Meeting

After a series of efforts, Gawain finally entered Silver Castle in the most high-profile manner possible, under the watchful eyes of all.

The poor had no time to care about this, commoners had no interest in it, and small merchants and townsfolk would only discuss it after meals, but the nobles—almost every noble who had heard the news—had been following its developments from the very beginning.

Yet the towering castle walls, covered in silver foil, stood high and cut off most line of sight. The lower- and middle-ranking nobles had not been permitted to enter Silver Castle, while their channels of information from higher up had been blocked by royal order since dawn. They could only watch helplessly as the grand procession entered the castle, then discuss those already public, not-quite-secret bits of news.

Victoria Wilde, Grand Duchess of the North, had arrived at Silver Castle three days earlier.

Baldwin Franklin, Duke of the West, and Silas Lauren, Duke of the East, had arrived at Silver Castle together an hour ago.

Several advisors and the king's chancellor had also entered the castle.

The gates had already been tightly shut. No one knew what was happening inside.

Was it a banquet? A secret negotiation? An argument? Or even a murder?

Countless eyes fixed on the castle shifted restlessly. The noses beneath them twitched nervously, seeking the scent of conspiracy or opportunity, while the mouths beneath those noses opened and closed, producing all manner of fresh opinions and rumors. The listeners, meanwhile, were wise enough not to take what they heard as truth, for until the castle gates opened again, no one knew what a man revived from seven hundred years ago would discuss with the current king.

Francis II had not arranged any tiresome banquet, nor had he chosen to meet Gawain by formally "summoning" him before the court. Instead, he chose Oak Hall beside the Council Hall for this meeting, which was also what Gawain had requested.

Oak Hall was an ancient place. Its existence could be traced back to seven hundred years ago, when Silver Castle had first been founded—back then, the castle did not yet look like its current silver-foiled self, and the word "Silver" in its name existed only because Charles I simply could not think of anything better-sounding.

As one of the most senior rooms in this castle, which had undergone countless renovations and reconstructions, Oak Hall had been enchanted by a powerful court druid roughly four hundred years ago to ensure that its main timbers would remain forever alive. In fact, the enchantment had to be recharged once every hundred years.

Though Oak Hall was only one-third the size of the main Council Hall, this small and old chamber was the most extraordinary place in the castle. Only nobles of count rank or above could possibly appear here, and only matters capable of influencing the fate of the kingdom would be secretly discussed within its walls.

A round oak table stood in the center of the hall. The king sat at the position representing the "Crown" on an astrological chart. At his right sat his chancellor, Aiden, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and deep-set eyes. At his left sat the current Duke of the Northern Territory, Victoria Wilde. Further along on either side sat Baldwin Franklin, Duke of the West, and Silas Lauren, Duke of the East. Several noble representatives whose names Gawain could not be bothered to remember sat around the table, while the royal advisors occupied another row of chairs behind the king.

Only Rebecca accompanied Gawain.

Amber and Knight Byron certainly did not have the qualifications to take part in this, so Gawain simply left them at the residence at Number 4 Crown Street. He had never intended to bring Amber to Silver Castle in the first place. With that young thief's professional dedication, she would probably scrape off every bit of silver foil on the outside of the castle.

Aside from the chancellor and the Advisory Group, who seemed to be there merely to fill seats, everyone present was descended from the pioneers who had founded Ansu—including Gawain himself, one of those pioneers. This meeting had been endowed with extraordinary significance from the very beginning.

As a founding ancestor of the kingdom, Gawain had no need to bow or pay respects to anyone present. He simply sat down in his seat without ceremony. Rebecca beside him was clearly a little nervous. The young woman clenched her fists tightly and took several deep breaths before sitting down steadily—only to forget that she was actually supposed to bow to the king.

But no one was going to pursue the matter under these circumstances—this was the imposing presence of bringing your elder along to a meeting.

From the moment Gawain entered the room in ducal attire, with the Pioneer's Sword at his waist, everyone's eyes had turned toward him. Even after this living fossil sat down, those gazes barely subsided. It was hardly proper noble etiquette, but difficult to control: a figure from seven hundred years ago had climbed out of his coffin and appeared right in front of them. Who would not stare a little longer?

And while staring, many were still considering whether Gawain himself was genuine—or rather, what Francis II's attitude meant.

At that moment, the old king across the table rose to his feet. His hair was gray-white, and he looked advanced in years, but dressed in magnificent robes, he still possessed considerable bearing and vigor. He led the three dukes to stand, prompting the other attendees to rise as well.

Gawain watched him and listened as he spoke solemnly. "May the gods protect Ansu. Seven hundred years later, we have been granted the honor of seeing with our own eyes a hero of the pioneering age. Thank you for the sacrifices and contributions you and your generation made for humanity's survival. This land, and every person upon it, will never forget the great pioneers. Here, in the name of a descendant of the Moen Family, together with the descendants of all pioneers, I pay tribute to our ancient hero."

The king bent at the waist, and every descendant of the pioneers—including the three dukes—made the same gesture.

Now, the king had made his position clear—Gawain Cecil's resurrection could be real.

As for whether there was any problem with a king bowing to a duke, there was no problem at all. After all, the Gawain who had died seven hundred years ago was no longer merely a duke now. He was a symbol. Every year, everyone present bowed several times before portraits of Gawain Cecil and a great many pioneer ancestors during memorial rites. Now that a life-sized, fully restored living person was standing here, what was wrong with bowing?

But Gawain felt that something was off. A second later, he realized what it was, and his expression turned strange. "The last time so many people bowed to me at once, I was lying in a coffin..."

Everyone: "..."

The atmosphere became extremely awkward for a moment.

Fortunately, everyone here had weathered great storms before—though this particular kind was indeed a first for them. They quickly recovered and straightened up calmly. The king smiled. "Ordinarily, juniors must also bow when meeting their elders."

Gawain laughed along with him. Though he looked several generations younger than Francis II, his tone was exactly that of an elder. "The age gap may be a little large, but that expression you make when looking for an excuse is exactly like Charlie's back then."

Gawain Cecil had made his position clear as well—Francis II's Moen Bloodline could also be real.

After saying that, Gawain and the old king smiled at each other. It was clear that the latter had especially breathed a sigh of relief, and even seemed a little lightheaded with delight.

Everyone present was very intelligent—perhaps one hardheaded, disappointing descendant could be excluded? They were exceptionally skilled at analyzing the personality patterns of a person's ancestors for eighteen generations from a single fart. Therefore, Gawain and Francis II's simple exchange was enough to let them understand the tone of this meeting, and even infer that the king and the ancient duke had likely reached some degree of consensus already.

The lady seated to the king's left seemed to frown slightly, but upon a second look, her expression appeared unchanged. Still, as the only Grand Duchess among the three dukes, her very presence made Gawain look at her a few more times.

She was a woman around thirty, as mature and beautiful as Heti, yet carrying far more coldness and detachment. She wore a long white dress, with a silver fox-fur shawl over her shoulders. Combined with white silk gloves and a head of silver-white curls, it made her seem as though she were wrapped in ice and snow. This beauty, like an Ice Queen, stood out so prominently in Oak Hall that she fully demonstrated one fact—white really did have a high reflectivity.

The entire left half of Francis II's body was brighter than the right...

That was the current Grand Duke of the North, Victoria Wilde. Gawain matched the hastily reviewed information in his mind with the woman before him, while recalling the founding of the Second Dynasty: it was the northern Verde Family that had originally elevated an illegitimate son to the throne.

But now, it seemed that the descendants of that illegitimate son were no longer very much under the Verde Family's control.

Noticing the gaze from across the table, the "Lady of Ice and Snow" nodded stiffly, presumably in greeting. Gawain waved a hand. "Just like your ancestor, you have a deadpan face. I told Verde back then to marry a livelier southern girl, so she could at least balance out that face of his. He refused to listen. Now it's afflicted the descendants, hasn't it..."

The Grand Duchess of the North's cheek twitched slightly. Gawain then looked toward the Duke of the West and the Duke of the East, chatting for a few moments about matters involving their ancestors according to the information he remembered. At last, his gaze fell upon the empty space between the chancellor and the Grand Duchess of the North—there was no chair there.

That had originally been the Cecil Family's place, but the chair had been removed one hundred years ago. From then on, only three of the four regional dukes remained. There was no longer a grand duke in southern Ansu. Nobles of all ranks directly under the royal family became the ruling class of the south, while the Cecil Family was squeezed into the remotest corner.

When they noticed where Gawain's eyes had fallen, everyone—including Francis II—could not help holding their breath. The atmosphere seemed to tighten in an instant, shifting from the warm and friendly stage of casual conversation into the main part of the meeting—namely, the stage of wrangling, insults, and table-slamming.

But Gawain merely glanced there before revealing a relaxed, natural, even slightly disdainful smile. He looked at the king across the table. "Let us get to the point. Next, my descendant, Rebecca Cecil, will explain to you the disaster that occurred in the southern part of the kingdom. Everyone, that is the real trouble."