Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 615 - 614: Northward

Many days later, a student of Godwin Orlando described the scene on the 30th of Revival Month, Anzu 738 with such words—

When the southern borders opened its gates, the forces of machinery and steel swarmed out, the wheels and tracks of war chariots crushed this land once carved by sword and fire. In the face of Cecil’s might, all beings were about to become equal.

For the first time, Cecil’s mage-combat Brigade left the southern borders and stepped onto the Plains of the Holy Spirits.

Engines roared, iron chariots driven by gears and levers moved under the sound of horns and whistles, rolling out from rocky ridges Fortress, advancing northward in a mighty wave. Large convoys full of soldiers and supplies moved along the King’s Road, cutting through the plains like a giant serpent. Sir Philip sat in the command vehicle located in the middle of the first convoy. He opened the armored panel on the top of the vehicle, half his body out, gazing at this army through the vehicle shield embedded with glimmering light.

The heavy Warhammer tanks escorted the road flanks, their steel armor and primary guns glinting coldly under the sunlight. Large transport trucks in the middle of the road were staggered with the "Steel Envoy," and their spacious cabins loaded with fully armed soldiers. Every hundred meters or so, a truck bearing the silver-white fist emblem appeared—these were transport vehicles belonging to the White Knight Brigade—as of now, the White Knights, serving as military priests, still lacked their own primary combat tanks. However, under the efforts of Grand Shepherd Wright, their brigade was beginning to take shape.

Outside of the vehicles, rows of soldiers followed on foot—the infantry was the essential assurance for the war chariot units’ vision and emergency response capacities.

This scene of the corps advancing was soul-stirring, the power of machinery and steel moved hearts.

But after all, Cecil’s magical industry had yet to manage full mechanization of the army—for the latter segment of the First Combat Corps, there was still a long array relying on animal power to transport personnel and supplies, except that even on animal-powered vehicles, there were often howitzers or machine-gun turrets installed for true full armament.

Sir Philip withdrew his gaze, his eyes briefly meeting a young man’s who had poked out of a nearby war chariot. The young man immediately pressed a hand to his chest, respectfully performing a "half-knight salute."

The young man wore a sword emblem on his chest, and matching insignias on his shoulder, indicating he was a knight appointed after the founding of the Cecil Principality, one of the civilian officers promoted by the principality.

Sir Philip certainly recognized him, as nearly half the new generation officers in this army were personally trained by him, and he knew that young knight with the emblem was merely an ordinary person without any extraordinary power—in Cecil’s corps, over half the knights or officers appointed were plain, ordinary individuals without any extraordinary power.

"A new age of knights..." Philip sighed softly, yet without any trace of regret in his tone.

The Cecil Clan has arrived.

Before the Attendant could report, Count Pompeii had already seen the mighty army moving across the King’s Road from his balcony, saw the unimaginable creations of magical industry, saw clearly under the enhancement of bird’s eye technique those mechanical monsters’ wheels and tracks, their turrets, and those fully armed soldiers advancing with the convoy.

The slightly portly Count Pompeii stood on the cold wind-swept balcony, watching for a long time. He not only looked at the Cecil army but also recalled his own former army—that was led by knights, comprised of conscription soldiers, adorned with mismatched protective gear, carrying colorful banners, and could only form ranks through the beat of drums and flute. He marveled at how Sir Maryland managed to hold rocky ridges Fortress for a full forty hours with such a modest army.

Evidently, that must have been the merit of the fortress shield and walls.

Then, the Earl left the terrace and came to the main hall of the castle, ordering the servants to prepare a grand luncheon. He donned the formal attire he had worn only once at the time of his appointment—the suit was now a bit tight—and added a bow tie, hairpiece, and ribbon. He also had his family dressed in formal wear, as if attending a royal investiture banquet, and sat down at the table.

After taking seats, Count Pompeii, draped in formal attire, glanced around the hall, noticing the servants standing nervously at a distance, he chuckled and said, "You all should join us."

The servants glanced at each other, none daring to move, unable to comprehend their master’s unusual behavior, nor today’s deviations from that oddity.

Count Pompeii merely shrugged at this, and then raised his wine glass, gently swirling it in the air, offering a toast to the departed Francis II.

At that moment, the door swung open, and a breathless Attendant ran in, "My lord, outside there is..."

"Let them come in," Count Pompeii said calmly, then slightly turned his head, speaking to the band not far behind him, "Please play a more solemn tune, ’Valsa Finale’ will do."

The castle doors were pushed open with a boom, and a squad of fully armed soldiers entered, led by a gallant lady Knight, accompanied by two heavily armored warriors clad in white, brimming with Holy Light Power—Cecil Clan referred to these heavy armored warriors as "Priests."

The gallant lady Knight strode before Count Pompeii, holding a document, "Count, I am Margarita Crite from Cecil, here to convey to you on behalf of Duke Gawain Cecil..."

Count Pompeii didn’t wait for her to finish before taking out a pile of sealed documents, speaking gently and slowly, "These are the Moen Royal family’s sealed documents for me, these are the land deeds of my territories, this is the inventory of my properties besides my castle."

Then, he looked at the document in her hand, nodded slightly, "Where do I sign?"

Margarita paused for a moment, perhaps this scenario was unexpected to her, but she quickly handed the document over, "At the end."

Count Pompeii took the printout, glanced over it, then picked up his prepared dip pen, twice bringing the nib close to the paper, he laughed bitterly, looking up at the lady Knight, "Madam, may I finish this meal before signing?"

"Of course," Margarita calmly regarded the Count situated on the southernmost part of the Plains of the Holy Spirits, whose entire territory lay within the firing range of rocky ridges Fortress, "We will watch over you finish."

...

Inside the large command vehicle, Amber left the communication station and came to Gawain’s side, "Count Pompeii has signed—the battle really didn’t happen."

The half-elf’s face was full of incredulity.

A massive expanse, not particularly barren ultimately, even rather prosperous count territories, had merely accepted Cecil Principality’s "management" so simply.

Gawain simply laughed indifferently, "To that Count, this should be a relief, at least he no longer needs to agonize over whether to persist as a royal party aristocrat or hurry to side with the southern aristocrat."

After speaking, his attention returned to the operational map before him.

On the precise map, a quarter of the Plains of the Holy Spirits’ area had already been marked with stabbing red.

The Gorgon River traversing north to south and the King’s Road along the Gorgon River were marked with prominent blue and white.

On the Gorgon River and King’s Road, two arrows had been labeled, representing the inland river fleet heading north along the river, and the army advancing northward along the King’s Road and plains area.

His operational plan was clear, and he had reached consensus with the military leaders and staff—the most important goal is to achieve segregation and containment of the entire eastern Holy Spirit Plain pollution zone!

The "plague" conjured by the Oblivion Association was perilous and formidable, but evidently still required a transmission medium and a corresponding activation "ritual" to manifest (based on intelligence from Soldrin and Belk), thus at this stage, its spread was not out of control, the pollution zone was primarily located at the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance, and hadn’t surpassed the Gorgon River.

He must move ahead of the plague crossing the Gorgon River, to seal it on the land—relying on the firepower clearance from warships in the river channel, then mechanized forces equipped with heavy incinerators advancing to create buffer zones and purification areas from south to north, west to east, after initially controlling the pollution range, progressively encircle and cleanse the "Crystal Cluster Legion" of the Oblivion.

Now all factories in the southern borders have entered wartime production, all production lines are in overtime manufacturing simplified, rapid version "flamethrower chariots," numerous civilian vessels have also been requisitioned temporarily, outfitted with small-caliber naval guns and incendiary projectile launchers, soon they will enter the Duoergong river through rocky ridges Fortress to support the First Fleet, plus the deliberate preparation throughout Cecil Principality for this war since last year, therefore as long as the contamination zone does not breach a few critical points, this plan is the most fitting, most effective.

But correspondingly, the part of the plan most prone to failure and most risky is the contamination breaching containment...

Gawain’s gaze moved upward, ultimately resting at the northern extremity of the Gorgon River, at the hub of the King’s Road, at the largest city in the Plains of the Holy Spirits, and its primary fortress—

St. Soniel.

This royal capital, with a population of hundreds of thousands, controlling all major thoroughfares to the east, west, south, and north, and acting as the gate to the northern border, absolutely must not fall, and definitely must not be contaminated!

...

To the north of the Pompeii area, past a stretch of royal hill territory, several war chariots formed a small, temporary camp, and a troop was setting up camp to rest in the wilderness.

A Cavalry Scout Warrior, clad in black, full-body light armor, with a closed helmet, climbed atop the vehicle, adjusting the observation mode of his tactical scope, warily scanning the dark expanse of wilderness in the distance. Meanwhile, two Howitzer operators and two Heavy Incinerator operators sat on their respective vehicles, blocking each direction with their weapons—not only blocking roads but also being wary of the seemingly impassable rocky wasteland. This precaution stemmed from the invaluable experience accumulated by the warriors after dozens of skirmishes with those monsters.

The Crystal Cluster Giants are not human—although mutated from humans, after gaining formidable physiques, their movements are no longer bound by human limitations. They can traverse and launch attacks in rocky, hollowed, swampy, and even poisonous terrains, which is something to note constantly.

Knight Mitchell from the royal capital, with blue eyes and a head of curly brown hair, wrapped in a blanket and sitting close to a heater warmed by thermal magic symbols, gazed complexly at those strange warriors from the southern borders. Meanwhile, the few remaining soldiers with him sat not far away, mostly in a daze.

Even now, this aristocratic knight seemed trapped in a dream—waking from a nightmare into a bizarre new dream; in this new dream, war chariots made of steel roared in, massive explosions and deadly flames rained down from the sky, and so-called "Steel Cavalry" warriors saved him and his soldiers. The equipment and methods of those warriors astounded him.

You know, as a child of the nobility from the royal capital, with a proud tradition of extensive knowledge, he had always prided himself on being worldly, but these warriors from the southern borders and their battle methods... Knight Mitchell had never seen anything like it.

The royal army had also received weapons supplied by the southern borders. Knights were equipped with Melting Swords and heat-ray guns, and the army had some "light accelerator cannons" used with magic symbols, but it wasn’t until today that Knight Mitchell realized one thing: what was given to the Anzu Kingdom’s military by the southerners... was just the tip of their vast arsenal.

The ridiculous thing was that over a week ago, the commanders of the kingdom’s military were still smug about acquiring those weapons and planning to launch an offensive against the eastern parts to completely end the war once spring ended.

Now, the war indeed ended... the war between the royal family and the Duke of the East ended.

Knight Mitchell chuckled wryly, while footsteps approached from beside him. An elf ranger with long golden hair sat down next to the heater, leaning against Mitchell.

"How are the injuries?"

"Already healed, with about eighty percent of my strength recovered," Mitchell expressed his gratitude without hesitation, "Thank you for your alchemical potions."

Soldrin nodded: "Mixing healing mixtures with rejuvenation potions to cleanse wounds can effectively prevent infectious festering and allow wounds to heal rapidly without sapping one’s strength, which is not achievable with oral medication alone."

Mitchell maintained a smile, but his lips slightly stiffened.

In the kingdom’s army, even at the knighthood level, each battle allows only the allocation of two alchemical potions, just two! Each with only half a mouthful! Only when you are close to death can you dare to use them!

Everyone knows that rinsing a wound with alchemical potions accelerates healing—but who can afford to use it in the normal circumstance...

After a moment of awkwardness, the royal knight forced himself to change the subject: "Where do we go next?"

"Moving toward the direction of the Gorgon river," Soldrin replied, "Our warships will rendezvous with us there, and then we’ll meet up with the First Corps on the riverbank. But never mind that—based on your judgment, how long do you think it will take for those Crystal Cluster legions to reach St. Soniel?"

"If they don’t rest, I fear they will be there in about a week...and that’s only because most of them can only move on foot, with no horses or vehicles suited for their massive bodies," Mitchell recalled the terrifying impression those monsters left on him, shivering involuntarily, "I think they can march for a week without rest."

"Then assume the worst-case scenario; they will arrive in St. Soniel within a week," Soldrin furrowed his brow, "...hopefully, that city can hold until the southern main forces arrive."

As a proud noble of the royal capital, Knight Mitchell instinctively spoke up, "St. Soniel has the strongest magic shield in Anzu, city walls capable of self-repair, over a hundred combat Mage spires, as well as powerful royal knights and personal Guard Knight troops. They can withstand those monsters’ attacks."

Yet the gold-haired High-Ranked ranger merely glanced at him, calmly saying, "I trust in the shield, walls, and Mage spires you mentioned, but I don’t quite trust the people defending the city."

Meeting the High-Ranked ranger’s gaze, Mitchell spoke confidently, "Both major knight orders will hold till the last moment."

"...Not bad, considering the current generation in the royal capital still has knights like you, it’s not a complete rot," Soldrin patted Mitchell on the shoulder, speaking words that might or might not be considered praise, "Hopefully, hopefully, that city can hold on."

...

Continuing upstream along the Gorgon river to the north, in the eastern river channel, between The White City and the Gorgon River, within the historic city of "Red Maple City," the last sounds of battle were finally dying down.

Blood covered the streets, broken swords, and equally broken bodies lay scattered, the pungent stench of burning filled this city famed for its red maple leaves. Sunlight streaming through clouds illuminated the battlefield cooling down, beneath the light, the army formed by Crystal Cluster Giants was clearing the ruins, collecting spoils, and tallying losses, while a tall, thin man with a sinister demeanor in a black robe walked down the blood-tinted streets, receiving salutes from the surrounding Crystal Cluster Giants with respect, until he reached the square in front of the lord’s castle.

The Archdruid of Oblivion, Xidon.

This sinister man had undergone some changes compared to before, crystals had begun to grow on his cheeks and hands, and arcane energy filled his eyes. He had not yet completed the final step of divine evils’ transformation, but many characteristics of divine evils were already manifesting on him.

This brought him additional power and allowed him to command this massive army more effectively.

"The last resistance... turned out to be mercenaries and adventurers," the black-robed archdruid glanced at the bodies around the square with disdain, "the lord here is a coward."

A tall Crystal Cluster Giant approached Xidon, speaking in a hoarse, low tone, "They are mostly cowards, with only a few exceptions.

Xidon turned his head slightly, glancing at this giant: "Clod, the resistance at The White City has ended?"

"It will end — we have occupied over seventy percent of the entire city..."

"So it is not over," Xidon interrupted, "What exactly is going on?"

"That so-called ’Northern Queen’ is still stubbornly resisting. She and her troops control the castle area, enveloped by a powerful snowstorm amplified by the castle’s Mage spires and Magic Web, making it inaccessible."

Speaking of this, the giant cursed involuntarily, "Damn the Magic Web, it can run indefinitely!"

"The Magic Web won’t tire, but people will, and that ’Northern Queen’ will eventually exhaust," Xidon calmly said, "Find a way to deplete that snowstorm’s magic power and destroy them quickly—they’ve resisted long enough."

"Yes."

"More than those stubborn fools, something else bothers me," Xidon continued, "I’ve heard the south is causing some trouble?"

"Yes, some wandering intruders seem to be from the southern borders; they’re moving around the perimeter of our control zone."

"...I don’t want to divert attention, but I’ve had enough of those so-called ’Cecil Clan,’" Xidon snorted, "Eliminate them."

"Yes."