Chapter 1: The Griffin, Connarivis

Karl Cassas gently rubbed the coin between his fingers. He felt the slight friction from the face of the Fourth Emperor, molded in gold on its surface. It was like a devout believer touching the face of his deity’s statue. His half-closed eyes and slightly deeper breathing than usual made him look as if he were napping. But anyone who knew him well would know the minister had once again entered a state of deep thought…

Constantly fiddling with that legendary coin said to bring luck was a habit of this newly appointed Assistant Minister of Foreign Affairs when he was deep in thought. Occasional light bumps would pause his movement briefly. However, the speed at which the scenery flew past the carriage windows did not slow down at all. This pleased the Viscount. The comfort of this beautiful carriage was within his expectations. It had a cleverly designed driver’s seat, a shining shield emblem, and even two crystal lamps on the front that could cast light twenty or thirty meters ahead. The spacious seat gave a feeling of sinking into a sofa. The softness from the lambswool cushions and pillows was more than enough to satisfy any passenger’s desire for comfort. Hidden compartments under the seat even held a wine rack and a bookcase.

It was just that the two horses pulling the carriage didn’t seem accustomed to being restrained by this equipment purchased for eight hundred gold coins—the whole set of gilded harnesses, the long carved carriage pole, and the six-foot-long carriage behind that only made soft thuds against the ground even when bumping. Although Old John the driver had twenty years of experience, these two animals, barely out of foal-hood, instinctively resisted the work they were destined to do for a lifetime. They were like the young noble descendants the Viscount was used to seeing—newly assigned to his department to become bureaucrats, accustomed to nothing but pleasure-seeking.

But this was also expected. These mixed-breed horses derived from Hanover were not praiseworthy for speed or smoothness. However, their handsome appearance and nearly two-meter-tall stature made them the most imposing carriage horses. Paired with this handcrafted White Feather Coach carriage from the House of Plantagenet, its exterior grandeur would not be inferior to any noble household in Hayton City, except for His Majesty the King’s own carriage… Therefore, even though their stability couldn’t compare to the old horses of the post station carriages, they were still the first choice for all nobles.

“Noble appearances…” When the bumps caused by this operation pulled the Assistant Minister out of his thoughts for the third time, this newly appointed Second-Class Viscount raised his half-closed eyelids. His gaze swept over the enamel-gilded relief embedded in the carriage ceiling. The picture of the Goddess of Harvest and the Goddess of the Woods dancing seemed to stir some association in him. The minister’s eyebrow twitched. He softly uttered this phrase, then, with a practiced motion, flicked the coin into the air.

With two dissatisfied neighs from the ‘little nobles,’ the carriage slowly came to a stop… A shiny brass plaque by the roadside marked the location: 14 Sterling Avenue. But compared to this ordinary number, the building before them clearly had a more illustrious title—

The Western Frontier Governor’s Mansion of the Empire.

Though from the outside, the official residence of the ruler who commanded one-third of the Empire’s land was rather inconspicuous.

It was located on the quietest small street near Central Avenue. The building was personally commissioned by a certain Emperor over a hundred years ago as a reward. In its design, it strictly adhered to the standards required for noble titles of that era. The main house inside the gate carried a unique, solemn, ancient, temple-like grandeur. The entire mansion followed the most common manor model. Yet, it lacked the usual bustling atmosphere common to high-ranking officials’ residences. Due to the limitations of the small street in front, it even felt somewhat deserted most of the time. Only the family’s gilded coat of arms embedded in the iron railings on both sides of the gate, shimmering in the sunlight, spoke of the dignity this place should possess.

Of course, this wasn’t because the status of the mansion’s owner was lacking in any way—it could be said that Marshal George di Friedrich Connarivis was the true master of the entire western part of the Empire.

This Duke held the Empire’s highest military honor and had complete official pardon rights within his territory—a right that could almost be called sharing the Emperor’s own authority. Moreover, his domain encompassed two provinces in the Empire’s northwest, with twenty thousand well-equipped knights sworn to his service.

But precisely because of the Duke’s special status, this residence in the royal city was merely a lodging for its owner. The owner’s long absence left the place deserted year-round.

However, the scene before Karl Cassas was not like that.

At this moment, seven fully armed knights and their mounts were bestowing sufficient solemnity… or intimidation, upon the entire street. The black figures of men and horses stood quietly in the wind, already allowing a heavy atmosphere to spread through the air—the knights carried longswords at their waists, with heavy shields casually leaning against one side of their saddles. Though simple, this equipment held great lethal power.

They formed a loose formation around the entrance, completely different from a noble procession. They even looked utterly unconcerned. But the Vice-Minister had some understanding of this special border-style welcoming party. This formation allowed their warhorses to move quickly and facilitated grouping for a charge. In that eternally vigilant frontier, this most combat-suited arrangement naturally became the basis for a reception line.

Each knight wore armor covered by pure black surcoats. The massive Griffin shield emblem rippled on the surcoats with the gentle breeze. That was their pride and their totem. This magical beast, a special product of the Hurd province in the Empire’s northwest, was not only a symbol of justice but also represented one of the most powerful collective combat forces on the Continent.

The Viscount stepped down from the carriage. He took a deep breath of the early autumn air, already carrying a slight scent of firewood and peat. Then, with a smile, he straightened his posture—confidence, courage, bearing, and knowledge were the essential qualities of an outstanding diplomat. Maintaining elegance and confidence at all times was one of the few teachings his mentor had imparted to him.

Of course, we could say this newly appointed Assistant Minister of Foreign Affairs indeed had considerable capital in this regard… The light blonde hair only nobles possessed, a sharp profile formed by a high nose bridge and brow ridges, water-blue eyes, plus a set of crisp, martial attire—these were the young noble’s most confident, unfailing tools for attracting admiring glances from fawning women and awed stares from the common folk.

But clearly, none of this had any effect on the knights before him. Their eyes were cold, their gazes upon the Vice-Minister of the Empire’s Ministry of Justice holding an inexplicable indifference, as if he were no different from the carriage in front of them, the two mixed-breed carriage horses, or the old coachman.

This was not surprising. To earn a knight’s respect, one must be able to do one of two things: either defeat them fairly with sword in hand, or try traveling to the Empire’s Western Frontier and cut off the heads of ten or more Orc warriors on the battlefield.

Cassas seemed to have never done any of these things. Therefore, even as an Imperial Viscount holding a lofty title within the political apparatus, before these people accustomed to forging reputation with iron and blood, he was still no different from a weak commoner or even an animal.

“Everything in this world is already grasped by countless hands. The things we can see and think of already have owners. If we want them, we can only take them from others’ hands. Only by stepping on stairs stained with blood can the future be guaranteed.”

To all of this, Karl Cassas chose to respond with a smile. Only when his gaze swept over the shield emblem adorned with the white-headed Griffin did the Viscount mutter to himself in a voice only he could hear.

This was a famous quote from His Majesty Ralphe III, known as the Iron-Blooded Emperor of his generation, spoken during a court assembly… This monarch, who left a vivid mark on history, was an irreplaceable, famous figure even across the entire Continent—he existed in this plane for only forty-nine years. Even among some demi-human species, this lifespan wasn’t long. But the prophet Rabi once said that the value of a life is judged not only by its length but also by its intensity.

This saying, together with his own famous quote, could serve as the best portrayal for evaluating this emperor.

Throughout his life, this supreme ruler put his own views into practice—killing his father to seize the throne, killing his brother to marry his sister-in-law… Though during his lifetime, no evidence could prove any of this… And undoubtedly, this emperor’s greatest interest was the struggle for territory—in less than half a century, precisely during his thirty-year reign, the territory of the Phoenix Empire expanded by at least three times! It leaped from a medium-small country among human empires to become one of the most powerful empires on the entire Western Continent!

But centuries later today, it seemed only when facing that crest adorned with the white-headed Griffin would every citizen of the Empire recall this saying first.

In the writings of historians, this man called the Phoenix Empire’s second founding monarch was not a qualified military strategist. He had no particular expertise in strategy, tactics, or combat. If he had personally led armies, the Phoenix Empire might have remained a medium-sized country from four hundred years ago, or perhaps long since turned to dust under the wheels of history.

But history seems full of accidents, yet all is inevitable… Placing the sheepskin with the divine decree before the Saint, letting the murderer pick up a sharp or a worn-out sword exactly when needed… When the time comes, history always prepares everything.

The great achievements of the Third Emperor were created by the sword in his hand. And the king’s sword that existed because of him was the magnificent white-headed Griffin shield emblem before them.

Connarivis, this phrase in ancient Tassian meant “Horn of the Sun.” It was something that still baffled people today. Its specific explanation had long been lost in the dust of millennia, disappearing with the fall of the Tassian Empire. Though some scholars emphatically stated it was a horn symbolizing royal authority or represented the rare celestial phenomena of the sun over thousands of years. But these lacked solid evidence—in fact, most people believed these were just scholars flattering the powerful. The first Connarivis probably never even considered the meaning within his name, for he wasn’t even a noble, just an ordinary soldier born from a tenant farmer.

But “soldier” alone couldn’t describe this figure either… Rising through the ranks, promoted in battle, within a few years of becoming an ordinary soldier, he leveraged the fierce situation of the Southeastern War to earn remarkable military merit. He ultimately gained the appreciation of the equally young Emperor Ralphe and finally became the dynasty’s sword.

On July 1st of the 349th year of the Bathfire Calendar, the Griffin Knight Order was authorized and established by Emperor Ralphe and the Grand Priest of the Temple of the Three Gods at the time. The Griffin Knights, as a minority force, became the totem of this unit due to their fierce and savage combat prowess. After successfully repelling the Orcs’ eastward expansion plan, the Connarivis Family was granted the Western Frontier territory of the Empire. To this day, this fierce beast still roosts there. Led directly by the descendants of Connarivis and integrating legions of demi-humans from within the territory, its formidable fighting power is called the Talon of Phoenix.

The iron-blooded monarch, the invincible fierce general… Such a combination in history is always a synonym for glory. It’s no exaggeration to say that the Phoenix of today was forged by the glory of these two men.

But somewhat ironically, the fates of these two men seemed like meteors in the sky… appearing with dazzling brilliance, only to disappear silently into the darkness in the end.

Just when attempting to sound the horn for the unification of the entire Western Continent, the emperor, still in his prime, burned out everything he had. Lofty imperial power could not replace the gift of the Goddess of Life. This emperor who made the entire Continent tremble died from a sudden illness. The Empire’s march of conquest thus halted.

The sudden demise of Ralphe III undoubtedly left a huge hidden danger for the entire Empire—a king’s sword is only a fearsome weapon in the hands of a skilled swordsman. Unfortunately, the Emperor’s successor, that fine-detailed Fourth Emperor, was not a qualified swordsman.

Although the Fourth Emperor completely met the requirements of an emperor in all aspects—intelligent, quick-thinking, willing to use any means to achieve his ends—his ambition and desire were far from comparable to his father’s. Historical evaluations of his character described him more as a farmer than an emperor.

This new emperor, nearly thirty when he inherited the throne, did not first see the fertile lands surrounding the Empire when he looked around. He saw the rapidly decreasing population due to prolonged warfare, the nearly collapsed financial system, and the displaced common people—even though the Empire’s armies kept winning victories, the double-edged sword of war had also quietly cut deep wounds into itself. Endless conscription and war taxes caused the living conditions of the Phoenix people to deteriorate sharply day by day.

War is always the greatest drain on money. The King allocated the massive funds needed to maintain the war effort to the various noble lords below. And how could the nobles bear this burden themselves? Naturally, they sought to recoup the money spent from the commoners under their rule. Thirty years was a long time. The already significant gap between commoners and nobles grew even wider. Domestic grievances gradually rose, and dissatisfaction with the King’s war efforts quietly accumulated in the hearts of the people.

Thus, peace became the first goal this emperor set for himself.

In fact, achieving this goal wasn’t difficult—the several surrounding countries already barely surviving under military pressure chose to cooperate at the first opportunity. This war, which had lasted thirty long years, ended almost in the blink of an eye.

But the Fourth Emperor clearly overlooked one thing… Not all those in high places cared about those at the bottom… Even if he himself had climbed step by step from the bottom.

In the eyes of the Griffin Duke, who had no interest or experience in governing a country, the Fourth Emperor’s full push for a ceasefire plan was undoubtedly unnecessary, even foolish… the meaning of a sword in a warrior’s hand was to seize land for the plow in a farmer’s hand. With land came food. As for money? The treasuries of surrounding nations were full of it; just take it!

Or perhaps, this was the purest approach of a soldier. It’s hard to say if it was correct. One could only say that in some sense, this approach was feasible…

The ideological contradiction quickly intensified. The Duke was naturally furious about the sudden halt to the conquest plans. He mobilized all his forces to try and change the status quo, even openly questioning this new monarch without hesitation. But nothing could change the deep-rooted human fear and aversion to war.

Everything should end; the war had dragged on too long… Anti-war sentiment spread like wildfire, descending from the Phoenix throne, burning across every corner of the land… Even the legendary Griffin, which dared to challenge True Dragons, was powerless before these flames.

Even angry, even unwilling, Connarivis could only accept the facts.

But to end everything perfectly here and become a part of the long-awaited peace was undoubtedly an unrealistic nightmare for Duke Connarivis, who had spent two-thirds of his life on the battlefield… He might be powerless to resist the tide, but after the final decision was made, the Duke’s disparaging remarks about that “dreamless little brat” in private almost became routine.

Though this criticism never manifested as a real motive, on certain levels, it was enough.

Thus, the Fourth Emperor felt the threat… The sharp sword named Horn of the Sun had now become a dangerous weapon hanging over his head. With the slightest carelessness, it could harm the lofty throne at any moment—

The Third Emperor’s trust in the Duke was absolute, and the Duke never betrayed any of His Majesty’s trust. This man’s shadow could be seen in almost all major military campaigns. In the final seven years of the Emperor’s life, the imperial army he led was almost synonymous with victory. Four countries once considered peers of Phoenix were annexed into the Empire’s territory during this period. The last of them, the Soel Empire, which boasted the longest-standing human civilization, resisted for only just over a month.

But the result of this trust was that over one-third of the Fenix military and related departments were in the hands of the Griffin Duke, including even the power to appoint and remove some low-ranking officials… Connarivis, commanding over one-third of the Empire’s direct forces and encompassing most of its elite troops, was not something anyone could control. Not even Connarivis himself.

How to handle this sharp sword? This was a considerable challenge, one that even the most brilliant scholars and the wisest advisors could not solve… The supreme ruler understood well. He could not directly disarm the largest armed group. The backlash of the sword would cut even the elevated Emperor’s throat. But maintaining it meant this sword would undoubtedly threaten the Empire’s foundations. The massive military expenses and the military power threatening imperial authority were not things an emperor seeking stability could ignore.

After long thought, the Fourth Emperor adopted a method he deemed most feasible. He gave the Connarivis Family a status unattainable by any other noble in the Empire—Imperial Duke, Marshal of the Western Army. Then, he designated the long, narrow strip of land bordering the Barbarian tribes on the Empire’s Western Frontier as a province, making it the hereditary territory of the Connarivis Family. Simultaneously, he made this land, just emerging from wilderness, the Griffin’s cage.

This vast land was barren, with a harsh climate, full of hills, wastelands, and swamps. It had no natural barriers. This complex terrain and vast open space also made the Empire’s northwestern border a natural location for military campaigns—in fact, wars on this land never ceased. The only fertilizer for the soil was the blood soaked into it.

Barbarians… This was the general term Humans gave to the humanoid creatures living west of the Continent. Wars often broke out between Humans and the intelligent races of the Continent, just like wars between Human nations. However, usually, Human nations internally accepted people of other intelligent races. Comparatively, wars between Human nations were more frequent.

But this did not include these Barbarians of the western Continent.

Barbarian was just a general term. It represented most of the tribal residents still in a nomadic state on the continent west of the Empire. This included the overwhelming majority of Orcs, and a portion of Barbarians, along with Dwarves, Gray Dwarves, Hill Giants, and Ogres—demi-human species. They worshipped the Orc deity Gruumsh. Rulers used the tribe’s fanatical faith to maintain unity among the various tribes.

Their nomadic social structure gave them a strong inclination for invasion. As the main population, Orcs had an extremely high reproduction rate. Within a few years, a tribe had to split off a group of Orcs to migrate far away in search of food. Otherwise, Orc tribes would grow larger and larger, and even the greenest mountains would be gnawed bare. The reduction in living space left the Barbarians unable to support batches of adults. That fertile, civilized land to the east was their hope. They could only choose to move eastward, to plunder, or to die.

As they moved eastward to attack, they encountered Humans who were also expanding their living space.

Unfortunately, peace did not exist between two races that survived by plundering natural resources. Differences in culture and religious beliefs put them in an irreconcilable state. They became generational enemies of Humans.

And the wise Fourth Emperor achieved his goal.

Connarivis lost the possibility for further development. Alone, they had to face the unsystematic but nearly infinite military forces of the Orcs in successive assaults. For four hundred years, it had been this way.

Even before the ferocious Griffin, the Barbarians were utterly powerless to contend. The territory of the Connarivis Family expanded year by year. To date, it had been divided into two provinces approaching one-third of the Empire’s size: Torrad and Hurd. But compared to the nearly infinite land of the Western Frontier, this was only a small expansion.

The sharp sword named Connarivis was hence sheathed in a sturdy scabbard. Its edge remained sharp, but it no longer easily appeared before the world…