Silent Crown

by Feng Yue

  Once the army of the Scarlet Bird clan reached the borders, Anglo would have no choice but to gather all their military forces and prepare them to defend the country. Even the queen’s Knights of the Round Table would have to be activated. This would be the only way they could leverage the unique terrain of Blanc Mountains and keep Asgard at bay. If they were to lose Blanc Stronghold and the Scarlet Bird armies were able to break through, the thousands of miles of plains behind them would be destroyed in a matter of three days. By then, Anglo would be completely mired down in the mud.

  “Worse still, the Asgardian fleet will be able to pass through Burgundy seas and enter Anglo seas directly.” Ye Qingxuan looked at the map and drew an arc. The end of this arc passed through the seas of Anglo and reached the location of Avalon.

  “If we don’t do something about it, in one and a half days’ time, Asgard’s Stronghold on Sea will be at the doors of Avalon. In other words, once they enter our seas, we won’t have any other strategies to throw at them.” Shi Dong shook his head. “Anglo is still in the early stages of regaining its power. It will be extremely tough fighting against an experienced Empire.”

  “That’s why I must be there personally.” Ye Qingxuan looked at the map. “The outcome of this battle will be decided on the seas.”

  It did not matter if the Asgardian army outnumbered Anglo by a ratio of three to one. That alone would not be enough to take down Blanc Stronghold. It was common knowledge that it was much easier to defend than to attack.

  Ye Qingxuan felt extremely confident about this. As long as the Anglo army could hang in there and not perish completely, they would have won.

  Ye Qingxuan had already made up his mind. The moment he discovered that the Sacred City was involved in this battle, he would have all the reasons in the world to send the Witch Hammer to the frontline, even though he knew that the majority in the Sacred City would never allow him such a convenient excuse. He would do whatever he could to ensure that the Asgardians would fight for as long as possible. It would be even better if the Blanc Stronghold was to turn into a quagmire and drag down the other small countries surrounding it!

  As long as the Asgardians did not go crazy and decide to unleash the giant, Hercules, Anglo would stand a chance. In any case, the place was too small for the number of soldiers to matter. What was most important was the combat endurance of both parties, or, in other words, spending money.

  When he considered this point, Ye Qingxuan began to suspect that Burgundy must be hiding some malicious intents for them to have agreed so readily to an alliance with Asgard. They had only opened up the corridor of their borders, thereby restricting the scale of battle. By doing so, Burgundy had lengthened Asgard’s supply line and could even take the opportunity to exploit Asgard’s military needs. It was as if to say, Whatever you need urgently right now, I have it. I will sell you at 10 times the original price, surely that’s not too expensive for you?

  As for Anglo, with the Sterling internal combustion engine jumpstarting the industrial revolution, national productivity has increased by more than five times. As long as they retained control over the seas, then the hundreds of naval routes would be equivalent to a black gold mine with endless supplies. The entire ocean would be Anglo’s bank, where they could withdraw as much money as they wished.

  Food would not be a problem either. In fact, they had consumed less than one-third of the amount of food that they had conserved in order to fight against Leviathan. At this stage, Anglo was full of reserves and was not afraid of battles. But all this was only possible on one condition—the navy must hang in there. They had to.

  The purpose of the Royal Fleet was to ensure that Anglo had a stable rear that could protect the ocean. Just as Ye Qingxuan said, the outcome of this battle would not be decided by the battle at Blanc Stronghold, no matter how intense it might be. It would be decided on the sea…

  …

  Similarly, in Asgard, the same topic continued in the naval headquarters beneath the Golden Palace. There was only an elderly and a youth in the huge but empty meeting room. The old musician has regained his original form and no longer needed to hug the wedge-shaped stone plate every day in order to keep his life going. He might still be weak and fragile but at least he could now move around freely.

  Sat opposite him was a quiet young man. His appearance suggested that he was between 20 to 30 years old but his hair was white and his back was hunched. His eyes were blurry and he looked very sickly. His eyes looked tired but even as he seemed to be in a state of being half asleep and half awake, there was a shocking instance of chill in the air that flashed across.

  There was an aura of chill that surrounded this young man, as if it was a murderous aura that had been exchanged with countless lives. It was like a sharp knife that was covered with rust. Only after removing the layer of rust and dried blood stains would the cool and chilling blade be revealed.

  He was wearing an Asgardian military uniform but for some reason, his attire just did not seem to suit him. It was as if there was a more appropriate attire that this young man should be wearing; something more sacred and solemn, and also more terrifying at the same time.

  The old musician could not help but sigh. “My apologies. The Asgard military uniform is probably not as comfortable as the uniform of Silence Governance. But for the sake of long-term plans, we have no choice but to ask of you to put up with it for a while longer.”

  “Don’t worry. To me, an attire has never been the problem.” The young man sat on the chair and fiddled with the silver cane at his knee. His expression was calm. “I can fully understand the Sacred City’s arrangement. After all, the person in charge of the Silence Governance cannot be seen on the battlefield of Asgard.”

  “It is a good thing that you understand, Rommel.” The old musician nodded and felt more relieved, but it was still a headache dealing with this young man. This was the new generation of Hendel after the previous generation; the new generation of the person in charge of Silence Governance after the previous generation. Three years ago, the Sacred City had already designated this young musician, by the name of Rommel, to be the successor of the saint. He was also a disciple of Hendel of the previous generation. His future has been guaranteed by the protector of the Pope and the Holy Caldron.

  Since the age of 14, he had joined the Silence Governance and had been able to thrive in this secret service that was feared by every country. When he was 19, he had already climbed up to an important position and was comparable to the Wolf Flute. He was known as ‘Knife’ and ‘Mad Dog.’

  Originally, everyone had predicted that he would break through distortion level and enter the zone of Master before needing another 15 years to become a scepter and succeed a holy name. 15 years have passed and a 37-year-old saint was definitely considered young. No one expected him to advance this quickly.

  708 As It Is in Heaven

  Hendel died unexpectedly at the hands of the traitor Wolf Flute, and the irritated Rommel chose to undergo the dark trials that had been sealed off by the Silence Governance.

  As the center of the world, the Sacred City had accumulated a massive amount of resources over the centuries, and thus it had countless ways to quickly improve its strength. The pope could even help people get more powerful without even the slightest side-effect.

  And the one Rommel had chosen was the worst.

  He himself was an advanced killer of a forbidden school. After undergoing surgery and transformation by alchemy matrix, he had undergone successive hellish, torturous transformations until even his skin had festered and peeled off several times.

  At the cost of the deterioration of his body he had skipped right to the top of the Master Level from the Distortion level in only half a year and then had almost broken through to the Scepter level along with Ye Qingxuan.

  The difference was that his Scepter was blessed by the King of Red himself with the movement called “Emperor,” so he inherited the elements most suited for Hendel, t
hus logically inheriting the name and position of his teacher. However, he had not yet risen to be in charge of the Silence Governance, and at the suggestion of the College of Cardinals had been excommunicated and had gone to Asgard to participate in the war.

  He himself was Asgardian, the sole descendant of the faded Black Flame Clan. It was perfectly sensible for him to act like a Saint for Asgard.

  For Asgard, this would bring more assurance about the outcome of the war.

  For him, this would be the beginning of his revenge.

  Because of this, the old musician was full of worry.

  “Time is short, let’s be brief.” The old musician got right to the point. “As for what happens next, as I’m sure others have told you, barring any unforeseen circumstances the enemy that you will face on the sea is that rebel Wolf Flute’s friend, the Prince of Avalon.” When he was finished speaking he looked at Rommel.

  Rommel’s face did not change at the mention of Wolf Flute, it remained cold. His determination touched the old musician. He could only say that he was worthy of being in charge of the Silence Governance. He kept calm at all times and had an iron will even when it came to killing.

  “You don’t need to use that name to provoke me, sir.” Rommel lowered his eyes. “Are you worried that I’ll lose?”

  “With an enemy like that, anybody but the Three Kings would be worried,” said the old musician. “After all, who can guess what he’s going to next?”

  “Ye Qingxuan does indeed have a lot of tricks, I’m not a match for him in that regard.” Rommel’s answer was simple and straightforward, with no arrogance but also no modesty. “But if he appears before me on the battlefield he will be my enemy. So, let me tell you, I will win that battle.”

  He was practically certain of it.

  Even if Ye Qingxuan got personally involved, the Net of Aether would have to stay in Avalon. He was sure that that type of a country’s non-combat important weaponry would stay in the Kingdom of Heaven and Earth, in order to assure it would be completely safe. And when Ye Qingxuan left the Net of Aether he would fall from the catastrophe level to the Scepter level.

  The weakest Scepter.

  The whole world knew that once he left the Net of Aether his Scepter would be useless.

  A blueprint?

  Between that and the inheritance of the Holy Name, which one was stronger?

  Wasn’t it clear?

  But even so, no one dared to relax. When facing someone like Ye Qingxuan it was necessary to treat him as a formidable foe.

  “Since you’re so sure you will win, I won’t keep chattering.” The old musician was silent for a while, then said, “I’ll hand the sea fortress over to you, and send three Scepters with you. Mr. Rommel, I give you these orders in the name of His Majesty the Emperor: you must win this battle. If you come back victorious, whether it is to support you or to revive the Black Flame Clan, Asgard will spare no effort.”

  “Then I will obey your command.” Rommel bowed to the old musician who represented the Emperor, grabbed his Scepter and turned to leave.

  The old musician was left there alone, sitting in a chair and staring at the huge map on the wall.

  He didn’t know why, but he was uneasy.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Ye Qingxuan…”

  …

  The heavens seemed to reflect the grey mud on the ground.

  The grey-black mud should have been fertile soil, but now it emitted a rotten smell.

  “Lord, please bestow your redemption upon me.” A refugee with tattered clothes crawled in the mud, piously kissing Charles’s boots. “Please free us…” There were abscesses upon abscesses under the stinking bandages on his face and neck, a disgusting sight.

  A plaintive cry rose up from the wilderness.

  Charles looked up suddenly, and looked all around him at their dull eyes. He could not believe it.

  “How can there be so many…”

  “This is only some of them,” Paganini said softly. “Some have lost their land, some are lepers, some are beggars, some are bankrupt farmers. The drought has lasted for years, and last year the frost was severe. They missed the Spring plowing, and so have lost all hope. These exiles are worthless. The Commonwealth of Caucasian has too little land. They can’t afford to grow weeds, and they can’t afford to support these people. You can’t save them. Even if you do, they will still die.”

  Charles was silent. The refugee in the mud looked up at him, and the hope in his eyes was dashed bit by bit. He wanted to say something. He stuttered through cracked lips, but in the end nothing came out.

  He limped away.

  The sound of a child crying rang out from behind the victims.

  It soon stopped.

  Charles lowered his head.

  After a while, he looked back up at Paganini. “How many provisions do we still have?”

  “We are going to reclaim the wasteland, not offer aid.” Paganini shook his head in disappointment. “There aren’t many provisions left. Everyone has their allotted portion. All that Gaius is eating now is stale bread. Who has any food to give to others?”

  “How many provisions do we have?” Charles repeated his question.

  Paganini sighed and glanced to his side as the clerk bitterly flipped through the account book. “Besides everyone’s allotted rations, we have two herrings and five millet cakes.”

  After hearing this, Paganini looked at Charles. “How many can you save?”

  “Yes, how many can I save?” Charles sighed bitterly, reached his hand out and looked at the clerk. “Give them to me.”

  The clerk hesitated, then pulled two bags off the cart. He pulled out two herrings, five millet cakes, and finally a bottle of water.

  Paganini said nothing and lowered his eyes.

  There were at least 30,000 refugees wandering outside the country now, and there were 7,000 in this shabby camp. Forget about the five millet cakes, even if everyone took out their rations it would practically be like trying to put out a pile of burning logs with a glass of water. Even if everyone in the country was able to get a bit of rations, how many would that save?

  They could only stuff their ears and refuse to listen.

  This was not shirking their duties, and it was not cruel. There were more important things to do, and more valuable things to be preserved.

  It was not until Charles started taking the fish and millet cakes to the refugees that Paganini called for him to stop. Not to bewitch him, nor to stop his plan, but simply to give his colleague some advice.

  “Charles, there will always be times when there is nothing we can do,” he said softly. “It’s better if you understand that now.”

  Charles looked back at him and suddenly smiled. “Don’t worry.” He scratched his head as he smiled self-deprecatingly. “If I really have a tiny advantage. It’s that I’m not a person.”

  Paganini was stunned.

  Charles stopped in front of the dumbfounded refugees. The starving refugees looked at him, then looked the fish and cakes in his hands. Their voices quieted, then grew louder. That tiny bit of food seemed to possess incredible magic. It made the dense crowd of thin people move forward, crawling on the ground, gnawing on their fingers, with eyes filled with longing and greed.

  Then they saw the dagger that Charles had pulled out of his boot.

  The dagger glinted, cold as frost, making the crowd of people around him stop.

  Charles was silent for a moment, then raised the dagger and slashed his pinky. Blood flowed from his fingertip amid the sound of cracking bone. The severed finger fell in the gap between the herrings and the millet cakes, probably falling on the ground, although no one saw it.

  The blood fell into the water bottle, staining the water until it looked like it had become wine.

  He cut a piece of cloth with the dagger and wrapped up the stump of his pinky. His twitching expression changed into a smile. He bent down, and put the food that he was holding on the ground.
>
  “Eat.” He grinned and stepped back. “If it’s not enough, there’s more.”

  The people began to clamor.

  The thin refugees stared blankly at Charles, and in the next moment rushed forward like a mire boiling over. They crawled towards the food that had fallen on the ground. They grabbed the cakes, stuffing them into their mouths, and swallowed them with all their might. When it got stuck in their throats they greedily drank the wine.

  Charles stepped back and let them gorge themselves with a piteous expression.

  Paganini glanced at them, then looked away. His face was blank, but in his sleeves, his hands were trembling uncontrollably. After a while, he called over the clerk. He forced himself to calm down and suppressed the tremble in his voice. “After they have finished eating, gather up the leftovers. Don’t waste any of it.”

  The clerk stared at him, thinking he was joking. Paganini repeated himself, then turned away. After a while, the refugees had finished eating, and the clerk came back with twelve baskets filled with leftovers.

  The people crowded around the baskets and clicked their tongues in wonder.

  But Paganini did not look. He had his back to the crowd, and his face was pale.

  D*mn, those idiots don’t know what this represents…

  After all those centuries, he suddenly had an impulse to pray.

  “God…” He looked up and stared into the empty void. A rippling, blazing glow met his eyes, as if the gate of heaven was slowly opening and raining down redemption.

  It was Eden, the heaven created by humanity.

  Like an illusion, he saw countless spirits of the dead rising up to the Kingdom of Heaven, as if there really were souls in the world.

  As if Heaven really existed.

  709 Competing to Be the Most Terrible

  The northern waters were the public waters that connected the territorial waters of Asgard and Anglo, and it was also one of the intersection points of ocean currents that converged at Avalon.