Sword of Dawnbreaker

The Anzu Kingdom’s military was gaining ground, the conservative faction was resurging, the reformists were dividing, those executing decrees were exasperatingly slow, and the populace... the people he labored to help, to improve their plight, didn’t comprehend his legislation.

Initially, everything went smoothly, the military’s successive victories and spoils boosted morale for everyone, pushing for decrees faced no hindrance, but once the war came to a standstill, once the reforms involved ”land” and ”population,” countless obstacles and difficulties arose.

The sense of frustration crept in—a burden unavoidable—Edmund Moen suddenly felt irritable, reaching to take the cup from the table, wanting a sip of water to ease his restlessness.

—To maintain clarity of mind, he hadn’t imbibed in ages.

At that moment, his peripheral vision caught the fireplace on one side of the hall flaring with unusually bright flames, the leaping fire seemed shadowy, potentially conjuring something out of the hearth. Even the nearby ornamental candle brackets experienced an inexplicable surge, the flames growing.

It wasn’t a secluded secret room or the top of a sentinel towers, the hall had attendants and guards all around, worsening Edmund Moen’s already sour mood. He frowned and waved towards the fireplace: ”Audacious!”

The flames in the fireplace instantly returned to normal. Whatever had attempted to project was clearly interrupted.

Edmund Moen snorted derisively, emptied his cup in one gulp.

...

In the western part of Gigantic Tree Path Entrance, within the kingdom-controlled town of White Pine Town, Viscount Horn, dressed in a dark red coat, sat inside the carriage, listening to the soldier’s report outside with great displeasure.

Damn it, this is the cold winter! A Viscount having to run to the streets where commoners live in this terrible weather, overseeing some ”evil eradication,” listening to those foolish soldiers ramble on—what law is this?!

Viscount Horn cursed inwardly, but dared not utter his thoughts, as these matters were orders from Regent Duke Victoria, and that Duchess of the North who wields the power of winter was stationed not far north. He felt every indiscreet word spoken here would immediately reach the ears of the Duchess—no good would come of it.

The cold wind seemingly blew through the gaps of the carriage, prompting Viscount Horn to tighten his already thick and warm coat—despite being a low-level Spellcaster, years of indulgence had already hollowed out his body. Even with the protection of the Wind Shield, he found the weather unbearably cold, while the soldier outside continued to relay:

”... Three people found dead in the cellar, clearly engaged in desecrating activities, with a bloodstained altar and containers of suspicious liquid found at the scene...

”The original owner of the house is missing, and people on the street say they haven’t been seen since winter set in, which matches the informant’s description...

”... The three evil cult followers might have committed suicide, or it might have been internal conflict, that’s for you to judge, sir...”

A hint of impatience flashed in Viscount Horn’s eyes, but when he spoke, he maintained a slow and steady tone—a manner of speaking with specific rhythm and intonation that a qualified aristocrat must possess: ”I understand—so, in short, someone reported to the Knight about the evil cult followers’ traces, and you indeed found the desecrated altar and three dead cult followers here, correct, unmistakable.”

The soldier’s voice came from outside: ”Yes, sir—and also a missing resident...”

”I know, I know,” Viscount Horn interrupted the soldier, ”I’ve known about this, follow the proper disposition, burn the cultists’ corpses, purify the altar with Holy Water, the house returns to the leader, that’s it.”

Having said that, he was about to order his departure from this place, but the inflexible soldier continued to speak: ”But... but sir, wouldn’t you... would you like to see... It’s still the pro...”

What a blockhead, unknown who arranged such a fool into the city guard.

Viscount Horn cursed inwardly, quickly pushed open the cover at the carriage window, and glanced outside.