Changes

Sunlight streamed into the spacious study, casting a thin sheen over the oak desk and the Magic Net Terminal beside it. An invigorating incense drifted slowly through the air and into Byron's nostrils, making the imperial general of mercenary origins twitch his nose, nearly sneezing in a most undignified manner.

"...The envoy from the Holy Dragon Duchy will arrive at the northern border soon," Gawain said, sitting behind the desk as he casually set a document down. "You will go receive them."

Byron scratched his head, but halfway through, he remembered that this was now the "Imperial Era." It seemed a little inappropriate for a general to be so casual before the emperor, so he quickly lowered his hand. "Understood—but I don't know anything about diplomacy?"

Gawain glanced at the "mercenary general" with a smile. "Wasn't your eloquence always quite impressive? You even managed to persuade Philip."

"Your Majesty, that's different. When Philip and I communicated, it mainly relied not on eloquence, but on a shared commitment to justice and the knightly code..." Byron immediately launched into his usual impassioned spiel, but as he spoke, he noticed Gawain's half-smiling expression and had no choice but to cautiously and tactfully add, "Of course, a certain degree of shamelessness was involved as well..."

Some things could not be changed merely by putting on an imperial general's uniform—at least, not so quickly.

Yet Gawain did not mind. On the contrary, he rather appreciated the various flaws and habits of the group of "founding old ministers," Byron included.

He could not say whether Gawain Cecil's memories were influencing him, nor whether it was because he could see the shadows of those old Ansu founding doves from seven hundred years ago in Byron. But of one thing he was certain: dealing with people like Byron,