Chapter 407: Chapter 406: Upheaval
Although Gawain’s proposal for the population migration plan and the Southland transformation plan shocked everyone present at first, as the discussion delved deeper, the feasibility and necessity of the plan became clearer. The initial incredulity faded, and everyone’s focus shifted to the execution details.
"...Ladies and gentlemen, we must clarify one point: population migration is a long-term plan, and the construction of cities, roads, and the Administrative Office is the same. It will take three to five years to complete it thoroughly, so we must ensure everything proceeds smoothly," Gawain said, glancing seriously around at everyone present after addressing most of the officials’ questions regarding the Administrative Office. "First, we need to choose some pilot sites — the initial population migration will be executed in Hosman Territory, where our army is currently stationed nearby. The news of the war’s outcome has spread across that land, and Earl Carloff Hosman has been confirmed dead. Next, the ’reception troops’ will enter the Hosman Region, opening the castle gates with negotiations — or cannonballs, and then announce the leaders’ replacement and the new decree."
"Given Hosman Region’s geographical location and development status, I plan to move half of the serfs and slaves to Cecil territory and migrate all scattered local populations into the city, using Old Hosman City as the foundation for building a new city."
Gawain did not continue this topic, but Aunt Heidi could vaguely guess the thoughts behind her ancestor’s arrangements.
The choice of Earl Carloff Hosman’s territory, who has been confirmed dead, as the plan’s pilot site, is because such a territory offers the least resistance, making the plan easier to execute. On the other hand, this is essentially giving those nobles who are still alive one last chance — there are still over twenty southern aristocrats and their Knight followers detained in the prisoner camp, and his ancestor apparently hopes to squeeze out the last value of these nobles — their remaining appeal, the intellectual groups dependent on them, and their symbolic significance among ordinary people.
These values allow those nobles to survive in the prisoner camp, but their choices will determine whether they can leave the camp alive, and Hosman Territory, this "pilot site," is the countdown for them to make their choice.
Before the countdown ends, the ancestor will temporarily refrain from touching their lands, ensuring stability for millions in the southern borders since the land nobility system has been in place for seven hundred years here, and suddenly killing all the leaders overnight might plunge everyone into terror — even if the ultimate purpose is to ensure they live a good life.
However, once the countdown ends, this ancestor, who seems peaceful but is indeed iron-fisted, will likely have to turn all lands outside the Cecil influence into "unclaimed territories."
"Does anyone have further questions?" Gawain asked as he lightly tapped the table, seeing no one else speaking.
"...Concerning the construction of new cities during the population migration process," Aunt Heidi spoke up, her expression a bit awkward, "We’re afraid we don’t have any spare Magic Web Baseplates available, and the supply of basic magic-conducting material is also an issue — this spring’s budget was allocated to the northern banks Development Zone and the Western New District, with quite a substantial amount also used for building the defied Fortress..."
Aunt Heidi grew increasingly uneasy, sneaking a glance at Gawain’s expression: she had drafted the budget in question, though it had also been handed over for Gawain’s review. Clearly, when the budget was created, nobody had anticipated the need to establish a city of magical industry outside Cecil territory.
But upon hearing Aunt Heidi’s concerns, Gawain remained unconcerned: "Don’t worry about that."
Aunt Heidi blinked, surprised: "Ancestor, do you have other arrangements?"
Gawain couldn’t help but chuckle: "In several areas I’ve chosen, there’s an existing Magic Web — so we won’t need to build one. Just send a few Mage Technicians there to check the interface status, then install the equipment directly."
Aunt Heidi was likely overwhelmed from today’s meeting, not initially realizing, but upon Gawain’s reminder, she suddenly understood: "Ah — you’ve decided to use the Magic Web..."
"Thanks to our neighbors’ promotion, the Southland is filled with Magic Webs," Gawain said, shaking his head thoughtfully, "They only know to use Magic Web for lighting, powering Mage towers, and powering mining machinery, unaware of the value of universal energy... Ah, speaking of mining equipment, we can temporarily use local ones, even though they are old models sold from Cecil territory, but they’re more than adequate for construction’s initial stages."
Gawain paused before adding, "Of course, when the old aristocrats built Magic Webs, they only considered their manors and castles. Their Magic Web coverage isn’t extensive, but fortunately, we now have the Magic Obelisk technology for remote magic transmission, so the range limitations of Magic Web aren’t too severe — upon returning, order the Cecil Mechanical Manufacturing Facility to prioritize producing a batch of Magic Obelisks."
Upon hearing Gawain’s arrangements, Aunt Heidi relaxed completely, thinking of the Magic Webs operating across the Southland brought a peculiar smile to her face.
Seeing Aunt Heidi’s smile, Gawain couldn’t help but smile too.
Every official in the conference room noticed the leader’s smile, recalling how southern aristocrats had been selling off their possessions, constructing Magic Webs, and purchasing mining equipment over the past six months, and they all began to smile as well.
Understanding and cooperation.
The conference room was filled with a lively atmosphere.
However, in the royal capital a thousand miles away, within the ancient and magnificent Silver Castle of St. Soniel, the air was filled with gloom and oppression.
A white gown, like a storm of snow, swept through the long corridor of Silver Castle. The Northern Duchess, Victoria Wilder, along with several attendants, quickly passed through the corridor. This duchess, always cool in demeanor and lacking expression, appeared even colder than usual today, yet the faint, fluttering snowflakes at her hurried steps revealed her inner unrest. Such urgency was rare for her.
She entered the "Golden Rose Hall" at the top level of the castle, a small chamber reserved for the kingdom’s highest power holders for meetings. Inside, she saw Duke Baldwin Franklin, a gentleman of the West known for his genteel and scholarly air, clad in a dark coat.
The middle-aged Duke of the West was standing by the window, gazing down at the courtyard within the castle. Upon hearing Victoria’s entrance, he glanced back briefly, then returned his gaze to the courtyard.
At the end of his sightline, on the courtyard’s ground within Silver Castle, one could clearly see traces of fire and destruction — marks that were surprisingly recent, as if left just a few days ago.
Indeed, they were left just a few days ago — remnants of the rebellion’s suppression within the castle.
A few days ago, chaos suddenly erupted in Silver Castle. Assassins set fire to the study of Francis II and Prince Edmund’s chamber. The chaos was swiftly suppressed by extraordinary strength from within the castle, but the final counterattack of the assassins left those glaring marks in the courtyard.
Outside the castle, across various locations in St. Soniel, a dozen destructive actions occurred over the past few days. The saboteurs seemed intent only on disrupting the royal capital’s order, employing methods ranging from arson to poisoning. Although the suspect for each act was quickly captured and executed, such destruction left Duke Baldwin Franklin vexed. A vague sense of a great storm was gathering over this kingdom.
Now, Victoria had arrived, and in such haste — probably bringing even worse news.
The rumor that reached Silver Castle two days ago might be true.
"It has been confirmed, the news is true," the Northern Duchess quickly reported, "Francis II died at Longwind Fortress. Silas Loland and Edmund claim the King was killed by an assassin from the royal capital. They have rallied nearly all the Duke of the East’s aristocrats and have already launched an attack on the Plains of the Holy Spirits — several skirmishes have already occurred in the border area between the Plains of the Holy Spirits and the East."
Then she added, "The message should have arrived earlier, but my contacts in the East were eliminated, and the magic communication was disrupted... It seems Silas Loland and Edmund have been preparing for this day for a long time."
Duke Baldwin Franklin closed his eyes, his body swaying slightly involuntarily.
It was two minutes later when this Duke of the West finally opened his eyes again, took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down: "Just as we expected, the minor unrest in the capital was only a prelude. A shocking conspiracy unfolded right under our noses."
"The message will soon spread, Edmund Moen probably did not only prepare those inconspicuous acts of damage... I suspect he has allies among the aristocrats of the capital, who will, once the message reaches the capital, start to act, inciting and guiding the aristocrats’ sentiments, leading them to believe the malicious slander coming from the East," Victoria Wilder continued, remaining incredibly calm at this moment, "We must act before that."
"We cannot identify those individuals before they act, and if we act after the message spreads, the situation will worsen," Duke Baldwin Franklin furrowed his brow, "The only solution is to release the news ourselves before they act..."
The Northern Duchess and the Duke of the West fell silent; after a silence lasting half a minute, Victoria Wilder rarely sighed.
"Announce it," she said, "Announce that Prince Edmund Moen has patricide and treason, Silas Loland rebelled... In the name of maintaining the kingdom’s order, avenging the King, we will go to war with the East."
Duke Baldwin Franklin silently nodded; seconds later, he let out a long sigh: "Our King said he would bring peace back — he did not return, nor did peace."
This was the year Anzu 736, the last day of the second week of the Fire Moon.
On this day, Anzu’s second civil war officially broke out.
