Chapter 704 — Tuition

"The failings of youth can be made up for by the years; keenness, however, is hard to train," Roan said evenly. "She spoke of this 'illusion' the Cecilians manufactured. And that is in fact the gap between the Cecilian Empire and ourselves in the matter of state control. On this point, what is your view?"

"...Frankly, Your Majesty, in my view, at least at this stage, the Cecilian Empire, as a newly risen state, does not control more than half of its territory any more firmly than we do. Our system of regional magistrates has been in force for over ten years, while until recently they were still relying on the oaths of lords to hold their realm together," Duke Pei Yi said bluntly. "But if this continues to develop, it is only a matter of time before they surpass us in this respect."

Here the old Duke paused before continuing: "As for this time—that they could manufacture a deception on such a scale across every sphere bespeaks, rather than control, how effective the instruments of propaganda in their hands are.

"Barely a week after the war on the Holy Spirit Plain ended, intelligence that the Cecilian legions had won a great victory and that the crown had passed hands smoothly was delivered by newspaper to every noble holding in their Eastern March. The common folk, cut off from news and knowing nothing of what had happened on the Holy Spirit Plain, took the newspaper as the sole and reliable source, passing it from hand to hand among the local nobles and merchants—and so... we believed the propaganda in their papers.

"Your Majesty, Typhon has newspapers now too, but so far as I know, it is only something the wealthy upper townsfolk are entitled to read. It ought to play a greater role, yet that role is being wasted.

"The Cecilians have taught us a lesson in this. The lesson was not free, so we had all the more reason to study it well."

After hearing Pei Yi out, Emperor Roan smiled faintly. "Indeed. This lesson was not cheap at all..."

As he spoke he walked behind his desk. "It is time to write a letter to the Cecilian Emperor. In the new orders he has pressed the purchase price of textiles down by thirty percent. Now let us see whether a little ink can knock something off this tuition fee."

Pei Yi laughed. "Soon enough, someone in the assembly will decide we are bowing our heads to Cecil."

Roan answered with an old Typhon proverb: "To climb the mountain, one must bow one's head to the road."

...

The Cecilian Empire, eastern district of the Holy Spirit Plain, in the vicinity of Sorenhold.

The giant sun had gradually sunk, leaving only half its vast disc still clinging to the horizon; that body of light, with its mysterious wood-grain and glorious corona, poured orange-red radiance down upon the earth, and the light diffused through the clouds to form a blood-hued sunset glow.

Clouds and sunset light spanned the sky from east to west. Beside war-ravaged Sorenhold, a hastily built watchtower stood quietly in the setting sun; atop it a sentry kept vigilant watch, gazing out toward the plain west of the fortress.

The war-scorched plain was pocked with craters, and a strange band, mingling charred scars with vivid trails of flowers, crept in from the distance, skirting the edge of Sorenhold and stretching eastward. Around Sorenhold several more watchtowers could be seen standing, keeping watch over one another, with scattered camps and makeshift huts distributed about them; military vehicles and patrols moved to and fro throughout the area—altogether a picture of strict surveillance.

The sentry worked the stiffness from his neck and shoulders, but his gaze remained fixed on that closely watched region.

He knew that was where the dreadful "man-made god" had burrowed out—that there was a great rift leading deep underground, and beneath it the dark lair of the Order of All Things' End, riddled with dangerous traps and runaway magical creations. The soldiers had cleared out the crystal giants roaming nearby, but against that subterranean lair they were at their wits' end.

The higher-ups had no spare hands or energy to deal with the dark lairs the Final Death Society had left behind, so they could only send people to seal off the area first. The watchtower near the western wall of Soring Fortress was part of that blockade line.

When the time came for the scheduled report, the sentry switched on the arcane terminal beside him, gazed out at the distant plains, and said, "Command post, this is Watchtower One. Everything in the target area is normal..."

The sentry suddenly fell silent. His eyes fixed on the starting point of that path of blossoms and scorch marks, and his tone turned grave at once: "Wait—something's happening..."

Something was stirring out on the plains. Great billows of dust and smoke were rising from the direction of the rift, and something seemed to be ascending out of the smoke. One after another, red flashing lights lit up atop the nearby watchtowers, and the soldiers in the camp rapidly assembled.

The voice of the command post came through the arcane terminal: "Watchtower One, report. What happened?"

"Something's rising out of the rift..." The sentry's eyes were wide with shock. "It looks like... like vines... or a tree?!"