Throughout history, no dynasty has been able to escape the cycle of establishment, development, prosperity, peak, decline, reform, and eventual collapse. Ryan broadly refers to this as the "Dynastic Cycle."
It must be said that when the first Knight King founded the kingdom, the knightly system had its own merits and rationality. After the twelve founding wars, the entire territory of Bretonnia consisted of only about one or two hundred villages and twenty to thirty castles. In summary, the Knightly Kingdom was just a collection of settlements.
At that time, the feudal system was entirely correct. The knightly code established by the second Knight King, "the Reckless" Lewis, was not inherently flawed. On the contrary, Bretonnia quickly entered a period of rapid expansion and prosperity, laying the foundation for the civil and military achievements of the third Knight King, "the White Death" Guillaume.
However, as times changed and circumstances evolved, the old system no longer suited the current context and personnel. Problems arose, and changes were made, often in a piecemeal fashion—fixing one issue here and another there. Over time, these changes deviated from the original intent of the system, eventually leading to its downfall.
On this matter, the Emperor is the most authoritative. From the Emperor, Ryan learned that before revealing his true nature to humanity, the Master of Mankind had already subtly influenced humanity many times. The Emperor had established numerous religions and, in the guise of rulers, had enacted many legal codes. Yet no matter how hard the Emperor tried to guide humanity onto the right path, it always veered off course.
The Emperor would then be frustrated to see his creations criticized harshly. From a god's-eye perspective, looking forward or backward, even the Emperor's own words and codes were not without flaws. Yet people would blame the Emperor, as the system's creator, for being shortsighted and foolish, completely ignoring the context and circumstances at the time.
This is rather naive.
Of course, we must understand and empathize with the fact that most people have unrealistic expectations of "systems." Everyone hopes for a universal, unchanging "Astartes Codex," as if all problems stem from our Regent Guilliman, Imperial Chancellor Malcador, or even the Emperor himself, without considering the changes in environment and personnel over time. This is also unreasonable.
No wonder the Emperor eventually decided to reveal his true face to Terra and all of humanity.
For Ryan, the knightly system had become outdated after the Dorthar Tower incident. It was time for reform, even a reboot of the kingdom.
In the mist, Ryan said to François and Calard, "Think about it carefully."
"Your Majesty, are you suggesting that the knightly nobility must be consigned to the dustbin of history?" François remained silent for a long while. "But if that happens, the kingdom will fall into chaos. Your previous abolition of noble privileges has already caused much discontent."
"I spent ten years making the entire kingdom understand that serfs could also become knights," Ryan said with a smile. "I spent another ten years making them understand that serfs could join the Old Guard and even have a chance to attain the Grail. I still have the next ten, twenty years. Moreover, I haven't denied the knightly nobility their opportunities. It's simple: prove yourselves on the battlefield. Look at the Empire across the mountains. Have Imperial knights disappeared from the stage? After Ludwig's reforms, have the military nobles been driven from the Empire's center?"
"The knightly nobility is simply afraid. They fear that once the serfs rise, those mud-stained commoners will shatter their iron rice bowls, tarnish their bloodlines and honor. They fear that once the serfs learn discipline and arm themselves, the knights' advantages will be completely lost." Ryan said meaningfully. "But I am not afraid."
François and Calard instantly turned pale. Yes, Ryan was not afraid. The Sun King had already won the hearts of all the serfs and freemen.
François opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, he remained silent, only nodding silently and muttering, "Your Majesty, whatever you require in the future, just give the order."
"I will always follow you, Your Majesty," Calard's heart stirred with deeper thoughts.
It seemed François had reservations about Ryan's views, but he ultimately did not oppose them. Calard wondered if this was because Sulia was Ryan's wife, and Devonshire was likely to become the next Knight King.
"Good. Let us prepare for the upcoming battle," Ryan said with satisfaction, seeing that both François and Calard supported his decision.
"This war, we must win," Ryan said firmly. "No matter the cost."
"The rain of the Water God Zongqi must be honored with waves." This stone array lit up.
"The heartless Razikote must be awakened by fearless warriors."
"Finally, the mysterious Feathered Serpent God Tepok requires the power of wings to manifest!"
"Seven ancient sages, seven royal praises, seven seals, offered to the jungle spirits."
"Flesh to the Serpent God, purification to the Old Ones."
---
As the Knightly Army in Albion was busy building walls to prepare for the battle against the forces inside and outside the city.
In the south of the Old World, the Badlands, Barak Varr.
Several High Elf dragon ships smoothly docked at the port of Barak Varr. The Little Everqueen, Alarielle, wearing a lotus-petal-thin, transparent princess chemise paired with white gothic gold-embroidered snowflake-patterned stockings and round-toe princess sandals, led an entire High Elf delegation onto the land of Barak Varr.
Alarielle's appearance instantly made every male creature on the dock hold their breath. The elegant and ethereal Alarielle stepped down the ladder, each click of her heels striking the hearts of all male creatures. She was like a white lotus, exuding a captivating fragrance that cleansed the dark corners of everyone's souls.
It was difficult to describe the charm of the Little Queen in words. Her appearance was saintly and elegant, yet her every movement carried a bewitching allure. Her slender and graceful figure seemed carved from divine jade. In terms of demeanor, Alarielle was as cold and radiant as snow, her skin like frost. But when she spoke or smiled, she was as warm and inviting as the spring sun, endearing and lovable.
The people on the dock were utterly captivated.
The High Elf guards seemed deeply displeased by this. The Lothern Sea Guard and Avelorn handmaidens immediately escorted Alarielle down the ladder and surrounded her. The Dwarf envoy, Dorgrim Ironhelm, a relative of High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer and a clan leader from Karaz-a-Karak, was responsible for welcoming the High Elf delegation.
To welcome the High Elf delegation, the Dwarfs of Karaz-a-Karak had gone all out, sending a full thousand-strong contingent to Barak Varr, including a group of Karaz-a-Karak's Eternal Guard (about thirty to fifty). For Karaz-a-Karak, with its population of around 160,000, a thousand-strong contingent was a significant gesture of respect.
Dorgrim was a relatively young Dwarf (over a hundred years old). The High King seemed intent on giving this junior some experience. He led the Eternal Guard forward, tapping his rune hammer lightly on his chest and speaking in somewhat clumsy Reikspiel (the human High Gothic): "By Grungni, welcome, Asur envoys. Welcome, Princess of Avelorn. May your vitality be as strong as the fires of a forge."
"What a mess of a metaphor," the Caledorian Dragon Prince Torondil muttered in Eltharin. "If I have to share a mountain with these stunties, I'd rather die. By Khaine, just let an earthquake kill these Dwarfs and bring peace to the world."
The Dwarfs didn't understand what the Dragon Prince was saying, and the White Tower mage Alarielle didn't speak Khazalid. The Little Everqueen stepped forward with a sweet smile, pressing her skirt and taking a step back to curtsy. She addressed the Dwarf envoy: "The great eagle flies to the Old World, the warhorse gallops to the Badlands. After thousands of years, it is a joy to see Elves and Dwarfs engaging in peaceful diplomacy once more. Alarielle is delighted to meet you, our former allies of the Asur. May Grungni bless your hammers, Grimnir bless your axes, and Valaya bless your cloaks and tankards."
"Oh ho!" Alarielle's words made the Dwarfs feel as if they had drunk a barrel of the finest Bugman's XXXXX. Clan Leader Dorgrim Ironhelm thought to himself how nice it would be if all Elves were as well-spoken as this little girl.
The High Elf delegation's accommodations had already been prepared. The Dwarfs had booked an entire high-end tavern and arranged a whole district for them to stay in.
The group, led by the Dwarf envoy, passed through the district. Most people watched them curiously, especially the humans, who craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the Little Queen. Many men began to show lecherous grins and lustful expressions, some even unable to walk straight.
This only deepened the High Elves' disgust. They thought to themselves that these monkeys were truly pathetic.
Alarielle, however, paid no mind. Her bright green eyes noticed a small roadside shop operating in an alley.
"Thud!" A cleaver came down. A giant barbarian with a golden mohawk, wearing ancient blessed plate armor and a massive gray wolf pelt, chopped a roast duck in two with a single strike. He spoke in an impatient tone, "Top or bottom?"
"Bottom, and the neck too," a Dwarf butcher nodded.
"Alright, I'll throw in the head for free," the barbarian quickly chopped the duck into pieces, wrapped it in oiled paper, and handed it to the Dwarf butcher. "Fifteen copper coins."
The Dwarf butcher handed over a handful of coins. The barbarian took the money and turned to urge someone beside him, "Hurry up, Bjorn, we're almost done."
"Yes, my lord."
Beside the barbarian giant was another silver-helmed, fully armored brute with electricity coursing through his body. One of his hands was a massive iron claw, while the other was pulling several roast geese out of an oven.
"Fenris Deep Well Ice Roast, Anheim style! Roast chicken, duck, goose, beef, lamb, pork chops, and hand-shredded chicken! Buy a whole roast and get free Fenris mead (heavily diluted) and secret barbecue sauce!"
"Freshly roasted goose, two silver coins each! Get them while they're hot!"
Alarielle was startled.
Another demigod! Selling roast meat on the streets of Barak Varr?!
One demigod sells offal, another sells roast meat? Do all human demigods love selling street food?
The Little Queen wanted to take a closer look, but the Dwarf envoy indicated that they had arrived at their destination. Thus, the Little Queen and her entourage entered the prepared tavern.
The tavern was very Dwarf-like, simple and sturdy. The High Elves habitually complained about the low ceilings, the short bar, the uncomfortable stools, and the lack of sunlight, but they eventually settled in.
There was no time to rest, or perhaps Dorgrim lacked tact. The Dwarf quickly arranged for a large group of people, including merchants, local craftsmen, representatives of Barak Varr's King Byrnoth, and envoys sent by the Badlands Marshal Lucien and Border Baron Durant, to meet the Little Queen.
Durant's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Alarielle, and he almost drooled. He barely managed to restrain himself and reached out to shake the Little Queen's hand, only to be immediately blocked by the Everqueen's handmaiden, Yseult Daltryen. The handmaiden shook her head with visible disgust, "Thank you, but no. Her Highness is tired and needs rest."
Durant left dejectedly. The Border Baron cursed under his breath. He had originally planned to assist with the escort, but now he felt insulted and left Barak Varr with his men.
No matter what, this Border Baron had his pride. When he felt insulted, he wouldn't let it slide.
The Caledorian Dragon Prince Torondil leaned on the table, looking half-dead. Someone came over to greet him, but Torondil didn't even bother to lift his eyelids, only glancing at them through his nostrils and letting out a dismissive snort.
"Greetings, Dragon Prince of Caledor."
"Snort~"
"Welcome, scion of Caledor."
"Snort~"
"It is an honor to see the bloodline of Caledor's dragons after thousands of years."
"Snort snort~"
"Hey, pointy-ears, what are you doing in Barak Varr?" At that moment, a rough and wild voice rang out. Torondil instinctively prepared to respond with a nasal snort, but when he saw who was speaking, the Dragon Prince jumped up from his seat in shock.
A living demigod stood before him!
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