Journey to the Royal Capital

Gawain did not travel very quickly along the way.

Although Rebecca seemed somewhat anxious throughout the journey, Gawain still arranged the trip at his own pace. He had the group stop at every town they passed through, then sent the soldiers disguised as travelers or mercenaries into the crowds to spread word of "Founding Grand Duke Gawain Cecil's Heroic Spirit Revival" and "Grand Duke Gawain will soon arrive in Saint Suniel City." At the same time, he bribed local bards and thugs to spread versions with similar contents but far stranger details—the funding he had received from Viscount Andrew was more than enough to accomplish all this.

Gawain had initially worried that neither he nor Rebecca had any experience dealing with such local underworld figures, and that they might run into trouble. Yet Knight Byron, who was traveling with them, displayed remarkable skill. This middle-aged knight might not have been especially strong among his peers, but his ability to deal with society's drifters was astonishing. Soon after arriving in a city, he could establish contact with those "rats," and before the soldiers had even spread their message, all sorts of rumors about the Southern Territory had already begun circulating among the lower classes...

Gawain thought of Knight Byron's background—according to Rebecca, Byron had not been a proper nobleman's son, but a mercenary who had traveled far and wide. Only after a certain incident had he been taken in by the previous Viscount Cecil and allowed to enter the ranks of knighthood. It seemed that this former mercenary's old experience had not gone to waste.

The other person who proved immensely helpful did not surprise Gawain at all. Amber truly was an expert at dealing with street thugs and scoundrels. Whether it was professional integrity or sheer business skill... Gawain had given the half-elf lady some money to bribe the gangsters, but when she returned after finishing the job, she somehow had even more money than before...

Naturally, this behavior drew fierce condemnation from the well-brought-up Rebecca. To preserve his lofty image before his descendants, Gawain could only press Amber's head down and make her promise to return all the stolen money, as well as promise never to do it again.

This left Amber deeply wounded, as though the value of her life had been denied—Gawain felt it was probably impossible to instill proper values in this Disgrace of Elves.

Besides allowing the rumors to ferment, Gawain had another purpose for making frequent stops along the journey, one that was not so easy to voice: he needed to understand this world better.

It was not merely because the memories in his mind were separated from the current era by seven hundred years, but because he himself was not from this world at all. The sights he had seen from the sky could only serve as a map, while the memories he had inherited lacked sufficient immersion and flexibility—he had realized this after repeatedly searching his memories in vain because he did not know the relevant "keywords." Thus, for Gawain now, the most urgent task was to understand this world.

The process went fairly smoothly.

He saw the poor, backward southern villages of the Ansu Kingdom, as well as the prosperous, bustling cities of the central region. He saw mountains and forests, and fortresses built by mankind. All of it gradually began to merge with the bird's-eye maps in his mind.

By judging certain details, he confirmed that the most "recent" bird's-eye map in his mind had not become outdated too long ago. It was probably a record from around ten years earlier—the final sight he had seen while hanging in the sky.

For this slow-paced world, a map from ten years ago was perfectly usable.

As for whether anything might happen in Tanzan Town after they had been away from the Southern Territory for so long, Gawain was not as worried as Rebecca. He trusted Heti's abilities, and he was also fairly certain that Viscount Andrew would faithfully uphold the terms of their deal—not because he trusted the viscount's character, but because he trusted that profit would bind the man firmly to the Cecil Family. Before leaving the Southern Territory, he had arranged for Knight Philip to spread all kinds of rumors. Besides informing everyone that Gawain Cecil had returned to life, those rumors would also make the surviving Cecil Vassals the focus of attention, leaving Viscount Andrew, who had taken them in, with no other choice—he could only continue supporting those refugees until the day Gawain Cecil returned from the royal capital and everything had settled down.

No matter how long the road took, every journey had its end. Two months after leaving the Southern Region, the towering walls of Saint Suniel City finally appeared before Gawain's group.

This was a city built upon the plains, its scale far beyond comparison with those poor, backward southern towns. Its white walls and vast stretches of orderly bright-blue rooftops were its greatest features, earning it the titles of the Holy White City and the Blue-topped Crown.

Since the Founding Ancestor, Charles I, had led his people to reclaim farmland and build an earthen city upon this plain seven hundred years ago, the city had undergone countless expansions and renovations. The original earth-and-stone walls had long since vanished, leaving only a few commemorative ramparts in the old city district. The newly built stone walls, however, had expanded tenfold from their original size. The stone used in their construction came from the hard rock of northern Rocky Ridge and the Eastern Territory, while molten copper and lead had been poured between the masonry. Within those thick, sturdy walls, a crystal blessed by an Earth Element had been embedded every hundred meters to ensure they would not crack or collapse—such extravagance was surely beyond anything the pioneers who first settled here could have dreamed of.

Standing beneath Sunil's city walls, Gawain looked up at the stone bricks glittering under the sunlight and found that there were no corresponding details in his mind at all.

This city was no longer remotely the same place as the small city in Gawain Cecil's memories.

With legitimate travel documents and solid proof of noble status, Gawain's group encountered no trouble entering the city.

Francis II, the king who ruled the entire Ansu Kingdom, was waiting for these visitors from the south in his palace—Silver Castle. In particular, he was waiting for the arrival of a certain special guest from seven hundred years ago.

In truth, he had been waiting for many, many days. He was nearly waiting himself into a nervous breakdown.

That old ancestor was way too damn good at making trouble. This king could only say, you can't mess with people like this—the secret reports from all over the south, along with intelligence from every town along the route from south to north, had barely stopped coming. The official reports from officials of every level and the rumors gathered from the populace could practically pile more than a meter high on his desk. There were at least a hundred versions of the story—not even counting dialect versions. Yet regardless of the version, the central message was always the same: that old ancestor had suddenly climbed out of his coffin and was leading his descendants straight toward the royal capital. But while those reports kept arriving day after day, that old ancestor himself...

Why the hell wasn't he coming!?

The contingency plan made after receiving Viscount Andrew's secret letter had long been abandoned. The response measures devised with his trusted advisers had also failed one after another amid that old ancestor's leisurely sightseeing and ostentatious progress. By now, Gawain Cecil's return was common knowledge—of course, given the efficiency of information spread in this era, saying everyone knew was an exaggeration, but merchants and minor nobles capable of gathering intelligence certainly all knew about it.

That left Francis II with very limited options.

He would sit in Silver Castle, openly receive the returned legendary grand duke, openly speak with him, then openly send this living ancestor on his way.

At the very least, every step that might draw public attention had to be handled openly.

Yet Gawain had no intention of letting His Majesty the King off the hook so quickly—or rather, the first half of his objective had already been achieved, and now he wanted to test the king's attitude, as well as the attitudes of those around him. Therefore, rather than quietly sending the convoy straight to Silver Castle, he ordered all the soldiers to take out the flags that had been prepared in the carriages shortly after entering the city.

The flags bore the Cecil Family Crest and the Ansu Royal Sword and Shield Crest. The two crests stood side by side, faithfully reconstructed by Gawain from his memories. They were the banners used back when Gawain Cecil had still been the Grand Duke of the Southern Territory.

Even with only twelve ordinary soldiers, they had to carry themselves like an honor guard.

The Cecil Family had indeed declined, but even reduced to its current state, this family that had once followed the former king in conquering new lands and had built its legacy through martial strength still retained its final shred of pride. Defend the people and the land; never yield on the battlefield—Rebecca, now only seventeen and capable of nothing more than a Fireball Spell, could be said to be the weakest lord in Cecil history. She was incompetent in both civil and military affairs, and perhaps her head had once been caught in a door, but even she had led the last few family soldiers in holding the castle to the death, allowing the remaining civilians to break out. What she relied upon was that honor passed down to this day.

Thus, the Cecil Family possessed the poorest fief in the Southern Territory, yet still trained the finest warriors in the Southern Territory.

Even if only a dozen or so of those warriors remained alive now.

The soldiers raised their flags and rode in two columns. Looking at the crests fluttering atop those banners, they seemed infected by their spirit, lifting their heads high. Behind them, Rebecca and Gawain had also stepped down from the carriage and mounted their horses, advancing alongside the soldiers.

Byron rode at the very front to clear the way. This knight who had begun as a mercenary did his utmost to maintain the proper bearing of a true noble, so as not to disgrace the family he served. Yet Gawain urged his horse up beside him and told him softly, "Relax—put those manners and rules aside. Back when we arrived here, some of us had logging axes strapped to our backs."

At the very rear of the procession, the carriage that should have been carrying Gawain and Rebecca now contained the thief lady and the drowsy little maid Betty.

"Nobles really are a sick kind of creature, aren't they?" Amber poked her head out to glance at the street, then turned back and jabbed Betty's arm. "They have a carriage but refuse to ride in it. They insist on going out and showing off on horseback. There's something wrong with their heads."

Betty's head bobbed up and down, making her look as though she were nodding, but then a tiny snot bubble suddenly emerged.

Amber blinked at Betty, then noticed the frying pan resting beside her. Immediately seized by the urge to play a prank, she employed the superb skills of a master thief and silently crept toward the frying pan...

Betty suddenly snatched up the frying pan and hugged it to her chest, glaring at the stunned Amber. "No! Master said this is mine!"

Amber: "...?"