Chapter 426: The Living Fortress

Within a single day of the royal family’s annihilation, a declaration bearing the joint signatures of the four border dukes spread from the royal capital of Aleisterre to every corner of the realm. Delivered by the Nightblades and soldiers under the dukes’ command, the sealed letters reached even the most remote mountain villages, leaving no pocket of the kingdom untouched.

The declaration laid bare the misdeeds of the royal house over the past years, while announcing that the authority to reconstitute the monarchy would henceforth be exercised jointly by the four border dukes. Until a new ruler was chosen, governance of Aleisterre would fall to a council composed of those four alone.

A special passage addressed the victims of the kingdom’s experiments, informing them that if they still lived—wandering or in hiding—they need no longer run. The four dukes promised them protection and aid.

Other sections outlined sweeping legal reforms. Most notable among them were the revisions to noble privilege: hereditary estates would remain, but all exemptions, and especially tax immunity, would be abolished. In fact, taxes would henceforth scale sharply with the size of one’s holdings.

Between the lines lingered a quiet menace: a warning to the nobility not to test the council’s patience. The fate of the royal family was proof enough. Should anyone attempt to resist or rally protest in defense of privilege, they would be dealt with just as swiftly.

No one knew what the nobles truly felt, whether they breathed a sigh of relief that the reckoning had stopped short of total confiscation, or whether they gnashed their teeth over the curtailing of their long-held power.

For the common folk, however, it was unmistakably good news. The old, aristocrat-leaning laws of Aleisterre had left ordinary citizens without standing or rights; barring a few prodigies strong enough to force respect, most people spent their lives beneath the boot of noble whim.

In the royal capital, newsboys dashed through streets and alleys, waving freshly printed papers and shouting the day’s great headline: “Breaking news! The secret crimes of the royal family exposed! The four border dukes form a ruling council! New laws announced—read all about it!”

Curiosity swept the streets. The people had already heard of the palace’s destruction, but learning it was not foreign invasion rekindled their wonder. They scrummaged through their pockets for coin, until the boys shouted again: “No charge today! The editors say these events concern us all. The paper’s on them! Just remember to keep supporting the Capital Daily!”

That sealed it. Who didn’t want free newspapers? Even those who couldn’t read took copies home to line tables or start fires.

Within hours, the papers spread through the city like wildfire. Wagonloads were already rumbling toward the outer provinces to deliver more.

Each edition carried a slightly different focus. The capital’s readers had witnessed the palace’s explosion firsthand; elsewhere, the news would take days to sink in.

“Taxes reduced—ha! That’s something. Oh, and it says we don’t have to bow to nobles anymore? Hm, maybe best wait and see. My old man said they promised that once before, and look how that turned out. Still, no harm in hoping… Wait, what’s this bit here?”

In shops and taverns, in carpenters’ stalls and bakery queues, people murmured over the printed words, muttering disbelief or cautious optimism.

In a world without networks, rumor and ink were the only conduits of truth—and ink could lie just as easily as tongues.

“…”

A broad-shouldered middle-aged porter trudged home through the dusk, a free newspaper tucked under one arm. Reading it by the dim light of a street lamp, he frowned in silence. Some of what it said struck far too close to home. His mind whispered doubts, yet his hands trembled faintly with something like hope.

He folded the paper with care and slid it into his coat pocket, carrying it back to his modest lodging near the city wall, a wooden house wedged between crumbling stone buildings, tidy despite its age.

Inside, two youths were finishing up a meal of roasted potatoes before heading out for their own shift. He handed them the paper.

“Since when can we afford newspapers?” one asked, half-laughing.

“It’s free,” the porter replied. “Here, read this part. Tell me if it sounds true to you.”

“Free! What’s there to see?”

“…”

The younger man wiped his hands and leaned closer. As his eyes scanned the column, his face stilled, the potato forgotten midway to his mouth.

“Hard to say,” he murmured after a moment. “Could be real, could be bait. But it’s the first time in all these years they’ve dared to talk about it openly… and it sounds like it’s not just us.”

The older man nodded slightly. “They say the victims can come forward and seek help. What do you make of that?”

The youth hesitated. “Uncle… do you remember why we came to the capital? If they already know about us, what if this is a trap to draw us out and finish the job?”

The man’s gaze hardened, voice quiet but sure. “Do you really think we’re worth the trouble? Would they do all this to erase a few broken souls like us?”

The middle-aged man’s tone was calm, almost detached. The younger man fell silent and lowered his gaze. After spending so long in the capital, he had come to understand how insignificant people like them truly were. With mediocre talent, scarce resources, and no power to even approach those lofty figures, much less make them pay for what they had done…

If it were otherwise, they wouldn’t still be living in this miserable district by the city walls. Simple as the older man’s words had sounded, they were true.

“Ah…” The youth sighed. “It says here they’ll rebuild the slums. Let’s see if that’s real first. If it is, maybe the rest of it’s real too. We’re… not worth plotting against, after all.”

He picked up the half-eaten potato, finished it in a few quick bites, then slung his worn cloth bag over his shoulder. Together with the silent youth beside him, he stepped out into the dim alley. Whatever the world was becoming, dinner still had to be earned. On an empty stomach, no one could afford dreams.

“Time will tell,” the middle-aged man murmured.

He stared down at the paper again. The eternal fire that had burned in his chest for so many years, smoldering with anger, pain, and helplessness, seemed, at last, to cool by a single degree.

Elsewhere, another voice echoed the same sentiments. “Let them take their time to watch and see. After so many years of the royal family’s cruelty, it’s only natural the victims would struggle to believe change is real. They’ll need time to accept it.”

Within the mindscape of the Seed of Eden, Charles sipped his coffee as he spoke to Edward across the wide table. The paper in his hand was the same one circulating through the capital. Its inked words had become the topic of the day.

Edward nodded, glancing around the immense inner space surrounding them. At some point, the Seed of Eden had expanded into a cube over a hundred meters on each side, a boundless, shimmering chamber capable of holding more than any vault or hall of the material world.

“Indeed,” Edward said. “Let’s hope they come to trust us soon.”

“Right. On another front, those freed from the Church of Nightfall have begun resettling in Aleisterre,” Charles continued. “Space isn’t an issue. People are. Much of Aleisterre’s land still lies undeveloped, and the old territory of Selwyn could be put to use as well.”

He drained his cup in one swallow before continuing.

“Selwyn’s decline stemmed mostly from the cold and the trade blockades Aleisterre imposed. It was a slow strangulation. But beneath all that ice and snow lies an abundance of ore, and that’s exactly what Aleisterre’s magitech industry needs right now.”

“Agreed,” Edward said, tracing a new line on the map between Aleisterre and Selwyn. “Once we open a proper route through the old borderlands, rebuilding the region won’t be difficult.”

“You know more about those frozen lands than I do,” Charles said with a grin. “We’ll do it your way. And taking in members of the Church of Nightfall is better than taking in nameless refugees. At least they’ve been trained and have some foundation, even if not all of them can be trusted.”

He paused, then added with a low chuckle, “And then there are the dragons. Aleisterre will be the first mainland foothold for the dragons of Dragon Isle. That’s thanks to the Professor and Wang Yu. Having beings that powerful in communication with Aleisterre—well, that’s something.”

Charles clicked his tongue softly, half in awe, half in amusement. The kingdom truly was on the rise. With the royal family gone, it was as if the clouds had finally parted and the sun had returned. Both he and Edward knew full well whose efforts had made that possible.

Edward nodded again. “I’m looking forward to it too. Now, about what Wang Yu said, concerning Selene and that so-called ‘utopia.’ He’s still studying Roland’s legacy in the void. We should stay alert. Have you found anything new?”

“A few things,” Charles replied. “If you connect the royal family’s more… unsettling actions, and cross-reference them with intelligence the Nightblades gathered from other kingdoms, you’ll see that these strange anomalies aren’t unique to Aleisterre.”

“My father and the dukes already know,” Edward said gravely. “They’re looking into it as well.”

Meanwhile, in the boundless void, Wang Yu and Avia once again arrived at that strange material domain—Roland’s secret trove.

“Let’s give it a try,” Wang Yu said quietly.

Before them loomed the familiar, square fortress, its walls silent and seamless. Wang Yu extended the power of the Chariot toward it, testing whether he could now break through by sheer force.

“Hm?”

He frowned. The power rebounded, leaving not the faintest mark. The Chariot’s force could not act upon the fortress at all. That kind of resistance only occurred in one situation—

When the target was alive.

In other words, was this fortress… a living being?

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