Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 995: Chapter 994: The Undercurrents of the Dark Side

A series of astonishing things are happening in this imperial capital with a two-hundred-year history—some people are being purged, some mistakes corrected, some abandoned plans are being restarted, some people leave their homes and disappear from this world, while others suddenly receive secret orders, activated like seeds dormant for ten years and begin to move again...

And all of this is shrouded in the especially dense and long-lasting fog of the Fog Month in Typhon 739.

Earl Dule stands in his family’s mansion, on the third-floor balcony, looking out through the wide crystal glass windows at the foggy street outside. Today’s fog has slightly cleared, allowing him to see the scene across the street—the spire and porch of the St. Jerome War God Cathedral stand amidst the fog, but on this day usually reserved for worship, there are no civilians lingering in front of the cathedral.

The most daring civilians stop dozens of meters away from the church doors, wearing expressions of timid fear as they watch what is happening on the street.

About a large platoon’s worth of Obsidian Imperial Guard and numerous Wandering Battle Mages in black robes are gathering in front of the church doors. Scattered soldiers can also be seen near the small paths around the church and various hidden intersections. Earl Dule watches as the commander of the Imperial Guard platoon orders someone to open the church doors—the priests inside evidently do not cooperate, but after an unfriendly "exchange," the iron-black doors are forcibly breached.

The fully armed Obsidian Imperial Guard and Mages charge inside.

Some onlookers in the distance express shock, some hold their breath, while some, possibly followers of the War God, display pained expressions, cursing and shouting loudly, yet no one dares step forward beyond the barrier formed by soldiers and Mages.

The chaos continues for some time. Even though at a distance, Earl Dule can sense more than one intense Dark Wave transpiring in the church. He sees some flashes in the dark doorway, making him instinctively clutch the button on his chest—then, the flashes, noises, and Dark Wave inside the church all cease. He watches as those who just entered begin to orderly withdraw, some injured, while others escort a dozen or more War God priests, dressed in priest robes, out.

The gathering of civilians becomes more agitated. This time, a soldier finally steps forward to quell the disturbance, and another points towards the church entrance—Earl Dule sees that the commander of the Imperial Guard is the last to emerge from the church, a tall burly man seemingly shouldering something wet. When he steps outside and drops the object on the ground, Earl Dule vaguely discerns what it is.

It is a mass of already rotten, evidently mutated flesh. Even with the thin fog, he can see the writhing tentacles around the flesh and the grotesque faces emerging from the blood rot.

The crowd cries out in terror, and a Mage begins loudly announcing the search conclusion of the St. Jerome War God Cathedral using amplification magic. Several soldiers step forward and conjure roaring flames with magic orbs, beginning to publicly purify those filthy, terrifying flesh lumps. Earl Dule suddenly feels a strong wave of nausea, covers his mouth, and takes half a step back, yet cannot help but turn his gaze back to the street, watching the bizarre and frightening scene.

The roaring flames have begun to burn, a howl unlike human voices abruptly erupts for a moment, then quickly dissipates.

Seizing malevolent spirits from the church, executing a fiery purification on the street, publicly judging heterodox demons... Earl Dule never imagined he would witness such scenes in his lifetime. In his recollection, such scenes only appeared in history books—back in the days when human civilization was most unstable, the nation yet unsteadily founded, and various dark, depraved, twisted powers still entrenched this land, such things might occur.

Oh, great Typhon, when did you slip into such dire straits?

Earl Dule’s brow furrows, feeling a bit out of breath, reminiscent of the suffocating sensation when the council temporarily shut down. At that time, he thought he had seen the nation at its most perilous, tense moment, but now he finally realizes that the real threat this land faces is lurking much deeper—evidently, the Empire’s rulers are aware of these dangers, which is why they are undertaking this series of actions.

Now, he no longer cares about council affairs; he only hopes the measures His Majesty the Emperor adopts are effective enough, timely enough, in time to drag this country out of the quagmire.

At this moment, footsteps sound from behind, and a familiar presence appears behind Earl Dule. Without turning, he knows it’s an attendant who has served him for many years, so he casually asks, "What’s happening?"

"My lord," the attendant stands two meters away respectfully, though with a tinge of tension in his voice, "Viscount Connellian of No. 16 Maple Leaf Street was taken away this morning...by the Obsidian Imperial Guard..."

A shiver runs through Earl Dule’s fingers as he subconsciously trembles for a split second before exhaling lightly two seconds later: "I see."

"Do you still plan to meet with Count Boren Tullan tomorrow?"

"...Cancel the meeting. I’ll have Doen personally deliver an apology to explain the situation," Earl Dule shakes his head. "Does Galleria know about this?"

The attendant promptly replies, "The lady already knows—she is very worried about her fiancé’s condition, but without your permission, she remains in her room."

"...Let her stay in her room; there is nothing anyone can do about this," Earl Dule closes his eyes briefly, speaking with a slightly complex tone. "Also, tell her, Viscount Connellian will return safely—but there will no longer be a ’Viscount’ Connellian. I will reconsider this engagement, and... never mind, I will talk to her myself afterward."

"Yes, my lord."

Earl Dule nods, and at this moment, his peripheral vision suddenly catches new commotion on the opposite street.

He sees a Black Magic Guided Car approaching from the distant intersection, bearing the emblems of the royal family and the Obsidian Imperial Guard.

An inexplicable tension and panic surges from within, causing Earl Dule to instinctively clench his fist, despite not believing he harbors any blemish or misconduct that would invite trouble during these times. Still, his gaze fixes unblinking on the car—as if etching every contour, every wheel, every piece of crystal glass into his mind—as he watches it approach his mansion gate from the intersection direction.

He feels as if his heart might leap from his chest, his intense focus engendering an illusion that the car has started to decelerate. His ears throb with the pounding sound of blood rushing, and then, he watches the car drive past without slowing, beyond his mansion, heading towards another building.

Not until this moment does Earl Dule realize he hasn’t taken a breath in quite some time, suddenly gasping for air, prompting a fit of violent coughs. The attendant at his back quickly steps forward, patting his back, asking with concern, "My lord, my lord, are you alright?"

"I’m alright, cough cough, I’m fine," Earl Dule says amid coughs while still tracking the Black Magic Guided Car now nearing the fog. After the discomfort subsides slightly, he can’t help but reveal a peculiar smile, "Seems... no one can truly stand in his way this time..."

"Master?" The attendant was somewhat puzzled, "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Earl Dule waved his hand while loosening the buttons on his collar, "Go to the wine cellar, bring me that bottle of Platinum Feis Wine I’ve treasured. I need to calm my nerves..."

...

Hadrian sat in his study within the Obsidian Palace, the scent of incense easing his mind, while the decorative shield hanging on the nearby wall glimmered under the magic crystal lamps. The young commander of the Obsidian Imperial Guard looked at his desk—a list spread out before him on the dark red surface.

"Another name..." he murmured lightly, picking up the pen beside him and heavily crossing out a name, his brow furrowing further with each name crossed off.

A gentle knock on the door suddenly interrupted Hadrian’s thoughts.

The Prince lifted his head, looking toward the door, "Enter."

The door opened, revealing Diana in a black maid’s dress, with long black hair.

"Ah, Lady Diana..." Hadrian couldn’t help but smile at the maidservant supervisor before him, "No wonder I couldn’t sense who was outside... Is there something wrong? Don’t tell me it’s another new list..."

"Yes, Prince Hadrian, this is a new list," Diana nodded faintly, stepping forward to place a magically sealed and solidified document on Hadrian’s desk, "Based on the intelligence gathered by the Wanderers over the years, we’ve finally identified a group of individuals constantly sabotaging the new policies, or have been controlled by the Sect of the God of War, or have colluded with external forces—they still require interrogation, but the results shouldn’t vary much."

"Lists, lists, new lists..." Hadrian took the document with a wry smile, quickly scanning through it, "In fact, even without investigation, I know many of these people would appear here. For over a decade, they’ve tirelessly built their power, eroding the benefits brought by the new policies, this sabotaging behavior is almost out in the open..."

He paused halfway, lingering over a few names with a glance, his mouth twitching.

"Again secretly colluding with the Cecil Clan... Accepted cash or stock bribes, or caught in political traps... In the proud and glamorous ’upper society,’ there certainly are such people."

"There are likely more lines behind these people—yet most of our investigations failed before they even began," Diana said expressionlessly, "Those who contact them are highly alert, all connections can be severed unilaterally, and these bought individuals are merely the end pawns, they don’t even know about each other’s existence, so ultimately we can only catch these insignificant spies."

"I’ve heard of the Cecil Clan’s Intelligence Agency, and their ’intelligence operatives’... We’ve already had a few encounters with them," Hadrian said indifferently, "Indeed, a troublesome opponent, more challenging than the Highmountain Kingdom’s spies and the Shadow Brotherhood, and I believe what you said, these are just those exposed, there will be more who remain undisclosed—otherwise, they wouldn’t deserve the name of that Intelligence Agency."

Saying this, he set the list aside.

"I’ll personally handle this part of the aristocratic list, every name here should fetch a good price at the negotiation table."

Diana nodded, silently stepping back half a step: "Then I’ll take my leave."

In the next moment, her figure vanished from the room.

Hadrian blinked, looking at the still open door, muttered helplessly, "At least close the door..."

His voice hadn’t faded when a familiar voice came from the corridor outside: "That’s because she saw me coming this way."

The next moment, a tall figure in a black court gown entered the study, smiling and nodding at Hadrian, "Looks like you’re swamped with work."

Hadrian glanced at the unexpected visitor, Matilda, surprised, "Why are you showing up now? Shouldn’t you be dealing with those restless aristocratic representatives and the merchants who can’t remain calm?"

"Already dealt with—appeasing their emotions doesn’t take me more than two hours," Matilda said casually, "So I came to check on your situation, but it seems like your work here will take quite a long time to finish?"

"Lady Diana just brought me a new list," Hadrian glanced up, the deep eyes inherited from Emperor Rosetta Augustus carrying a hint of fatigue and helplessness, "All must be dealt with."

Matilda’s gaze fell on Hadrian’s desk, then she shifted her view.

Hadrian glanced at his sister, seemingly casually, "If you’re looking for information about Andresha, then I suggest you find Lady Diana—the Wanderers are far more informed in intelligence than I am. However, I doubt she’d have more detailed information either, as our West line intelligence network is hindered, and the Cecil Clan controls information related to Andresha very tightly. We only have some public information... She is alive, living well, the Cecil Clan hasn’t mistreated her and other defected soldiers. I think you can be somewhat at ease."

"I know, even from the perspective of political interests, the Cecil Clan would treat ’important hostages’ like Andresha well, I’m not concerned about that," Matilda said, couldn’t help but press her brows, then glared slightly at Hadrian, "But I’m very displeased with your casual guessing of my thoughts."

"Ha, my mistake," Hadrian immediately raised his hands, then looked at Matilda seriously once more, "Indeed, I shouldn’t guess your thoughts—and you also shouldn’t allow others to easily guess your thoughts, should you?"