Looking Up at the Sky

After making a special mark on the secret letter, he rolled it up and meticulously sealed it with wax. Once everything was done, Viscount Andrew let out a soft breath and recalled whether he had left anything out or made any mistakes.

Probably not—everything they had agreed upon had been written in the secret letter, and it was written convincingly enough. Viscount Andrew was quite confident in his ability to fabricate stories. He believed that anyone who saw the letter would believe that he had truly experienced "that incident" firsthand.

All that remained was to see whether the old king far away in the royal capital was willing to believe the matter itself.

No, rather, whether he wanted to acknowledge its authenticity.

It was a somewhat risky move, but Viscount Andrew was not a man who shunned risks—otherwise, he never could have risen above seven siblings and become the heir of the Leslie Family.

He simply had not expected his new gamble to become tied to the Cecil Family.

That family was already in its twilight years. It had withdrawn from the kingdom's political center one hundred years ago, and in recent times, its bloodline had grown so sparse that it was nearly dying out naturally.

Viscount Andrew had always paid close attention to his "neighbor." This was not merely because their territories bordered each other and they frequently traded, but also because the Cecil Family's decline had become increasingly severe over the past two years. If things continued according to their original course, Andrew could expect to double the Leslie Family's territory within his lifetime—the young girl who had hurriedly inherited the family estate was simply not a qualified lord. Though she worked hard, she definitely would not be able to hold on to what little she had.

Yet fate played a joke on everyone, and in a way no one could have expected. When Andrew heard that Cecil Territory had been destroyed by monsters, he was dumbfounded. When he heard that those monsters closely resembled the creatures of the Magic Tide recorded in history, he was still dumbfounded. When merchants entering the city mentioned that a dragon had appeared, he was dumbfounded as well. And when Rebecca Cecil and Heti Cecil entered the castle with a man claiming to be their ancestor... Viscount Andrew displayed remarkable calmness and acceptance.

That was because he had finally gotten used to being dumbfounded.

But after finishing his conversation with that "esteemed ancestor" and returning to his bedroom, Viscount Andrew felt that he had made the right decision.

A noble bloodline on the verge of extinction and a territory burned to bare ground had no value. No matter how hard he squeezed, there was nothing left to extract. If he wanted to recover his investment, he might as well change from a greedy exploiter into a generous neighbor. And the existence of that "esteemed ancestor" was even more crucial—Viscount Andrew now believed the matter was true with ninety percent certainty. Whether the Cecil Family had that old ancestor or not made all the difference.

He sealed the secret letter inside a silver tube, wrapped a strand of magical thread around it, and handed it to the old butler standing nearby. "Give it to the finest ranger courier. Have him depart on a griffin, and make sure he delivers it to Silver Castle after the first messenger arrives, but before the Cecil Family's people do."

The butler accepted the silver tube and was about to turn away when Viscount Andrew stopped him. "Wait. Also, go to the treasury—return the Cecil Family's gold and silver exactly as they were."

"Yes, my lord. But is returning them as they were sufficient?"

"Returning them as they were is enough. When they leave, I will prepare a little something extra in the name of travel expenses."

The situation had changed. The "fee" he had collected out of that ridiculous greed was now a hot potato. Returning it intact was merely the first step, but he could not overdo things all at once.

Viscount Andrew carefully weighed matters in his heart, hoping that the ancient man from seven hundred years ago would understand his sincerity.

The night had grown deep.

Gawain, clad in a robe, pushed open the balcony door of his room and stepped onto the terrace on the second floor of the viscount's castle.

There was no moon at night in this world. Within the deep heavens were only stars, denser than those on Earth. Those twinkling stars cast a cold radiance over the land, and every ray of starlight was utterly unfamiliar to Gawain.

Ever since arriving in this world, he had enjoyed looking up at the sky, whether it was day or night. During the day, he watched that enormous, not overly glaring "sun." At night, he watched the moonless sky.

His line of sight moved through the stars, trying to find among those twinkling lights a celestial body that remained still and was especially distinct.

But this was destined to be a futile attempt. There were simply too many stars, and he lacked sufficient information and calculations. He could not find the place from which he had once looked down upon the earth. Even if he did find it, he had no way to distinguish it from the countless stars filling the sky.

Yet he could not help doing this, because he knew better than anyone that secrets were hidden in this world's sky. Something was up there—perhaps some kind of surveillance device, a satellite, a space station, or a ship. Though it was highly likely that it had already ceased functioning, he could not rule out the possibility that other things still operating remained suspended overhead.

He had once been part of that surveillance device—after pondering it for many days, this was the closest conclusion Gawain had reached.

If he had not experienced looking down upon the earth, if he had crossed into Gawain Cecil's body the moment he arrived here, then he would never have possessed this knowledge or felt the corresponding pressure. But he happened to know certain things, and as an Earthling soul with modern ways of thinking, he could not control his curiosity about the sky... nor his concern.

What exactly was hanging in the sky? What effect would it—or they—have on the earth? Would it—or they—remain so quiet forever? And what kind of purpose would its—or their—creator have, if there was a creator?

All of it gave Gawain an urgency he could not explain to others, as though an Earthling had suddenly learned that an alien spaceship was parked in orbit above his head. Even if that ship had remained motionless for hundreds of thousands, or even millions, of years, it would be difficult for those living on the ground to feel at ease.

He had to understand where it—or they—had come from before he could sleep peacefully.

And even without that worry, curiosity alone made it impossible for Gawain to turn a blind eye to the sky.

"Come to think of it, you look up at the sky every day—either at the sun or the stars."

A girl's voice suddenly came from behind him. Gawain turned around and saw the half-elf thief sitting on the terrace railing with her back to the outside, grinning at him. Her legs swung beneath the railing, and she did not seem worried about falling in the slightest.

Gawain glanced at her. "Sneaking onto someone else's balcony in the middle of the night to scare them is not very polite."

"The night is my domain. Shadows are everywhere, so I can go wherever I want." Amber swayed atop the railing, and her body merged into the shadows. In the next instant, she appeared on the other side of the balcony. "Besides, you're a great hero from seven hundred years ago. Are you really afraid of someone suddenly speaking to you at night?"

Gawain was too embarrassed to admit that he had indeed gotten goosebumps just now...

"So what exactly are you looking at every day?" Seeing that Gawain remained silent, Amber changed the subject. "You look at the sun during the day to tell directions, but are you practicing astrology when you look at the stars at night? Do you know astrology too?"

"What do you think is in the sky?" Gawain asked in return.

"The sky? Isn't it just stars, the sun, and things like that?" Amber answered casually. "Oh, right... Don't tell me you're about to say that the gods' palaces are in the sky too, then try to preach to me. I'm not interested—I believe in the Goddess of Shadow and Night, also known as the Night Lady. The Night Lady's divine realm lies in the deepest part of the starless night. That's a place completely different from the sky of the real world. All I need to do is close my eyes and pray every day, and that counts as worshipping the gods!"

"You really are a follower of the Goddess of the Night?" Gawain looked at Amber with some surprise. Though he had no faith himself, Gawain Cecil's memories had given him quite a bit of knowledge about this world's religions. The bewildering variety of gods and sects had broadened his horizons while also making him keep his distance. He had not expected that this thief, who did not look devout in the slightest, would be a person of faith.

"I just believe casually. The Night Lady neither demands offerings nor delivers divine revelations, and she doesn't require regular worship or sacrifices. Why wouldn't I believe in her when it costs me not a single copper?" Amber spoke lightly of things that true believers would consider blasphemous. "Besides, the Way of Shadows is somewhat related to the Night Lady's authority. Sometimes I feel like praying really does make me a little stronger—though every time afterward, it turns out to have been an illusion caused by drinking too much."

Gawain curled his lip and decided not to pay attention to this loose-mouthed half-elf.

She was simply a Disgrace of Elves—whatever her other half was, she was a disgrace to that bloodline too.

"Hey, hey, why did you stop talking again?" Amber clearly had no intention of letting him off. "You still haven't told me. What exactly are you looking at?"

Gawain gave her a sidelong glance. "Have you ever heard the saying that after people die, their souls return to the sky and wander among the stars, and every star is actually the soul of an ancestor..."

"Never heard that. I heard that when people with faith die, their souls are taken away by the god they believe in and then have fun in that god's divine realm. As for those without faith, their souls are all collected by the God of Death, then the God of Death's wife uses an iron comb to comb away all their memories before tossing them back into the human world. So some people say that all living beings, regardless of faith, are by default followers of the God of Death," Amber rattled on. "But your version is interesting too. People go to heaven after they die? Was that some religious belief from seven hundred years ago?"

Gawain felt a little awkward. "No, this is..."

"Ah, right! You died before!" Amber stared at Gawain with wide eyes as though she had discovered the New Continent. With a sway of her body, she came before him and leaned in eagerly. "So after you died back then, did you go straight up to heaven? What is it really like when people die? Tell me!"

"Go away—get lost!" Gawain pressed a hand against Amber's face and forcibly pushed her away. "When people die, they know nothing, understand? I was just talking nonsense because I was bored!"

"Tch..." Amber glared at Gawain for a long time. After confirming that he truly did not intend to tell her, she turned her head away. "Old people are so boring."

Gawain: "Say that again?!"

In a flash, Amber vanished.