Chapter 913 — When Autumn Turns Cold
Blade of Dawn · Page 1 of 4
Night had deepened, yet no starlight could be seen in the sky—only a thin haze hung mistily over the whole city, lending this vast imperial capital an air of unreality.
The weather had already turned cold. Though the Frost Month was still some way off, in Aldernan, the most fog-prone place of all, the mist had descended upon the plains ahead of schedule; over the past week, five days out of ten had been foggy—and judging by the climate of years past, the fog would only grow more frequent over the coming half-month to a month.
Daniel threw on a coat and left his room. He passed through the dark corridors of the mansion and strolled out onto the balcony, gazing at the streets of Aldernan steeped in mist in the distance.
The bright glow of the magic-crystal streetlamps pierced the fog, tracing all manner of silhouettes against the night; the outlines of buildings emerged from the darkness, many windows still lit, and patrol soldiers leading dogs passed by the mouth of a nearby lane, casting a shadow beside the lamps that slowly stretched longer.
This was the wealthy district—in both infrastructure and public order it was second to none in the whole city. In the commoners' quarters a few blocks away, the number of watchmen would be halved and the lamps less bright than here; as for the slums... those were much the same as they had been years ago, save for a few new-style streetlamps, some of which had already been smashed by the local gangs and thugs.
Daniel had watched all of it rise, bit by bit, with his own eyes.
The old mage rubbed his fingers lightly, and a nearly transparent ward settled around him, carving out a small warm and comfortable space in the chill of autumn. He raised his head toward the southwest, where deep in the night and fog bright lights shone, and a faint bustle and clamor drifted from that direction.
That was the district of the Vanarion Salon, the "upper world" that the far-sighted Count Vanarion had spent a fortune to build: casinos, theaters, shops, a stock exchange, and at its core the salon club—Aldernan's moneyed folk, including the so-called "new citizen class," now regarded it as their heaven on earth in this age of prosperity. They took certain novel social pursuits—contests of wealth and refined living—as the means of displaying their respectability, and wallowed in them tirelessly. From the entrance of the Vanarion Salon district to its exit, wealthy citizens and minor nobles alike could find somewhere suited to spending their money—truly astonishing.
And a mere block away from that blaze of lights lay the Aldernan slums, pitch-black as though they had vanished from the night; the occasional building silhouette surfacing from the darkness was as sinister as a phantom.
The Vanarion Salon might be seen as a kind of microcosm of Aldernan's rapidly swelling "new wealth"; Daniel, however, had no interest in it, and had always forbidden his apprentices to go near such places.
"Nothing but a clumsy imitation."
In the night, the old mage muttered to himself, then stepped back, retreating from the balcony where the chill autumn wind blew again and again.
...
The next morning, Gawain did not appear at the government hall as usual, nor deal with affairs in his study, but went straight to the Institute of Magical Technology, where Daniel and Rebecca were already waiting.
In a great laboratory, all sorts of devices for controlling rune systems were set along the four walls, while at the center of the room stood a single broad metal platform. Upon it there was no complex apparatus, only a calibrated crystal projection device, and above that device floated a pale blue translucent diagram, roughly marked with the territorial outline of the Cecil Empire.
"Ancestor!" Rebecca was the first to rush up the moment Gawain appeared, beaming with delight. "You're finally here!"