Chapter 965: Act 137 – The Erluin People?
The cold wind swept across the cracked earth of the plateau, and the sparse vegetation swayed softly, bowing in submission to this indifferent and harsh ruler. Fa Waz extended his snow-white paw, catching the falling snowflakes; his sharp claws peeked out from beneath the downy fur, glinting with a cold light. He raised his head, and in his sea-blue eyes reflected the entire northern sky and the scenes above the land, a vivid panorama where the northern mountain ranges of Anzeruta loomed like a giant gate, stretching across the horizon. On the open alluvial plain, the rivers flowed like shimmering ribbons, winding toward the distant rolling hills, where heavy grey shadows and curving outlines gathered at a single point.
There stood a fortress, the final gate leading to the Evergreen Path.
Fa Waz silently gazed in that direction, his mind swirling with unknown thoughts, as the biting wind ruffled the white whiskers of the king of beasts, coaxing them to sway slightly. He turned around, the heavy armor draped over him clinking noisily: “Change the banners.” Behind this wise and mighty lion king stood two rows of tall golden-maned guardians. Among the crowd, an elderly Lionman draped in a red robe held a long staff and kneeled, trembling as he asked:
“Now, my respected Majesty?”
Fa Waz raised a finger, the sharp nail glinting with icy brilliance, and lightly shook it: “Do not call me Majesty, Nazhe; only that person can be regarded as Majesty. She is the Sovereign of the Thousand Realms, the King of All Kings. She is the light of day and the shade of night; the verses have long foretold that she would reign over the world. Now she has returned, bringing the gospel of eternity and the redemption of the Lionfolk. You and I serve her as we would serve our liege father.”
Modest looked at the Lionman’s camp, her cold-blooded animal eyes containing a frigid glimmer. She then saw black flags rising from the vast camp, replacing the originally ocean-like golden mane banners. “Hehe,” the black dragon couldn’t help but chuckle softly, “What an honor it is to witness the dawn of such an era.”
She spread her hands, and one by one, the black flags rose slowly behind her.
Upon those flags gleamed the sacred emblem named Yasarghut.
On the eve of the Sword Year’s Holy Festival, the golden-maned Toquinin Lions passed through Lokos—the fortress cluster of the Broken Sword Mountains, as the Jotungrund army captured the last fortress south of the Four Realm Fields—Yasar. The two armies converged at the southern end of the Evergreen Path and simultaneously announced a change of flags. The black imperial war banner, the symbol of the dark dragon Odin, returned to this land after disappearing for a whole thousand years.
The remaining soldiers of the Crusian fleeing north, the knights, and the nobles were fortunate enough to witness the birth of this historic moment.
News reached the north, and people quickly discovered that Her Majesty, the supreme queen of the empire, and the temple forces that belonged to her had raised the same banner. Thus, a rumor spread among the astute that the king of darkness had returned a thousand years later; she was both sovereign and father, the light rising in the dark, the ruler of the last era, she had returned with the brilliance of the past and redemption, destined to end all lies.
The entire Vaunte trembled.
As if by some tacit agreement, the Red Legion and the wind elves simultaneously ceased hostilities in the Four Realm Fields. However, the elves soon fell into a stifling silence; the Wind Queen’s Temple had no immediate response, from the high seats within the temple to the lower ranks of priests, the royal court to the emperor down to the lords, all collectively fell silent, as if a terrifying taboo loomed before them, making them tremble as if walking on thin ice, afraid to speak.
In Fanzan, the Saneer people slowed their steps southward, and the nobles of the free city-states looked at each other, at a loss. The once-aloof Temple of Light called upon all regional bishops to White City, reactivating the Holy Council that had been discarded after the Holy War. But just as people speculated that the church would send troops south to punish the insane queen, the highest authority of Fanzan—the emperor of the empire and pope, Gloria II, issued an edict that plunged the uproar in the north into silence.
“The Silver Horse Knights retreat north of Al Kaish; all imperial troops are prohibited from advancing south, the Holy Council is temporarily closed, and no one within the temple is allowed to discuss the situation in the south—”
Thus, the Holy Council, reopened after seven hundred sixty-two years, flickered like a dying fire, rapidly extinguishing again after a brief revival, lasting only a mere twelve days. The people of Fanzan humorously dubbed it “the Ten-Day Council.”
After a series of events, the only outcome left was that the entire civilized world fell silent, as if the upheaval occurring in the Crusian Empire was merely an illusion.
“Bang—”
Duke Weina slammed the envelope onto the table, his trembling hand betraying the fury burning within him. This veteran minister of the empire looked around, his hair standing on end, like a lion surveying its territory, roaring, “What good does it do them to let this situation continue to worsen?” The generals surrounding the sand table wore various expressions: some were enraged, some were bewildered, and others showed signs of fear. Just three days prior, Her Majesty’s army had already invaded Ximezi, her troops visibly aligned with the mountain folk and witches, and on the edge of civilization, reports came through of strange human factions, all knowingly marked as the Minren returning.
By now, rumors that Her Majesty was the dark dragon had spread like wildfire. She had not aged a day since turning fifteen—wasn’t that the most direct proof? Everyone originally hoped that the Temple of Fire would step up to command the situation in this chaotic moment, but now the temple itself had split into two factions. Two voices clashed fiercely within the empire’s ideological arena, making it difficult to discern right from wrong. However, as the situation on the battlefield increasingly tilted towards the queen’s side, many fence-sitters had already leaned towards the academy faction, while the conservative northern nobles faced increasingly dire days.
Many of these conservative nobles, originally royalists, had been distanced from the rightful heir since the Silver Queen began targeting the princes around her. As her actions grew more insane, they had believed these acts, once heralded as grave transgressions, would soon alienate her from allies, especially as she reactivated the Sainya people and proclaimed herself the dark dragon. The entire north rejoiced, and at that moment, they could even imagine that Fanzan and Saint Ausoor would send troops to intervene, even that sage far away in the World’s Ring might take action to suppress her.
The world knew that the order established after the Holy War was the cornerstone of human civilization, and that anyone attempting to shake this cornerstone was at odds with the entire civilized world. At this point, the already deranged queen stood in opposition to the entirety of civilization.
Her downfall was inevitable.
The northern nobles celebrated, believing victory was near, but soon the ensuing reality left them in disbelief and disarray. The silence of the Temple of Light and the Wind Queen made their hearts plunge to freezing depths, even doubting their worldview. What on earth was happening in this world? However, one side’s silence often encouraged the other to become more arrogant. The nobles of Cloak Bay, still hesitating, instantly sided with the queen, while the imperial fleet, long controlled by the temple, turned to embrace the academy faction. With the sudden change of banners among the lions south of the Evergreen Path and the Jotungrund forces, the entire north fell into isolation.
Although the White Legion stationed in the north of the Evergreen Path had not yet expressed their stance, everyone knew their relationship with Her Majesty. In fact, the nobles on Ludwig’s side had long given up hope for East Mez, calculating the advance speed of the White Legion. Since messages from various directions had long been cut off, they could only guess that Fatan Port had likely fallen by this season; they simply did not know how long the Flowerleaf Duke could hold out, as he had been detained in the imperial capital, and relying solely on his two daughters could hardly support for long.
This made Ludwig a lone soldier in battle.
Adding insult to injury, the disappearance of the crown prince in Erluin further stripped the military nobles of their moral standing. Had it not been for Her Majesty’s claim to the dark dragon causing a split within the temple, they surely would have been deemed traitors by now.
Among the crowd, an elder in sacred robes sighed. Duke Weina turned to him and, still filled with anger, said, “Bishop Randell, tell me, are those damn tree pricks and northern folks still clinging to the hope of benefiting from others? Do they not realize the gravity of this moment? That madwoman claims to be the dark dragon, aiming to restore the rule of the Minren, and she is desecrating the sacred pact, yet those people choose to remain blind. It’s outrageous!”
Randell gave a bitter smile: “Don’t blame them; you and I are veterans of the last holy war, and we should understand exactly what happened back then… What we saw was so bizarre that it cast doubt in our minds.”
“But you are still standing here,” the duke heavily interrupted. “Instead of joining those traitors, this means that their wavering is merely a product of their weakness.”
“Old friend, it’s not so simple; I can’t prove that my choice is the right one, only that I am unwilling to betray a belief I’ve held for so many years.”
“There are no rights or wrongs in history, only victory and defeat,” the duke impatiently waved a hand. “Since the Black Iron people took over this world, a thousand years have passed since the Holy War—does that mean history was wrong all along? Such logic is absurd, and only a madman would believe it. At least I will not acknowledge it, nor will I let the dark madwoman succeed easily!”
“You are right, old friend,” Bishop Randell sighed again, “What do you plan to do next?”
“It’s troublesome,” Duke Weina rubbed his forehead. “Militarily, we are at a severe disadvantage; that madwoman has a continuous stream of cards up her sleeve, with strange forces coming from who knows where, as we continuously face defeat. In the south, there are the lion forces and those underground folks, but my greatest concern is the imperial fleet of Cloak Bay. If they block the sea route to the North Sea, we really won’t have the means to fight this war anymore.”
These words left the group in the tent frowning in distress; it was the most realistic prospect. The northern nobles, who originally held a significant portion of the empire’s military power, were being vanquished by Her Majesty, and they were about to lose all of Ximezi, while the imperial fleet’s defection dealt a heavy blow. Most of the north’s supplies came from overseas routes; should the imperial fleet head north to blockade this supply line, the war couldn’t continue.
Duke Weina thumped the map heavily, saying, “I plan to seek aid from the dragon race.”
“Dragon race?”
“That’s a plan,” Bishop Randell’s eyes gleamed with two bright lights, “The giant dragons were involved back then, and now those three traitor dragons are brazenly appearing above ground. The dragon race is sure to make a statement—at the very least, let Jotungrund unilaterally withdraw; otherwise, with three giant dragons on the enemy’s side, the threat to us is too great.”
Duke Weina nodded. “That’s not the crucial point, old friend,” he added lightly, “The giant dragons are not fools; they’ve already taken action, and they might even know about this before we do. As far as I know, before that madwoman was ready to act, they sent a messenger to the empire, but that messenger never arrived in the imperial capital, which indicates they might have been too late. If the timing is right, this messenger must still be within the empire.”
“Messenger?” Bishop Randell looked surprised and raised his head, “Why haven’t I heard of this? Who is it?”
“I got this news inadvertently because the dragon race first contacted the crown prince, showing their distrust of that madwoman. As for the identity of their envoy, I do not know for sure, but it should be a silver dragon.”
“A silver dragon… that’s quite a high-level envoy.”
“That exactly indicates the dragon race’s significance.” Duke Weina replied.
“Then we need to find this esteemed envoy quickly.”
“I’ve already arranged for people to look for them, but unfortunately, there hasn’t been any lead yet.”
Perhaps the duke’s suggestion sparked a thought in Randell’s mind, and the bishop suddenly said, “What about the Bujas? Their stance often aligns with the dragon race, have they made any statements?”
Duke Weina momentarily paused, as if struck upon something vexatious, his expression becoming somewhat strange: “Speaking of those slippery folks, they indeed made some indications…”
“Slippery? Indications?” Bishop Randell didn’t notice the change in his old friend’s countenance, “What do you mean?”
“The matter is like this; I suddenly recalled the Bujas just two days ago and discovered that they had withdrawn all their diplomatic personnel just before that madwoman acted. However…” The duke hesitated and continued, “However, they left me a letter, which seems to imply that they do not support that madwoman’s actions and hope we could maintain our position…”
“If we maintain our position, they will take advantage for nothing—those damn wizards,” the people in the tent immediately cursed.
“To put it bluntly, they want to sit back and watch the fight.” The bishop frowned, “Yet the Bujas, who have stood for thousands of years, shouldn’t be so naive, should they? Don’t they realize that we are not a match for Her Majesty? At this rate, we are bound to lose.”
“Don’t forget that isolation has always been their strategy for survival.” Duke Weina replied lightly.
Randell nodded but still felt that it wasn’t so simple. Just at that moment, a messenger pushed aside the tent flap and walked in: “My lord, a letter.”
“A letter?” Duke Weina was momentarily taken aback, glancing at the response from Fanzan and Saint Ausoor in his hand, he frowned and asked, “Whose letter?”
“I don’t know, my lord, but it came from the direction of Fatan Port.”
“Fatan Port?” The duke paused for quite a while before finally recalling where that place was—not because it was too small, but because he really hadn’t anticipated it. He pointed at the letter and asked, “This is a letter from the White Legion; why have they written to me? Haha, are they also planning to turn against us?”
His tone dripped with disdain and sarcasm.
But the messenger simply shook his head honestly: “No, my lord, I’m afraid it’s not a letter from the White Legion. The courier is Erluin.”
“Erluin?”
This time, Duke Weina was truly stunned.
