Chapter Fifty-Three: Darkness Beneath the Light (Part One)

A carriage rolled out of the city of Gaul under the watchful eyes of the soldiers. They did not obstruct it, for the people of Gaul had grown accustomed to this vehicle. It was a carriage gifted by the Leader for the exclusive use of Mr. Hegel, the Revolutionary Army’s chief weapons expert. Although Mr. Hegel rarely used it himself, preferring to let his family have it, the soldiers held even his family in high regard. The Leader had once praised Mr. Hegel as a treasure of the Revolutionary Army; it was thanks to him that the soldiers’ weaponry was being updated and becoming increasingly lethal. Rumor had it that Mr. Hegel had been busy test-firing cannons recently, accompanied by a group of students, and had already cast several pieces, currently being tested in the field. If successful, it would mark the beginning of the Revolutionary Army’s ability to field artillery—and not merely the dozen or so bronze cannons salvaged from the former garrison.

Hegel, feeling genuinely joyful due to his daughter’s return, had assured the Leader that the tests would succeed. For the ordinary soldiers, this was a massive morale boost, but for the high-ranking generals of the Revolutionary Army, something still felt amiss. According to the documents salvaged from the city, the previous casting team had not only aimed to create cannons but had also intended to develop artillery that combined magic and mechanics. The Revolutionary Army, however, lacked the means for such research. While Hegel’s arrival had accelerated the development of basic artillery, the deficiency in the magical arts kept them at a standstill regarding magical cannons.

Hegel himself, of course, scoffed at this, believing that even without magic, a full-scale development of mechanical industry would sooner or later produce something equal to a magical cannon. Yet, industrial development is a process. Although Gaul had some military industries that provided a thin foundation for the Revolutionary Army, subsequent development remained severely lacking. For instance, further advancements in artillery required support from material science—a field where even the omnipotent Hegel found himself stumped. It was said that the Golden Lark had recently made significant breakthroughs in metallurgy, but the Revolutionary Army had no ties to them; even if they did, what could they offer to trade for such cutting-edge technology?

Regardless, Hegel had become the leader of the technical faction within the Revolutionary Army. Because of him, they could manufacture flintlock rifles and "Hegel bullets," and were now on the verge of possessing cannons. Furthermore, his assistants were growing into their own, respecting the man and marveling at the concepts he proposed, even if some improvements were currently limited by existing production capabilities.

The carriage continued its journey toward the test-firing camp, where the Revolutionary Army’s newly formed Fifth Regiment stood guard to ensure the safety of the trials.

Suddenly, the carriage came to a halt halfway to its destination. Madam Cella opened the door, and then, pulling Cecily—who looked rather haggard—behind her, she stepped out.

"Madam, Madam, why have you stopped? Is something the matter?" The driver scrambled to rein in the horses. The sudden order to stop had caught him off guard, but duty compelled him to inquire; if anything were to happen to these two women, he would not be able to atone for it even if he died a hundred times over.

"Oh, it is nothing. I suddenly remembered I have something to discuss with Cecily. It is a family matter. You may wait here. We are going over there, and do not follow unless I call for you," Madam Cella commanded.

The coachman had no choice but to nod. He had been assigned by the Revolutionary Army specifically to drive for Hegel and act as a bodyguard, but since Madam Cella had declared it a private family matter, he could not force his presence upon them. To do so would be to act as a jailer rather than a guard.

"Mother..." Cecily started, but her hand was gripped tightly by Madam Cella.

"Do not speak. Just follow me. It has been a long time since we, mother and daughter, have had a proper talk. Now is the time," Madam Cella said coldly.

Cecily pressed her lips together, helplessly dragged by her mother along a small path through the grass, slowly moving out of the coachman’s sight.

They reached a hillside. Below the other side of the slope lay a small stream, and further beyond was a dense forest. If one were to run into that woods, it would be difficult for anyone to find them for quite some time.

Here, Cecily slowed her pace. She did not fully understand why her mother had suddenly brought her here, especially after telling the coachman they needed to talk.

Madam Cella did not speak. Instead, she hitched up her skirt and, dragging her daughter, quickened her pace toward the other side of the slope, intending to cross the stream.

"Where are we going?" The daughter, who had been lost in her own thoughts, finally noticed her mother’s abnormal behavior. The icy water of the stream brought her to her senses, and she voiced her question.

Madam Cella did not answer. Instead, she gripped her daughter’s hand even more fiercely, as if afraid she might break free. They waded across the stream and entered the dense forest.

"Where exactly are we going? If you have something to say to me, please, say it here," Cecily began to panic. She was not merely afraid of the eerie, silent forest; Madam Cella’s erratic behavior terrified her even more.

Madam Cella turned abruptly, her gaze sharp as she looked at her daughter. "Cecily, leave this place with me. As long as we pass through this forest now, find a place to hide, and wait for things to settle down, we can find a way to return to Valencia. Then we can go into seclusion in the North, or perhaps go to Herdasin and board a ship to live elsewhere."

"Why would you do this?" Cecily was utterly shocked by her mother’s sudden words. Already burdened by her own secret thoughts, her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at her mother.

"Why?" Her mother looked at her coldly, her expression a complex mix of anger, regret, sorrow, and even a trace of hatred. "Must we wait until your belly grows large and people mock us before we leave?"

"I am not pregnant!" Cecily blurted out. Then, as if realizing something, she looked at her mother with a mixture of shock and terror. "You... what do you know?"

"What do you think? Shall I say his name?" Madam Cella asked, her voice laced with hatred—a hatred that seemed directed not at her daughter, but at the name she had yet to utter.

"I have always hoped it wasn't true." Madam Cella stared straight into Cecily’s eyes, her own pupils reflecting a bleak despair. "I have been lying to myself, telling myself I was overthinking, that it was all in my head. I should have noticed his abnormal behavior toward you long ago. But the day you returned, I saw how he was clinging to you."

Cecily’s eyes were now filled with horror, as if her most hidden secret had been laid bare—something that even her mother should never have seen. She tore her hand away from her mother’s grip and covered her face with both hands. "You... you saw it all?!"

"My God, it really is true." Cecily’s reaction shattered the last shred of hope Madam Cella had clung to. Her face turned as pale as undyed cloth. If she had looked miserable before, she was now consumed by absolute despair. "When did it start? I was so oblivious. How... how could he do this to you? He is your father, and you are his daughter!"