Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 674 - 673: Coronation

Gawain knows that Miss Melita Ponia must be nearby—how could a dragon responsible for observing the continent’s situation leave her post on the eve of such a historic event?

After concluding the communication, Gawain did not leave the study. He quietly waited behind his desk, his mind dispersing, his keen senses collecting sounds from various nearby places: the attendants were pacing back and forth in nearby rooms, presumably preparing the robes and ornaments needed for the coronation ceremony; the sound of military boots on the ground was coming from downstairs, which should be the guard conducting the last defense adjustment before the ceremony starts; some very faint noise from the direction of the garden outside the castle, probably the commotion Rebecca created...

For today’s ceremony, Aunt Heidi, Rebecca and several officials from the Administrative Office had arrived in the Old Capital from Cecil Castle yesterday. After all, this symbolizes the formal founding of the Empire. Their presence is essential, and to ensure that nothing goes wrong in the southern borders, Gawain arranged for a batch of reliable department heads and deputies to maintain the operation of the Administrative Office and also ordered Soldrin to return to the south to help maintain the security and defense of the southern borders.

The High-Ranked Ranger, who was a friend of Gawain Cecil seven hundred years ago, did not regret having to miss this grand occasion. On the contrary, he happily accepted the order—for an elf, participating in a large human ceremony is truly an ordeal, and being able to have a reason to stay away and earn credit is something Soldrin is genuinely pleased about.

Ten minutes later, a knock came from the door, and the attendant reported that the high-ranking agent from the Mithril Vault had arrived.

"Looks like today will be a grand event," said the veiled agent lady, dressed in a long gown, appearing in front of Gawain with smiling eyes. "The city has been decorated everywhere, almost everyone is eagerly discussing the upcoming coronation ceremony, regardless of whether it’s genuine—I saw hundreds of nobles gathered in the hall of Silver Castle, looking up at the Cecil Clan emblem, moved to tears."

"Whether they are moved makes no difference to me, as long as they cooperate actively during the signing," Gawain said casually, "many lives have already been lost on Raven Plateau, and I do not intend to bring more people to decorate streetlights."

"Don’t be so harsh on them, they are already working hard to cooperate with your decrees," Melita laughed and came to the desk. "So, the thing you want to safeguard?"

Gawain picked up the freshly completed manuscript, but before handing it to Melita, he inquired: "Can the Mithril Vault preserve everything and handle the items strictly according to the client’s requirements?"

"’Everything’ is an exaggerated term; even dragons cannot keep everything in the world. But considering the level of human development, you can indeed believe that we can safeguard everything you entrust to us, and we are capable of handling them according to your requirements."

"Then can you preserve knowledge and, when I request, disseminate that knowledge?"

Melita’s expression under the veil seemed to freeze for an instant. She noticed that Gawain used a particularly special term and couldn’t help but speak softly: "Disseminate... that’s indeed an interesting request. But I believe you can rest assured—if the price is right, we don’t mind starting new business, and theoretically, the dragonkin’s long lifespan and high intelligence are enough to accomplish your request, even if you ask us to spread some knowledge across the entire continent, it might not take longer than the time it takes for a young dragon to complete a mature tour."

Then she paused for a moment before continuing: "But considering the uniqueness of this commission, I need to confirm the specific content of the knowledge you provide before quoting you a price. But rest assured, with the position and status you are about to acquire, the price will definitely be reasonable."

Gawain nodded, then glanced again at the manuscript in his hand, his face showing some thoughtful hesitation, as if it were a matter worth pondering greatly. Only after a full minute did he take a deep breath, handing the manuscript to Melita, saying: "This is the entire content."

"The entire content? This is less than I imagined... I thought you would give me a whole library..." Melita took the manuscript and casually flipped through the first few pages without yet delving into the content, raising her eyebrows, "Seems to describe social operations?"

"You can take some time to look at it thoroughly and give me a quote after the coronation ceremony," Gawain said, "Let’s talk about the specifics of the commission at that time as well."

Melita’s tone rose: "Oh? Then I will have to take a good look..."

...

On the castle’s first floor, in the hall of ceremony, the Ritual Officers were nervously confirming all the steps. The attendants and Honor Guard were repeatedly confirming what they needed to do, and a gray-haired Palace Advisor checked the long list in his hands, his forehead slightly glistening with sweat.

Aunt Heidi, who had completed a rehearsal of the ceremony, noticed the advisor’s nervousness and couldn’t help stepping forward to comfort him: "Mr. Brenden, please relax—the entire process is already flawless."

"Ah, Grand Governor! Thank you for your concern, but I dare not relax," the Palace Advisor saw Aunt Heidi, saluted and paid respects, then said solemnly, "I have been a Palace Scholar for most of my life, familiar with all ceremonial norms, but now I hold a completely new process. His Majesty not only abolished the subject’s kneeling and kissing the ground rites but also removed the crown and added salutes, marching phalanxes, and new military music—I dare not allow any mishap in these things, which would bring shame to my family’s honor."

Aunt Heidi smiled gently and shook her head: "No one will be shamed today, today is a day of glory."

She turned around, raised her head, and looked at the end of the hall at the dark blue draperies hanging from the high dome to the wall—the pale golden threads on those draperies depicted the Sword and Plough Emblem, which made people ponder the significance behind the emblem: guarding and expanding, with weapons carving out a living space for humans in dark times, proliferating on the land through labor.

It was as if it were just yesterday, the glorious emblem still hung in the dilapidated old castle of the Cecil Clan, the territory withering, the family at the end of its road. She and Rebecca struggled to maintain the livelihood of the territory, and apart from re-experiencing a sense of glory when flipping through those moldy old books, she dared not even imagine what the old castle would look like if all its lights were lit.

How would she dare imagine back then that this emblem would one day hang on the walls of Silver Castle?

Footsteps came from behind, Aunt Heidi turned around and saw Victoria, dressed in a white court gown with her silver hair styled high. The Northern Duchess nodded to her: "Lady Heidi, you look radiant today."

This was a rather cliché greeting and pleasantry, but considering the cold demeanor of the Northern Duchess, familiar people knew it was the maximum enthusiasm and goodwill she could show. Aunt Heidi smiled: "You are too, as beautiful as ice and snow in winter."

"Today is a big day," Victoria said calmly, "Duke Baldwin and I will ensure everything proceeds smoothly."

Aunt Heidi took in the hall with her gaze. Besides the team from the southern borders, there were many faces she did not recognize: the nobility remaining in the royal capital, selected representatives of the church, knights, and a variety of other figures.

Maintaining this order, naturally, were the familiar Victoria and Duke Baldwin.

"I hope these people will keep their eyes wide open today," Aunt Heidi said softly, "Signing is better than execution."

"They will," Victoria’s cold voice came from beside her, "those who don’t sign... will not be present here."

In a corner of the hall, Duke Baldwin Franklin took out a mechanical watch from his pocket and glanced at the scale on it.

"It’s about time."

...

The time was almost up.

On the vast plaza outside Silver Castle, countless citizens, merchants, and even ordinary people from the Outer City District had already gathered. In the viewing areas separated by the castle guards and Cecil Clan warriors, crowds buzzed, packed so tightly they seemed impenetrable.

The area on the plaza where people could stand was already full, while the open area closer to Silver Castle was guarded by soldiers. Countless people who didn’t get a good spot had to gather further away, climbing onto the roofs along the plaza’s edge, and even scaling nearby towers, street lamps, and flagpoles. This forced the patrolling soldiers to repeatedly approach the crowds, using amplification magic to drive those in dangerous positions down from the heights.

Those who lived near the plaza were exceptionally fortunate today, even renting out their windowsills and rooftops at premium prices. Surprisingly, many were willing to pay, and almost all good spots were snatched up within half a day...

The giant sun gradually rose. Mages cast spells in advance to disperse the clouds around St. Soniel, and brilliant sunlight began to bathe the entire city. The crowds around the plaza pressed together and swayed, with countless eyes fixed on the direction of Silver Castle. Finally, loud shouts arose suddenly from the front end of the crowd:

"Someone’s coming out!" "There’s a figure on the second-floor balcony!" "The main door is opening!"

Accompanied by the heavy clanking sound of iron chains, the main door of Silver Castle slowly opened halfway. A cavalry troop formed a line and emerged from the door. Those valiant soldiers wore novel magic armor, their helmets gleaming bright, flags flying clearly, and a long red carpet rolled out from inside the castle, extending all the way to the end of the drawbridge.

The crowd on the plaza suddenly became restless, everyone craning their necks toward the direction of the castle’s main door. According to traditional etiquette, the monarch would soon appear through that door to receive the subjects’ homage, followed by the ritual officer and Regent Duke declaring the monarch’s legitimacy and the transfer of royal power. For many commoners, this was almost their only chance in life to see royal family members—worth boasting about for around half a year thereafter.

Yet, people did not see the monarch appear in the castle. They only saw a group of knights stationed at the entrance, blocking the way to the inner courtyard of the castle. Before confusion spread among the crowd, a powerful and resonant voice suddenly came from above, spreading across the entire plaza with the help of amplification magic:

"Attention everyone! First Infantry Phalanx, forward—march!!"

Many were startled by the sudden voice, and the crowds around the plaza stirred slightly in agitation. In the next moment, another peculiar sound reached their ears—a sound initially similar to the shuffling of pebbles, orderly and rhythmic. Soon, the sound grew louder, and it pounded like a drum beat upon their nerves.

People finally saw what was making the sound—

It was soldiers, fully armed soldiers, formed into a phalanx.

People craned their necks, widened their eyes, and watched the scene unfold on the plaza with a hint of bewilderment. They saw row upon row of soldiers appear in perfectly orderly formation, each soldier wearing identical armor and holding identical gear, as if stamped out from the same mold. They saw the leading officer with a sharp sword and the first row of soldiers hoist flags high, while the rest marched in a uniform, astonishingly rhythmic step. That well-ordered, rhythmic sound was actually the sound of their boots hitting the ground!

Having grown accustomed to the undisciplined private soldiers of the aristocracy, and the assorted armaments under the ’self-supplied equipment’ system of the Anzu Kingdom’s military, such a sight was inconceivable to everyone on the plaza, even nearing eerie and intimidating—who knew human alignment could be like this?

As the infantry phalanx appeared, some sharp-eyed individuals finally saw some movement within the castle’s main door.

The knights stepped aside in orderly fashion, opening the door to the castle courtyard completely. A towering object, emitting a faint glow, slowly began to emerge from inside, but people couldn’t quite discern what it was.

A moment later, they glimpsed what that thing was—

A giant skull, chilling to behold, was advancing forward.

It was mounted on a large vehicle driven by magic, the skull nearly eclipsing the vehicle. Its crystalline bones glimmered faintly, and its hollow eye sockets seemed to harbor a powerful soul within. People couldn’t imagine what sort of mighty creature had left this enormous skull behind, but just by sighting its pale surface, they felt a visceral sense of awe and reverence—though this mighty being had long perished, only the skull remained.

Gawain stood atop this skull, positioned on a platform of iron that pierced through the skull. He wore somber black formal attire, no crown on his head, yet gripped a Longsword in hand, a diamond brooch fastened on his chest, sparkling in the sun scattered by the giant sun.

Beside the iron platform, two metal structures resembling wings reached out, with fabric adorned with the Sword and Plough Emblem hanging from the wing tips down to near the ground.

The giant skull halted steadily at the drawbridge’s end as several escort chariots followed, lining up alongside the skull.

Gawain gazed down upon the plaza from the other side of the drawbridge, as the infantry phalanx arrived before him almost simultaneously.

A resonant voice erupted across the plaza:

"Halt!"

The infantry phalanx abruptly stopped, producing almost only a singular sound of military boots hitting the ground.

"Draw swords!"

Numerous Melting Swords were simultaneously unsheathed, sword blades pointing forward, uniformly positioned before every soldier’s left side.

"Light the blades—"

"Salute to His Majesty!!"

(Requesting monthly tickets! (in resonant voice))