Chapter 463 — The Vortex of Civil War

"Traveling at night grows harder all the time," Piers said as he took off his coat. "The nobles' banquets grow more frequent, while the curfew in the craftsmen's quarter and the merchants' quarter grows stricter. If the carriage hadn't borne the duke's mark, I doubt I'd have made it back tonight at all."

"After all, rumors have started circulating in the city again," Jill nodded. "Things east of the plain are not good."

Piers smiled briefly. His gaze swept the room, then drifted without haste to the window. He shut it fast, then activated the magic runes beneath the sill.

A small soundproofing ward spread over the whole room.

"Orders from headquarters," the intelligence operative said, concise and clear. "We are to withdraw."

"Withdraw?" Jill's eyes widened. "Has the situation worsened?"

"The duke has taken Stonehold Fortress. The Southern March is now the Duchy of Cecil, and the Ansu royal house will soon react to it—whatever the reaction, we will draw more attention here in the capital," Piers explained rapidly. "We have operated openly here for a long time, and you have had repeated contact with the mages' circles. We are no longer suited to remain stationed here."

Jill could not help frowning slightly. "Then what becomes of this safehouse?"

"A new work group will come to take over—but they will lie low in the shadows," Piers explained. "The lord still needs intelligence from the capital. It is only that we, who can no longer hide or disguise ourselves, must withdraw ahead of schedule."

Jill was briefly taken aback, then let out a somewhat rueful breath. "Is that so... It seems we really must go."

"It's no bad thing—I hear things have developed quickly back home, and headquarters' new people are far, far ahead of our cohort in both skill and equipment. We can use the time after we return to catch up on our lessons, or else... I'm afraid we'll be outmatched by the raw recruits the moment we get back," Piers said with a smile, and glanced at Jill. "By the way... don't tell me you're actually attached to this place?"

"Attached? I'm not attached to this place at all," a faint, sardonic smile appeared at the corner of Jill's mouth. "Compared with the stinking streets here, the wind along the Whitewater River is far fresher."

……

The night wind off the Whitewater River was brisk and clean. Since long ago, Gao Yang had loved coming up to the terrace on the riverbank, letting the cold wind wash over him as he watched the scenery along the shore—sometimes thinking about the future, sometimes recalling the past, and sometimes thinking nothing at all, simply taking in the view.

The landscape here had never stopped changing.

When he had first arrived, the banks of the Whitewater had been nothing but barren flats. Eight hundred refugees had pitched crude tents on that wasteland, and the camp guards had kept the place safe with fire basins and flimsy palisades. In those days, the moment the sun went down, everyone had to hurry back inside the camp, because the dense woods and wild hills beyond were crawling with ravenous beasts, and people could only huddle in their tents and endure the night in fear...

Then the tents became plank houses, and the plank houses became brick and tile, and the palisades became city walls, and watchtowers rose upon those walls, and the wooden bridge over the Whitewater became a great mechanical bridge driven by giant repulsion mechanisms, and the makeshift timber docks became permanent concrete wharves—until even the most desolate north bank of the Whitewater had turned into the bustling "North City New District"...

After nightfall, the glow of the magic-crystal lamps shone along both banks, as though a host of brilliant stars had been scattered across the earth.

All of it had taken less than two years.

As the man who had built it all with his own hands, Gao Yang drew the deepest sense of accomplishment from these changes.

He knew that the pace of Xuanque City's growth was a miracle—one that would have been a miracle even back on Earth. The reason the Cecil people could achieve something so close to cheating fate lay not only in the tremendous force unleashed by their suddenly emancipated productive power, but also in the advancement of magical technology.

"Magical technology, huh..."

Gao Yang muttered under his breath, and beneath the starlight and the lamps of both banks he raised his hand. A hazy radiance gathered in his palm.

This was no knightly battle technique or spell, only the luminescence of free-floating mana in the air after being stirred into excitation—a constant reminder to Gao Yang that mana was everywhere.

"Everywhere, an energy that seems inexhaustible..."

He waved his hand to disperse the gathered mana, yet his brow furrowed despite himself.

A sudden splashing came from the water nearby, breaking into his thoughts. He looked up and saw a burst of spray churning on the river's surface, and out of it rose Tyr's head.

"Yo—so the lord's slacking off too?"

(Shout-out time! I recommended this book a long while back—*The Forty-Six-Hundred-Million-Fold Symphony of Evolution* by Phase Walker. It's science fiction, still serializing to this day, and it tells the story of an evolution that begins with a single-celled organism. Even by today's standards it's a remarkably fresh and ambitious premise. The book has been running for many years and the author is still keeping at it. For anyone who can accept a setup where "the protagonist isn't human—and neither are the supporting characters," it's a thoroughly entertaining story. Whether or not you're starving for something to read, give it a look; the wild, unbridled imagination in there will not disappoint.)