Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 938 - 937: Funeral

The Goddess of Magic probably won’t return anymore.

Victor awoke suddenly from deep meditation, seeing the familiar magic laboratory before him. There were open scrolls and neatly arranged Rune Stones placed on the nearby table, while a faint purple smoke was wafting from the copper cauldron nearby, the scent of incense continuously dispersing from it.

Lingering in his mind were faint, chaotic impressions, the ”revelations” brought about by the deep meditation, perhaps mixed with traces of dreams and Illusionary Realm shadows. He shook his head, casting away those meaningless impressions: in these thoughts, there was no feedback from the Goddess of Magic.

Victor gently breathed out, feeling his spirit completely recover — as an aging Mage, his energy was not as robust. After conducting several magic experiments or engaging in hours of intense calculations, he needed deep meditation to recover. Yet he believed retirement was still far away for him, and with the longevity of a powerful Order Supernatural, he might serve the Wilder Clan for another half-century. His life’s accumulated wisdom and experience, and accurate judgment on matters and changing trends, were key to ensuring he could continue to serve.

The old Mage serving as a high-ranked Advisor at Bitter Winter Castle left his laboratory, stepping onto the outer corridor, observing Attendants polishing the beautiful crystal windows. Outside, the snowy mountains appeared sharper under the clear daylight, while both Soldiers and combat Mages stood diligently at their posts around the corner, looking both spirited and imposing.

The lady of the castle was not present; a few days ago, she departed on a passenger aircraft (modified from Dragon Cavalry technology) to the imperial capital, participating as a member of the ”Investigation Team” in the inquiry into the mysterious disappearance of the Goddess of Magic. During her absence, Bitter Winter Castle had to maintain orderly operations — this was the primary responsibility for Victor and several other Advisors and butlers.

However, such tasks were not originally theirs. In times when Lady Maggie still resided in the castle, and if the lady of the castle went out without her, then the maidservant supervisor took charge of managing everything within the castle. Outsiders might find it strange, difficult to fathom how a ”maid” — even a maidservant supervisor — had the qualification and capability to manage such a castle, directing numerous Mages and aristocratic Knights within. Only those living truly in this castle understood the maidservant supervisor’s ability and... combat prowess.

Yet Lady Maggie had been absent from the northern parts of the Dark Mountain Range for a long time, apparently busy fulfilling another task given by the lady of the castle, serving directly for the royal family.

A senior Attendant in a blue-white robe hurried past the corridor. As he passed by Victor, the old Mage called out to him, ”How’s the castle’s preparation for the ritual?”

”Master Victor,” the Attendant halted his steps, bowing to the archMage. ”The castle is already prepared — the horns are polished, the guards have donned ceremonial dress, everyone, including the plasterers and kitchen maids, has been notified to be in place. We are only waiting for the clock to chime.”

Victor nodded, ”Good, well done — continue with your work.”

The senior Attendant departed, and the old Mage contemplated for a moment, then sensed the whereabouts of others and flew over the corridor, heading straight for a terrace at the end of the second-story corridor of the castle.

Several people had gathered here, appearing to be discussing while waiting for something. An airy Wind Shield encapsulated the open semispherical terrace, blocking the frigid winds of the northern mountain range, making the terrace as comfortable as an indoor space.

The old Mage landed steadily on the terrace using flying techniques, met immediately by a middle-aged Mage in a light blue magic robe, ”Master Victor, you’ve finished meditating?”

”Meditation is over,” Victor nodded, casually inquiring, ”Any new updates from the lady of the castle?”

”About half an hour ago, a communication came through,” nodded the middle-aged Mage in response. ”We are to proceed according to the process issued by the ’International Mourning Committee,’ paying attention to order and personnel safety. Aside from that, there are no other instructions.”

The lady of the castle’s orders continued from before, indicating that this matter would likely have no changes today — the Goddess of Magic probably won’t come back anymore.

”Is Security Officer Badimoor in charge of the town’s order?” Victor turned his gaze to another individual on the terrace, casually asking.

”Yes,” replied the middle-aged lady wearing a conservative black jacket with golden embellishments on the collar, ”All designated observation areas have been organized with security teams; medical personnel are already stationed across the town. The citizens gathering for the ceremonies are converging on several squares and two open sites outside the town — areas uncovered by patrols will be under constant surveillance by my Eye of the Mage.”

Victor nodded, feeling slightly calmer.

Today, a special funeral is to be held, where mortals will send off a god. Yet for most ordinary people in town, the Goddess of Magic is a god with little relation to them. Besides the shocking spectacle of the ”god’s fall” drawing enough attention and amazement, most gathering today are here as spectators. Precisely because they are spectators, maintaining order becomes even more vital.

Too many people have gathered; the ”fall of a god” has indeed attracted far too many. This made Victor, as a Mage, feel increasingly uncomfortable.

He looked toward the middle-aged Mage in the light blue magic robe, seemingly wanting to discuss something; however, before he could speak, a melodious chime from the main building of the castle abruptly interrupted his action.

The chime was melodious and deep, its rhythm slow and solemn, the heavy sound of metal striking reverberated through the air, rippling outward centered around Bitter Winter Castle. As the chime of the castle resonated, several city bell towers below began operating almost simultaneously, precisely driven by mechanical synchronization devices, enveloping the entire city with solemn chimes.

Next, the Magic Web Terminals both inside and outside the castle activated simultaneously, and from the various magical devices located in Bitter Winter Garden, the legislative halls, and city squares, a solemn voice emanated on time, ”Everyone please observe a moment of silence.”

All on the terrace simultaneously closed their mouths, beginning the moment of silence as scheduled. The entire city instantly fell exceedingly quiet, only the chimes seemed to linger, echoing phantom-like in people’s ears.

Three minutes later, the moment of silence ended, and Victor heard a shrill horn sound suddenly arise from the direction of the city walls. Instinctively, he raised his head, moments later witnessing several tiny shadows rising from the southwest city wall, those shadows took off from the wall, nearing closer, gradually revealing a clear, inverted cone-like outline. They streaked over the main structure of the castle amid a low humming, then flew toward the city, circled over the city before returning above the castle, and continued accelerating towards the distant ice-encrusted mountains.

Those were Bitter Winter Castle’s Dragon Cavalry Squadron, carrying the ”sacred ash” — relic of the Goddess of Magic. Following protocol, before sunset, they had to scatter the ash towards the northern mountain range.

Through these carefully orchestrated procedures, Victor finally began to feel a genuine sense of sorrow — although, like most Mages, he was only a shallow follower of the Goddess of Magic, even shallow followers were believers. At this moment, he finally felt a slight real sensation toward the unfolding events, although peculiar, realizing truly... the Goddess of Magic would not be returning.

In the funeral, within the hearts of each participant, the goddess departed like a person, really not returning.

...

The Dragon Cavalry squadron flew low across the city sky, a deep humming sound emanating from above, and after these aircraft carrying the ”sacred relic ashes” sped towards White River, a deep and solemn voice came through the broadcasting devices set up throughout the city, beginning to broadcast the eulogy for the Goddess of Magic, Milmina.

Amber stepped forward and opened the study window, allowing the outside sound to penetrate more clearly into the room—those sounds echoed between the tall buildings of Cecil Castle, and by the time they reached here, they carried a layered, almost hymn-like quality of unreality.

Gawain stood by the window, his gaze calmly watching the clear, expansive blue sky outside.

Aunt Heidi, Victoria, and Baldwin Franklin, three Grand Governors, stood next to Gawain. They listened to the commotion outside, glanced at each other, and for a moment, their expressions were somewhat strange.

”The funeral seems to be going quite smoothly...” Aunt Heidi tugged at the corner of her mouth and said to Gawain, ”Reports of the Dragon Cavalry taking off have been coming in from all over.”

”The ’ashes’ scattered over mountains and rivers, the goddess’s soul returning to this land...” Baldwin Franklin said in a low voice, ”This symbolic significance... is indeed extraordinary.”

”Professional,” Amber, returning from the window, commented on the side, ”very professional.”

Gawain found it quite peculiar too, but he maintained his dignified ancestor persona, nodding slightly and saying, ”We established a very professional committee for the sake of this moment’s sense of ceremony.”

”A god ’dying’ like a mortal at their funeral, the more solemn the ceremony, the more undeniable their ’death’ becomes,” Aunt Heidi said, but then her tone turned strange as she muttered softly, ”However... in another sense, the Goddess of Magic is still ’alive’... Are we possibly being a bit too...”

”A bit inappropriate?” Gawain glanced at Aunt Heidi, chuckling and shaking his head, ”Yet Lady Milmina’s greatest wish is to destroy her divine position, isn’t it? We are doing her a great favor, believe me, that ’goddess’ surely has no objections—in fact, she might even thank us.”

”...Honestly, I even suspect she’s secretly watching her own funeral the whole time,” Amber muttered beside him, ”After all, she hid herself on her own, not locked in the shadow realm. She could sneak out and nobody would know.”

”That’s not our concern,” Gawain said offhandedly.

As they spoke, the eulogy broadcast echoing throughout the city gradually reached its end. In the broadcaster’s impassioned narrative, the life of the benevolent, great, and wise Goddess of Magic, Lady Milmina, was summarized. The Cecil Royal Family and the Supreme Administration Office appended an epithet for this deity, affirming her outstanding contributions to the development of mortal civilization. In simple terms, to summarize—

By proposal of the Administrative Office, discussion among the three Grand Governors, and the Emperor’s approval, the life of the Goddess of Magic, Lady Milmina, was one of selfless dedication, charity, and generosity. It was also a life of proactive struggle. The People of Cecil and all mortals who were ever protected by the Goddess of Magic will forever cherish her memory and wish her a safe journey.

Messages soon came in from all over; the Dragon Cavalry squadrons had successfully completed their mission.

Under the gaze of as many witnesses as possible, the Empire’s pilots executed the largest joint flight mission in history, spreading the ”ashes” of the Goddess of Magic across the land she once protected and loved.

They were scattered particularly evenly.

”I really didn’t expect you could write such a... eulogy,” Victoria looked at Gawain, her usually ice-cold face showing no expression, but her tone was clearly a bit strange, ”Even more so that you would use so many words of praise to describe a god... Honestly, to receive such a ’funeral’ would be an honor for anyone.”

”Bestowing honor upon the deceased is a gesture that requires no restraint. I can generously reserve all worldly praise for the Goddess of Magic, for she is already ’dead.’ Furthermore, the more heartfelt our eulogy, the more she appears to die like a person,” Gawain said with a faint smile, ”Additionally, the eulogy is not meant for the dead to hear—it’s for the living.”

”I wonder how things are over in Typhon,” Baldwin Franklin suddenly said, ”Hopefully, those people of Typhon won’t cause trouble.”

”In this regard, I have faith in them,” Gawain said, ”Perhaps they don’t have Magic Web Communication and Dragon Rider Aircraft, but they have communication towers spread across their nation and gryphons and Mage troops two or three times more than our Dragon Cavalry. In terms of ’grand occasions,’ an old empire surely wouldn’t be more frugal than the young Cecil. They will have a grand funeral on their side as well,”

As he spoke, he glanced at the mechanical clock hanging on the nearby wall, then nodded to the three Grand Governors in front of him, ”The time is almost up. It seems that this ’funeral’ has concluded smoothly. Let’s discuss something else.”

He moved away from the window and returned to his desk. However, just as he sat down and was about to start the conversation, his gaze suddenly froze.

On the wooden surface of the desk, archane energy floating in the air began to concentrate, quickly leaving burn marks on the desktop. The burn lines extended rapidly, gradually forming a conspicuous word—

”Thanks—”

Gawain: ”...”

Before he could attempt to capture the presence, that energy focus vanished without a trace, leaving nothing behind.

Gawain shook his head and swept his hand across the desk to casually erase the writing, murmuring, ”Since you’ve managed to hide, stay hidden properly.”