Viscount Andrew

If there was any place in Tanzan Town that could somewhat alleviate Gawain's disappointment and offer him a glimpse of the exotic charm blending classical beauty with elegance, it would be the wealthy district located slightly north of the town's center. A few roads and a wall separated this area from the poorer districts, and all the respectable, influential people resided in this cleaner, more orderly place.

Here stood beautiful two-story houses, each constructed from light gray stone and cypress wood. Fish jerky and cured meats were hung to dry on the balconies extending from the second floors of these houses, symbols of affluent households.

Although Tanzan was, overall, merely a town and nowhere near the scale of a city, its residents in the wealthy district proudly referred to themselves as citizens.

They were the important figures: those who were free, could afford various taxes, and held respectable jobs in the town—namely, farm owners and mine foremen.

And today, these influential, respectable figures stood on their balconies, where fish jerky and cured meats were drying, discussing recent events with their neighbors, just like any other day. Any matter of slight interest was worth a lengthy discussion, and the most talked-about event recently was undoubtedly the major incident that had occurred in Cecil Territory.

Tanzan Town and its surrounding areas were Viscount Andrew's fief, and Cecil Territory was a neighbor to Viscount Andrew's territory. Although there were large stretches of desolate land between the prosperous areas of the two territories, there were still official roads, so news of what happened in Cecil Territory had spread throughout Tanzan Town quickly, even in this era of poor information exchange.

First, a group of people, like refugees, arrived in the area, led by a knight and over a dozen soldiers. Then, the news spread like wildfire: Cecil Territory had been completely submerged and destroyed by a large number of monsters and elemental tides.

This sensational, dire news was almost like a fabricated story from some bard. The citizens, who had lived in peace for many years, didn't believe it at first. However, those refugees and the disheveled soldiers had indeed entered the town. Following that, Viscount Andrew issued an order, not only enforcing a stricter curfew but also increasing the patrol manpower around the town. Thus, the absurdly terrifying story became a reality.

The citizens elevated the dire news from Cecil Territory from casual conversation to… serious discussion.

Initially, they would only chat about it briefly when they met in taverns. Now, they needed to stand on their balconies, with fish jerky and cured meats as a backdrop, to discuss the matter seriously.

And just as these respectable people were discussing how the declining Cecil Family had finally met its end, the head of the Cecil Family had already passed through the wealthy district and the church district and entered Viscount Andrew's castle.

Regardless of how dire the lives of the poor in Tanzan Town were, Viscount Andrew's home was opulent. In fact, due to the inherent wealth of his territory and his family's adeptness at accumulating wealth, the castle built by this Viscount was much more magnificent than the dilapidated small fortress Rebecca had lived in since childhood.

After announcing the visitors' identities to the castle, Viscount Andrew's butler invited Gawain and his party into the castle. They were led to a spacious and bright reception hall and seated behind a long table made of rosewood, awaiting the Viscount's reception.

Sitting in the large, comfortable velvet chair and looking at the exquisite silver tea set before him, Gawain couldn't help but think of the poorly clad, gaunt commoners outside and the shack-like houses. He had to admit that this fantasy world of swords and magic was somewhat… disillusioning.

"Ancestor," Rebecca, sitting beside Gawain, quietly nudged her ancestor's elbow. "How should we introduce you later?"

"Just as we discussed, say it directly," Gawain said calmly. "Here, we should be high-profile."

"Ancestor," Heti also spoke, gesturing towards Amber. "Do you really think… she's suitable to be here?"

Amber sat opposite Gawain. The half-elf lady was diligently examining the silver tea set in front of her. Her primary method of research involved pouring out the tea and then tucking the cups into her bosom—as Gawain looked up, she'd already tucked in a soup spoon.

Gawain glared at her. "Amber!"

"Wow!" The rogue lady exclaimed with slight exaggeration, then sheepishly took out the items from her bosom and placed them on the table, including two teacups, three soup spoons, a silver tray, a pocket watch, a handful of nuts, two wine cups, and the monocle that the butler had hanging from his chest just moments ago.

Gawain: "?!"

Damn, Doraemon Amber, how the hell did you do that?!

At this moment, Gawain couldn't help but touch the Pioneer's Sword beside him, sincerely thanking the Saint of Thieves for his past grace in not stealing during grave-robbing…

"She is an important witness to my resurrection," Gawain said earnestly, trying to suppress the twitch on his face. "And don't you think it would be easier for her to cause trouble if we put her somewhere we couldn't keep an eye on?"

Heti immediately nodded in agreement.

Just then, Viscount Andrew finally entered the reception hall.

The oak door was pushed open by an attendant, and a thin, tall man walked into the room. He wore a form-fitting black tailcoat, his short, dark brown hair plastered to his scalp after being smoothed with pomade. A pair of meticulously trimmed mustaches extended outwards from under his nose. His face, pale, had a slightly unnatural flush—a somewhat sickly complexion that was quite common among nobles, especially those who lacked talent in magic or martial arts.

To experience supernatural powers beyond their innate talents and to indulge in more unrestrained pleasure, they would overuse expensive magical potions to "enhance their senses," and the side effects of these potions would manifest on their complexions.

They even took pride in this, regarding their pale complexions as a mark of nobility.

In this regard, the descendants of Cecil, who still followed their ancestors' teachings and diligently honed their skills, relying on personal effort to practice martial arts (or magic), had become the odd ones out in noble circles. But there was nothing that could be done. After all, the Cecil Family had fallen. Not only were magical potions often available but not for sale, but Rebecca didn't even have the money to repair the holes in the family castle—though, she didn't need to repair that hole anymore.

"Ah, the beautiful Lady Heti, and the equally beautiful Miss Rebecca, I truly apologize for my tardiness," Viscount Andrew said loudly as soon as he entered, his tone melodious, and his face seemingly bearing sincere apologies. "But I have been extremely busy. The dire news from Cecil Territory has spread throughout my lands, and the people are in a state of panic. I have had to spend most of my days arranging territorial defenses and listening to patrol reports."

Gawain got goosebumps and muttered, "Do you have to talk like this when conversing with nobles of this era?"

Rebecca lowered her voice. "Ancestor, weren't the nobles of your time like this?"

"We usually hung out in taverns, chugging strong liquor while engaging in reciprocal flattery, and then we'd just get things done."

"…So, customs have indeed changed since then. Of course, Viscount Andrew's way of speaking is indeed… a bit more unique than others."

"We understand that you must be busy right now," Heti said, giving Rebecca, the legitimate heir of Cecil, a look of embarrassment and disappointment for being busy chatting with her ancestor instead of standing up to respond. She then stood up. "However, I must remind you that you should address Rebecca as Viscount, not Miss. She inherited the family title last year, and on such an occasion, you should address her as Viscountess Rebecca or Viscountess Cecil."

The rules for addressing noble titles in this world seemed less strict in general occasions. Titles could be preceded by a given name or a surname.

Given Heti's glare, Rebecca belatedly stood up and offered Viscount Andrew the customary bow expected between nobles of equal rank. Her movements were, for the most part, standard. "Viscount Andrew, thank you for your hospitality."

"It is my duty, Viscountess Cecil," Viscount Andrew said. After Heti's subtle reminder, he recalled the lady's reputation in noble circles and thus restrained himself slightly. When addressing Rebecca, he specifically chose to precede her title with her surname rather than her given name—this was a relatively more formal form of address. "I am deeply sorry for what happened in Cecil Territory; it was truly a disaster. But I am glad that you are safe. It seems the lineage of the Cecil Family will not be broken."

What followed were almost entirely uninformative pleasantries and congratulations. One party expressed their concern in a manner that was strictly in accordance with the rules, while the other party had to strive to show their gratitude and emotion after receiving warmth. Clearly, Miss Rebecca, whose mind was suspected to have been slammed by a door, was not very adept at this kind of social interaction, so she abruptly steered the conversation back to the main point: "Before the castle fell, Knight Philip led a team to cover the civilians' breakout. They should have retreated here. According to the laws established by the founding ancestors, they should be receiving your protection right now. Do you know how they are?"

"Of course, the laws established by the founding ancestors are sacred. Although my territory is small, it is more than enough to assist distressed neighbors," Viscount Andrew nodded. "That brave knight was severely wounded at the time and has not yet recovered. I have arranged for him to rest at the church of the Holy Light, where he can receive the best treatment. As for those loyal soldiers and the unfortunate civilians, I have arranged for them to stay in the east and south districts, and not a single one has died from cold or starvation to this day."

Not a single citizen of Cecil Territory who had fled here had died from cold or starvation; this was already a testament to diligent care. Of course, there was a reason Viscount Andrew was willing to house those refugees—after all, every citizen of Cecil Territory he housed would be converted into debt that weighed upon Rebecca. If Rebecca were to revive the family, she would have to pay "remuneration" to Viscount Andrew on a per capita basis.

Just as "neighboring nobles in distress should be assisted according to their means, and a noble should shelter the people of a neighboring distressed noble" was written into the laws of Ansu, "the recipient of aid shall provide necessary compensation to the giver" was also clearly stated in the legal code. Gawain was well aware of this.

After all, both of those laws were established by Gawain Cecil and Charles I when they got together back then…

Although Rebecca was not yet mature as a noble, she understood this rule. After hearing Viscount Andrew's words, her expression couldn't help but turn a little grim, as she doubted whether she would still have the ability to repay this sudden debt.

She couldn't help but glance at Gawain, a bold and rather cheeky thought flashing through her mind.

Ancestor… he's practically an antique, isn't he… maybe I can persuade him to sell that outfit?