CHAPTER 196: CHAOS; A BOLD PLAN

"I don't understand why it turned out this way either, but the news is out. The majority of the established noble houses didn't get seats on the Elder Council."

Charles had a shocked expression on his face himself. This news was impossible to accept. Even after sharing what he had learned with Wang Yu and Edward, he still couldn't believe it.

"Then the families that received the most votes—did they all get seats on the Elder Council?" Wang Yu's voice came through the device.

Charles closed his eyes and tabulated the votes mentally.

"Largely. I did keep track of the votes to some extent. Most of the noble houses who secured enough votes got seats on the Elder Council, though a few nobles didn't."

Wang Yu fell silent. He had no idea what was going on, himself.

He didn't understand much about the inner workings of the capital. What he did know was that noble families with seats on the Elder Council gained a huge boost in status among the aristocracy.

Members of the Elder Council could also submit proposals regarding royal decisions. If more than half of the Council members agreed on a stance, the royal family was often compelled to go along with it.

Previously, Elder Council seats were almost entirely monopolized by the kingdom's old nobility. These families, steeped in long-standing tradition and deep resources, were considered far more competent in policy matters than newer nobles—and had much more experience working with the royal family.

But this time, the Elder Council's re-election completely broke with tradition. Even the Ryders, which Wang Yu believed unshakably secure, had failed to win a seat. The political climate of the capital was becoming more and more incomprehensible to him.

"What's the reaction among the noble families right now?"

"My father doesn't seem particularly upset, but there's been a lot of upheaval among other families. Those that unexpectedly gained Elder Council seats are, of course, ecstatic. They're now looking to ally with their supporters and use the Council's power to expand their influence.

"As for the old noble houses that didn't get seats, they're staying quiet for now. But according to my intelligence, they're already sending people to negotiate with the royal family. Even to them, it seems that this sudden reshuffling of the Elder Council came out of nowhere.

"Honestly, I really can't figure out what the royal family has been doing lately. The situation in the capital is very chaotic. The Nightblades have friction with the royal family. There's tension between the old and new nobles. And now there's also disharmony between the royal family and those old noble houses that lost their seats.

"Wang Yu, you'd better be careful these days. Try not to get involved in anything—it could get really messy."

As a successor to an ancient line of nobles rooted in the capital, Charles understood its political dynamics far better than Wang Yu.

From what he could see, the capital was like a tangled ball of threads—an utterly chaotic one, at that. Anyone who got involved would likely get swept up in the mess and find it hard to get out again.

Charles was uncharacteristically serious as he warned Wang Yu to proceed with caution.

"Got it..." Wang Yu responded, putting the communications device back in his pocket. His gaze drifted toward the window. Outside, the sounds of a noisy, somewhat restless crowd could be heard. There wasn't full-blown chaos yet, but he had a strong feeling that something would happen soon.

His recent experience at the Elder Council re-election was a perfect example of getting dragged into trouble. Fortunately, the commander of the Royal Guard himself had handled the matter.

Uller had been quick and decisive. Wang Yu was merely taken to Royal Astrologer Selene to verify his testimony. Once it was confirmed that he wasn't involved, he had been released. Otherwise, he might have faced further interrogation.

"We should start making plans to leave soon. We have no reason to stay in the capital anymore," Wang Yu said as he returned to his seat.

"I'll send my mother a letter. Once the battle with Selwyn ends, let's leave the capital as soon as possible," Avia replied, taking Wang Yu's arm. Her eyes were full of worry.

Wang Yu rested his chin on his hand, frowning. There was a reason behind everything the royal family did. What benefit did they gain by throwing the capital into such turmoil?

From a different perspective, perhaps the chaos was a price to be paid, a means to an end. In that case, what was it the royal family was trying to achieve that would cause it to be willing to pay such a price?

And was there any way to quell this chaos quickly, aside from using overwhelming force to crush all opposition...?

"Extra! Extra! Aleisterre's battlemage corps launched a surprise attack on Selwyn's army yesterday, with a massive spell that wiped out a large portion of the enemy's main forces. A decisive battle is likely!"

The voice of a newspaper boy shouting outside entered Wang Yu's ears. That would do it—bigger news had arrived, something that would provide a brief window of respite from the capital's chaos.

A day prior, a cavalry unit of several dozen horses had galloped across the plains along the border between Aleisterre and Selwyn.

Selwyn's fierce assault on Aleisterre had ended in retreat. Black Benn, the Flame Marshal, had used his potential to burn a massive swath of enemy troops to cinders.

But that had only been a temporary victory. Selwyn's tougher, more fearsome soldiers quickly found a way to counterattack. They deployed elite teams to break through Aleisterre's lines with precision strikes.

Aleisterre's magicians held a major advantage in large-scale battles where accuracy and distinguishing friend from foe didn't matter.

But when small, elite teams launched sudden strikes, the magicians couldn't function nearly as well. Large-scale destructive spells risked wiping out more of their own than the enemy.

And spells with small coverage areas were too easy to dodge for swift, powerful knights.

No flashy techniques—no smoke or explosions—took place. Only brutal close-quarters combat began to unfold across the plains.

When the gap in strength wasn't too large, even elites who were surrounded could be cut down as a result of limited mobility.

Even so, these ferocious Selwyn warriors always managed to drag down several Aleisterre soldiers with them before they died. Death came cruelly and equally for everyone.

Aleisterre's only edge was proximity to their main camp. Wounded soldiers still breathing had a better chance of receiving timely treatment and surviving the battle.

But the brutality of Selwyn's fighters taught Aleisterre yet another harsh lesson.

These elite Selwyn troops who had stormed into Aleisterre's lines and cut down several times their number in foes, had one final surprise—something buried inside them that activated upon death.

Necromantic magic, planted in advance, triggered upon their demise. Their powerful corpses rose again.

No longer feeling pain, no longer afraid of blood or injury, the undead soldiers resumed their killing spree within Aleisterre's ranks.

While Aleisterre somewhat shunned necromancy, seeing it as the desecration of the dead, Selwyn, a cold and fearless nation, wielded the art with brutal efficiency.

To them, death was simply death. Fighting beside your comrades even in death to kill your enemies—why, that was both an honor and a blessing.

After Aleisterre's magicians finally figured out how to dispel the necromantic magic, Selwyn unveiled a third wave of horror that once again inflicted severe losses upon Aleisterre.

Undead bodies, animated by magic, were capable of moving despite grievous wounds—as long as they remained intact. But once the necromantic energy within them dispersed, they would fall inert.

The Aleisterre magicians swiftly dealt with the Selwyn soldiers who had been transformed into powerful undead warriors via pre-implanted spells.

Once the magic within their bodies was expelled, these undead soldiers collapsed to the ground, unable to move. Their shattered souls dissipated—and with that came true death.

However, something hidden within those souls erupted after a brief delay.

Just like the raiders who had launched a surprise assault on Aleisterre's camp at the Sighing Canyon who had released viscous black liquid from their own bodies, that same viscous substance now burst forth from the Selwynian raiders' souls, seeping into the surrounding soldiers and magicians and infusing them with overwhelming terror.

Many soldiers perished under this threefold assault. Aleisterre suffered heavy losses in this kamikaze attack, losing even a significant number of their precious magicians to the frightening black matter.

The few survivors were soldiers who believed in the Lady of the Night, whose Prayer Network had shielded them from mental corruption.

This led to growing attention in the Lady's faith.

The decree from the capital forbidding the spread of her worship failed to deter soldiers, whose lives could be snuffed out at any moment, from turning to her for salvation.

Belief in the Lady of the Night spread widely among the troops.

Meanwhile, Aleisterre, having suffered tremendous losses, began preparing for its first offensive strike against Selwyn since the war began—a plan that seemed simultaneously feasible and utterly mad.

Horses carried Aleisterre scouts across blood-soaked, fire-ravaged plains. Undead creatures roamed the battlefield, the aftermath of a brutal clash that had ended in eerie, chilling silence.

It was dusk. These mangled undead forms gave the battlefield an eerie and twisted atmosphere.

Some of the undead had sensed the life force of the galloping horses and the humans they carried.

Driven by the innate hatred of the dead toward the living, these undead warriors who had once been soldiers themselves closed in on the living from all directions.

But as they drew within a certain range of the riders charging across the battlefield, the undead suddenly collapsed. All traces of magic vanished from their bodies, and they met a second death—this time, a final one.

The lead rider guiding the formation glanced at the fallen undead.

"Selwyn's magical capabilities are far inferior to ours, but their application of this craft... is undeniably effective.

"Necromancy doesn't require powerful spellcasters. The strength of the undead it produces depends more on the quality of the corpses it draws on—and the battlefield is the perfect place for a necromancer," a soldier on horseback voiced his opinion.

"But this is a vile act, one that desecrates the dead. I can't stand for this."

The lead rider turned back to the younger one who had just spoken and sighed before turning back.

"And yet, in the face of war, we must sometimes cast aside what's unnecessary. Are you afraid? Regardless of whether we succeed or not, we probably won't survive this."

"I'm not! For our kingdom, there is no retreat. If I don't face death today, then I might just have to watch my homeland burn tomorrow—to watch my family and friends be slaughtered. That's what I truly fear."

The young man spoke passionately, his tone fierce.

"Is that so? That's... not bad. Aleisterre needs more young people like you."

The lead rider slowed down and drew close to the youth.

"Thank you, Captain! That's—huh...?"

The young man glanced at his approaching captain with confusion, unsure what he was about to do.

Before he could react, a swift strike took him in the back of his neck. His consciousness faded.

"You shouldn't die here just yet. The kingdom needs young men like you for the future,"

The captain murmured to himself as he lifted the now-unconscious youth and laid him gently onto his former steed.

He signaled the warhorse with a gesture. The intelligent beast immediately turned around and began galloping back in Aleisterre's direction, unconscious rider in tow.

"These undead creatures likely won't be able to catch up to him. As for us old men—it's about time we prepared to die."

On the captain's face, which was lined with wrinkles and crowned with white hair, was a calm and resolute expression.

And above his head, in the void, a certain curio: the Silent Forest.