Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 691 - 690: Survival Node

The two young dragonkin left, leaving a large circular room with only an ancient dragon who had achieved mechanical immortality and many machines accompanying him.

Among the pleasant humming sound from various devices in the room, the golden dragon Andar slightly moved his head, assisted by hundreds of alloy joints and electronic neural bundles to complete this simple action. His gaze turned to a crystal curtain in front of him, and a deep voice, almost like self-talk, came from the speaker next to the platform: "What do you think about this matter?"

The crystal curtains around the platform simultaneously stopped refreshing data and images. Flowing light points quickly combined into clear images. The powerful dragonkin appeared on those thin display mediums—some maintained dragon forms, others appeared human, some performed complete mechanical or electronic transformations like Andar, while others were young and natural.

These council elders seemed to have been following the happenings in this room, and as soon as Andar’s words fell, a blue dragon immediately responded: "The development route and degree of change of this season’s civilization do indeed surpass the past, but we cannot determine their final outcome. Given Talronde’s special situation, we can only take a watchful stance."

"We have been watching for hundreds of thousands of years, and many civilizations that initially had some hope perished under our watchfulness," another dragon could not help but speak. "Perhaps this time we should take some active measures."

"The lesson from the chaos of the Inversion Tide warns us that our active actions could lead to greater backlash..."

The chaos from the Inversion Tide seemed forever like a sword hanging above the heads of the dragonkin. As the term was spoken, even Speaker Andar squinted slightly.

And amid the brief silence, another elder broke the stillness: "The elves of the Silver Empire once reached a technological threshold, and their greatest influence, the God of Nature, has fallen. I believe the Silver Empire is the most noteworthy of all variables..."

"But the elves have the same defect as ourselves; they find it hard to break through that lock... their average lifespan is too long."

Listening to the council members, Andar only slightly closed his eyes and remained silent until the surrounding discussions gradually died down. He then opened his eyes and glanced forward: "Omega, what is your assessment of the Silver Empire?"

The room fell silent for a moment, and a crystal curtain in front of Andar suddenly dimmed. Then a constantly breaking and reforming circular image appeared on the display medium with a mechanized synthetic voice: "...Zero point three-three percent, Andar."

"And what about the newly established Cecil Empire?"

"Insufficient data, unable to assess at this time, Andar."

"What was the highest evaluation value of the Gondor Empire?"

"Querying historical data... Zero point four-two percent."

Andar expressed his gratitude and after Omega’s data connection returned to standby mode, this ancient dragon lifted his eyes and looked around.

"It’s still too early to discuss the final assessment, friends. Whether the Silver Empire or Cecil Empire, to become a ’variable,’ they must first survive."

As Andar spoke, images of recent times concerning the shifting situations of various nations on the Loren Continent flashed through his mind.

A newly born Cecil Empire urgently needing recuperation and a Typhon Empire developed to a critical stage, urgently seeking to break through bottlenecks.

Outside Talronde, the world continues to change, with human-dominated lands experiencing dynasty shifts and nation changes. In this era of fierce turmoil and change, can the newborn nation survive? Or will it become fodder for another grand empire...

...

At the borders of the Cecil Empire, Longwind Fortress, Commander Maryland led his most trusted deputy to the military camp area on the south side of the castle area.

Several teams of new recruits were training in formation on the open ground outside the castle. These farmers conscripted from fields were gathered by the instructors on an open field, executing the most basic commands from dawn till dusk—lining up neatly, marching in formation, stopping, looking left or right, turning, marching again—for hours of training, repeating day after day.

Training them were instructors from the Cecil Legion in the southern borders, who experienced the most stringent battlefield tests on the Plains of the Holy Spirits, but here they faced another kind of test: poorly disciplined and illiterate conscription soldiers from the Duke of the East, slower than stones, unable even to distinguish left from right, let alone understand instructor commands. Having them march in formation was a test for everyone involved—including the soldiers undergoing training, the instructors conducting the training, and even veteran soldiers and other unit commanders watching from the sidelines.

Yet the instructors had abundant patience and effective measures: in an era of extreme poverty for these low-level farmers, rewards like an egg or a bowl of meat porridge were enough to make those dull conscripted soldiers train diligently throughout the day. Various simplified commands and clumsy methods to remember commands allowed illiterate soldiers to quickly grasp the commander’s intentions. As Maryland passed the training grounds, he saw a team of soldiers standing on a narrow dirt slope, with the instructor holding a long bamboo pole and shouting left and right commands beside it—

When the command "left" was shouted, the pole would strike from the left side of the slope; when "right" was shouted, the pole would strike from the other side. Lifting the leg according to instructions would avoid the strike, while soldiers who couldn’t distinguish the commands would embarrassingly roll down, being knocked around all day. By the next day, they would understand left and right.

If banging around for one day doesn’t work, then it’s two days; if two days don’t work, then it’s three.

The method is clumsy but effective, and under the premise that most soldiers are illiterate, it’s practically the most effective means.

And those soldiers who had undergone about a week’s training clearly performed much better than the newly arrived conscripts. They could at least keep walking in a straight line for one or two laps, and when stopping and lining up, they almost never collided into one another—this simple, poor standard might seem laughable to a veteran of the Cecil clan, but Maryland knew what these conscripts looked like when they first arrived. He also knew how difficult it was to get a group of illiterate soldiers to understand the commands "march" and "halt." To him, the new soldiers capable of walking in a straight line were already a miracle.

He saw instructors taking the newly trained soldiers who were able to line up neatly and parading them at the edge of the drill field, making them walk proudly past the conscripted soldiers still training "left" and "right." Each member of the former’s group raised their head high because they were wearing neat cloth training uniforms, which seemed to give these new recruits a kind of incredible sense of pride.

The initial sense of honor was established in the unified uniforms and the debut on the training ground.

These neat, tidy, and stylish deep blue cloth training uniforms were recently distributed. While ordinary fabric doesn’t offer battlefield protection like enchanted metal, the imperial insignia on the training clothes and the "sense of unity" from the uniform is enough to inspire the soldiers on the training ground. Even if we set aside these aspects, for most conscription soldiers from poor farming households, being able to join the army and receive a sturdy and beautiful new outfit is already a great boon. It’s important to know that, under normal circumstances, a poor farmer may not have new clothes to wear for an entire year.

Maryland heard from Sir Philip that these uniforms were quite inexpensive. Part of the fabric used to make them comes from the textile mills in the southern borders, while another part comes from Typhon. With the push of industrial production, once expensive fabrics and their products have already become cheap. Within two years, more textile and clothing factories will open up across the Duke of the East (because the East has vast cotton fields), making cheap ready-made clothes a thing that everyone on this land can own, just as what has already happened in the southern borders.

"At least, these new recruits already have a certain ’bearing’," Maryland said to the person beside him after walking through the training ground, "so when they stand on the city walls, they look like soldiers, rather than just a bunch of farmers who’ve just swapped pitchforks for swords and spears."

"The new training manual truly helps new recruits grasp basic discipline in the shortest time, but a ’bearing’ is ultimately just a facade. It’s uncertain whether it’ll intimidate the Typhon," the adjutant nearby said. "The prior ’reinforcement’ action did produce some effect, but it might have also aroused Typhon’s suspicion. Recently, they have been sending spies frequently, operating around the fortress, seemingly trying to investigate further."

"It doesn’t matter, our plans have more than one step..."

Maryland shook his head with a smile and left the training grounds with his trusted aides. He returned to his private room in the castle, and after dismissing unrelated personnel except for the adjutant, he activated his dedicated Magic Transmission Terminal...

...

In Cecil Castle, at the Cecil Mechanical Manufacturing Facility, on the central platform playfully nicknamed "Mechanical Throne," the rotund Nicholas Egg floats at the center of his domain, happily assembling various structures demanded by the blueprints, manipulating a whole bunch of floating components around him. The sound of various machine tools and ancient magical devices running surrounds him, what seems like noise to ordinary ears is akin to some melodious music to him, making the sphere feel delighted.

The topics most often discussed by mechanical scholars and Mage Technicians in the manufacturing facility recently are the establishment of the Empire and the impressive coronation ceremony. Townspeople also discuss recent market changes and news on the broadcasts. Yet, Nicholas Egg, evidently uninterested in these matters compared to his interest in machines and metal, indulges more in the new blueprints sent by Minister Rebecca concerning aircraft, and the construction plans for the second armored train "Iron Throne - Mundane Python." To him, nothing seems more interesting than interacting with metal and machines.

An unexpected communication, however, interrupted his pleasant work plans for the day—a mechanical scholar dressed in a work uniform rushed to the Mechanical Throne, shouting loudly, "Director! It’s your Magic Web Communication! From Longwind Fortress!!"

Nicholas Egg murmured a few somewhat gloomy words, and the surrounding floating metal components slowly settled on the ground. As he floated down the round platform, he instructed his assistant beside him, "Don’t mess with these things, I’ll come back to continue."

Leaving the bustling workshop, Nicholas Egg entered the silent communication room, where the Magic Web Terminal flickered with dim light at the center of the room, and the image of Commander Maryland of Longwind Fortress appeared in the holographic projection.

Seeing this commander who had been previously hurrying him for orders, the metal-ball alien greeted actively, "Oh, Maryland—the Iron Throne is repaired, but you’ll have to wait until the rail is paved to get it over to you."

"I know, I didn’t come to press for the Iron Throne," the fortress commander said with a smile in the holographic projection, "I’m here for a new order."

"An order?" The large metal sphere floated lightly in mid-air, "What kind of order?"

"Place an order for a batch of magic-conducting armor and combat backpacks, along with matching Melting Swords and Magic Transmission Terminals, delivered within five days."

"Oh, sounds not too difficult, how much do you need?"

"Seven to eight thousand sets, perhaps even twelve thousand sets if possible..."

Nicholas Egg shook a bit, almost dropping on the ground: "Darn it, I’m ready to do a vertical jump and crack your skull, alright!! Are you bored staring eye to eye with Typhon and want to tease the sphere?!"

"I haven’t finished," Maryland hurriedly interrupted, "I’m seeking ’custom-made.’"

"Custom-made? How so?"

"As far as I know, the most complex and time-consuming processes in producing magic-conducting armor and matching magical infantry should be inscribing magic symbols and embedding crystals, am I correct?"

"Hmm... pretty much," Nicholas Egg calmed from the previous shock, and upon realizing the fortress commander on the opposite side was not joking, he also began to think seriously, "Besides, there’s also the alignment structure adjustments and tests, and concerning the Magic Transmission Terminal, the assembly of internal movable mechanical structure is also a time-consuming part, which is still largely reliant on manual completion."

"Then what if we’re just making a shell? No magic symbols, no embedded crystals, no internal mechanical structures..."

"Then it would be just stamped metal plates!"

Maryland smiled, nodding vigorously: "It can be even simpler, using sheet metal formed in one go is okay, even blemished products prepared for remelting are fine, even if the quality is so poor that it needs wire to hold together, I want them."

"...What are you planning?" Nicholas Egg showed a bewildered expression (though his spherical surface still looks comical), "Hang on, did your superiors approve this order?"

"I’ve submitted an application to my superiors, you should receive the message by this evening. As for my plans..." Maryland smiled slightly, "I plan to have a thousand troops stationed at the mighty pass..."

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