Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 392 - 391: The Day War Descends

In the study of the feudal lord’s mansion in Cecil territory, Gawain is earnestly studying an intelligence report just delivered by Amber.

"It seems the report from the 25th squadron has successfully reached their master," Gawain said, looking up at the half-elf standing beside him. "Currently, knights from more than forty different feudal lands in the southern borders, along with their retainers and militia, have gathered under Count Hosman. Their movements are no longer disguised, and those responding to the call are openly traveling in broad daylight, with messengers passing between the various noble territories everywhere."

"Actually, when nobles do these things, they don’t usually bother to hide it," Amber said, casually picking up an apple from Gawain’s desk. She took a quick bite, speaking incoherently as she chewed, "Besides, except for the Cecil Clan having an Intelligence Agency, who else would come up with such an intelligence system? And at this point, there’s no need for them to cover it up anymore."

Gawain snorted with a shake of his head: "Now I’m just waiting for a formal letter. According to the traditional noble etiquette, a declaration must be sent before going to war."

Amber paused her apple-eating, looking puzzled: "Speaking of which... though Anzu and Typhon have signed a peace treaty, if Anzu were to have a civil war, wouldn’t those Typhon people immediately tear up the agreement and add insult to injury?"

Gawain looked a bit surprised at Amber: "You actually thought about this, you’ve improved."

"I usually try to think things through, okay! I just don’t have your deadly tactical mind!" Amber puffed her cheeks in protest, "And I initially wanted to ask this but didn’t find an opportunity!"

Gawain couldn’t help but smile and shake his head at Amber’s earnest and angry expression: "Typhon definitely won’t invade, at least not now."

Amber looked puzzled: "Why not?"

"Typhon and Anzu have been dealing with each other for hundreds of years, they understand the traits of Anzu people very well," Gawain explained patiently, interspersing his speculations, "Remember when I specifically confirmed something with Clement? There are people from the Oblivion Association beside the Typhon Emperor... so from the beginning, this ’peace agreement’ was just a play, but for now, this play will continue. Emperor Rosetta Augustus would watch Anzu descend into civil war, watch it become increasingly embroiled over the years, fighting weaker and weaker until the kingdom nearly collapses. Only then would he enter the scene to reap the benefits, but before that, he wouldn’t act against Anzu because he knows... once Typhon strikes now, Anzu’s civil war would immediately end."

Amber blinked, seemingly understanding Gawain’s point.

"Typhon’s invasion would make Anzu quickly unite, the three Dukes haven’t built enough hatred yet, they might band together to face an external threat," Gawain put down the information in his hand, mental images of his impressions and analyses of Anzu’s three border dukes forming in his mind, "Victoria Wilder of the northern parts chose to support a puppet king to stabilize the country, Silas Loland of the Duke of the East chose to swear allegiance to the Moen bloodline to restore the First Dynasty’s glory, Franklin Baldwin of the West rarely involves himself in royal factional struggles but half of Anzu’s economy relies on his border trade... in this civil war, regardless of the roles the three dukes play, whether their methods are smart or foolish, at least one thing is certain: they are all trying to uphold the interests of this nation through their logic, I think Emperor Rosetta Augustus surely investigated and understood this."

At this point, Gawain suddenly sighed softly: "Now the only thing I am uncertain about is whether Prince Edmund and the Typhon Emperor have a kind of ’tacit understanding,’ whether they are engaging in a grand gamble... if that’s the case, then Francis II’s death is too lamentable."

"Just dying in a play, outside of a gamble then..." Amber murmured, looking at the apple in her hand, suddenly finding it tasteless, "Perhaps everyone is hoping for this civil war except for the old king who truly believed in peace... I really don’t like the foolish logic of the nobility."

A knock on the door interrupted Gawain and Amber’s conversation.

The door to the study opened, and the tall and robust Priest Wright appeared at the entrance.

Gawain looked somewhat surprised at the only priest on the territory: "Mr. Wright, what is it?"

"My lord," Wright nodded slightly in greeting, then said straightforwardly, "I want to go to the battlefield."

Gawain was taken aback, he hadn’t expected this: "To the battlefield?"

"I saw the news in the newspaper, war is coming, right?" Wright pulled out a commercial extra he had picked up, "I want to enlist."

Gawain initially considered explaining the difference between the territory’s current professional military system and the traditionally chaotic private force system but, seeing Wright’s earnest expression, he asked a single question: "State your reasons."

"I know that a group of priests and church knights from the church have joined the southern aristocrats’ army," Wright replied candidly, "I want a chance to face them directly."

Gawain quietly observed Wright for a long moment before finally sighing softly: "You should know, the Cecil Combat Corps is not like typical aristocratic private forces, it’s not just having physical strength to go sign up that meets the standards for going to the battlefield, and currently, there’s no formal position for a camp priest in the army."

"I know, I have also seen those ray guns, they are things I hadn’t used before, and it’s too late to learn them now," Wright nodded, "But I can go to logistics, help build fortifications, or transport the wounded, I understand first-aid bandaging and herbal medicine, these should all be useful on the battlefield."

"...The medical corps needs manpower," Gawain pondered for a long while then finally nodded, "Go to Sir Byron to enlist, say I sent you. Additionally, you still need to learn the ray gun and grenades, I will have Byron prepare an appropriate set of equipment for you, so even if not proficient, at least you can protect yourself on the battlefield."

Wright smiled, bending deeply in gratitude: "Thank you for your understanding."

Then he stood up and walked towards the door, but just as he was about to push it open, Gawain suddenly called out from behind him, "Mr. Rhett."

Wright stopped in his tracks and turned his head, "Leader?"

"Facing your fellow church members on the battlefield is not the same as breaking out into a brawl on a country road," Gawain looked into Wright’s eyes, his tone calm, "Have you really thought this through?"

"I’ve thought it through, Leader," Wright said earnestly, "Facing them on the battlefield means they are true enemies."

"It’s not just about thinking that through," Gawain said seriously, "I hope you’ll consider another question before facing them... Do you have faith in the Holy Light, or the God of Holy Light?"

This question seemed to deeply affect Wright. The tall priest suddenly fell into a brief silence, and after several seconds, he took a deep breath and bowed, "I will think carefully, Leader."

"Are you really letting that big guy go?" Amber couldn’t help but ask curiously after Wright left, "You should know, he no longer has the Holy Light now. Besides being a big guy, he’s basically just an ordinary person, an ordinary person who hasn’t received Combat Corps training... Wouldn’t it be problematic for someone who’s never even touched a ray gun to go to the battlefield?"

"That’s why I’m sending him to the medical team, and I believe that with Wright’s skills, even without the protection of the Holy Light, he can take care of himself," Gawain shook his head, "Let him go. He’s a believer. He must be given a chance to test those things in which he firmly believes."

In the spring of the year 736 of Anzu, on the last day of the Revival Month, a messenger riding a tall horse, adorned with the emblem of Count Hosman and holding a black and red small flag, ran along the south bank of the White River into Cecil’s checkpoint.

The messenger was intercepted at the checkpoint, and the letter he brought was delivered to Gawain an hour later.

Inside the feudal lord’s mansion, Gawain took the letter he had long been expecting from Amber. It was an extraordinarily formal and even grand letter, sealed in a lacquered tube with gold threads, written on the softest and most durable lambskin with spiced ink, and in the ornate and convoluted aristocratic language, the content Gawain had been anticipating so eagerly was laid out.

With curiosity, Amber peeked over from behind Gawain’s shoulder at the content on the parchment. She saw a diplomatic letter with extremely polite phrasing but completely unfriendly content—

Count Hosman and forty-three lords of the southern borders, all holding illustrious titles and legitimate bloodlines, extended greetings to Duke Gawain Cecil and solemnly protested the recent disruption in alchemical potion supplies; solemnly protested the surge in prices of ores, mining machinery, and metal products; solemnly protested the deprivation of aristocratic privileges by the Cecil Clan and the encroachment on surrounding territories; they demanded the Cecil Clan immediately cease disrupting the aristocratic order, restore aristocratic privileges within their territory, and re-regulate the behavior of commoners to prevent this vile trend from spreading and affecting the ethos of other territories...

They also listed a plethora of accusations against the Cecil Clan for continuously attracting refugees throughout the southern borders, promoting heterodox laws, harboring heterodox believers suspected of heretical cults, massively emancipating slaves, arresting "honest and legal merchants," conspiring to overthrow the Kant territory, assassinating the former Viscount Kant and fabricating heretical rumors, among many others. The list was shockingly comprehensive, reaching over a dozen items, astounding even Amber.

And finally, the letter revealed the intention "to maintain order, we are compelled to resort to force for negotiation."

Amber watched as Gawain meticulously read through the entire letter, then saw Gawain calmly pick up the dip pen beside him.

She asked curiously, "Are you writing a reply?"

Gawain shook his head and casually wrote a single word at the end of the letter:

Read.

"Hand it over to that messenger," Gawain rolled up the parchment and put it back into the lacquer tube, handing it to the astounded Amber, "While it’s still early, let him hurry back and report—no need to stay for lunch."

"You’re just writing a word?!" Amber, seemingly unable to believe what she saw, kept confirming, "This is a declaration of war! Normally, wouldn’t the aristocrat exchange a dozen letters of verbal exchanges first?"

"That’s enough," Gawain said with a smile, "As for the other responses... Count Hosman will see them."

Looking bewildered, Amber left with the "response," while in the military workshop under the mechanical manufacturing plant, a heavy rail-accelerated shell was being steadily placed into a shell box under the personal supervision of Saint Nicholas Egg.

On the smooth surface of the shell, a freshly embossed line of steel-engraved text was clearly visible—

Hello to the debating friend on the opposite side, this is our evidence.

On this last day of the Revival Month, the news of the king’s assassination and the Duke of the East’s uprising for "revenge" was still on the way, but the first war that would bring about change to Anzu had already begun.