Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 288 - 287: Unstable Winter Days

Gawain’s words stirred great waves in Kamel’s heart, causing his entire being to flash at a frequency of 4/4 time, and his color turned wholly blue—not because he couldn’t understand what Gawain meant, but because this idea was so far removed from traditional magic device production concepts.

Even during the Gondor Empire period, where technical skill was high and some common magical things had achieved mass production, many magic supplies still existed as expensive items. People seemed to have regarded such magic supplies from the very beginning as rare and costly treasures that could be passed down through generations—ancestral swords, ancestral rings, ancestral talismans... Using these things for decades or even two to three hundred years was normal—the technology of the Gondor Empire, although advanced, was deformed in such a way that the magical things they could mass-produce were limited from the start, essentially only the likes of Well of Deep Blue and Magic Shaping could be mass-produced, while items requiring deep processing and the involvement of Master Mages, still maintained the workshop or laboratory production model.

Because a Master Mage cannot be mass-produced.

So although the Gondor Empire had advanced technology, its development speed wasn’t fast, especially in later stages when the potential of the Well of Deep Blue was nearly exhausted, the prosperity of the entire Empire and the abundance of its materials were no longer results of technical advancement but rather accumulated over time.

So Kamel never imagined what kind of changes would occur if all the magical devices became cheap, mass-produced, quickly consumed industrial products.

Yet he couldn’t refute Gawain’s words—even though he was ancient, he wasn’t stubborn, he was just momentarily limited in his thinking by his experience. But as soon as he opened his mind, he would realize that Gawain was right.

Magic devices became ancestral treasures not because their long lifespan made them valuable, but because they were so valuable that people had to use them for a long time. Suppose a magical device could be mass-produced in a factory, could be easily bought and used by everyone, and could be updated every few decades or even years; would people still need to carefully pass it down through generations?

Gawain himself had his own considerations when he said these words—although he emphasized the "consumability" of industrial products, he said this after careful consideration. No matter when, the service life is always an important indicator of product quality. It doesn’t mean that industrially mass-produced things can ignore lifespan completely—especially on the battlefield, where the equipment has to be sturdy and durable.

Different things require different lifespans, the demand for the lifespan of a semi-permanent fortification and a gun barrel (acceleration rail) is certainly different.

Therefore, he conducted a series of material tests and calculations, using a magical power field exceeding design strength to power the Repulsion Substrate, testing the wear of the copper solvent in various extreme environments, and finally determining that this thing can still meet requirements under long-term overload conditions.

In fact, he previously fell into a similar trap in this area: he considered enhancing the output of some ancient magical device through overload in the short term, but when he mentioned this to Aunt Heidi, she always said it would seriously affect the lifespan of the ancient magical device, making it counterproductive. Coupled with many other matters needing attention, he didn’t delve into it more until one day he couldn’t help asking Aunt Heidi how long a device could run stably under frequent overload, and the latter said seriously:

"Ancestor, if it’s like that, the magic circle would dissolve into elements within forty years!"

Then Gawain realized that regarding the issue of "service life," his worldview was different from that of the locals... In their eyes, if a magic device can’t be used till the great-grandchildren’s generation, it’s considered a waste...

"According to my tests, using a universal board made of copper solvent as a repulsion generator, the acceleration rail can fire between three thousand to four thousand shells continuously—of course, this is a rough estimate, specific tests after making a finished product are needed to confirm it, and this number is still influenced by the environment, but no matter what, I think this service life is completely up to standard."

"Three thousand firings... that should indeed be enough," Kamel recalled the methods he had seen for producing rune triggers at the Rune Forge Factory and had to admit this service life was indeed quite sufficient, "so the acceleration rail problem is resolved, but the array used on the shells... this seems to be an elf system Array?"

"That’s right, the Blessing of Wind, the basic spell of the Hurricane Suffix, skilled Elf Rangers add the power of the wind to every arrow they shoot, which allows projectiles to be almost unaffected by airflow, and can greatly enhance their speed and range. I think this can also be used on shells—although it’s a bit larger, a shell is also flying, isn’t it."

Kamel hesitated: "The elf magic system and the human magic system..."

"Humans basically cannot use elf magic, this is because of slight differences in the brain structures of the two races, leading to differences in how they perceive magic power, making spellcasting naturally different. Hence, elf magic must be converted into human spell moulds before human spellcasters can master it. And if a spell mould can’t be converted, then humans can’t perform it at all. But..." Gawain nodded, but his tone shifted in the latter half, "this is a problem spellcasters encounter when casting spells, magic circles and symbols don’t have this difference, mathematics doesn’t have this difference!"

"You mean..."

"I got the ’Magic Array Expression’ of the Blessing of Wind from Soldrin, it’s a magic circle based on an elf spell. Elves can draw it, humans can also draw it, no matter who draws it, it will still take effect," Gawain said slowly, "but this magic circle is too complicated, consumes too much energy, and requires costly marking materials, so I hope you can optimize it—reconstruct these symbols using the formulas from rune logic. The language of the elements is universal, although these symbols are used by elves, their elemental significance is no different from human symbols."

"That’s right, the language of the elements is universal..." Kamel’s voice gradually carried a hint of eagerness, "The language of mathematics... should also be universal..."

Gawain nodded, "If rune logic can optimize this magic circle, then we’ve proven one thing: mathematics, like the language of elements, is the language of truth—at least in the fields we’ve already touched, it serves such a purpose. The application of rune logic will be greatly expanded. From now on, not only human spell systems but even the elves’ can be incorporated into the world constructed by Jenni’s formulas and Ravencrest’s constants!"

Kamel remained silent for two seconds, then suddenly bowed solemnly to Gawain, "I will personally realize all this!"

"I look forward to your results," Gawain smiled, "but don’t delay your line of weapon designs—they’re essential, too."

After Kamel left, Gawain rose from behind the desk and moved to the window sill, quietly gazing towards the northern banks.

There weren’t many buildings in the territory yet, so his sight could directly cross the administrative district, the residential area, and the docks on the northern side of the city. With the powerful vision of a legendary knight, he could see very far.

It was a clear day after the snow had stopped, with even the landscapes north of the White River faintly visible.

The newly formed 25th Production and Construction Brigade and the 16-member "Prisoner of War Team" composed of Typhon captives had been dispatched to the northern banks to start building a new residential area. The scaffolding of various heights resembled the withered branches of winter trees against the snowy background, gradually rising on the land—Fog Month was nearing its end. After this "month," which lasted more than sixty days, came the even colder and harsher "Cold Month." Across various aristocratic leaders’ lands, a great many destitute people faced their yearly, greatest life-or-death trial, while the Cecil would complete this year’s final construction projects to prepare for the population growth and spring plowing of the following year.

After Cold Month is Revival Month, and once spring plowing begins, all areas will be busy with farming, making it less easy to purchase cheap serfs. Yet, there will never be a shortage of refugees—some civilians always lose their land, their homes, are driven from their homeland, or flee it for various reasons. They migrate from one territory to another like ants; some die on the road, others die in foreign lands, and even when weather conditions are favorable, some still leave their homes.

After all, this is the desolate southern borders, where a hundred years have passed since the decline of the Cecil Clan. Countless former settlement points and grain reserve sites have vanished amid the nobility’s power redistribution. Land is easy to let lie fallow but hard to rebuild, and with constant friction among southern aristocrats, people can’t even feel secure enough to cultivate new land and build homes, so refugees have almost become a "normal occurrence" in the southern borders, something all the variously sized nobility have long grown accustomed to.

In such circumstances, as long as a piece of land is stable and can fill stomachs, it naturally attracts a large influx of people—what Gawain must consider is no more than two questions: the first is whether he can "digest" so many people, and the second...

Is whether those "good neighbors" will just watch as the Cecil territory grows larger and larger.

The royal capital experienced a snowstorm, and it was the largest snowfall since winter began.

Veronica stood atop the highest tower of the Cathedral of the Holy Light, letting the cold wind blow the snowflakes from the roof against her face, yet she seemed not to notice.

This is the highest place in the cathedral. At the apex of the towering spire, a special prayer room was constructed, with a priceless Holy Light Crystal embedded in the center of its ceiling, penetrating the roof to point directly at the sky—believers think that placing an energy crystal at such a height is the best way to be close to God.

Therefore, this prayer room at the spire’s top is the most special place in the entire cathedral. Ordinary believers have no right to enter it, and even Veronica was only allowed to step inside after passing "God’s trial."

However, she neither prayed nor gazed at the Holy Light Crystal, which could send any believer of the Holy Light into ecstasy. She simply opened the window and looked down at the people walking below.

The snow had not yet been cleared, and the entire city was blanketed in silver and white. The square in front of the cathedral, along with several streets, was covered in pure white. That immaculate color hid all filth, dirt, and decay—even sewage, excrement, and the corpses of those who died from the cold were temporarily buried beneath it, as if they had never existed.

The crowds that came to worship walked amidst that snowy whiteness, citizens clad in colorful winter clothing, wealthy merchants, knights, and aristocrats in distinct streams entering the cathedral district’s different doors, seeking divine guidance within this building blessed by the Holy Light, and psychological comfort that would let them face their current lives with peace of mind.

Amid this process, the snow was trampled by the crowds, melted by sunlight, and behind the worshipers, the dark streets reappeared, muddled with the dirty, wet mess of melted snow, as filthy as the worshipers themselves.

Veronica suddenly closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened her eyes again, her expression was calm, and there was no fluctuation of joy or anger in her gaze.

"Life is born full of imperfections, yet yearns for the light," Veronica whispered to herself, as if self-hypnotizing. The Holy Light Energy surrounding her gradually receded with these words. Finally, she lifted her head, gazed at the streets below, and silently prayed, "May you guide the Holy Light..."