Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 422 - 421: The Unleashed Beast

In Amber’s view, Gawain rarely uses such lengthy speeches to explain a concept—this man who rose from his coffin always has a mind full of ideas, but those ideas seem to exceed the understanding of mortals, so he mostly silently engages in a task, taking everyone along with him to do it, letting them understand bit by bit the nature of their undertaking. In the process, he explains, he guides, but rarely preaches. His all "preachment"—if those count as preachment—are mostly concentrated in the academy’s textbooks.

In the textbooks for social common sense and history classes, Gawain personally wrote many things about this because he once said: The worldview of adults changes very slowly, only children’s can be shaped from childhood.

To subtly influence and reform adults, while educating children through schooling and shaping their worldview, this seems to be Gawain’s consistent approach. Unfortunately, Amber is neither interested in school nor does she attend meetings, always slacking...

But she’s not foolish; on the contrary, she’s exceptionally smart. She quickly discerned many deep implications in Gawain’s words, and after careful thinking, she realized a shocking truth: "Among the land aristocracy you’re aiming to destroy, including..."

"Yes, including myself, including the Cecil Clan," Gawain looked calmly into Amber’s eyes, "Haven’t you paid attention to the operational methods of the Administrative Office?"

Amber blinked and couldn’t help scratching her head: "I don’t think that much...this isn’t my expertise..."

Meanwhile, Wright finished his silent reflection and finally raised his head, exhaling: "Leader, I think I understand...please forgive my earlier question."

"No need to mind; it’s good to think more about this," Gawain said. He looked at Wright, who seemed to have resolved some inner conflict, and consciously guided him, "You can also expand this train of thought, consider the changes in the Holy Light Church, and ponder the issue of Holy Light belief."

Wright’s expression became solemn, and within his solemnity, there was an unnoticeable hint of contemplation and confusion.

"Forsake the hypocritical God, embrace the true Holy Light. You’ve regained the power of the Holy Light, but will you stop here?" Gawain continued, "Do you wish to be satisfied with merely regaining power, or will you keep advancing, keep delving deeper, seeking the truth behind it? Do you want to be content with personal enlightenment, or to spread this understanding to more people, helping them realize the true meaning of Holy Light virtue?"

Wright fell briefly into thought and silence, but soon raised his head: "I will not stop here—I already know the true essence of Holy Light. It belongs to everyone. In the face of Holy Light, it’s truly the monopolizing Church that is the real blasphemer."

"It’s good you think this way," Gawain already knew this would be the answer, he nodded slightly, then said, "Regarding the changes happening to you, I’ll have Pittman come; we’ll study it together. You might be the first person in history to consciously renounce the belief in Holy Light God and then control Holy Light with your own power. The only situation similar to yours might be the Druids turning natural theurgy into Druid spells three thousand years ago. Pittman is quite specialized in this area; he might provide some reference suggestions for your future path."

"That’s best," Wright nodded immediately, "I also have many confusions."

"Before that, take a rest," Gawain said, "Organize your thoughts."

Gawain left with Amber, leaving Wright alone in the small chapel.

He stood before the wooden pulpit, gazing at the empty spot formerly used to place sacred images. Sunlight poured through the window, resting there; traces of dust floated in the sunlight, reflecting starry glimmers.

"Breaking Holy Light’s monopoly, returning what belongs to people back to them..."

Wright muttered softly, then bowed his head, slowly closing his eyes, silently praying.

The sacred images were gone here, and he no longer needed them; he prayed to the Holy Light within his heart; his prayers were his decades-long steadfast virtue and belief.

The chapel was quiet, only light gradually emerged from the air, a layer of translucent and clear aura enveloped the armored priest, like sunlight condensed into water flowing through the air. In this lucent light, tiny particles drifted, converging and slowly gathering into a small form.

This small form gently alighted on Wright’s shoulder amid the light, as if a weightless leaf. She looked around, found no one noticed her, then quietly lay atop Wright’s shoulder, silently falling into a dream.

...

Along the path to the lord’s mansion, Amber kept restlessly pacing beside Gawain, like a hamster unable to sit still, occasionally casting odd glances at him. Initially, Gawain didn’t intend to pay her any mind, but her vexing and mischievous behavior finally got to him; he stopped, casually pressing down the short rascal: "What do you want to say?"

"Nothing, I’m just curious how you think," Amber said with righteous indignation, crossing her arms, speaking earnestly—even under Gawain’s hand, the gesture lacked momentum, "Now that it’s just the two of us, be honest—was everything you said in the chapel true?"

"You really don’t read newspapers?" Gawain couldn’t help but chuckle, "If you looked at the things discussed in the newspapers, you should know I was serious."

"I do read them; after finishing the odd tales, I toss them to Betty," Amber continued righteously, then shook her head to free herself from Gawain’s hand atop her head and showed a hint of puzzlement, "But why do you want to do this... abandon your privileges, even those of your descendants, just to bury your own group... Alright, it sounds quite noble, but why do you want to do it?"

From Amber’s always unreliable demeanor, Gawain saw a rare seriousness. He couldn’t help but smile, raising his hand to point at the rapidly developing city: "Tell me, this city or the old land aristocracy’s castle, which do you prefer?"

"Of course, here," Amber answered without hesitation, "I know those castles; though grand-looking, living inside isn’t as good as a workers’ dormitory here—not even running water or heating. And the outside of castles is worse, dirty and stinky, freezing people to death indoors."

"That’s the first reason, I hope to live in a better world. Only a stronger, more advanced, more progressive society can build such a city, and even more advanced cities than this. In this respect, the old aristocratic order has reached its limit; they can’t create the powerful, advanced world I demand, so I’ll create one myself."

Amber blinked: "Is there a second reason?"

"The second reason is because this world is not safe. The Typhon Empire has surpassed us; South holds the threat of wastelands. Now we are dealing with Anzu’s civil war. Against these challenges, gaining strength is the sole path to survival," Gawain, for the first time, articulated the initial and most crucial reason for forging a new order. He didn’t expect Amber to be the first listener, yet, seeing her rarely serious demeanor, he continued, "We must strengthen rapidly and efficiently, ensuring our survival globally. No previous path humanity has taken achieved this, so I must carve a new one. When change is necessary to avoid death, why hold onto the old order? Factually, it seems this new path is right."

"Even if you’re right..." Amber pouted, "But you haven’t answered my previous question—without the old land aristocracy, can you ensure the Administrative Office you’ve built won’t someday corrupt? If they someday formed a new... group, then..."

"From the very start, I’ve been committed to allowing magical powers to be controlled by ordinary people," Gawain interrupted Amber before she could finish. "Can you guess why I’ve been emphasizing that every segment of the entire magical industry, from research to manufacturing to use, should ultimately function independently of Transcendents?"

Amber’s eyes widened, leaving her momentarily speechless.

Gawain smiled slightly, offering no further explanation on the topic.

From the beginning, he’d known that the "new order" he was building was destined to have hidden dangers, and that the transformation he was making to this world would inevitably be incomplete.

Not only because tradition and inertia would obstruct change, but also because the level of public awareness and the reality of productive forces would limit it. He simply couldn’t forcibly establish a perfect social order on a shaky societal foundation— even if he succeeded, it would be no more than a fleeting utopia, and this kind of utopia that ultimately compromises with the forces of production would be incapable of resisting the chaotic wave.

He could only advance society as far as possible with the existing productive forces, in an extreme way, moving it forward as much as it could be moved, and in this process, he had to allow for the existence of those dangers and flaws—in fact, one of the biggest flaws in this new order even originates from himself: to ensure that the new order doesn’t spiral out of control and to maintain societal development at peak efficiency, guaranteeing Cecil’s indomitability against future chaotic waves, he had to ensure maximal centralization of power. He needed to consolidate the greatest authority in his own hands, or rather, the hands of the Administrative Office he controlled, and this... was a danger.

This hidden danger would not erupt during his lifetime, and possibly not within one or two generations after his death (assuming his peculiar life state indeed has a lifespan limit), but eventually, it would erupt.

Therefore, from the start, Gawain orchestrated a "corrective path" for his "new order," which was a form of "magical power" completely controllable by mortals.

He remembered hearing a phrase in his previous life: society develops in a spiral. Whether this statement was absolutely correct, he wasn’t certain, but it held some truth. However, in this world where transcendental forces existed, society couldn’t even manage a spiral development—once transcendental power formed, it almost permanently solidified the societal structure, leaving the lower echelons of society with not even a fraction of a capacity to resist. Hence, even if the upper echelons became grotesquely corrupt, society would continue to degrade into darkness, and "magic guide technology" was the fierce beast Gawain groomed to break this stalemate.

He might not be able to establish the most advanced social order in one fell swoop because that was a castle in the air, but he could empower future ordinary people to overturn the table.

From the beginning, the "Cecil new order" wasn’t his greatest achievement; "transcendental power reverting to mortals" was.

The former allowed him to create the Cecil Empire, while the latter enabled ordinary people to overthrow the Cecil Empire.

However, the complexity and sensational nature of these concepts seemed to even intimidate the most carefree, like Amber, so he couldn’t continue explaining.

Therefore, he simply patted the somewhat dazed half-elf lady: "Let’s go, let’s have a chat with Pittman."

...

In the city of St. Soniel, at Silver Castle.

The study where Francis II once worked at his desk has now been cleaned out.

Veronica Moen stepped into this place once ravaged by flames. Everything scorched has been cleared away, but the bare stone walls and floor still bear visible traces of smoke and burns.

The Holy Light drifting in the air swept away the dust and lingering ashes. Clad in a white priestess robe, Veronica approached where the desk once stood, bowing her head as if she could still see the old king raising his head and smiling at her from behind the desk.

"What a pity..." the Saint Princess murmured to herself, inaudible to anyone but herself, "you’ve already done well enough..."

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Veronica turned to see Wales Moen, her brother nearly twenty years her senior, standing at the doorway, casting a questioning glance at her: "You’re not at the chapel today?"

"Today is the day to return to the castle," Veronica slightly bowed her head, "Father usually met me here."

Sorrow flitted across Wales Moen’s features. He glanced at his sister standing in the center of the study and shook his head softly: "Everything’s either burnt or moved out."

"I know," Veronica replied softly, walking steadily toward the doorway. As she passed by Wales, she asked, "Have you already gone to war with Edmund?"

"It’s the royal family against the Eastern Territory Rebels."

"You now represent the royal family, my brother."

"...Yes, I have declared war on Edmund," Wales Moen looked at his brilliant sister, always unsure of what she was thinking, as he was when she was little, and even more so now. "Does this have anything to do with the Holy Light Church?"

"The church only enacts the will of the Lord and doesn’t meddle in royal power," Veronica shook her head, "I just wanted to remind you as family, some bad news has been coming from the South lately."

"...There have been some reports from Rocky Ridges Fortress, but Duke Baldwin believes the threat from the Eastern Territory Rebels is greater."

"...Perhaps that’s true," Veronica locked eyes with Wales, then gently shook her head, "I just wanted to remind you. The founding ancestor is not as harmless as you imagine, he has unleashed a beast, and you had better not wait until that beast grows."

Veronica walked away, and the reassuring warmth in the air gradually faded. In the now-empty study, Wales Moen continued to gaze in the direction of Veronica’s departure.

Only after a long while did he shake his head: "What use is it for me to say anything?"