Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 376 - 375: Gathering in the Shadows

The church, the church he built with his own hands.

When Wright set out, he never thought he would return to this place so quickly, and moreover, he never imagined that upon returning, he would lose the favor of the Holy Light and become an ordinary person.

Losing extraordinary powers, losing the status of a Transcendent, this wasn’t much of a concern for Wright. Power was merely a tool, and he had lived for twenty years as an ordinary person before acquiring this tool. He wasn’t particularly attached to the identity of a Transcendent, but losing his affinity with the Holy Light left him particularly somber.

He stood silently for a long time in front of the humble church, observing how the small tower and spire above the church formed a sharp sword silhouetted against the giant sun, piercing the sky like the first Holy Light guiding humanity through ancient darkness. Finally, he sighed softly and stepped forward to open the church’s door.

The words of the leader left a profound echo in his heart. Wright knew those words had reason and were worth pondering over. However, he knew even better where his problem lay—he never wavered in his resolve and actions in practicing the path of the holy light. He had never doubted this aspect.

What truly shook him was why those who had almost completely defied the Holy Light were still able to wield those sacred powers.

Lord of Holy Light... Could He really not see all of this?

The nearly rebellious thought surfaced again in Wright’s heart. At the instant it emerged, he felt a tumult in his spiritual world, a faint, elusive sting appearing in his mind. A distant, indistinct, and chaotic whisper echoed in his ear, seemingly containing infinite truths and love. Yet Wright couldn’t discern the content of the whisper and instead felt it was moving farther away from him.

The brief sting and confusion quickly subsided, and Wright felt the power of the Holy Light within him weaken further.

"Cannot doubt the Lord..." the tall Priest mumbled softly, stepping slowly into the church’s prayer hall. He sat down in the first row of seats, glancing at the holy image not far ahead—the Lord of Holy Light’s face was obscured, standing on the pulpit. Sunlight streamed down through the skylight, enveloping the statue in a hazy glow. Then he lowered his head and silently began to pray.

Halfway through the prayer, Wright opened his eyes, sensing someone approaching him. He stood up and turned his head to look.

A middle-aged woman dressed in coarse cloth hesitantly walked over. This was one of the regular churchgoers. Seeing Wright finish his prayer, the farmer woman immediately ceased her stealthy movement, approached with a hearty voice, "I saw the door open—Priest, when did you come back?"

"I just returned a short while ago," Wright looked kindly at the woman who often came to the church to pray, "Do you need any help?"

"Oh, nothing, I just heard you were back and came by to see—they all really miss you," the farmer woman laughed, "Now that you’re back, will the weekly service continue as usual? I should go back and tell everyone."

Holding a service required leading everyone in experiencing the Holy Light. Wright couldn’t help but frown slightly, with an apologetic expression on his face, "I... I’m sorry, I might not be in the best state recently and probably can’t lead the service..."

The woman didn’t mind at all, nonchalantly waving her hand, "Oh, it’s alright, it’s alright, I’ll just tell everyone the service is canceled."

Then, with a curious glance at Wright, she asked with a hint of concern in her voice, "Priest, did you catch a cold outside? I heard that the snow north of the rocky ridges Fortress hasn’t melted yet, were you freezing outside?"

An uneducated farmer woman probably couldn’t comprehend the concept of shaken faith and turning away from the Holy Light. She merely guessed Wright’s current state from her understanding, but Wright, upon hearing her concerned words, fell silent for a moment.

After a while, the sole Priest in this territory shook his head slightly, "I’m fine. I think I can still lead the service—go and tell everyone that this week’s service will proceed as normal."

"Really?" The farmer’s wife looked Wright up and down, "Priest, don’t overexert yourself. You’re strong, but no matter how strong, you can’t hold off illness."

"Thank you for your concern," Wright smiled, as if relieved of some burden, "just some... small issues, no need to worry."

The faith in the Holy Light, for these ordinary folks, doesn’t have such complex or noble connotations. When they pray in the church, they never ask for transcendental enlightenment; all they seek is peace of mind, a sense of tranquility amid their busy lives.

No matter what the priests see in the faith’s power, to these common people, its greatest use is merely a spiritual solace.

Perhaps Wright, the priest, has lost the ability to sense the Holy Light and use the Divine Arts, but at least he still possesses the power to offer these people a half-day’s peace.

In Count Hosman’s Territory, adorned with luxurious gold and silver ornaments, with thick velvet carpets, the brightly lit castle reception room illuminated by Magic crystal lamps, Earl Carloff Hosman sat on his favorite high-backed chair, listening to his most trusted intelligence advisor conveying information. His face revealed a rather complex expression—a mixture of disdain and more profound confusion.

The Earl put down a ruby ornament he was playing with, and with an odd smile said, "Revoking all noble privileges within the territory, even those of the Cecil Clan managing the territory, and then establishing an ’Administrative Office’ to let a bunch of lowborn people manage it?"

"Yes, this is the information gathered by spies who successfully entered the ’25th Production and Construction Brigade.’ We’ve never understood the internal workings of the Cecil, but thanks to these excellent spies, we finally grasp some of the truth," said Glen, a slim, gloomy man with black hair and a hooked nose, leisurely beside Count Hosman, "Moreover, it’s said that even the recently annexed Kant Region by the Cecil Clan has established a second-grade Administrative Bureau, where the power is significant, and even taxation and reclamation are controlled by the Bureau’s clerks and departmental officials."

Count Hosman frowned, "Is this a front? Are these so-called officials actually members of the Cecil Clan?"

"Apparently not," Glen shook his head, "Spies say that there are many powerful officials within the Administrative Office, positions like Agricultural Manager, Director of Mining, and Director of Commerce are held by people outside the Cecil Clan. Although they are loyal to the Cecil, the power they wield is real, even the Knights of the territory have to accept control from these department managers..."

"...It seems that the resurrected ancient hero has... some issues with his mindset," Count Hosman smirked, "Moreover, he not only revoked his vassals’ privileges but also forced the noble Knights and Ladies of the Kant Region to swear allegiance to his barbaric new policies?"

"Yes, forced oath-taking, forced allegiance, revoked almost all noble privileges, even tax collection and fief management are handed over to the so-called ’second-grade Administrative Bureau,’" Glen displayed a serious expression, "According to our spies, all Kant Knights were coerced into accepting these unjust treatments, they even attempted to resist—reportedly on the east side of the Cecil, those brave and noble Knights chose to draw their swords in defense of their glorious traditions. The sounds of battle at that time even reached within the city, but they were later suppressed by force..."

"It is indeed unimaginable behavior," Count Hosman exclaimed dramatically, "Is this really the true face of the resurrected ancient hero? He’s practically destroying the foundation on which this glorious country survives... On the lands downstream of the White River, tradition and order seem on the verge of vanishing!?"

"He is undoubtedly destroying what he built with his own hands back then," Glen stated seriously, "The noble honor is being trampled by him. Using violence and means of manipulating public sentiment, he forces those of noble blood to yield under his rule, yet the vast majority remains unaware of his true form—especially in some eastern and northern areas of the southern borders, where locals still regard Gawain Cecil as a radiant pioneer hero."

"Everyone has heard of his pioneering legends, but that was seven hundred years ago, stories possibly twisted and exaggerated countless times. Now, his true resurrection is when we can see the truth," Earl Carloff Hosman placed the ruby ornament on the table, speaking sincerely and earnestly, "Mr. Glen, my advisor, we must act—we can’t let this destruction of tradition and the rule of law continue to develop."

Glen took a profound look at the veteran aristocrat before him, moved by his earnest words, but as the head of intelligence skilled at discerning truths, he knew what the real motive was—no more than the continual malfunctioning of new machinery in the mines, the exodus of alchemists and pharmacists from the territory, and the mineral market firmly controlled by Viscount Leslie of Tanzan Town. These apparent losses were making the Earl increasingly restless.

This Earl had already amassed considerable wealth from stolen Magic Web technology, but nobles’ pursuit of wealth is never-ending. As long as they can see a Gold Coin within sight yet not theirs, they will never stop reaching out. Now, Count Hosman has spotted a heap of gold coins, and also detected flaws in the ancient Duke he can exploit, making it hard for his mind to remain calm.

But as the trusted intelligence advisor of the Hosman Family, Glen wouldn’t expose his master’s true intentions. He would only offer prudent reminders: "Earl, allow me to remind you—that is, after all, a founding hero, and he is still a Duke, though currently only a titular one."

"Yes, a Duke, a founding hero, but when he starts dismantling the foundational order of this kingdom, his title and halo will dim," Carloff Hosman laughed, "Ultimately, this country belongs to all of noble blood. In the southern borders, there are dozens of territories with varying sizes, Mr. Glen, what do you think these territorial nobles will do upon learning of Gawain Cecil’s destruction and threat to traditional laws?"