Chapter 556: Changes and Waiting

Two years had not brought much change to the entire continent of Orlande, but for Ronin’s domain, transformation had been profound.

The railway connecting Swamp Town to Wubei City's coal mines was now complete. Through constant optimization and refinement, steam locomotives had advanced significantly in every aspect.

Notably, the nobles who had once been awestruck by the steam train placed few orders. Compared to such colossal expenditures, most cared more about how many coins sat in their coffers and how many gold pieces flowed in each year.

Duke Valgris, however, had vision. Gistana Duchy possessed abundant mineral resources; with a railway like this, income would surely soar. Yet Gistana was embroiled in war with Felenzburg and Balaton Duchy—neither energy nor budget remained for such projects.

With almost no external orders, Ronin turned inward—to his own lands and Wushan Territory.

He had now assembled a dedicated railway construction team. After finishing the line through Wubei, they began building tracks linking Wushan Fortress, as well as routes transporting ores from Moonlight Valley to the outside world.

Meanwhile, under Simon’s supervision, the ironclad warship had been launched.

Carada’s fleet now consisted of one iron-hulled battleship and several supporting vessels. When they landed on the eastern coast of Vira Duchy, even a barrage from fourth-tier mana cannons failed to inflict serious damage upon the ironclad.

Today, this fleet had already made landfall south of Tricisia Kingdom, preparing to sail upstream along the great inland river, seizing riverside cities one by one.

Beyond heavy industry, other fields too had undergone remarkable changes.

Wubei City had expanded several times over. Though its population had not yet reached five hundred thousand, it was close.

Moreover, due to reforms and widespread adoption of looms, coupled with Wubei’s massive importation of raw materials, countless weavers dwelled within, alongside small workshops—and increasingly, full-scale factories—devoted to textile processing.

Ceramics, papermaking, grain milling—these industries flourished as well, providing numerous jobs internally while drawing merchants from both land and sea routes.

Though wars still raged across the lands, stifling economic growth, once peace returned, there was no doubt Wubei would become the continent’s focal point.

“Father…”

Seeing Ronin return, Roland wobbled forward with arms outstretched. “Hold me~”

“Ha! Were you good at home?” Ronin laughed, lifting the little one into his arms and playfully nuzzling him.

“And where is your lady?”

Bella, now head maid, whose daily duties centered on caring for the child and serving Blanche, bowed respectfully.

“A group of merchants arrived from the capital—they seek to commission a large batch of porcelain. Lady Diana invited the duchess to come see.”

The capital—Golden Feather City.

After Bruno’s death and Garrett’s imprisonment, governance of the kingdom fell to the Six Ministries. At first, it functioned decently. But when many realized Ronin’s attention lay elsewhere, private schemes emerged—appointing loyalists, fabricating budgets, embezzling funds. The treasury of Ordain Kingdom was likely drained to near nothing.

Nowhere was this worse than in the Ministry of Works.

Minister Coben, exploiting his status and privilege, had funneled vast supplies to Twin Peaks Ridge.

Given Baron Iben’s special status, Ronin chose to turn a blind eye, intervening little.

Surely such plundering and accumulation aimed at founding a personal duchy.

“The capital’s merchants still have wealth,” Ronin mused, then added, “Send someone to summon Tom.”

The plan he’d agreed upon with Rydall must be relayed—Dragonspire City would fall by next April at latest, and McKenn needed to be present.

As for the eastern front—it was time to bring it to an end.

“Yes, my lord!” Bella scurried off.

Ronin carried Roland back to his study.

Though barely two, the child was already learning to read from picture books.

In future lessons, Ronin would impart his insights and philosophies, shaping Roland into a capable ruler.

Under normal circumstances, Ronin could live beyond five centuries.

He could not govern state affairs for so long. Eventually, responsibility must pass to the next generation.

Cultivating a worthy successor—one who could carry forth his ideals—was essential.

Dragonspire City.

This slowly encircled city had long lost its vitality. Everyone within knew the Tricisian Kingdom was nearing its end.

Yet before that end came, Dragonspire endured its darkest hour.

Lawlessness reigned. Endless oppression and exploitation. Grain prices soared higher than gold.

Many within the city secretly hoped—prayed—for the Conqueror Duke’s army to breach the gates soon, toppling the crumbling throne.

Tricisia VI, Emperor Tero, now sat disheveled, drowning daily in song and revelry, stripped of all former vigor.

Since he could not leave the palace, and rebellious nobles beyond ignored his decrees, why struggle? Better to indulge while time remained.

“Your Majesty!”

A knight clad in light armor stepped into the bustling ballroom, whispering, “Bax City has fallen—it was Rydall’s force, led by the legendary warrior himself.”

Tero’s expression flickered briefly before he hurled his wine cup across the room. “Sir Dusan! How many times must I tell you—take such news directly to Flamewing! Do not disturb me!”

A year ago, Tero’s trusted aide died on the battlefield. Since then, Dusan had taken his place.

Though merely silver-ranked, having even one such knight nearby was now a luxury.

Higher ranks were all claimed by Flamewing.

But in truth, the real Dusan was dead—the man standing here was Hamon, his face uncannily similar, impersonating him perfectly.

To infiltrate so deeply into the enemy’s inner circle—few could match such cunning.

At any moment, should Hamon wish, he could assassinate Tero without resistance.

Yet killing Tero would scarcely alter the course of fate.

Facing the emperor’s rage, Dusan wore an apologetic smile. “Flamewing has secluded himself again. I cannot gain audience.”

“Seclusion! Again seclusion!” Tero leaned back, arms wrapped around a half-naked beauty before him. “His talent for cultivation is worse than mine. Does he truly believe that with the Flame Crest, he can leap realms like Ronin—within mere years?”

“Careful, Your Majesty,” Dusan warned.

Tero sneered coldly. “Nothing good has happened since I crossed paths with them!”

He glared at Dusan. “Get out! Don’t ruin my drink!”

“Very well~”

Dusan retreated helplessly, stepping outside the hall, exhaling sharply in frustration. *At last, this farce nears its end.*

He glanced back. Laughter and music surged once more from within.

Had Tero still been a rational man, surrender might have been possible.

Yet once he became the Flamebrand Knight, there was no other choice left.

Whoosh—

A violent gust of wind tore through the air. Du Sang’s heart jolted as he turned—only to see a towering warrior clad in golden armor standing before him.

He quickly bowed low. "Du Sang greets the honored one!"

Flamewing grunted. "News from the front?"

"Barcus has fallen. Given General Rudar's usual tactics, I believe he will rest and regroup there for some time. The assault on Dragonspire should come around February or March next year."

Flamewing nodded, but the noise from within the hall grated upon his nerves.

With one punch, he unleashed a torrent of battle aura that obliterated the entire chamber, sending panicked screams echoing into the void.

When silence returned, only Tiero, a Meteor-rank knight, emerged unscathed.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

Flamewing sneered. "The final battle draws near. If you must die, then die on the battlefield! Should I witness such disgrace again, not only will every one of these women perish—but you too shall fall by my hand!"

Though he could not fully control Tiero’s actions, Flamewing had been transformed through the same Flame Sigil. By its power, he could still instill deep psychological dread.

Tiero shuddered, his mind sharpening instantly. As he looked at Flamewing now, he felt a pressure—an ancestral weight pulsing in his blood.

Yet bitterness lingered. "What more can I do?"

"We still have much we can accomplish!" Flamewing snapped. "I now stand at the peak of the Legendary rank. With the amplification of the Flame Sigil, my strength approaches the very brink of late-stage Legend! And we still possess the ancient array left behind by Selandir. Wield it well, and victory is not beyond our reach!"

Du Sang remained silent, carefully memorizing every word—planning to secretly relay it all to Rudar later.

As Flamewing spoke, his gaze shifted toward Du Sang.

Since Selandir’s death, Tiero had slowly lost his sanity. Now, among those who remained, Du Sang was one of the few with a clear head.

"How many high-tier Flamebrand Knights do we have in reserve?"

Du Sang kept his posture low. "Honored one, we currently have two Solar Knights, five Silver Moon Knights, thirteen Meteor Knights—including His Majesty—and over twenty Gold Knights!"

"That," Flamewing declared, "is our foundation."

Once the Flame Sigil was activated, their powers would surge—Gold ranks ascending to Meteor, Meteors rising to Silver Moon. Though Solars still could not match Legends, they could hold them back—for a time. Then, if they lured Rowen into the array alone, he would have the upper hand.

"Kill Rowen," Flamewing said, eyes burning, "and Orlandt Continent shall be ours once more!"

He fixed Tiero with a piercing stare. "Unless you wish to end up like Garrett—a helpless, broken wretch—then show me the pride of the Trisia royal line!"

Tiero’s eyes flickered. He knew it wouldn’t be so simple. Yet this was his last hope.

Alas, though both sides waited, their natures were utterly different.

Flamewing awaited Rowen’s arrival—praying he would walk blindly into their trap.

But Rowen? Rowen was waiting for something else entirely: the moment he would become a Sage. (End of Chapter)