Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 433 - 432: Aristocratic Virtues

The magic-guided cannon cart, drawn by pack horses, creaked forward on the rough, uneven dirt and stone road. Fully armed Cecil Clan warriors formed a guard formation around the cart, remaining constantly vigilant of any movements across the barren plains. The young Sir Philip rode at the front of the formation, his gaze fixed on the southern border’s northernmost vast mountain ranges.

Rocky ridges Fortress lay amidst those mountains, like an iron gate firmly sealing the range, locking the Cecil Clan upon this land for a century.

Today, he was going to unlock that gate.

Scouts, riding swift horses in groups of three, were continuously dispatched from the formation, scouting in all directions and reporting back their findings: the troop had now arrived at the buffer zone between Rocky ridges Fortress and the southern territories, and vigilance must be heightened.

Sir Philip knew well that this would be a battle completely different from the bombardment at Broken Stone Ridge—before Broken Stone Ridge, he fought a defensive battle against the Noble Coalition Army; he only needed to set up the artillery positions and wait for the enemies to walk into the trap. But this time, he was the attacker; everything would be utterly different.

If one followed the traditional aristocratic codes and war etiquette, whether attacker or defender, they must act by the rules. Even if one side discovered the other’s movement route, they were to wait patiently at the designated battlefield for the opponent to enter, set up formations, and send the signal to commence battle before attacking. This "combat procedure," which held more symbolic than practical significance, was highly valued by the aristocrats as it ensured the safety of the participating nobility throughout the war while appearing elegant and dignified—but the bombardment at Broken Stone Ridge shattered all that.

With one cannon shot at Broken Stone Ridge, the Noble Coalition Army was caught in a sudden strike by the Cecil Clan, leaving corpses strewn everywhere before they could even organize their formations. After that, traditional war etiquette completely vanished; the nobility, having suffered losses once, could no longer adhere strictly to old regulations. Sir Philip had to remain constantly ready for enemy ambushes—the Magic Crystal Railgun was powerful, but it was most vulnerable before the artillery positions were set up.

During Sir Philip’s contemplation, a sudden small commotion arose nearby. He looked up to see several soldiers escorting two captured, tightly bound humans forward.

Sir Philip halted his horse, noticing that the two bound individuals were clad in traditional—or rather outdated—iron chain mail. There were no visible insignia on the chain mail, one had an arm injured by heat-ray guns, the wound charred-black, while the other bore no apparent external injuries.

The squad leader escorting them saluted, loudly reporting, "Commander! We captured spies from Rocky ridges Fortress—they were sneaking around in nearby woods when discovered by our perimeter patrol."

The two prisoners showed faces filled with fear and nervousness, as if the strangely equipped, infamous Cecil soldiers around them were cannibals. Sir Philip looked down on them for a long while before asking, "Are you from Rocky ridges Fortress?"

Not admitting in this situation would be courting death. The two captives hesitated momentarily before nodding in succession.

"Very well, don’t worry, I won’t have you executed," Sir Philip nodded slightly and said, "I’ll let you go back—our leader has a letter for Rocky ridges Fortress’s commander."

...

The Cecil Clan had indeed come.

Two patrol soldiers sent south of the fortress brought back news of a major Cecil Clan offensive, along with a "letter" delivered to Rocky ridges Fortress.

The Fortress Guardian wasted no time gathering all military commanders, as well as southern territories nobles seeking refuge within the fortress.

In the main hall of the castle area, a Knight Captain was conveying news from the front to his superior:

"General, three to five thousand troops are marching northward, accompanied by a substantial convoy—filled with all sorts of strange items that might be the ’Skyfire Explosion’ devices. They’ve already entered the hills south of the fortress and will probably reach the plains in three days..."

The southern territories nobles showed some unease, yet overall remained relatively calm, while other knight officers conversed softly. A middle-ranked Knight Commander rose from his seat and looked towards Sir Maryland: "General, what does that ’declaration of war’ from the Cecil Clan say?"

Sir Maryland nodded, casually retrieved the "letter penned by Duke Gawain Cecil" that had just been handed to him. Everyone’s eyes instantly fixed upon the letter, the southern territories nobles in particular seemed to pause their breath.

Sir Maryland was already aware of the letter’s contents. He first glanced at the southern territories nobles, then slowly said, "Let me read you its contents."

The content of the letter was not lengthy—it wasn’t like most aristocratic letters, complex and ornate, full of flowery language. Instead, it was simple and straightforward, like a note—

"... More than forty southern nobles collectively declared war on the Cecil Clan. After their defeat, the remaining culprits fled into the rocky ridges Fortress. In view of these nobles’ unwarranted harm to Cecil’s land and people, they have been justly defined as war criminals by the law. Cecil’s Army will come to your place to take in the prisoners of war. We hope you distinguish right from wrong, hand over the war criminals, and allow our personnel to enter the city for a search."

Sir Maryland took less than a minute to finish reading the letter, after which the entire hall plunged into silence.

It wasn’t until two minutes later that a Knight Commander shouted, breaking the silence: "What’s this?! What kind of negotiation document is this?!"

"That’s right, this is certainly not a negotiation," Sir Maryland looked at the Knight Commander and said with a laugh of anger, "This is a lofty order, more arrogant than a King commanding his attendant! It seems that our resurrected founding hero doesn’t intend to negotiate with us at all."

The southern aristocrats were anxious after listening to the contents of the letter, genuinely afraid that Sir Maryland might hand them over to ensure the fortress’s safety. But upon seeing the knight’s reaction, they were slightly relieved. Viscount Mari Oran seized the moment to speak: "Sir, you’re right, the Cecil Clan will never negotiate according to tradition with us. Their leader always ignores all virtues and rules. Negotiating with them is a waste of time and risks falling into a trap!"

Sir Maryland nodded slightly. Seeing this, Viscount Konsko also stood up and said: "Sir, the Cecil Clan won’t arrive for three days; we can use this time to make more preparations..."

"More preparations?" Sir Maryland looked at the tall, thin man who, not long ago, was downcast and indulging in his dreams and said, knowing that Viscount Konsko, despite his family’s short heritage, was a clever and strategic person, "What do you propose?"

Viscount Konsko gritted his teeth and said: "We can dig more traps on the plains ahead of time, send Druids to poison the hillside areas, and throw the corpses of diseased livestock into the White River. We can even have Druids spread plague in the river water—we’ve already buried all the wells on the plains, leaving the Cecil Clan to depend on the White River for water. No matter how advanced their weapons are, humans always fall ill..."

"Say no more," Sir Maryland interrupted loudly before Viscount Konsko could finish, "Viscount, where do these... sinister ideas come from? If we do this, what remains of aristocratic spirit?"

"Sir, these strategies may be sinister, but they are truly effective," Viscount Konsko defended, "The Cecil Clan disregards virtues and rules; their leader leads in breaking the aristocratic spirit, there’s no need to discuss aristocratic spirit with them..."

Sir Maryland looked at Viscount Konsko in surprise, as if it was his first day meeting him. He didn’t expect such devious strategies to come from an aristocratic mouth, but he also agreed deep down that they were indeed effective. However, after some thought, he couldn’t help but say: "You do realize that downstream of the White River aren’t just the Cecil Clan’s troops—there are countless people who depend on it for survival."

"What does the life or death of those commoners have to do with us? When we’re lying uneasy in the wilderness, those commoners have likely forgotten their leader and are busy welcoming their new Cecil master!" Viscount Konsko said excitedly, as if the pressure built up over so many days finally erupted, "Sir, I know what you’re worried about—the White River flows south, part of your territory lies by the hills, but don’t forget, further downstream lies my estate and castle! What we need to do now is a sacrifice filled with honor—commoners are like wheat, once this batch is cut down, next year they’ll grow again. But if we die, who will maintain order in the southern lands?"

Viscount Konsko waved his arms vigorously, ending his speech with a surprisingly passionate tone. What stunned Sir Maryland was seeing the southern aristocrats respond one after another, nodding in agreement with Viscount Konsko’s proposals. Just for the words "sacrifice filled with honor," these ideas that completely went against aristocratic spirit suddenly seemed like lofty plans.

But just then, Lady Ropeney suddenly spoke with a cold voice: "Gentlemen, you seem to be oversimplifying things."

Lady Ropeney Ge’lan held significant influence among the southern nobles, and when she spoke, the stirred-up aristocrats quieted down. Even Sir Maryland took on a spectator’s expression, waiting for Lady Ropeney’s words.

"You might have forgotten, what made the Cecil Clan prosperous."

Lady Ropeney Ge’lan coldly threw out a sentence, causing many present to show thoughtful expressions.

"Alchemical potions—their alchemical potions are so plentiful they can be drunk like water. Do you think healing mixtures are precious things?" Lady Ropeney Ge’lan scanned the crowd, "Even if you used Druid spells to turn all the waters of the White River into poison, the Cecil Clan likely wouldn’t care. Conversely, you’d waste a lot of effort for nothing!"

The southern nobles looked at each other speechlessly; Viscount Konsko was at a loss for words. Sir Maryland then timely said: "Indeed, Viscount Konsko, that wasn’t a good suggestion."

He continued by saying: "But we do need to respond and act before the Cecil Clan establishes their foothold..."