Free Web NovelChapter 404: Chapter 86: The Ancients Lived a Hundred Springs and Autumns
The Ironspine Duke listened in silence. After a long moment, he slowly exhaled.
"Legacy..." he murmured, his gaze growing distant. "This is what is most exasperating, and also most admirable, about you idealists. You see the thorns and traps on the path ahead, you know the hope of success is as faint as a candle flame in the wind, yet you still choose to burn yourselves, trying to light even a small part of the way."
He suddenly took a step forward, closing the distance to Elizabeth.
Twilight had almost completely enveloped the side hall. Only the faint light from distant wall sconces, which had begun to ignite automatically, cast shifting shadows across his face.
"But, Elizabeth," he said, his voice dropping to a low, strangely magnetic tone, "what if I told you there was a way to increase your chances of success? Not as a tool to be used and quietly discarded, but as a chance to truly wield that tool, to use it according to your own will. Would you be willing to listen?"
Elizabeth’s dark pupils constricted.
She stared, unblinking, into the Ironspine Duke’s unfathomable eyes.
The air in the side hall seemed to freeze. The faint chanting in the distance faded completely.
"What way?" she finally asked.
The Ironspine Duke didn’t answer right away.
He slowly raised one hand, his gaunt yet steady fingers tracing something in the air between them. They left no mark, yet it felt as if he were outlining some invisible, crucial design.
"Saint Cyril and his allies dare to act with such fanfare, even inviting the great powers of the Continent to gather, because they are relying on two assumptions," he said slowly, his voice like a whisper, yet every word was distinct. "First, they are certain the Morning Star Bell will ring for them at the moment of the coronation, creating an irrefutable miracle and cementing their legitimacy. Second, they believe they have the entire situation under control, that all threats, internal and external, are accounted for, and that they can suppress any minor incidents that might arise."
His fingertips paused in midair, and his gray-blue eyes locked onto Elizabeth’s. "But what if one of those two assumptions proves to be wrong?"
Elizabeth’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.
"A bell doesn’t have to ring in just one way," the Ironspine Duke’s voice grew even lower, almost melting into the deepening twilight. "And a grand spectacle that has captured the attention of all, gathering the most eyes and power on the Continent... is, in itself, the largest and most conspicuous stage. On such a stage, the slightest discordant note will be amplified a thousand times over. Any unexpected ’variable’ could trigger a chain reaction sufficient to shake a seemingly impenetrable plan."
He drew his hand back, clasping it behind him. His silhouette seemed to grow taller and straighter in the gloom. "The way is right there, Elizabeth. It isn’t about me telling you the specific steps. It’s about whether you dare, in that moment, to make a choice that deviates from Saint Cyril’s script. It’s about whether you are prepared not only to be the ’bell’ that is rung, but to become the one who rings it."
He paused, giving Elizabeth time to process his words. Then he slowly added, his tone carrying an ancient, almost prophetic weight:
"Remember, when the light of the stars converges on a single point, when everyone’s expectations reach their zenith, when ’inevitability’ becomes the sole consensus... that is often the moment when ’chance’ can work the greatest miracles. What you must do is not fight the torrent, but guide it. At the most opportune moment, with your most sincere will, you must touch that ancient Holy Artifact. Leave the rest to Oriane, to fate, and also to those ’spectators’ hidden behind the curtain, who would be happy to see things play out."
When he finished speaking, a long silence fell over the side hall.
The light from the wall sconces burned steadily, casting their long, faintly swaying shadows upon the cold stone walls and stained-glass windows.
Elizabeth stood rooted to the spot, her slender, white-clad figure like another statue.
Only the slight tremble of her eyelashes and the turbulent gleam deep in her eyes gave any sign of life.
After a long moment, she nodded—slowly, yet with immense resolve.
"I understand," she said, her voice calm once more. "Thank you, Your Grace."
The Ironspine Duke gave her one last, deep look. He said nothing more, merely inclining his head in a slight nod before turning. With the same measured pace he had on arrival, he walked slowly into the deeper shadows of the side hall. The sound of his footsteps grew distant, then vanished completely.
Elizabeth remained alone. Twilight had now fully descended, and outside the window, the lights of the Holy City were igniting one by one, like an inverted river of stars.
She raised a hand, her fingertips unconsciously brushing the crescent-and-star Holy Emblem on her chest. The cool touch of the metal helped to settle her chaotic thoughts.
She looked out the window again at the brilliant river of stars. In the depths of her dark eyes, the last trace of hesitation burned away.
The stage was set.
The actors were in place.
And she was about to take the stage.
Not to play the part someone else had written for her.
But to... make her own voice heard.
...
「Monte Castle Study.」
Murphy sat in his wheelchair, a simple letter in his hands.
The paper was of ordinary stock, with no wax seal or heraldic insignia—only a few lines of elegant, yet slightly hurried, script.
It was a letter from Elizabeth.
"The Dawn Star Bell Ceremony is imminent. The Holy City is now the eye of a storm where factions from all sides have converged; the undercurrents are far more turbulent than can be seen from the outside. Cardinal Cyril and his allies are determined to win. They see this coronation as the key to shaping the landscape of the next several hundred years and will not tolerate failure. To achieve their goals, it is feared they will stop at nothing."
