The streets of Cecil were as bustling and vibrant as ever, filled with familiar city scenes. However, for Byron today, walking down the streets of Cecil offered a different experience—
Pea was walking by his side, chatting continuously.
She spoke excitedly about her experiences at the academy, the new friends she made, everything she saw, the weather, her mood, the books she read, and the new Magic Shadow Drama in production. This girl, who could finally speak again, seed to be encountering the world for the first ti, talking incessantly, as if to recount every single thing she had seen and experienced.
Even the little street shops she passed every day, she would dash into them with a grin, greet the owners, receive an exclamation of surprise, followed by congratulations.
Byron kept a smile on his face, staying by Pea’s side.
The originally short walk ho ended up taking almost half the day.
When the father and daughter finally reached near Knight Street, Byron saw a figure lingering at a nearby corner—it was none other than Sir Philip, who had returned to Cecil a couple of days earlier.
Byron walked up with a hint of a smile. Sir Philip, sensing soone approaching, turned around to et him. But before the two old partners could speak, Pea joyfully approached Sir Philip, and a happy voice ca from the Neural Thorn’s vocal device: "Uncle Philip!!"
Sir Philip was about to speak but froze upon hearing this unfamiliar, synthesized female voice. It took him a full two seconds to look at Pea with uncertainty: "Pea... you’re speaking?"
"It’s !!" Pea laughed happily, turning halfway around to show Philip the tal device at the back of her neck, "Look! Grandpa Pittman made this for ! It’s called a Neural Thorn, and it lets speak!!"
"We just ca back from the research institute," Byron quickly explained before Pea started rambling. "According to Grandpa Pittman, it’s a small artificial nerve cord, but its functions are more complex than just that—helping Pea speak is just one of its functions. Of course, you know , I don’t bother with the highly technical stuff..."
"I’ve heard about this project..." Sir Philip widened his eyes, looking at Pea with delight and surprise, "But I didn’t expect it to be completed so soon... this is wonderful, Pea, today is definitely worth celebrating!"
"Celebrating is fine, but no drinking with my dad!" Pea imdiately widened her eyes and said, "I know, uncle, you have self-control, but my dad has none! If soone pulls him to drink, he won’t stop until he’s drunk, every ti he ends up reeking of alcohol, sleeping in the living room until the next day, and then I have to clean up... uncle, you don’t know, even if you stop him on the spot, he sneaks drinks at ho, saying he has to finish what he starts, calling it respect for the brewery... and last ti you guys..."
The girl’s brain spun rapidly, and the Magic Shadow Drama device driven by brainwave signals required no breathing or rest, showering Sir Philip with an onslaught of words. The young (though not so young anymore) knight initially wore a smile, but soon beca bewildered, looking over at Byron—only finding an opportunity to speak once Pea finally quieted down: "Byron... what on earth is with this child..."
"Didn’t see that coming, did you?" Byron wore an expression that said "serves you right", even though he was the one being lectured this ti, but the fact that Sir Philip was enduring the stormy barrage instead sohow put him in a particularly good mood, "None of us realized just how much Pea had to say..."
Pea imdiately glared, looking at Byron with a face that said, "If you continue, I’ll start speaking again," prompting the latter to quickly wave his hands: "Of course, I’m really happy that she can now speak her mind..."
Not waiting for Pea to open her mouth, Byron swiftly shifted the topic, looking at Sir Philip: "By the way... what are you doing here?"
"I knew you were heading to the north, so I ca to say farewell," Sir Philip said with a serious expression, "Lately, work has been busy, and I’m worried I won’t make it to say goodbye later."
"...and now I feel awkward all over," Byron rubbed his arms, "Like I’m going off to die or sothing."
Upon hearing this, Sir Philip considered it and then shared his analysis with a serious face: "In theory, that wouldn’t happen. There is no conflict in the north, and your mission shouldn’t bring you into conflict with the locals or the Violet Kingdom across the strait. Theoretically, you’ll return unhard unless you get drunk and dive into the sea or pick fights for no reason..."
Byron: "...Honestly, are you mocking ?"
Sir Philip’s serious expression remained unchanged: "Mockery is not knightly behavior."
Byron thought it over again, his expression growing increasingly peculiar: "I still feel like you’re mocking —Philip, you’ve grown!"
Pea stood beside them, glancing at Byron and then at Sir Philip, and slowly, she began to smile happily.
...
Earl Dule leisurely leaned back on the comfortable soft sofa, next to a large floor-to-ceiling window that provided direct views of the garden and the bustling street in the distance. The cozy afternoon sunlight filtered through the clear crystal glass, filling the room with warmth and brightness.
The Mage device in the corner emitted soothing, gentle music. The exotic lody further relaxed this upper aristocrat from the Typhon Empire.
He held a book with beautiful printing in his hand, and the cover bore the words "Brief Account of Northern Continent Folklore and Mythology." The paper was not expensive, yet inside were exquisite illustrations and neatly arranged elegant text. As he turned a new page, his gaze swept over the first few lines, and he couldn’t help but reveal a contemplative expression. He looked at the person sitting across from him: "Master Reston, I must admit, the Cecil Clan’s printing technology is far superior to ours. The exquisite printing of this book makes want to start a printing factory."
The person across from him no longer looked young, exuding a scholar-like, elegant aura with a balding head. This gentleman with a bookish presence was none other than Typhon’s esteed scholar and master of grammar, Havier Reston, also a mber of the Typhon envoy. At this mont, he too was reading material printed by the Cecil Clan, but it wasn’t a hefty to; rather, a thin, colorful-covered booklet containing short articles.
Upon hearing Earl Dule’s words, the gentleman looked up: "Indeed, their printing is remarkable, especially their ability to accurately and massively print colored images — this aspect of technology is truly fascinating."
"It’s said this technology has only erged in Cecil a few months ago," Earl Dule casually remarked, but his gaze fell onto the booklet in Havier’s hands, "Are you still reading that booklet?"
"It’s called a ’magazine,’" Havier raised the booklet in his hand, on its cover, an attractive figure reflected the sunlight off the ink, "The content is mundane, yet surprisingly interesting. The grammar and the magazine’s structure offered significant insights."
"But if I may, in my opinion, the content seems a bit too trivial," Earl Dule responded with a smile, "I thought scholars like you would disdain such things — they don’t have the depth of the mythology book I have in my hands."
"His Majesty has entrusted with compiling The Imperial Report, and the greatest lesson I’ve learned in the past half year is to change the forr approach of singularly pursuing ’elegance’ and ’depth,’" Havier set down the magazine, seriously addressing Earl Dule, "Periodicals are a new phenonon, unlike the expensive and rare traditional tos. Their readers do not hold lofty statuses nor require profound knowledge; heraldry and ceremonial norms do not interest them — they’re beyond their comprehension."
Pointing to the magazine he placed on the table, the old gentleman continued: "What they truly understand is more straightforward and tangible content, and in this regard, the Cecil Clan clearly excels. His Majesty hopes we learn from their strengths in rallying hearts, boosting morale, and guiding the populace. That is why I was sent here, and naturally, I must focus on their achievents in these areas."
Earl Dule raised an eyebrow: "Oh? Have you made any progress in the past few days?"
"I’ve gained a lot; these magazines — and other popular literature circulating in the market — have captivating elents. You might not have noticed, but even many young mbers of the envoy have taken an interest in these readings, often discussing popular stories privately, with so even attending two Magic Shadow Dramas, becoming quite fond of the characters. The allure of novelty is undeniable to us," Havier chuckled, "I also chatted with Mr. Godwin Orlando, a knowledgeable man who makes almost overlook his identity as a Cecil.
"Nearly half of the magazines and periodicals were founded by Godwin Orlando; his ideas for organizing similar publications were refreshing. Frankly, I even contemplated inviting him to Typhon, though I recognize it’s unrealistic — his prominent status and royal favor here make it impossible for him to work for us."
"Ahaha, it’s rare to hear you openly praise soone like that," Earl Dule laughed, "If you truly an it, perhaps we could attempt to recruit so of the apprentices trained by Mr. Godwin — after all, attracting and evaluating talents is also part of our mission this ti."
Havier shook his head with a smile: "If not for the impending conclusion of our visit schedule, I’d certainly give your suggestion serious thought."
...
"The signing ceremony was successfully completed this morning," in the spacious and bright study, Aunt Heidi placed a thick docunt on Gawain’s desk, "After so many days of bargaining and refining details, the Typhon Empire finally agreed to most of our conditions — we also reached an understanding with them on several reciprocal clauses."
"This is called a win-win," Gawain smiled faintly, putting down the stack of papers he had just been reading, raising his hand to pick up the docunt Aunt Heidi brought, perusing it while casually saying, "New trade categories, new diplomatic notes, new peace declarations, and... investnt plans..."
Gawain’s gaze fell on certain words in the docunt, smiling as he leaned back against his chair.
In the new investnt approvals, "film and television production and distribution" and "audio and visual publications" were prominently included.
Aunt Heidi’s gaze fell on the stack of papers Gawain had just put down; she was sowhat curious: "What’s this?"
"The new Magic Shadow Drama script," Gawain replied, "Beacon Fire — commorating the heroic and fearless Marquis of Belk Loren, commorating the calamity that should be rembered forever. It will premiere this sumr or earlier, and if all goes well... the Typhon Empire will see it shortly thereafter."
Aunt Heidi’s eyes were deep and thoughtful as she listened to the calm voice of her ancestor:
"Give them Magic Shadow Dramas, give them magazines, give them more popular stories, and everything that beautifies Cecil. Let them worship Cecil’s heroes, let them familiarize themselves with Cecil Style life, constantly telling them what advanced civilization is, constantly implying how far their lives are from a truly ’civilized and enlightened nation.’ In this process, we must emphasize our goodwill, emphasize standing together with them, so that when a phrase is repeated a thousand tis, they will believe it as their own thought...
"Then, the era of peace will arrive, Heidi."
Aunt Heidi’s gaze slowly traveled over the desk, finally landing on a docunt beside Gawain, seemingly just completed.
The docunt’s cover bore only one word:
Dye Plan.
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