Chapter 994 — A Dual Stage

Yet in the Fog Month of Cecil Year 2 (Typhon Year 739), what the citizens of Aldernan felt most from this familiar fog was tension and unease.

An atmosphere of panic spread through the city along with all manner of rumors: the God of War cathedral that kept emitting strange noises and was said to have been taken over by evil spirits, the troops being moved about so frequently, the news coming from the front — none of it failed to pluck at the taut nerves of the Typhonites. And on the last day of the first week of Fog Month, something truly momentous happened.

Compared with those vague, anxiety-inducing rumors, at least this matter was unambiguous: with the unanimous vote of all members of the Imperial Parliament, His Majesty the Emperor temporarily closed the Parliament.

No one knew what future the city of Xuanque — or this nation — would face.

But for the common folk living at the bottom of Xuanque, they had not yet reached the level where they could worry about such "great matters." The factories still ran; the exchanges, stations, and docks still needed great numbers of employees; and because of this inexplicable war, the machines in the factories even spun a little more merrily than before. As for those who worked in the factories... they had to put in greater effort to keep up with the ever-faster turning bearings and gears.

Bonn wrapped his already quite threadbare coat tightly around himself and hurried along the road to the maglev train station. He had walked this road many times; almost every day he set out from here to haul things at the station or the warehouses beside it, loading and unloading carts, and only when the sun set could he set foot on the road home, back from here to that shabby apartment block on Lower Cross Street. And he was not the only one on this road — many others who also went to work at the station took the same route. They walked through the fog, some faster, some slower, silent with one another, nothing but the sound of footsteps, like the gears and chains in the factory that likewise could not speak.

The bell of a bicycle came from nearby. Bonn glanced to the side and saw a young postman riding through the fog, a large black bag strapped to the back of his vehicle, already much dampened by the mist.

As the postman passed among the workers, he looked spirited, even carrying himself with a kind of pride. Clearly he considered his work more respectable than that of these laborers who could only haul goods.

Bonn shook his head, thought nothing of it, and simply went on his way.

But then another sound came, breaking the calm of the fog: it came from midair, as if some sharp resonance had in an instant swept across the entire city, and right after it a brief, soaring strain of music rose from the sky. It was so sudden and so loud that even the unending fog of Aldernan seemed shaken by the sound, flowing and stirring in the winter sunlight.

Bonn was startled for a moment, then quickly realized what it was — it was the sound released by the magic towers set up throughout the city, and those towers were all directly connected to the Obsidian Palace. The citizens of Aldernan knew well what it meant when these "formidable things controlled by mages" made a sound — clearly, some great personage entitled to speak above the whole city was about to speak, and everyone in the city would have to listen.

The voice that followed would even appear in the newspapers of recent days and be delivered to every corner of the nation.

Bonn instinctively shrank his neck, and then he heard an authoritative, deep male voice suddenly ring out, startling him —

"...Greetings to my industrious and loyal subjects. I am your protector and the Empire's faithful servant, Luo Yan Augustus...

"...The Imperial Household has taken note of the tension spreading through the city, but please, everyone, relax. The situation is already firmly under control, and in the near future...

"...The Empire has entered a state of wartime emergency, and in these difficult times the Imperial Household will spare no effort to protect the rights of every citizen. I hereby personally promulgate the following acts:

"...The rights of factory workers shall be safeguarded, and wages in all posts shall not fall below... For laborers who work extended hours and overtime to increase production and actively contribute to the Empire, corresponding rewards are hereby established...

"Concerning wartime food supply and medical materials..."

...

The magic broadcast echoed through the skies above the city; every corner of Aldenan could hear it clearly.

"Mad... mad... utterly mad!!"

A short, stocky man paced furiously back and forth in a hall laid with dark red carpet. His expensive, finely made leather boots sank into the thick pile, producing only the faintest sound. His costly formal attire had been crumpled by his violent movements, and even a button at his collar had come off—he had torn it away himself in one furious display of feeling.

Several high-ranking battle mages in short black robes stood nearby, watching this man of unseemly bearing with cold eyes, their faces showing neither pity nor mockery.

"He cannot do this! Listen to me, he cannot do this—not even if he is the Emperor!" The stocky man's face flushed red as he shouted at the black-robed mages. "He has no right to strip me of any honor or title—those titles were granted to my family by his father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather! What have I done? I have done nothing! I merely tried to preserve our glorious traditions! Go and tell that man in the Obsidian Palace that he has no right whatsoever to—"

"Sir Jules, you have one last minute to settle your family affairs," one of the black-robed mages suddenly said in a mild tone, cutting off the man's furious shouting. "If you are certain you have finished, then please come with us—besides completing the formalities, you have a great deal to answer for to Prince Hadrian."

"Answer for what? I have nothing to answer for!"

"For instance, the three illegal estates under your name, or those extra gold coins in your vault—" the black-robed mage said quietly. "Or those people who vanished within your family's castle?"

The stocky man's face flushed an even deeper red. He glared furiously at the Wandering Mage before him: "Listen, I do not know where these baseless accusations come from—and even if they exist, what do they amount to for a nobleman like me? Do you mean to drag me out of here on the strength of such accusations alone!?"

"Regrettably, you truly have only one choice—come with us to the Obsidian Palace. At the very least, that would still prove your loyalty to the Empire and to His Majesty the Emperor himself."

The stocky man stared wide-eyed, then suddenly seemed to calm again. He took half a step back, tugged hard at his coat, and said, word by word: "Let that snot-nosed Hadrian Augustus come to see me in person—or let his father come!"

The battle mages exchanged glances.

"Very well, Sir Jules. Then it will be the second option."

One of the mages stepped forward as he spoke.

"You are disloyal."

(Time for a book recommendation! "Earthlings Are Just Too Fierce" by Woniu Zhenren—science fiction. I doubt Woniu needs much introduction, does he? Plenty of you probably know his older work, "Forty Thousand Years of Cultivation." Quality and update frequency are both guaranteed—well worth a read.)