Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 565 - 564: Choice

The shadow of the dragon vanished into the horizon, and aside from a few, almost no one knew that a legendary race was watching over this land; the world continued as it always did, the great sun rose and set day after day, the weather warmed day by day, gradually drawing closer to summer — it was as if in the blink of an eye, spring had ended, leaving one flustered and at a loss.

The reignited flames of war in the eastern part of the Plains of the Holy Spirits, after fiercely burning for a while, suddenly and quietly came to a halt.

At the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance, the fortresses and plains facing off between the two armies were like interlocking canine teeth, cutting up the whole region into a chaotic mess, with blockades everywhere, flags of the Anzu Kingdom’s military or Eastern Region’s People everywhere, fully armed soldiers and knight officers prowling and wandering cautiously between these crosscut blockades, vigilantly surveying the land temporarily belonging to them, yet wary of the flags just within reach — but there was no denying that a temporary and fragile ceasefire situation had already been established.

Rumors swirled; in this age where effective information control was almost impossible, as long as a piece of news reached someone’s ear, someone bold enough would travel between regions, allowing it to spread among the crowd, and in the process, differentiating into countless bizarre versions.

Some say that the Anzu Kingdom’s military suffered a major defeat, Silver Castle could no longer withstand the pressure, and the aristocrats of the capital were negotiating peace with the Eastern Region; others spread entirely opposite versions, claiming that the Typhon Empire was stirring at the borders, external pressure forcing the two armies to cease fire; some even linked the current strange situation to the frequent plagues recently occurring near the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance...

Among all versions of the rumors, the most reliable message came from the horseman serving the Eastern Legion — swearing that he saw Giant Eagles of the elves flying in from the northwest, and that elven messengers entered Prince Edmund’s fortress; the temporary ceasefire command was issued shortly thereafter.

On the eastern side of the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance, within a newly built fortress, a tall sentinel tower stood on the wall, and Edmund Moen, clad in black armor and now sporting a beard, stood at the top of the tower, gazing out at the plain region’s scattered flags and numerous wooden camps; the wind from the southwest howled past the tower, whipping Prince Moen’s flags above with a loud sound.

A sound of iron boots hitting the ground came from behind; fully armored, Duke Silas Loland walked up to the tower, and this Duke of the East said solemnly, "The elves have already left, Your Highness."

"If they had come seven days later, the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance would have been ours," Edmund Moen said softly, "The undisciplined soldiers of the Allied Army are simply no match for us; even equipped with new gear, they only swarm forward to die foolishly."

The Duke of the East shot this prince a deep glance: "But we must cease fire — it’s for the greater good."

"Yes, for the greater good — we fight for Anzu’s future, not merely for that position in Silver Castle," Edmund said calmly, "Duke Loland, how is the order in the rear?"

"Everything is stable, Your Highness, no need to worry," Silas Loland nodded, "Only Belk has sent a letter expressing concern — the Cecil Clan is mining the White Sand Dunes with astonishing methods and speed; his descriptions in the letter are quite exaggerated; I don’t even know whether to believe those assertions."

Edmund was somewhat curious: "What did he say?"

"...The Cecil Clan might level ’Little Ravenbeak Mountain’ within this year, and they plan to level the second mountain next year."

"...Belk doesn’t seem to be someone who likes exaggerations."

"He indeed does not, Your Highness."

"Then I am willing to believe him," Edmund said, "If the Cecil Clan has the capability to use some magical weapon to blast open the walls of rocky ridges Fortress, then they have no reason not to use similar explosions for mining operations."

Speaking of which, he couldn’t help but sigh: "Although we’ve successfully built new factories in the Eastern Region, the Cecil Clan’s true technological foundation is obviously not in those factories... we’ve already fallen behind in this aspect."

"We have already negotiated with the immigration officials at the southern borders, hoping to send some literate apprentices to study in their ’school,’ and it seems the southern borders are not entirely prohibitive in this regard."

Edmund gently nodded: "Please pay attention to this matter — talent is truly important."

A moment later, Duke Loland left the tower, leaving Edmund Moen alone standing on the platform at the top of the sentinel tower, standing quietly in the wind.

However, in the next second, a voice reached his ears: "You are truly a wise ruler, Your Highness."

It seemed as though Edmund Moen had long been waiting for this voice; he calmly turned his head, looking at the fire pans in the near distance, watching the figure slowly coalesce within it, watching that figure materialize on the ground, transforming into a woman clad in Priestess Robes, her lower half unnervingly grotesque like plant roots; he nodded coolly: "You’ve arrived, Beltira."

"You’ve stopped denying the title of wise ruler?" Beltira shuffled her creepy, rustling root-like feet mockingly, "So mature... last year, you would’ve hurriedly denied it in front of this title."

"I have no need to debate such matters with you; the relationship between us hasn’t deepened to such an extent," Edmund Moen’s voice grew colder, "If you’re here to give those elves trouble, I can only say you’re a step late — they’ve already left, back to St. Soniel."

"I have no interest in those elves," Beltira chuckled lightly, "but you, originally you planned to declare your coronation after capturing the Gigantic Tree Path Entrance, yet the news brought by those elves disrupted it... aren’t you regretful?"

Edmund silently raised his sheathed single-handed sword, the sword tip pointing at Beltira’s throat, and in the air between sword and throat, streaks of black cracks spread out as if alive: "If you die here, would anyone regret it?"

"Put away that toy; it’s better to play with it on the battlefield than to use it to threaten a woman here," Beltira nonchalantly brushed aside the single-handed sword before her, "I came merely to remind you, Your Highness, time is running out — if you wish to leave a place for Anzu’s people in the new era, you’d better make a decision soon."

Edmund Moen stared into Beltira’s eyes: "I have no interest in your so-called ’grand evolution,’ nor care for your doomsday theories; even if the so-called new era truly exists, Anzu people will have their own way of living, without needing your concern."

Beltira quietly watched Edmund for a while, then shook her head and slowly walked back to the blazing fire pans: "An impressive speech, but it’s alright, we still have a little time, you still have time... to make a choice."

...

In many instances, the so-called "choice" is merely an illusion, a carefully disguised predetermined fact presented before the person making the choice, giving the chooser a slight illusion of controlling the situation, or allowing those already powerless to slightly conceal their embarrassment.

Inside the Golden Oak Hall, the most powerful aristocrats of Anzu were still fervently discussing, these renowned families expressing their insights on the kingdom’s situation, using theories, anecdotes, and arguments to prove the accuracy of their assessments, proving that every word they said was for the bright future of the kingdom. But Victoria sitting at the head of the long table was well aware that these discussions and words were merely paving the way for a conclusion that didn’t even need discussion.

"...The Eastern Region has already accepted the conditions of a temporary ceasefire, this is just basic rationality, they are not yet qualified to represent Anzu..."

"The royal orthodox is in the Silver Castle, and those who can represent Anzu are also in the Silver Castle!"

"But we must consider the tense situation on the Plains of the Holy Spirits, what we’re facing is a group of usurpers on the brink of losing sanity..."

"Take a long-term view, take a long-term view..."

Earl, Marquis, Prime Minister of the kingdom, high-ranking military officials, they spoke one after another, presenting facts that were obvious to even the simplest of minds, Victoria watched this scene with an indifferent expression. She glanced to her left and saw Prince Wales sharing the same indifferent look, while Duke Baldwin was yawning widely. She then looked to her right and noticed several elven envoys seated in the special seats not far away watching the proceedings with confusion and boredom.

——Due to the special situation, the Golden Oak Hall unprecedentedly allowed foreigners to enter the scene and listen to the aristocratic meeting, but it seems that our friends from the Silver Empire indeed don’t quite understand some of the "rules" of human society.

The elf named Sonia Frostleaf blinked in Victoria’s direction, her lips moved slightly, Victoria heard the voice of the other person sounding beside her ear: "Why do they keep emphasizing on such a minor issue for so long?"

Victoria helplessly stirred her magic power, sending her voice across: "Because saying certain things bears a great deal of responsibility."

"We do understand that, but their discussion has been going on for too long," Sonia Frostleaf’s voice still sounded puzzled, "We elves can live for thousands of years, yet in my view, such meetings are still a waste of time... those who speak, do they have lifespans different from ordinary humans?"

Victoria: "..."

This question somewhat surpassed her level of knowledge.

She shook her head and decided to end those time-wasting discussions, gently tapping the table: "Gentlemen and ladies—we should come to a conclusion."

The buzzing sound of discussions immediately ceased, and pairs of eyes almost simultaneously fell on Victoria, Wales, and Baldwin.

The duchess from the north silently sighed: In the end, indeed no one dared to speak out the only choice.

Oh well, after all, the Wilder Clan has been privately called "usurpers" over the past century, and as the Northern Duke herself, isn’t her image in everyone’s mind inherently autocratic and dictatorial?

"There’s no debate about royal orthodoxy, but the fact is we must temporarily set this issue aside—Eastern rebels can’t represent Anzu, we... currently can’t either. The only person who can step forward is not in the Silver Castle, he’s on the southern borders."

A slightly plump middle-aged aristocrat with immaculately groomed hair timely spoke up, with a solemn expression on his face: "Duchess, what you say makes sense, but up until now, the southern borders have shown no stance on the royal power ownership of Anzu, and now to entrust representing Anzu to Duke Cecil, that..."

Victoria glanced at him: "Earl Balin, you can recommend the person you deem suitable."

"...My point is entrusting this heavy responsibility to Duke Cecil is indeed most fitting!"

"Very well, this matter is settled."

The special side seats by the long table were occupied by the elven envoys who watched this long and boring meeting with confusion, only until Victoria Wilder suddenly presented the outcome of the meeting did several envoys actually breathe a sigh of relief.

Sonia Frostleaf couldn’t help shaking her head as she softly said to her companion beside her: "By comparison, the efficiency of the Highmountain Kingdom is much higher than theirs."

"Human meetings are always like this."

"Even though they only live for a hundred years at most, they still dare to be so extravagant, they’re truly audacious..."