Chapter 622 — Gathering Storm

In the midst of his brooding, he raised his eyes and saw Welsh Moen sitting at the head of the long table, his face like still water. The crown prince seemed to be quietly observing it all, his eyes deep and utterly expressionless, and likewise no one could guess what was in this crown prince's mind.

Not even Baiyu Franklin could.

Along both sides of the long table, the men who truly wielded power in the capital, who commanded the kingdom's remaining armies, likewise took little part in the clamorous discussion.

Some of them fixed their attention on Baiyu Franklin; others watched Welsh Moen.

And outside the castle, a contingent that had originally been scheduled to march for the Valley Corridor halted before leaving the city, and a silent Church knight order likewise came to a stop at a suddenly issued command.

No one knew what fate lay in store for the royal capital. All people knew was that its darkest day had come.

At that same moment, in the Radiant Cathedral, within the Hall of Great Light, the low murmur of prayers had drawn to a close. The resplendent holy light still rippled in the aftershock of resonant energy, and within the luminous canopy that shrouded the entire vault of the hall, a faint, ethereal, sacred sound lingered without end.

"We have lost a great many knights of the Holy See and battle-priests," said a white-bearded prelate of the Hidden Pivot after his prayers, addressing the Holy Throne at the center of the hall. "All of them were our finest and most devout believers, loyal and fearless warriors of the Lord. Your Holiness, we ought to make an exception and bestow the name of saint upon the most outstanding among these martyrs."

"Their glorious martyrdom is the greatest homage they could pay to the Lord. They kept the oath they swore to the holy light and protected the Lord's realm and people. They truly deserve the name of saint," came the aged voice of Pope Saint Ivan III from the Holy Throne. "Go and draw up the list. Loyal and pure deeds should be made known."

Another bishop stepped forward. "Your Holiness, the blasphemous army is closing in on this sacred city. How shall we respond?"

"The Lord has revealed to me that we must fight to protect it," said Saint Ivan III, scarcely hesitating. "This is a trial of our loyal faith—the days of darkness have come, and the first holy light shone forth in the darkest hour. Now we must fulfill our oath to the Lord."

At once the bishops in the Hall of Great Light spoke in unison: "The first holy light shone forth in the darkest hour... fulfill our oath to the Lord."

Upon the Holy Throne at the center of the hall, a layer of illusory radiance seemed to surface upon the aged face of Saint Ivan III. His brows drooping low, he prayed softly: "It is time... to give our all for the Lord..."

Beside this devout pope, Virodai Moen merely stood in silence, as though likewise lost in silent prayer. The radiance pouring down from the luminous canopy circled about her, brighter and more glorious than ever before.

"Dark enough... and it shall be bright enough..."

The saintly princess parted her lips and whispered in a voice only she herself could hear.

...

Ansul had already fallen into a catastrophe that bordered on annihilation.

Yet the trade route between Cecil and Typhon had miraculously opened on schedule, and from the very start it had grown with astonishing speed.

To Typhon's emperor, Royan, this was a most uncanny affair.

It seemed that wondrous "duchy" had fully withstood the man-made calamity unfolding at their side—and had even entered a state of rapid development amid the war that calamity had brought. Their merchants, machines, vehicles, everything poured ceaselessly across the border through specially opened trade channels into Typhon's lands, while the vast quantities of cotton textiles and manufactured goods Typhon exported to them were swallowed whole.

The grand wall-restoration project Typhon had undertaken was completed ahead of schedule, and Royan had returned to his imperial capital. Seated in the study of the Obsidian Palace, this emperor of great talent and bold vision was carefully examining the intelligence reports his team of advisors had gathered and compiled. These precisely and vividly summarized every key figure in the course of Ansul-Typhon trade, along with certain materials his agents had procured from Ansul only with great difficulty.

"Industrial production has surged, spurred by the war...

"The reason lies in the fact that a great many industries are tied to the military. They have broadly applied magic-mechanical devices to the field of war, and military demand has stimulated their entire industrial system...

"Cecil's homeland appears not to have been drawn into direct warfare. They fight beyond their own borders...

"Cecil has swallowed an astonishing quantity of cotton textiles, yet there is no telling where they put the stuff. All that can be confirmed is that a portion of it goes to battlefield losses...

"The cheap magic-mechanical goods for daily use made by the Cecilans have found tremendous favor within the Empire..."

Royan Augustus set down the documents, a thoughtful look upon his face.

Trade between the Empire and the Cecilans had unfolded with unexpected smoothness, and its momentum was strong.

In the process, the Empire did seem to have reaped the vast benefits it had anticipated. It had exported enormous quantities of cotton textiles, and the textile mills of the Aldenan region had profited greatly thereby. The Empire had also acquired the Cecilans' advanced transportation technology, and recently the Guild of Artificers had made considerable progress in its project to replicate the magic-mechanical vehicle...

Everything seemed to be developing in a good direction.

Yet Royan Augustus faintly sensed a mire—a mire he could not see.

Just then, an attendant's voice came from beyond the door: "Your Majesty, Master Daniel has arrived."

Royan Augustus at once composed his expression. He set the documents aside and cleared his throat:

"Show the master in."

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