Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 504 - 503: Remembrance

The grand bonfire blazed, and from afar, the bell tower rang out with melodious chimes. Amidst the city suffused with the fragrant scent of Death Chrysanthemum, St. Soniel began to be enveloped in a layer of dreamy mist. The firelight spread throughout the city seemed to resist the deepening night sky, creating a city of brilliance under the starlit heavens.

This inevitably made one think of that legendary dark era, recalling the second pioneering that determined the fate of humanity—during the chaotic wave of Dark Chaos, did the ancestors also light massive bonfires like today, erecting a lighthouse in the darkness, guiding their lost compatriots in the depths of the chaotic wave to come closer?

This might be another implicit meaning of lighting bonfires on Halloween Night.

Watching the flickering firelight before him, listening to the Ritual Officer recite the lengthy prayers for the souls beside him, Wales Moen remained expressionless and silent. This nominal ruler of Anzu stood like an outsider in the courtyard commemorating the Moen ancestors. The sparks from the bonfire danced and leapt before him, riding the steaming warm air into the dark night, gradually merging with the autumn starry sky. In that night sky, he could not see the face of Charlie Moen—his distant and unfamiliar blood ancestor.

A gentle footstep came from behind, and this middle-aged crown prince suddenly felt a sense of inexplicable peacefulness and serenity enveloping his body and soul. He caught a glimpse of a glow manifesting in the air and turned his head, seeing Veronica Moen, dressed in a white gown, standing beside him.

A small white flower blossomed before the chest of the Saint Princess, nourished by the Holy Light, pure and beautiful.

”Brother, good evening.” Veronica said with her seemingly eternal serene smile, slightly bowing.

”Veronica...” Wales Moen looked at his genius sister with some surprise, ”Shouldn’t you be praying at the cathedral?”

”Today is Halloween, the first Halloween since Father left this world,” Veronica said calmly, ”The Lord will be forgiving.”

These words did not seem something a ”Saint Princess,” seen as a paragon of devotion, would say. But Wales Moen knew that his sister had always been extraordinary since childhood. She always had her own thoughts and countless ingenious reasons to make her actions appear justifiable. So he merely nodded slightly without asking further.

After a moment of awkward silence, Wales voluntarily spoke: ”Duchess Victoria came over, and she told me some matters.”

”You are going to become King.”

Wales was somewhat surprised: ”How did you know?”

”It’s not difficult to guess, given the situation, the choices the Regent Duke can make are limited. And today is Halloween; it’s fitting for her to tell you these things in front of the ancestors,” Veronica said calmly, then slightly bowed, ”Congratulations, brother.”

Wales subtly frowned, for this wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He looked into Veronica’s eyes, which always carried a gentle and trustworthy light smile but to him seemed like vividly crafted gemstones—magnificent, beautiful, but lifeless. That gaze bore neither malice nor kindness, making him awkwardly avert his gaze.

It seemed no one ever felt any peculiarity in the Saint Princess’s aura; everyone considered her a heaven-sent treasure, a symbol of Anzu’s beautiful spirit. Yet Wales had always felt inexplicably strange while interacting with this sister since she was little. Under this strange pressure, he tried to avoid being alone with Veronica. However, today was Halloween, and he had no reason to leave the courtyard early.

So he could only stay here and try to change the subject: ”I heard that since the Holy Church Army entered the battlefield, the Anzu Kingdom’s military situation has been gradually improving...”

”It has only improved to the point of a stalemate with the Eastern Territory Rebels,” Veronica responded, ”much of the reason for this stalemate is the weather is getting colder—winter fighting is unfavorable for both sides.”

”...Is that so, I didn’t think of these things,” Wales chuckled self-deprecatingly, ”See, I am not suited to be king, I can’t even think of these.”

”No one is born to be a king, you have just been away from Silver Castle for too long,” Veronica said as she looked at the bonfire in the courtyard. After a few seconds of pause, she suddenly spoke a seemingly unrelated sentence, ”...The bonfires lit on this year’s Halloween are twice as many as last year’s.”

Wales was momentarily stunned, then realized: ”Because of the war, right.”

”The souls of deceased believers will return to the realms of their respective gods, while Unbelievers will fall into the Reaper’s abode. Souls have their destinations, but people choose to believe that the departed souls will tread upon Death Chrysanthemum petals to return home and reunite with the living... Brother, do you believe those souls will return and watch us in the firelight?”

Wales involuntarily looked at the great bonfire in the courtyard. Those bright flames leaped in the night sky, amidst the hazy curtain of flame and smoke, actually, nothing existed. But he couldn’t help but imagine, imagining within the swaying curtain, Francis II’s face appeared for a moment. The elderly King stood with his scepter, looking at him with a calm expression, with no expectation in his gaze.

”I just hope they can rest peacefully in the realm of the gods,” Wales said and looked at Veronica by his side, ”And you? As the living Saint of the Holy Light, can you see our father and all the ancestors within the firelight?”

Veronica was silent for a moment, then turned and left: ”I see nothing.”

Me neither—Wales Moen said in his heart.

Then he lifted his head, watching the smoke rising from the bonfire, drifting straight into the night sky. Far above, it merged with more smoke. The smoke from countless bonfires formed a great cloud, causing the stars to gradually blur.

In the night, at the largest square in Cecil Castle—Pioneer Square, a giant bonfire was burning fiercely.

The mechanical clock in the city center tolled eight times, and a huge Sculpture Hand floated above the bonfire, scattering powder made from black stones and Fire Phosphate Stone into the flames. Accompanied by a slight burst, the firelight suddenly became exceptionally bright and grand.

The crowd gathered by the bonfire let out a loud cheer, and accompanied by the city-shaking cheer, the large Magic Web Terminal set in the square was activated, and a huge holographic projection floated above the square.

Activated simultaneously were other Magic Web Terminals located in several squares throughout the city, the surrounding cities, and every town square along the Cecil Principality’s Cross Axis Line.

This night, nearly everyone gathered by the bonfire, and almost all the large bonfires were located in the squares of each town.

The Cecil Clan was long accustomed to this ”miracle of magic”; they were neither alarmed nor hurried to avoid. People simply curiously looked up at the silhouette gradually appearing in the projection.

Gawain Cecil’s silhouette appeared there.

”Citizens, good evening, I am your leader.”

The crowd was quite surprised. Some people immediately took off their hats to salute the hologram image on the square after realizing it, while some naive children called out happily, and the bold ones pointed at the hologram: ”Look! The leader!!”

The reckless children were immediately stopped by the adults, while the voice of the leader continued to come from the holographic projection:

”Today is the Memorial Day, the day we commemorate the deceased. The origin of this festival was to commemorate a nobleman, but today we use it to remember our parents and siblings, to remember our departed friends and relatives...

In the Pioneer Square, Betty stared blankly at the large bonfire in front of her, listening to the leader’s voice coming from the hologram behind her, dazed in silence.

”In the early spring of 375, a disaster befell old Cecil, countless people left this world on that day...”

The night wind carrying smoke and dust blew in, awakening Betty from her daze. She watched people around her start to throw wood branches into the fire, picked up the small branch she had prepared earlier, took a few steps forward, and awkwardly threw it into the fire.

The small branch was quickly consumed by flames, and the little maid stared numbly at the bright fire, in her not-so-clear mind, every flicker of flame seemed to transform into a face.

”Madam Hansen... Mrs. Morris... Uncle Taylor...”

Betty murmured softly, reciting those names she had worked hard to remember, then suddenly bent down and bowed deeply with the signature gesture that seemed like she was going to throw herself out.

”I survived!”

A figure passed by Betty, holding a branch, it was Rebecca, the heir of the Cecil Clan. She also threw the branch in her hand into the fire, the flickering firelight reflecting on her face, this always reckless girl unusually quiet at this moment, she stood silently for a moment before softly saying, ”We survived, eight hundred and eighty of us... Father, I tried my best.”

Aunt Heidi had arrived beside Rebecca at some point: ”Everything is developing well now, Rebecca has grown a lot too...”

Behind them, Gawain’s holographic projection still floated in the sky above the square, his voice resonating through the air, transmitting far and wide: ”... To all the unfortunate civilians who died, may your souls rest in peace, to all the sacrificed soldiers, I salute you... May the deceased rest in peace, be assured, Cecil will continue to move forward, I promise all of you...

”To all the living and the dead, good night.”

The holographic projection on the square gradually disappeared, people remained quiet in solemnity, while in the ”studio” of the Magic Web control center, Gawain walked down from the platform used to capture holographic images.

Amber approached from the side, the half-elf face with a sly smile: ”Is this another rebellion of yours—it’s always been the civilians commemorating the nobles, but this time a noble commemorated the civilians, and even ’saluted’...”

Gawain sighed slightly: ”From now on, at least on Cecil’s land, the Memorial Day will be a completely ordinary day of remembrance... Even scholars devoted to the study of history won’t be obsessed with the original origins and meanings of Memorial Day.”

”So your purpose is indeed to stop people from celebrating your death anniversary with singing and dancing in the future~~”

Gawain quietly glanced at Amber who seemed to be asking for a beating with her mouth, but saw that deep within the half-elf’s eyes was that slight unnaturalness.

He asked: ”Do you have no relatives to commemorate?”

Amber turned away: ”I don’t even know what my parents are called, nor sure if they’re really dead, who to commemorate.”

”What about your foster father?”

Amber was silent until several seconds later she softly said: ”He was a thief wanted by the nobles, when he died he was purified by the Holy Light clerics... In the bonfire of Memorial Day... there’s no place for him.”

Gawain looked at Amber’s profile, he finally understood why this half-elf was so persistent in opposing all Holy Light clerics.

”What crime did your foster father commit?”

”He only wanted to find a book from the church, but accidentally knocked over the candle that the local leader offered in the church. I’ve long said he was a clumsy little thief...”

The room fell into silence, and after a moment of stillness, Gawain broke the silence: ”I can’t reverse that purification, but as the ruler of the southern borders, I can pardon your foster father. What’s his name?”

Amber looked at Gawain in astonishment, then reacted: ”Sali... His name is Sali Randolph...”

Gawain was somewhat surprised: ”He has a surname?”

”Yes, he has a surname. I asked him, but he said nothing... Later I also investigated many family genealogies in the southern borders but found nothing of that surname.”

”I see...” Gawain sighed, ”Perhaps he was a dependent of a declining noble family. In any case, Sali Randolph is now innocent.”

A pardon cannot bring the dead back to life nor summon the already fallen souls from the depths of the underworld, but often, what people want is not anything of actual significance, only peace of mind.

Gawain gently patted Amber’s shoulder: ”While the bonfire is still burning, go quickly.”

The next moment, the half-elf’s figure had already vanished into the air.