Chapter 303: Chapter 300: The Compatriots Need a Victory

The battle continued late into the night.

As dawn’s first light touched the soil of El Island, it was the Gray Elf Rebel Army who stood victorious.

The Burning Lion Knight Order was not wiped out as a cohesive unit, but it had genuinely lost at least twenty Knights. For a relatively small Knight Order with a core of barely a hundred members, this was a devastating blow. Not only would their Knight Commander have to endure the censure of the other orders before the Queen, but he would also have to invest vast resources to rebuild their ranks.

The impact would take a generation to fade, and the shame would be even more difficult to wash away.

To the Gray Elves, a myth had been shattered. These were the conquerors who had warred against the Order Church during the collapse of the Old Empire, who had stood against the Holy Kingdom, who had been unstoppable on El Island. Now, for the first time in centuries, they had suffered major losses.

They held the enemy’s armor aloft on pitchforks, their smiles impossible to hide beneath the blood and mud. Heads held high, they marched into Belanster, which threw open its gates to welcome the Rebel Army.

Meanwhile, silence reigned in the Knight Order’s camp. They still controlled the riverways and the port, maintaining their watch. But the gates to their main encampment were barred, a clear signal to the Gray Elves that the Burning Lion Knight Order would not be taking the offensive again.

Similarly, the Kingdom’s other peacekeeping forces on El Island all retreated into their shells. The once-arrogant "Red Lobsters," the governor, and other officials now cautiously confined their activities to the towns and fortresses. Their families began boarding ships to retreat to the mainland.

In Belanster, the Gray Elves had never heard of novelties like the Holy Kingdom’s telegraphs, nor did they have access to the Magic Guild’s Communication System. Instead, they resorted to a method their ancestors had perfected: carrier pigeons. With these, they sent news of their victory, along with the joy and confidence it brought, to their kin in other regions.

"This is the last one," the Elder said, handing Silsa a "mobilization letter."

Silsa clenched her left fist, dipped it in red ink, and pressed it onto the letter.

Thanks to her distinguished performance in the battle, as well as a deliberate push from the command headquarters and the Reconstruction Council, her symbolic stature grew immense. All sorts of legends began to attach themselves to the young girl. Their latest tactic was to have Silsa stamp each mobilization letter with her fist. Every dispatch loudly trumpeted her heroic feat of slaying a true Knight.

Silsa, however, was filled with a deep, battle-born weariness and confusion. Watching the last carrier pigeon take flight, she felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

’I don’t understand. I was just a small part of the battle... Everyone achieved this victory together. Why are they singling me out...’

The Gray Elf Elder handed her a piece of candy. The town warehouses were full of it, and it had become the Rebel Army’s best treat for the troops.

The Elder told the girl, "Child, it’s good that you have such principles. But our people need inspiration. One of our own girls killing a Burning Lion Knight—how inspiring is that! ...Whether the story is embellished or not, it’s a strategic necessity. You’ll understand when you’re older..."

’Actually, I should understand...’ Silsa couldn’t say whether she really did or not. She had been assigned temporary quarters far better than the barracks, with a soft bed and hot water for washing. Since leaving the camp, she’d been in constant meetings with important people like the Elder, and she almost never saw anyone from her own village anymore.

She only had a vague sense of whether it was good or bad. But at least the sweetness of the candy was real and distinct. And she could be sure that her comrades from the fight were tasting that same sweetness right now.

So be it, then.

...

News of the defeat on El Island eventually reached the mainland. Of course, the public newspapers only carried the official government announcement, which spoke of "minor rebel activity."

For the laborers who toiled in the factories, the most direct impact was a twenty-percent overnight hike in the price of bread.

It didn’t matter if the bosses were using old stock—the official reason was that the price of raw materials had gone up.

So after work, the laborers would drink their cheap, sweetened spirits and spit curses at the damned "mud-seeds" who were forcing them to work at least an extra hour a day. Otherwise, they wouldn’t even be able to put food on the table for their families.

The Parliament was as clamorous as ever. The only difference was that the debate had shifted from trivial daily matters to grand affairs of state and war. The hawks were practically giddy; if this "peacekeeping operation" escalated into a full-scale war, the textile mills, steel factories, and other businesses backing them stood to make a killing.

Some moderates in Parliament proposed a dual strategy of suppression and appeasement. They would demand the dissolution of the Reconstruction Council on El Island, while simultaneously allowing a few of its prominent figures to enter the Lower House. In their eyes, allowing these "mud-seeds" to set foot in their hallowed halls was an act of immense charity.

Other members quietly debated whether the Twelve Knight Orders could still be considered the cornerstone of the Kingdom’s military, and whether the Round Table Conference should continue to hold authority over the Lower House.

Of course, this was tantamount to treason, so they only dared to whisper it.

CLANK, CLANK... A troop of fully armed Armored Warriors stormed into the "Civilized Zoo." Far from stopping them, the Constitution Guard snapped to attention and saluted the intruders’ leader.

The man was Alfred, the Queen’s adopted son and Commander of the Golden Rose Knight Order, accompanied by his Knights. His face, framed by golden hair, was nothing short of perfect. Every line from the bridge of his nose to his jaw seemed to have been exquisitely carved by a master stonemason. He was hailed as the very model of an Istani.

His Plate Armor gleamed with a cold light as he strode arrogantly into the Lower House, drawing the immediate attention of every squabbling member. He didn’t need to call for silence; the room naturally fell quiet, creating the perfect conditions for the Knight Commander to speak.

"I am here to announce one thing to you gentlemen: on every inch of the Istani Kingdom’s soil, there shall be no talk of parley or compromise with the rebels. Especially not here."

His tone was supremely arrogant, and the blunt command offended the parliamentarians.

"Is that an order from the Queen? Even Her Majesty cannot interfere in the discussions of Parliament! According to the Great Charter, Her Majesty only holds the power to veto proposals and dissolve Parliament."

"If we are to be silenced, then let Her Majesty issue a formal decree and assemble a more obedient Parliament..."

A parliamentarian angrily condemned the act as an offense against the "symbol of Istani civilization."

Alfred strode over to the parliamentarian who had spoken. "Indeed," he replied, "Her Majesty the Queen won’t interfere with your squawking here in the zoo. She could silence you, but she can’t silence everyone in the Kingdom."

Just as everyone thought the Knight Commander was softening his stance, he moved without warning. He grabbed the parliamentarian’s head and slammed it down, smashing it straight through the wooden table between them.

The sudden violence stunned the onlookers into silence. Alfred roared, "Look at you! You’re nothing but spineless filth, a facade to dupe the common folk! Her Majesty the Queen is the master of this Kingdom, and we, the Twelve Knight Orders, are its backbone!"

"The Kingdom is at war with a Rebel Army! We are in a state of war! Is it the place of weaklings like you, who lack even the strength to truss a chicken, to tell us what to do?"

He dragged the bloodied parliamentarian toward the exit. As he reached the grand doors, he added, "Do not provoke the authority of Her Majesty the Queen and the Knight Orders again."

"If you think you can reenact the events of a century ago, if you want to follow the rebels’ example and oppose the Knight Orders, then by all means, give it a try."

Once outside, he tossed the unconscious parliamentarian, limp as a sack of mud, to one of his Knights. "Charge him with some crime of grave disrespect. Throw him in a cell."