Viscount Andrew

If there was anywhere in Tanzan Town that left Gawain somewhat less disappointed, and offered even a slight taste of the otherworldly charm that combined classical beauty with elegance, it was the wealthy district a little north of the town center—several roads and a wall separated it from the slums outside, and all the respectable people of standing lived in this relatively clean and orderly area.

There were beautiful two-story houses here, each built from pale gray stone and cedarwood. Fish and cured meat hung drying from the balconies extending from the second floors, symbols of prosperous households.

Although Tanzan was only a town overall, still far from the scale of a city, the people living in the wealthy district proudly called themselves citizens.

They were important figures who were free, could afford all manner of taxes, and held respectable jobs in town—farm owners and mine foremen, that was.

And today, these respectable people of standing stood on their balconies, where fish and cured meat hung drying, as they did every day, discussing recent events with their neighbors. Anything even slightly interesting was worth talking about at length, and lately, the most worthy topic of discussion was undoubtedly the great calamity that had befallen Cecil Territory.

Tanzan Town and its surrounding regions were Viscount Andrew's fief, while Cecil Territory neighbored Viscount Andrew's domain. Though vast stretches of desolate land lay between the prosperous areas of the two territories, there was still an official road between them. Thus, even in this age of poor communication, news of what had happened in Cecil Territory had spread throughout Tanzan Town early on.

First, a group of refugee-like people had fled here under the escort of a knight and more than a dozen soldiers. Then came the news that spread everywhere: Cecil Territory had been completely engulfed and destroyed by countless monsters and an elemental tide.

This horrifying disaster sounded like one of those fabricated tales spun by bards. Citizens who had lived through many peaceful years did not believe it at all at first. Yet the refugees and bedraggled soldiers truly did enter the town, and shortly afterward Viscount Andrew gave orders. Not only did he impose a stricter curfew, but he also increased patrols around the town. Thus, the absurd horror story became fact.

The citizens elevated the disaster in Cecil Territory from an after-dinner topic of conversation to... a seriously discussed topic of conversation.

At first, they had only occasionally mentioned it when meeting at taverns. Now, they needed to stand on their balconies, with dried fish and cured meat as a backdrop, to discuss it solemnly.

And just as these respectable people were discussing how the declining Cecil Family had finally finished itself off for good, the people in charge of the Cecil Family had already passed through the wealthy district and church district and entered Viscount Andrew's castle.

No matter how miserable the lives of Tanzan Town's poor might have been, Viscount Andrew's home was magnificently lavish. In fact, thanks to the wealth of his territory and his family's skill at amassing money, the castle this viscount had built was far more beautiful than the shabby little fortress Rebecca had grown up in.

After the visitors' identities had been reported to the castle, Viscount Andrew's butler invited Gawain and the others inside. They were led to a spacious, brightly lit reception hall, where they sat behind a long mahogany table and waited for the viscount to receive them.

Sitting in a broad, comfortable velvet chair and looking at the exquisite silver tea set before him, Gawain could not help thinking of the ragged, emaciated poor outside, and the shack-like houses they lived in. He had to admit that this world of swords and magic had somewhat... shattered his illusions.

"Ancestor," Rebecca whispered as she poked her forefather's elbow beside her, "how are we supposed to introduce you later?"

"Just say it directly, like we discussed," Gawain replied without changing his expression. "Here, we can keep a high profile."

"Ancestor," Heti spoke up as well, nodding toward Amber, "do you really think... she is suitable to appear here?"

Amber sat opposite Gawain. At the moment, the Half-elf girl was seriously studying the silver tea set before her. Her primary method of study was to pour out the tea and stuff the cup into her clothes. By the time Gawain looked up, she had tucked in another spoon.

Gawain glared at her. "Amber!"

"Whoa!" the thief girl cried out a little too theatrically, then sheepishly pulled the items from her clothes and placed them on the table: two teacups, three spoons, a Silver Disc, a pocket watch, a handful of nuts, two goblets, and the monocle that the butler had worn on his chest moments earlier.

Gawain: "?!"

What the hell? Miss Doraemon Amber, how the fuck did you manage that?!

At that moment, Gawain could not help touching the Pioneer's Sword at his side, sincerely thanking this master thief for sparing it when she had dug up his grave...

"She is an important witness to my resurrection," Gawain said solemnly, trying hard to suppress the twitching in his face. "And besides, don't you think that if we leave this one somewhere we can't keep an eye on her, she'll be even more likely to cause trouble?"

Heti immediately nodded in wholehearted agreement.

Just then, Viscount Andrew finally entered the reception hall.

The oak doors were pushed open by attendants, and a thin, tall man entered the room. He wore a fitted black long-tailed formal coat. His dark brown short hair, slicked with scented pomade, clung tightly to his scalp. Two meticulously groomed little mustaches extended outward beneath his nose, while his pale face carried a faint and unhealthy flush. This somewhat sickly complexion was actually common among nobles, especially those without much talent for magic or martial arts.

In order to experience supernatural power beyond their own talents, as well as indulge in more extravagant pleasures, they excessively used expensive potions to "enhance their senses." The side effects of such potions showed in their complexions.

They even took pride in it, regarding pale faces as one of the marks of nobility.

In this respect, the Cecil descendants, who still followed their ancestral teachings and honestly honed their skills, relying on personal effort to practice martial arts—or magic—had become oddities among nobles. But there was nothing to be done about that. The Cecil Family had already declined. Forget potions that were often unavailable even at a price—Rebecca had not even had the money to patch the holes in the family castle. Of course, she no longer needed to patch those holes now.

"Ah, beautiful Lady Heti, and the equally beautiful Miss Rebecca, I truly apologize for my lateness," Viscount Andrew said loudly the moment he entered, his tone rising and falling theatrically, his face seemingly filled with sincere regret. "But I have been terribly busy. News of the disaster in Cecil Territory has spread throughout my lands. The people are frightened and uneasy, and I have had no choice but to spend most of each day arranging the defense of my territory and hearing reports from patrols."

Gawain immediately got goosebumps and muttered quietly, "Do all nobles these days have to talk in this operatic tone?"

Rebecca lowered her voice. "Were nobles in your time not like this, Ancestor?"

"Back then, we usually crammed into taverns, drank strong liquor while praising each other's businesses, and conveniently settled matters along the way."

"...Then customs really are different now. Though Viscount Andrew's way of speaking really is... a little more unusual than most."

"We understand. You truly should be busy at a time like this," Heti said. Seeing that Rebecca, the rightful Heir of Cecil, was busy chatting with her forefather and had not realized she should stand and respond, Heti shot her an embarrassed, exasperated glare before rising to her feet. "However, I must remind you that you should address Rebecca as Viscount, not Miss—she inherited the family title last year. On an occasion such as this, you should call her Viscount Rebecca or Viscount Cecil."

The rules for addressing noble titles in ordinary situations in this world did not seem particularly strict. A title could be preceded by either a given name or a family name.

Only after Heti glared at her did Rebecca belatedly stand. She gave Viscount Andrew the bow expected when nobles of equal rank met, her movement barely standard enough. "Viscount Andrew, thank you for your hospitality."

"As I should, Viscount Cecil," Andrew said. Heti's neither soft nor harsh reminder made him recall this lady's reputation among the nobility, so he restrained himself somewhat. When addressing Rebecca, he deliberately chose to place her family name before her title rather than her given name—a relatively formal manner of address. "I am deeply saddened by what happened in Cecil Territory. It was truly a disaster. But it is fortunate that you are safe and sound. It seems the Cecil Family's line will not be cut off after all."

What followed were almost entirely meaningless courtesies and congratulations. One side properly expressed concern according to etiquette, while the other had to make every effort to appear grateful and moved by such warmth. Miss Rebecca, whose brain seemed to have been caught in a door, was clearly not skilled at this sort of social exchange, so she stiffly dragged the conversation back on track. "Before the castle fell, Knight Philip led a group to cover the civilians' escape. They should have retreated here. According to the laws established by the Founding Ancestor, they should currently be under your protection. How are they doing?"

"Of course. The laws established by the Founding Ancestor are sacred. Though my territory is small, it is more than capable of aiding neighbors in distress," Andrew said with a nod. "That brave knight was covered in wounds when he arrived and has not yet recovered. I arranged for him to rest at the Holy Light Church's church, where he can receive the best treatment. As for those loyal soldiers and pitiful civilians, I have arranged for them to stay in the eastern and southern districts. Not a single one has died from cold or hunger so far."

Not one of the Cecil Vassals who had fled here had died from cold or starvation. That already counted as exceptionally conscientious care. Of course, Viscount Andrew had good reason to take in those refugees—after all, every Cecil Vassal he sheltered would be converted into a debt placed upon Rebecca. If Rebecca wished to restore her family, she would have to pay Viscount Andrew "compensation" per person.

Just as "one should help neighbors in distress according to one's means, and a noble should shelter and protect the subjects of nearby nobles struck by disaster" was written into Ansu law, "those who receive aid should provide necessary compensation to those who assist them" was also clearly written into the legal code. Gawain knew that well.

After all, both laws had been established back then by Gawain Cecil and Charles I together...

Though Rebecca was not yet mature enough as a noble, she still understood this rule. After hearing Viscount Andrew's words, her expression could not help turning somewhat ugly, because she seriously doubted whether she still had the ability to repay this sudden debt.

She could not help glancing at Gawain, as some bold and punchable ideas emerged in her mind.

Ancestor... he's covered in antiques... should I persuade the old man to sell those clothes?