Chapter 693 — The Turning Point

The sky was heavy with dark clouds, and a wind carrying the damp smell of soil came howling down from the direction of the northern mountains. Withered autumn leaves and tufts of grass were swept up by the wind, spinning and slapping against the clean windows of the train. Phillip stood in the tactical command post of the Iron Throne, watching the wasteland and woods recede endlessly beyond the glass, his gaze calm and still.

Time makes a person mature—especially when that time is spent on the battlefield. Even the greenest youth is tempered into a steady commander, and the once young and sharp-edged Sir Cecil had now become the supreme commander of the Imperial Army. That dependable, unshakable air was the greatest prize the young man had gained; standing there quietly, he seemed far more restrained than he had four years ago.

Technicians bustled before the control consoles of the Iron Throne, steering the vast engine of war while keeping constant, unbroken contact with the front and the rear. A technical sergeant copied some figures from a nearby instrument and came over to Phillip: "General, the lead engineering train reports that the track is closed and the temporary stop is ready. The Iron Throne can advance at full speed."

Phillip nodded. "Full speed ahead—any new developments at Longwind Keep?"

"The Typhonians have made no further moves. General Maggie remains on alert."

Phillip gave a murmur of acknowledgment and said nothing more.

He had never expected that Sir Maggie—who had once charged the arcane warships at Boulder Keep in the name of traditional chivalry, a man of thoroughly old-fashioned and hidebound ways—would frighten the Typhonians on the border wit a string of utterly unexpected stratagems. That old-school knight with a head like stone had finally learned cunning in the face of an overturned age. Though Phillip did not yet have the detailed intelligence on the string of operations at Longwind Keep, the reports that had come back were enough for him to guess what General Maggie had been up to.

But tricks like these could not hold the border forever. To truly stop the Typhonians, they would still have to rely on a "mobile fortress" like the Iron Throne.

As the supreme commander of the army, Phillip was now under orders to personally lead a force aboard the newly repaired Iron Throne to Longwind Keep, and they were already more than halfway there.

At this train's speed, and with the rail line now clear, it would not take long to reach their destination.

The sky in the distance had grown darker still, the clouds massing over the eastern border, where a long-expected downpour was brewing. By the druids' reckoning, the rain would likely cover the entire Longwind defensive line.

But it made no difference to the Iron Throne—as a cutting-edge mobile fortress, this armored train cared little for most of the weather the land could throw at it.

……

A cold wind struck the high outer walls of Winterwolf Keep, setting the black banners snapping and streaming. The knights on duty stood their posts faithfully, and many could not keep their eyes from drifting toward Longwind Keep—but all those gazes could do no more than gaze.

The order to contract the lines had come from the imperial capital days ago; the Imperial Knights and the Mage Corps had both remained in their garrison east of Winterwolf Keep as commanded. Though the air of confrontation remained tense, the seasoned veterans had already read the situation: this battle, it seemed, would not be fought.

On a watchtower along the outer wall, a sentry mage released his Eagle Eye spell, easing the strain on a mind worn ragged by long hours of surveillance. Another sentry mage promptly took over, and the runes of Eagle Eye once again surfaced in the air above the tower. The mage who had been relieved rubbed his eyes and muttered with a touch of pent-up frustration: "Things were going fine—they even sent up a legion-grade crystal array, and now we're not fighting at all…"

"It's an order. The commanders have their reasons," said the battle mage beside him, opening his eyes from his rest and speaking without expression. "And haven't you seen those positions? The Cecilans are clearly ready—they've dug a whole mess of pits. Are you really going to volunteer to jump into one?"

"…Ah… The things the higher-ups worry about, we soldiers shouldn't bother our heads with," the sentry mage said, shaking his head. A gust of cold wind made him hunch his neck again. "Hiss… it really is autumn now. Getting colder and colder."

"Yes… autumn is here," the battle mage said, rising to his feet and snapping his fingers. A breeze-shield settled over the top of the watchtower, and he glanced down toward the main keep. "If General Anluo gives the order to withdraw before the end of the month, we might still make it home for the Festival of Souls."

A single falling leaf drifted through the sentries' field of view, tumbling in the wind, over the inner wall of the fortress, and down onto the windowsill of the fortress commander's quarters.

Anluo's long grey-white hair was lifted by the autumn wind. The young wolf general raised a hand and smoothed the grey strands from her face; in her eyes, glimpsed between the locks, there was a trace of unwillingness and gloom.

Her adjutant stood before her, head lowered, and reminded her: "General, His Majesty's order was issued days ago. The Iron River Knights cannot remain on the Winterwolf Keep line indefinitely—at the very least you should order them back to the eastern camp, or the noble assembly at home will surely use this to censure you…"

"The men in the assembly will never know how tense the border situation is," Anluo said, rising irritably and cutting the adjutant off. "And I still feel something is wrong… Everything is too reasonable, one link after another, no flaw in the logic—but my instincts keep warning me…"

As a legion commander, Anluo knew she should not explain matters with reasons like "instinct"—if she were an astrologer or a spirit-talker, saying such a thing would hardly matter, but she was an extraordinary knight, and what she most needed to preserve was reason and caution. Yet ever since those Cecilans had reinforced the line, ever since the border had fallen into this state of standoff and pressure, a mounting irritation had been eating at her temper. And now the capital had sent orders to contract the line and pull the Iron River Knights back, and that warning from instinct left her unable to sit still.

It was as if some voice in the dark kept telling her that she was about to miss a turning point that could change history.

The adjutant saw his commander in a state unlike her usual self. After a moment of silence and deliberation, this ever-steady knight said: "General, perhaps you should take another look at the recent reinforcement records from Longwind Keep and the layout of their positions?"

Anluo was silent for a moment, then suddenly nodded. "Bring me the records—and the purchasing records from the Cecilans' large caravans at the trade towns over the past while as well."

"Yes, Gen—" The adjutant nodded, but he had barely spoken half his words when a hurried rush of footsteps and several shouts suddenly came from beyond the door. A somewhat shrill voice was calling out in the corridor: "I must see General Anluo! Urgent! Most urgent!"

"Who is it?" Anluo raised her head and said loudly. "Let him in."

The guards opened the door, and a middle-aged man in a scholar's short robe, clutching a sheaf of papers and wearing the imperial insignia, came stumbling in. He seemed to have gotten into some scuffle with the soldiers while forcing his way through, and looked rather bedraggled—but when he waved those papers before Anluo, his voice still rang loud: "General! There is something wrong with the Cecilan defensive line! We may have been deceived!"