Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 308 - 307: Typhon’s Upheaval

Soldrin pointed his short bow at the elf maiden not far in front of him, seeming utterly deaf to her greeting.

"Such coldness," the elf maiden wore her usual smile, but now it carried a tinge of mockery and oddity, "During our previous journey, you always assumed the role of elder and protector."

"Words can’t delay your time," Soldrin said calmly, as arcane brilliance gradually filled the bowstring, "Who are you?"

"Me?" Belna’s lips curled slightly, "I’m just a druid traveling far from home."

With the last syllable from the elf maiden’s lips, her figure was suddenly engulfed by a whirlwind of chaotic, flying leaves that appeared out of thin air!

Without thinking, Soldrin released his bowstring. An arrow charged with arcane energy sliced through the air and split into dozens of blinding beams, covering the chaotic storm of leaves with no blind spots—each deadly beam pierced through the leaves unimpeded. Yet, Soldrin did not relax; the sense of danger made him instinctively leap high, and the moment he left the ground, countless poisonous black vines erupted from the earth, shattering the rock where he had stood!

A peculiar floral fragrance permeated the air, unsettling winds of magical power stirred the surrounding trees, causing the leaves and branches to rustle. A hoarse, distorted female voice, deliberately disguised, echoed from all directions, "I’m quite curious, when did you start becoming suspicious of me?"

Soldrin landed on the ground, a layer of green light spreading from beneath his feet, inhibiting the growth of the toxic vines and blocking the pervasive floral scent. He frowned, watching the figure reassemble not far away—still bearing Belna’s face, yet its lower body had transformed into a bizarre form supported by roots and vines. This peculiar enemy form raised his vigilance, and he spoke while observing carefully, "I really hadn’t noticed at all—but just as I was about to leave the Messenger Hall, I suddenly realized that my mental state and judgment have been off these last few days, so I asked Thornheart Master about her apprentice records over the past two centuries—she hadn’t taken on any new apprentices in two centuries!"

"You managed to shake off the effects of the confusion pollen so quickly..." The half-human, half-tree female druid chuckled softly, as the floral scent around them grew even stronger. Numerous exotic flowers blossomed at her feet, spreading a mind-altering aroma throughout the entire forest, "I thought staying with me all this way, continuously affected by a low dose of pollen, you wouldn’t recall those overlooked details..."

"You underestimate those who survived the Gondor wasteland..." Soldrin drew his bow again, "No point wasting effort. With my preparation, that pollen is useless against me—without those mind-altering tricks, you’re no match for a High-Ranked Ranger. You’d best confess, who are you? Why did you infiltrate the monitoring station?"

"Belna Lightwind was indeed Thornheart’s apprentice...but that was three hundred years ago," the sinister female druid smiled, "She was an elf concluding her travels, eager to return home, but she fell on her way back, and I... simply lent her a hand...

"Moreover, proud High-Ranked Ranger, do you really think your victory is assured—you might resist the confusion pollen, but those ordinary rangers and sentinels you brought and ambushed nearby... can they resist?"

Soldrin’s expression shifted slightly, but his eyes quickly sharpened, "I alone am enough to keep you here."

"How coincidental, I think the same—wilted treants!"

"Grenade toss!"

"?"

In the Typhon imperial capital, Aldernon, within the noble estates.

Duke Ferdinand stood in a study hung with ancestral portraits of his lineage (without any reanimated paintings), quietly observing the street scene outside, shrouded in a mist-like atmosphere. Those buildings, whether grand or resplendent, were now cloaked in a veil of haze, with the lingering fog concealing many details of the imperial city. Only the tallest and most brightly lit aristocratic and royal structures stood proudly amidst the fog. Using lights and their massive outlines, they carved out many magnificent silhouettes, clearly visible even in the mist.

This scene depicted the ethos of the empire—the aristocracy and royalty, like ever-burning beacons, guiding the unenlightened populace forward.

After Aldernon enters the Fog Month, it frequently becomes enveloped in dense fog, a characteristic also typical of the central mainland and parts of the northern regions. The term "Fog Month" in the calendar originally derived from this.

In the past, Ferdinand quite enjoyed this foggy weather—he liked the city’s ancient appearance, veiled yet revealing sharp, resilient features in the fog. This evoked thoughts of the empire, weathered by countless storms yet still standing proudly. It reminded him of his first time stepping onto a battlefield, ambushed in the fog but fighting his way out in a famed battle. However, today, he had no heart to appreciate the scenery within the fog.

Intelligence from the empire’s borders lay on the desk behind him, the specially sealed magical parchment unsealed. The content clearly appeared on the paper, written in a woman’s elegant handwriting, conveying a few words:

Winterwolf Fortress was attacked by giant humanoid monsters—monsters resembling gory titans, immensely strong, nearly impervious to swords, capable of easily corroding and brittling our walls and sturdy steel armor...

The defense forces suffered severe losses, but the fortress was fortunately not lost.

The monsters came from the direction of the Dark Mountain Range.

This was the intelligence forwarded by Andresha, accompanied by another note. That note’s content was even simpler, containing only a single sentence: The southern borders of Anzu were attacked by gory titans, damage to the Cecil Clan unknown.

This intelligence came from other channels of the Wendell clan.

Duke Ferdinand retrieved his gaze, turned around, his eyes swept over the intelligence on the table, and then fell on the portraits of the initial ancestors of the Wendell clan hanging on the opposite wall, softly murmuring: "Were those really the monsters you faced back then?"

He couldn’t help but recall decades ago, when he was just an ordinary Knight Captain, encountering that traveling monk at the Empire’s border, and the warning the monk had given him.

It was a rare elf monk. When the young Ferdinand Wendell first met him, the monk was wandering at the Empire’s border, and it was also the Fog Month then as it is today, with thick fog everywhere. To this day, Duke Ferdinand still remembers the scene: himself injured on the battlefield and rescued by the mysterious elf monk; the two found a tree hole in the fog-filled forest to rest temporarily; the monk’s head gleaming in the mist, and his words still fresh in memory:

"Young human warrior, you talk of your ideals and aspirations all the time, as if leading your troops to defeat the opposing nation would earn you glory. But do you know? Your true threat is not your human counterparts...

"Two countries originating from the same roots ended up in such a state, but has no one among you looked at the wasteland so close at hand? The monsters were sealed away seven hundred years ago, but aren’t you afraid they might return to this world?"

Duke Ferdinand took a light breath, his expression becoming firm, and he rang the butler’s bell softly murmuring to himself: "Master Delin, you were right.

"They have indeed returned.

"Humanity must change."

The study door opened, and the old butler who had loyally served the family for many years appeared before Ferdinand: "My lord, do you have any orders?"

"Prepare the carriage for me. I want to see the emperor!"

The carriage bearing the Wendell clan emblem and the entourage enjoyed the highest-level aristocratic privileges, and the palace of Emperor Rosetta Augustus opened its doors to Duke Ferdinand. Watching the majestic palace walls enlarge in his vision, Ferdinand’s heart grew as steadfast as steel.

No matter how deteriorated the emperor’s mental state has become, and no matter how much influence his words could still exert on this colossal Empire, he had to change the course of the Typhon war machine today. If it drags on for three more days, the emperor will convene the final Noble Congress, and if he still wishes to act by then, he will have to resort to the means he least wishes to employ...

Ferdinand glanced down at his hands, so used to wielding the sword, still filled with strength, and slowly clenched them into fists.

He was unwilling to take that worst path until the very last step.

He entered the palace, went into the hall where Emperor Rosetta Augustus resided. With the help of an attendant, he removed the heavy ducal cloak but still had a decorative sword at his waist—a privilege he deserved as the Empire’s first Duke. Having obtained permission for the meeting, in the company of a Chamberlain, the Duke stepped towards the place where the Typhon Emperor currently was.

Halfway, Duke Ferdinand noticed that the Chamberlain was taking him to a reception room, rather than the usual study where the Emperor received him, so he curiously asked: "The Emperor is in the reception room? Is he receiving any guests?"

The Chamberlain answered courteously: "Yes, the Emperor is meeting with two elf physicians."

"Elf physicians?" Duke Ferdinand frowned slightly, "Is there something wrong with the Emperor’s health?"

"Rest assured, the Emperor is still healthy," the Chamberlain said, "He has just been somewhat mentally unwell lately."

Mentally unwell?

Ferdinand paused for a moment, instinctively feeling something amiss, but before he could inquire further, two female silver elves clad in white robes, with very similar appearances, refined demeanors, and striking beauty, emerged from the corridor’s corner, entering his view.

The Chamberlain beside him remarked, "It seems the two physicians have completed their work."

Ferdinand Wendell watched as the two elf physicians he’d never seen before approached him, concealing all unnecessary expressions of doubt, adopting instead the froideur fitting a Duke.

There was only one corridor; the elf physicians unavoidably came to face Duke Ferdinand. They displayed a flawless, polite smile, lifted their skirts, and bowed: "Good afternoon, my lord. The Emperor is waiting for you."