Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 636 - 635: King

On the Gorgon River, aboard the wide-decked armored cargo ship "Nabil," Captain Nabil pulled an iron-gray lever. A rumble and vibration came from beneath his feet, as the powerful mechanical ship slowly accelerated. Ahead, on the river’s broad surface, several ships similar to the Nabil also raised their magic energy wingboards, spreading a faintly glowing mist of magic across the entire river.

The voice of the chief engineer came through a nearby brass tube: "Machinery cabin operating normal, Captain!"

A wind filled with moisture blew towards him, the Cecil Clan flag fluttering at the ship’s prow. The middle-aged captain left the cabin and stepped onto the upper deck, where he grasped the iron railings and watched the great vessel beneath him slowly accelerate. He felt the surging power within it and breathed a soft sigh.

At any time, the feeling of sailing ahead under the wind can bring peace to a man who has spent half his life with ships.

He never thought he would one day step onto the battlefield. He was just a captain navigating the White River, proud of his three wooden cargo ships. His life was not meant for the battlefield, but war arrived like a rolling tide—suddenly the Cecil Clan rose, and Earl Peibo requisitioned numerous ships to counter this rising clan, including two of Nabil’s ships and almost all his crew.

After a war, "Nabil of the White River" lost most of his fortune, left with only his oldest ship and a lifetime of seafaring experience.

Then, the Cecil Principality was established, the waterways became clear again, commerce flourished, and myriad novelties emerged. New mechanical ships began to replace old cargo vessels, offering rich compensation and many promised advantages, tempting the disheartened captain. He acquired a new ship and named it after his first vessel, the Nabil—a common practice among captains.

Then another war came, and the Administrative Office started recruiting civilian ships and experienced captains, promising generous conditions. Nabil was tempted yet again—though maybe partly it was due to the ’honor of being a Cecil citizen’—he responded to the recruitment, taking both himself and his ship to the frontline.

It seems the world suddenly sped up, so fast that Nabil barely had time to think about when it changed. Perhaps most ordinary people live this way, moving forward in a world they cannot fully understand, hurrying along, and, when they occasionally look back, finding each step surprisingly unexpected.

Nabil took a deep breath of the fresh air over the Gorgon River, seeing a squad of soldiers passing by on the deck. They inspected the tarpaulin on the combat vehicles and checked the hooks and ropes securing them. The soldiers moved with straight postures and confident strides, each one an outstanding young man.

They have parents and families, relatives and friends, perhaps even lovers and children. They left home wearing bright armor, perhaps embracing their families or kissing their lovers goodbye. They carried small tokens or unsent letters, alongside name-engraved iron tags. They’ve survived many battles—some may fall on the upcoming battlefield, while others will return home with glory—and possibly with injuries or disabilities...

Years later, those who live on might start telling their children about the battles they’ve been through, perhaps including this one, and even mentioning the armored cargo ship that carried them, and a sentimental, adventurous captain...

Nabil turned his head, gazing at the distant, misty river surface. The majestic silhouette of the Pioneer ahead, sailing through wind and waves, with the Cecil flag faintly visible.

On the upper deck of the Pioneer, Victoria stood under the flapping flag. After a long time, she drew back her gaze from the north and turned, returning to the bridge—to the "heart" of this astonishing war vessel. Here, Gawain was looking over an unfolded map, discussing with Byron the likely attack points along the northern section of the Gorgon River and the situation facing the royal capital, St. Soniel.

"We’ll pass through Stonemouth in two hours," Gawain raised his head, looking at Victoria who approached the map, "That’s the first place where we need to slow down, and it’s also the first stop completely separated from the main ground forces. The gryphon scouts have taken off, and I’m waiting for their reports."

"This is a high-risk operation, but honestly, I quite enjoy the adventure," Byron winked, "When I get back, I can brag to my daughter for a dozen days."

"I told Baldwin that St. Soniel needs to hold out for at least another seven days," Victoria looked at the map spreading out across the table, her fingers brushing along the edges of the royal capital, "St. Soniel has two ’Guard Forts’ to the east and west. As long as these forts, attached to the exterior walls, hold for these seven days, they can await reinforcements."

Gawain closed his eyes slightly, and the bird’s-eye perspective from a satellite view swiftly shifted and zoomed in his mind, bringing the royal capital, St. Soniel, into the center of his vision.

The vast, ancient city still stands on the plains, shrouded by a shimmering magic barrier. The barrier’s faint glow ebbs and flows with the circulation of magic, making the royal capital resemble a slowly beating heart. Outside the southwest and southeast walls are the two fortified forts, constantly flashing with light.

Beyond the city, a twisted mass of ’tide’ is slowly engulfing the defenses of St. Soniel, yet repeatedly thwarted by the flashes poured from the two forts—these flashes are the burning stone shot, enchanted bolts, and the magical missiles released by the Combat Mage Tower.

St. Soniel’s centuries of heritage are facing the most daunting challenge since its founding.

...

A frightened sparrow swept across the gloomy sky of St. Soniel, a fallen tail feather fluttered down into the courtyard of the Silver Castle. There, Prince Wales, adorned in regal attire and bearing a longsword with the royal emblem, paused on the walkway. He reached out to catch the fluttering feather and then released it expressionlessly.

Behind him, Cohen Loland, Vice Commander of the Royal Knight Brigade, came to a stop. The knights accompanying him halted as well, the clanging of their armor echoing in the courtyard.

Cohen Loland inquired softly, "Your Highness?"

"Even the birds have started to flee this city," Wales Moen murmured, "yet this should be the season for White-tailed Sparrows to nest."

Cohen Loland lowered his head, "But people are not birds."

Wales nodded slightly, "Go on."

"Yes." Cohen Loland stood straighter, thumped his chest, then turned and swiftly led the knights away.

Only after the Vice Commander had departed did Wales slowly turn his gaze towards the depths of the shadows not far away.

Baldwin Franklin slowly emerged from there, "Your Highness, your perception is sharper than I expected."

"Duke Franklin," Wales regarded the Regent Duke before him, "what brings you here?"

"The meeting at the Golden Oak Hall has begun, the aristocrats are waiting for your presence."

Wales was silent for two seconds, then nodded gently, "Seven days, isn’t it?"

"Yes, seven days."

Wales said no more but walked past Duke Baldwin and proceeded forward.

Yet Baldwin Franklin’s voice reached him from behind, "Your Highness, is your objective clear?"

"Clear," Wales paused slightly, "I’m going to reinforce the city walls."

In the Golden Oak Hall, the clamor of discussions was growing more intense. The aristocrats of the capital, representatives of knightly families, and those in power were arguing vociferously in a hall that was supposed to be solemn and grand. Everyone was voicing their opinions, each struggling for control over the dire situation. Discussion turned into debate, and debate edged towards an outright quarrel. In the face of life-and-death stakes, with the kingdom’s core of power fracturing, its military strength collapsing, and the royal capital’s command functions utterly disintegrated, the last power players in this city seemed to have reached their breaking point.

Outside the city, the monsters were growing more numerous, the situation seemed hopeless, and besieging the royal capital appeared meaningless. In such a scenario, any voice of valiant righteousness would seem particularly weak, with only the tangible plans for self-preservation gaining dominance.

But suddenly, a slightly sharp voice of an attendant pierced through the bickering in the Golden Oak Hall, the heavy gold-plated oak doors were pushed open from outside. With a resounding clang, the doors swung wide, and Wales Moen appeared in full view of everyone.

This crown prince was late, almost an hour late.

Yet, even the least regarded crown prince would not be questioned for his tardiness at such a moment. Wales Moen simply cast a quiet gaze around the hall before he strode, unhurriedly, towards the towering chair at the end of the hall.

The atmosphere seemed a bit odd, and everyone in the Golden Oak Hall instinctively quieted down. Many aristocrats glanced at each other, sensing that Prince Wales seemed different today, while others silently left their seats and discreetly gathered around the prince.

Wales stopped halfway, standing in the middle of the hall, and as the murmurs slowly rose around him, he glanced at several people and said, "We will defend this city with all our might. Who opposes?"

The surrounding aristocrats immediately clamored, and someone shouted loudly, "Your Highness! Holding out means a dead end!"

"We have reinforcements," Wales looked toward the direction of the voice, and as he spoke, the surroundings quieted again, "the reinforcements are on the way, they will arrive in seven days. They are the southern Cecil Legion, and Grand Duchess Victoria is among them."

This time, the aristocratic noise around was even greater than before; countless people were shocked by this unbelievable news, some faces wore joy, some were bewildered, but more accidentally shouted, "Is this... is this possible?! Your Highness, is this news true?"

Wales once again looked in the direction of the voice.

The people’s hearts were as he expected.

It was not just the news of the reinforcements that would turn St. Soniel into an impregnable fortress. In this sinking, decaying, and fragmented city, the royal family had long lost its prestige; today even the Regent Duke could not suppress all the aristocratic families. No one’s words would be believed by everyone, even if the person speaking had Moen’s bloodline—on the contrary, some would believe that this news was deliberately spread by him to make others steadfastly defend the city to buy enough time for the royal family to transfer their enormous wealth.

Even if the news was spoken by Baldwin Franklin, it would be the same.

Because if some people stood in the same position, they would do the same one hundred percent.

Wales just quietly looked at the aristocrat who shouted, slowly saying, "Defend this city with all might, and wait for the reinforcements in seven days, this is an order."

"Your Highness, you are not yet the King, you cannot give such orders directly!" The aristocratic of the royal capital shouted in alarm as Wales gazed at him, "At least you should wait until..."

"Earl Luke Ray," Wales interrupted him, "where are your family, mistress, jewels, and knights supposed to guard the city walls now?"

Earl Luke Ray widened his eyes, seemingly finally feeling a bit of pressure and awe from this "nominal crown prince" lacking in prestige and presence: "I... I..."

Wales calmly said, "Earl Luke Ray, you should not have sent them out of the city, that is treason."

Earl Luke Ray opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to utter a few defenses, but he only managed to squeeze out a few meaningless sounds from his throat—at some point, a royal sword decorated with gold patterns had already pierced his throat, precise, silent, instantly lethal.

Wales slightly stepped aside, watching as the aristocrat from the royal capital fell to the ground like a broken bag, a spray of blood splattering on his cheek, and his longsword hanging by his side was already soaked in a glaring red glow.

The surroundings fell into instant silence, with only unbearable dead silence and shocked, fearful glances intertwined in the air. Nearly half of the people did not react to what had happened because it was beyond their imagination: In this Golden Oak Hall, in the most sacred and solemn place of the Anzu Kingdom, Wales Moen had executed an Earl before dozens of aristocrats of the capital?!

The other half in the hall watched all this without a word.

Wales flicked off the blood on his longsword and stepped towards the chair at the end of the hall, and it was only at this point that the aristocrats, shocked into silence, suddenly reacted. They all exclaimed and startled, but the heavy sound of armored boots suddenly striking the floor interrupted any voice trying to question—

A large number of fully armed knights rushed into the Golden Oak Hall, quickly controlling all the exits and surrounding the central meeting table of the hall. Cohen Loland, wearing a blue combat Mage robe with chain armor inside, then entered the hall, loudly declaring, "Commander Hrach Bog of the Royal Knight Brigade has been stripped of his position for condoning soldiers escaping, effective immediately under house arrest.

"Under military command, I have taken over the position of commander of the Royal Knight Brigade.

"The Royal Knight Brigade pledges allegiance to His Majesty Wales Moen!"

His Majesty Wales Moen?!

Startled looks took in the sudden change in the situation before them. They watched as the Vice Commander of the Order of Knights, renowned for his extraordinary knight and Mage powers, strode into the hall, watching as he expressionlessly stepped over Earl Luke Ray’s body, seemingly finally beginning to understand what was going to happen here today. Meanwhile, Wales Moen had reached the chair at the deepest part of the hall. This former crown prince, who had left Silver Castle twenty years ago, turned around and slowly sat in his rightful place, scanning everyone present.

Earl Luke Ray’s blood stained his face, the face belittled by everyone for twenty years now struck fear.

"From today, I crown myself King of Anzu."

Upon hearing Wales Moen’s calm voice, whispers filled the hall, people anxiously exchanged looks, some were still doubting the reality of all this, while others instinctively questioned: Who will officiate this coronation?

At this moment, a noble near the entrance of the hall whispered in alarm, "Duke Baldwin Franklin has arrived!"

People craned their necks, their eyes fixed on Baldwin Franklin walking through the doorway. This Regent Duke had been absent from the entire meeting, and after people saw what he held in his hand, an indescribable silence enveloped them all.

Baldwin Franklin held the King’s golden crown in his hands.

The Duke of the West stood at the entrance for a moment, then stepped one by one towards the end of the hall—to the throne.

Only then did someone realize:

This is the Golden Oak Hall, not only a place for the highest aristocratic meetings but also for the King’s coronations;

Wales Moen’s attire was actually the coronation robe of the King;

The ornate longsword that executed Earl Luke Ray was the ceremonial sword used in the King’s coronation.

Under complex gazes filled with tension, fear, expectation, and astonishment, Baldwin Franklin crossed the last distance, coming before Wales Moen, lifting the golden crown in his hand slightly into the air.

But there his movement halted, he didn’t continue to place the crown on the new King’s head.

Wales himself reached out his hand, took the heavy crown, and slowly placed it atop his head.

In the hall, every aristocrat of the royal capital knew what this meant.

From today onwards, Anzu will no longer have a Regent Duke.

Wales Moen, wearing the new crown once prepared for Edmund, silently surveyed the hall’s entirety. A few seconds later, he stood up, slowly lifting the bloodstained King’s Sword:

"Defend St. Soniel!

"This is the King’s command!!"