Chapter 196: Chaos, a Bold Plan

“I don’t understand why it turned out this way either, but that is the result that has been passed down. Most—I mean, at least the majority of the old-line families—did not secure a seat on the Council of Elders.”

On the other end of the magi-tech communication device, Charles wore a look of utter bewilderment. He had found the news hard to accept the moment he received it, and even after sharing it with Wang Yu and Edward, he remained deep in thought.

“So, the families with the highest vote counts all secured their seats on the Council?” Wang Yu’s question traveled through the device to Charles.

After briefly organizing the information delivered by his family’s servants in his mind, Charles replied.

“Most of them did, yes. I kept a mental tally of those families’ votes, and the majority of those who met the threshold gained their seats. Only a very small number were denied a seat despite having enough votes.”

Wang Yu fell into a contemplative silence upon hearing Charles’s answer, though it felt largely meaningless.

He knew little of the inner workings of the Royal City; he only understood that for a noble house, a seat on the Council of Elders meant a significant elevation in status among the aristocracy.

Council members could propose their own agendas regarding royal policy, and if more than half of the Council held a unified opinion, the Royal Family often found themselves compelled to follow the will of these nobles.

Previously, the seats on the Council had been effectively pre-determined and monopolized by the kingdom’s old-line nobility. These families, with their ancient histories and deep-rooted foundations, were generally more adept at decision-making and more experienced in collaborating with the Crown than the newer nobility.

Yet this time, the re-election of the Council had defied this pattern entirely. Even the Lyde family, whose status Wang Yu considered unshakable, had failed to secure a seat. He found the current political climate of the Royal City increasingly inscrutable.

“How are the other nobles reacting?” Wang Yu asked, posing a more critical question.

“My father hasn’t reacted much, but there is significant agitation among the other families. Those who unexpectedly gained a seat are naturally ecstatic, planning to unite with their allies to leverage the Council’s power to expand their influence.”

“As for the old-line families who missed out, they are quiet for now. But according to intelligence reports, they are all dispatching envoys to negotiate with the Royal Family. It seems that for them, this shift in the Council is just as abrupt and inexplicable.”

“Honestly, I cannot fathom what the Royal Family is doing lately. The situation inside the Royal City is chaotic: the Night’s Edge is in conflict with the Crown, there is friction between the old and new nobility, and those old-line families who lost their seats are likely no longer on good terms with the throne.”

“Wang Yu, you must be careful lately. Try your best not to get entangled in any incidents; it will be nothing but trouble.”

Charles analyzed the current landscape. As the heir to an old-line noble house that had been in the Royal City for generations, his understanding of the city’s politics far surpassed Wang Yu’s.

In his view, the situation in the Royal City was a tangled knot of yarn—utterly chaotic—and anyone caught in the middle risked being pulled in, unable to escape.

Shedding his usual flippancy, Charles gave Wang Yu an unusually stern warning to act with caution.

“Understood...” Wang Yu replied, tucking the communication device back into his pocket. He glanced out the window, the sounds of the city reaching his ears—not yet total chaos, but he had a premonition that it would soon descend into it.

His own experience at the Council re-election meeting had been a brush with that very trouble, and he was fortunate that the commander of the Royal Guard had been the one to handle his case.

Uller’s decision had been swift and correct; after Wang Yu was sent to the Great Astrologer Selene and his claim of innocence was verified, he had been released. Otherwise, he might have faced far more grueling interrogations.

“Start making preparations to leave early. We have no reason to stay in the Royal City,” Wang Yu said to Aivia, who sat beside him.

“Mm, I’ll send a letter to my mother. Once this battle with Seventan ends, we’ll leave the city as quickly as possible.” The girl took Wang Yu’s arm, her eyes filled with worry.

Wang Yu rested his chin on one hand, frowning in thought. Every action had a motive; the Royal Family could not be doing this without purpose. What benefit could they possibly gain from plunging the Royal City into such disarray?

Or, looking at it differently: if the chaotic situation was the price, what was it that the Royal Family was willing to pay such a price to achieve?

And besides suppressing all dissent with an iron fist, was there any other way to quickly quell this chaos?

“Extra! Extra! The Alastair War Mage Corps launched a surprise attack on the Seventan army’s positions a day ago, using joint spellcasting to destroy a massive portion of the enemy’s main force! The next few days will likely be the moment of the decisive battle!”

The cries of the newspaper hawkers outside drifted into Wang Yu’s ears, explaining the source of the earlier commotion. Indeed, a larger piece of news, a more significant event, was enough to provide a buffer for the chaos in the Royal City.

…………

A day earlier, a troop of dozens of horses galloped across the plains bordering Alastair and Seventan.

The campaign days prior, where Seventan had launched a thunderous assault on Alastair’s territory, had ended in a humiliating retreat for Seventan. The Flame Officer Blake Ben’s firestorm had mercilessly incinerated a vast number of enemy troops on the battlefield.

But that was only a temporary victory. Seventan, possessing more formidable soldiers, soon found a countermeasure: using elite squads to break through Alastair’s lines in point-to-point strikes.

Alastair’s advantage in mages only reached its full potential in large-scale battles where they didn’t have to worry about precision or distinguishing between friend and foe.

When faced with small, elite incursions, the mages struggled to exert their full power; large-scale destructive spells were just as likely to destroy friendly forces many times the size of the enemy.

Conversely, spells with a smaller area of effect were too easily dodged by these powerful, agile, and swift knights.

And so, without the flash and bang of explosions, the most brutal of melee combat unfolded on the plains.

When the disparity in strength wasn’t overwhelming, even elites would be cut down if surrounded and unable to dodge.

Yet, these fierce Seventan soldiers would inevitably drag several times their own number of Alastair soldiers to the grave with them. Cruel death descended upon everyone with cold equality.

Alastair’s only advantage was their proximity to the main camp; wounded soldiers who still had a breath of life were more likely to receive timely treatment and survive the battle.

However, the ferocity of the Seventans once again taught the Alastair army a lesson.

These Seventan elites who charged into the ranks not only used their superior strength to kill several times their number, but the things buried within their bodies also detonated the moment they died.

Pre-set necromantic magic activated upon the death of these Seventan soldiers, and their powerful, lifeless corpses rose once more.

Devoid of pain, no longer fearing blood loss or injury, the undead soldiers began their slaughter anew within the Alastair ranks.

Compared to Alastair’s slight prejudice against necromancy—viewed by most as a desecration of the dead—Seventan, a kingdom of harsh climates and fearless blood, could better harness the terrifying power of such arts.

To them, death was simply death; there was no such thing as desecrating the dead. To be able to charge and kill alongside one’s comrades even after death was, to a Seventan, a stroke of luck and a mark of honor.

When the coordinating mages finally used countermeasures to resolve the undead warriors, the Seventans’ third tactic dealt the Alastair army a devastating blow.

Undead bodies, driven by magic, gained the advantage of ignoring most injuries as long as their structure remained intact, but they faced the weakness of losing all mobility once the necromantic energy within them was dispersed.

After the Alastair mages arrived and neutralized the Seventan soldiers who had been turned into powerful undead by pre-implanted spells, the magic within their bodies was purged. These soldiers collapsed, unable to move, waiting for their broken soul-fires to flicker out and vanish entirely.

But, hidden within those souls, something else erupted after a brief delay.

Identical to the viscous, black, formless liquid released from the daggers of the night-walkers who had raided the Sighing Gorge camp, this black, sticky substance burst forth from the soul-fire. It ignored all defenses, infiltrating the bodies of nearby soldiers and even mages, pouring endless terror into their souls.

A vast number of soldiers perished under this triple assault. Alastair suffered heavy losses in this new round of fighting, and even precious mages were lost to the sudden eruptions of soul-targeting black matter.

Only a few soldiers who worshipped the Lady of the Night survived the black matter attacks, their minds protected by the spiritual diversion provided by their prayer network.

This led even more people to take notice of the faith in the Lady of the Night.

The Royal City’s decree banning the spread of the Lady of the Night’s faith could not stop soldiers whose lives might vanish in the next heartbeat from turning to her.

The faith in the Lady of the Night spread widely among the troops.

Having suffered such immense losses, Alastair prepared for its first proactive strike against Seventan since the war began—a plan that seemed both highly feasible and utterly insane.

The horses carried the Alastair men forward, and across the plains of blood and fire, large numbers of undead creatures wandered.

It was dusk, and these broken-bodied undead made the battlefield, briefly quiet after the brutal clash, feel eerie and sinister.

Strangely, some of these undead had sensed the vibrant life force of the galloping horses and the humans atop them.

The natural hatred the dead held for the living drove these undead warriors to surround the travelers from all directions.

But as these products of necromantic magic came within a certain range of the galloping troop, they instantly collapsed. Every trace of magic vanished from their bodies, and they met their second, final death.

On horseback, the leader guiding the way glanced at the surrounding undead and remarked with a touch of melancholy.

“Seventan’s magical prowess and number of mages are far inferior to ours, but this method of application is undeniably correct.”

“Necromancy doesn’t require the caster to be exceptionally powerful; the strength of the resulting undead depends more on the strength of the corpse. The battlefield is the most suitable place for a necromancer.”

A man dressed as a soldier, riding behind the leader, voiced his own opinion upon hearing this.

“But this is an act of desecrating the dead. I do not believe this is right.”

The leader looked back at the young Alastair man, sighed subtly, and turned his head away.

"Sometimes, right and wrong are not defined in such terms; in the face of war's outcome, one must cast aside all that is superfluous."

"Furthermore, are you afraid? Regardless of success or failure, it is unlikely that either of us shall survive."

The leader casually corrected the young man's perspective, then posed a question of his own.

"I am not afraid! For the sake of our kingdom, this is a war with no path of retreat. If I do not face death today, I may only be left to watch our homeland burn in flames, and my kin and friends slaughtered without mercy—that is what I truly fear."

The young man spoke with fervor, offering his reply.

"Is that so? That is quite commendable. Alestle has need of lads such as you..."

His tone indifferent, the leader slowed his horse slightly, drawing closer to the youth.

"Thank you for the praise, Captain! This is? Uh..."

The young man looked on in bewilderment as the Captain, his expression placid, slowed his mount to approach, unsure of his intent.

Before he could react, a sharp blow to the nape of his neck plunged his consciousness into sudden darkness.

"You are not meant to perish here; the future of the kingdom requires fine young men like you..."

The Captain murmured to himself, laying the youth's limp body across the back of the horse he had been riding.

He signaled to the intelligent thoroughbred, which obediently turned about, carrying the unconscious youth back along the path toward Alestle.

"Hmm... these undead creatures should be unable to overtake him. And so, we old relics, already fit for the grave, must prepare to meet our end."

Upon the leader's wrinkled, white-haired face, an expression of profound composure and resolve remained, unchanged.

And in the void above his head, suspended in the air, hovered an object: the artifact, Silent Forest.