu have few paths open to them."

"Is that so..."

Victoria said softly. That face, as though forever cloaked in frost, concealed all her inner thoughts. No one knew what the Grand Duchess of Ice and Snow felt at this moment, but one thing was clear to all: the king crowned now had been thrust ahead of the storm, and the regency dukedom that had endured in Ansul for a century had ended with this coronation.

Gao Yang said no more, only closed his eyes slightly, as though resting them—but deep within, his mind was recalling the visit last year, before the Grand Wall project began, from Cohen Roland, vice-commander of the Royal Knightly Order.

……

The new king's coronation had stabilized the capital's tottering defense line, and steadied the city's order on the verge of collapse—but cheering hearts could not change the hardship of the war. In this life-and-death defense, the situation along the line could only worsen day by day; it was an unchangeable trend.

The monsters were vast in number, seemingly endless, while the defending soldiers dwindled every day; the monsters knew no weariness and feared no death, while human will erodes without cease; the monsters did not worry over supply, nor care for any loss, yet all of Saint Frostrest's provisions were limited, and its shield and walls were no palace of the legendary God of War that could stand eternal through war—

On the fourth day, the crystal-cluster giants' assault suddenly intensified. An army of monsters that had wandered over from the southeast of the Holy Spirit Plain was drawn to the front and began battering Saint Sunil's eastern wall. This unexpected onslaught nearly broke the defenses atop the eastern rampart; after a bloody struggle, the knightly orders and royal mages finally drove the enemy back—at the cost of over a thousand dead in a single battle.

The corpses carried down from the wall were not brought into the inner city but burned directly at the foot of the outer wall. Thick smoke and acrid stench hung over the outer district all day, even drowning out the famous ever-present smell of Trout Street.

In a house near the wall in the inner district, a tall, lean man in a headwrap pushed open the door and entered. As he hung his coat on a hook on the wall, he lifted his eyes to his companion seated behind a table nearby: "The reserves have been sent up to the wall. The shield is said to be growing less stable by the day—the monsters' attacks often punch through it and land on the walls."

The lean man's companion was a middle-aged man with a sallow face, thick coarse limbs, and unkempt hair and beard. He was fiddling with a machine on the table and scratching his hair; at the lean man's words, he raised his head: "Director Amber sent word—they've reached the river mouth near the Valley Corridor and have engaged the monsters there."

"...Solid news is better than anything," the lean man breathed softly. "These days have been truly hard."

The thick-limbed middle-aged man nodded in agreement, but before he could speak, a sudden holy, feverish aura spreading from the direction of the street interrupted them.

The lean man quickly moved to the nearby window shutter and pressed his eye to the gap. He saw a company of knights in white armor and white surcoats striding toward the wall. The knights wore no helmets; every face was tattooed with runes of holy scripture and symbolic marks, and a visible sacred radiance cloaked their heads and shoulders. Their faces bore a kind of fervor, as though the next moment they were not marching to a battlefield of near-certain death but proceeding to an eternal divine kingdom.

The lean man left the window and said to his companion: "Knights of the Holy Church Army... all tattooed."

"The Pope's inner court guard... even the reserve of the Radiant Dawn Church is being sent up now," the thick-limbed middle-aged man said in a low voice. "Looks like they're having a hard time of it too."

……

In the Radiant Sky Cathedral, atop a high tower, Virodai stood at the window, watching those devout knights of holy light march to battle under the lead of two battle bishops, and sighed softly.

In her sight, those fervent holy-light knights and the two bishops leading them to the wall were all blazing torches of holy light—holy and bright, yet no longer human.

She left the window and turned to another torch of holy light standing beside her: "Sandy, to the Great Hall of Light."

The priestess named Sandy said at once: "You still need rest. Your depletion from the last battle was too great."

Virodai shook her head: "In a time of fighting for the Lord, a little weariness counts for nothing."

In her sight, the torch of holy light named Sandy brightened at once, and a voice of agreement came: "You are right. Let us go to the Great Hall of Light."

Within the Great Hall of Light, holy radiance hung dense, and faint, ethereal sacred voices echoed endlessly in the air.

Pope Saint Ivan III had now left his holy seat. This mighty blessed of the holy light held the platinum scepter that symbolized the spokesman of god; his exceedingly aged body was bent, yet he stood unwavering at the center of the hall. Holy light descended from above and cloaked his head, coalescing into an illusion like a doorway, and around the Pope the mystagogues who were permitted into the Great Hall of Light encircled him.

The college of bishops was conducting a special prayer rite. Their eyes were lowered, their hearts devoutly calling for a response from the God of Holy Light. Not one person in the hall spoke aloud, yet layer upon layer of prayer echoed without cease, and all of it converged upon the doorway gathering above Saint Ivan III. Amid this unending prayer, Saint Ivan III slightly closed his eyes and inclined his head as though listening closely—he listened carefully amid the chaotic, low murmuring, discerning carefully, receiving the oracle of the God of Holy Light.

When the first stage of the prayer rite ended, Saint Ivan III slightly opened his eyes and saw Virodai standing before him.

The "Holy Maiden Princess" had entered the Great Hall of Light halfway through the rite, but had not interrupted it, quietly waiting until now.

Saint Ivan III spoke gently, his voice carrying a strange resonance: "Virodai, most devout child of the Lord, you have come."

Virodai bowed her head slightly, not looking directly at the Pope as she usually did: "Your Holiness, I have come to hear the will of god."