Chapter 503 — Remembrance
Blade of Dawn · Page 2 of 4
No one, it seemed, had ever sensed anything at all unusual in this holy maiden princess's bearing. Everyone regarded her as a treasure bestowed by heaven, as the symbol of all the fair and noble spirit of Ansul. Yet ever since Virodai was very small, Wales had always felt an unaccountable strangeness when in this sister's company, and under the pressure of that strangeness he would do his utmost to avoid being alone with Virodai—but today was the Festival of Souls, and he had no excuse to leave the courtyard early.
So he could only remain here, and try to shift the subject: "I hear that since the Holy Crusaders took the field, the kingdom's armies are gradually improving their position..."
"Improving only to the point of being able to hold the eastern rebels at a stalemate," Virodai answered. "And a large part of the reason for the stalemate is that the weather is turning cold—winter campaigning is disadvantageous to both sides."
"...Is that so. I had not thought of that," Wales said with a self-mocking smile. "You see, I am not suited to be king. I cannot even think of such things."
"No one is born suited to be king; you have simply been away from Silverhold too long," Virodai said, gazing toward the bonfire in the courtyard. After a pause of a few seconds, she suddenly came out with what seemed an utterly disconnected remark: "...The bonfires lit this year for the Festival of Souls are twice as many as in years past."
Wales was taken aback for a moment, then caught on. "Because of the war."
"The faithful who die return to the realms of their gods; the faithless all fall into the halls of the death god. Souls have their own places to go. But people are willing to believe that those departed souls will tread upon the petals of death's-bloom flowers to come home and gather with the living... Brother, do you believe those souls return, and watch us from within the firelight?"
Wales could not help looking at the great fire in the courtyard. Those bright flames leaped in the night sky; within the hazy curtain formed by flame and smoke there was in truth nothing at all, yet he could not help but imagine—imagine that for a fleeting instant within that wavering curtain there surfaced the face of Francis II, that aged king leaning on his scepter, watching him with a calm expression, no expectation whatsoever in his gaze.
"I only hope they rest in peace in the realm of the gods," Wales said, and looked toward Virodai beside him. "And you? As the living saint of the God of Holy Light, can you see our father and the ancestors in the firelight?"
Virodai was silent for a moment, then turned and walked away: "I see nothing."
Neither do I—Wales Morne said in his heart.
Then he lifted his head and watched the smoke rising from the bonfire drift straight up into the night sky, merging with more smoke high and far away; the smoke of countless bonfires gathered into a vast cloud of haze, and the stars gradually blurred.
Beneath the night sky, in Xuanyao City's largest plaza—Pioneer Plaza—a great bonfire burned fiercely.
The mechanical clock at the city center struck eight times, and a giant evocation hand drifted above the bonfire, scattering powder of blackstone mixed with fire-phosphor stone into the flames. With a faint crackling burst, the bonfire's flames suddenly grew extraordinarily bright and grand.
The crowd gathered around the fire raised a resounding cheer, and amid that cheer which shook the city, the large magic-net terminal set up in the plaza activated, and a colossal holographic projection floated up above the plaza.
Activating along with it were the magic-net terminals in several other plazas of the city, in several neighboring cities, and in every town plaza along the cross-axis of the Duchy of Cecil.
On this night, nearly everyone had gathered by the bonfires, and nearly all the great bonfires stood in the plazas of the various towns.