Chapter 172: Guests of the Kant Domain

The story Pittman told sparked a surge of intense interest in Gawain’s mind, unleashing a flood of uncontrollable speculation.

Many dismiss such unofficial tales and strange legends as mere nonsense, but there are also those who admit that even the wildest folklore often contains fragments reflecting reality.

And when it comes to the elves—beings with lifespans far longer than humans and whose historical records are far more detailed and coherent—Gawain found himself more inclined to believe their legends held some truth. Especially those stories about arks that floated and sped above the sea, seas perpetually shrouded in darkness, and towering spires that pierced the sky. These phenomena, utterly beyond the comprehension of ordinary mortals on the continent of Loren, were described in the Silver Elves’ legends with such detail and certainty that Gawain couldn’t help but wonder.

Could there really be other continents beyond Loren?

Had civilizations already arisen elsewhere before this continent’s own cultures developed?

The “Primeval Elves” supposedly escaped their homeland aboard some kind of ark that floated swiftly above the sea’s surface. What exactly was that ark? From the descriptions… could it have been some kind of ground-effect vehicle? Or a massive hovercraft?

And what of the seas forever cloaked in darkness? Were they located within the polar night zones? Did this planet experience polar day and night phenomena at its poles, just like Earth?

Then there was the legendary towering spire—clearly not a natural formation, but something man-made. Inside it were projections of the starry sky and images of animals, plants, and minerals. Could it be connected to that ancient super-civilization that left behind monitoring satellites?

If the secret voyage undertaken by the original Gawain Cecil truly reached the Everdark Sea and that towering spire, then were those crystals the artifacts brought back from within the tower?

Countless pieces of information seemed to snap together in his mind, as if the whole story was about to reveal itself. Yet when Gawain tried to analyze it carefully, he found no clear answers.

The intelligence was too scattered and fragmented, tangled with vague legends, rumors, and speculation. Too many uncertainties remained to piece together the full truth of what had happened.

At that moment, an irresistible urge welled up inside him—the urge to build a great ship and sail straight out from the northern border of the kingdom, to find that sea forever cloaked in darkness (or perhaps bathed in long polar daylight at certain times), to see for himself what that legendary spire really was.

The impulse throbbed in his chest, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and silently reviewed the domain’s current resources, technological base, industrial capacity, and the remaining gold and silver in the mountain treasury. After running through it all, the urge vanished completely, replaced by a cold sinking feeling.

“Ancestor, are you alright?” Hetty looked at Gawain with concern. The sudden shift in his expression had her worried he might be on the verge of death again—and this time it didn’t look peaceful. Fortunately, Gawain snapped back to himself and waved her off. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“You’re interested in the Everdark Sea?” Pittman spoke up, frowning. “But forgive me for being blunt—even in the mighty Silver Empire, the Everdark Sea is just a story. Everyone knows that storms, mists, and chaotic magical fields block off the entire ocean. Even with elven technology, navigation far from the coast is impossible. After the decline of technology, human nations have no chance. Back when the Storm God’s Church was uncorrupted, storm priests could guide captains along certain coastal routes, but now the church has fallen to the Storm’s Children, and no one can safely sail the seas anymore…”

It was rare to see the old man so serious and earnest in his advice, and Gawain felt touched. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “It’s been seven hundred years, and the nations are still trapped on the continent? No one can reach the open sea?”

“Occasionally, some bold explorers try to challenge the ocean,” Hetty shook her head, “but fewer than a third return alive. And even those who do come back are often mad, their minds broken by the chaotic magic of the far seas. Besides, what’s the point of challenging the ocean? All wealth comes from the land—minerals, crops, everything is found on solid ground. There’s no real need to risk the seas. The only nation with some ocean development is the Typhon Empire, but even they have only found a few magical materials near the coast…”

Gawain frowned and glanced at Hetty. “Do you really think there’s no wealth in the ocean?”

“Ocean wealth?” Hetty blinked in surprise. “Humans are land creatures. What useful riches could the ocean possibly hold for us?”

Gawain looked at her, tempted to launch into a passionate lecture, but quickly realized such preaching would be wasted on Hetty’s limited knowledge and perspective. So he sighed instead. “One day you’ll understand. This continent is far too small for enlightened humans—just think, there’s nowhere to hide when a magical tide sweeps through.”

A magical tide… nowhere to hide…

Those words struck a chord with Hetty. She was about to ask more when Gawain changed the subject. “Enough of that. Hetty, I want you to help me gather some books and records.”

“Basic spellcraft and theory from various factions again?” Hetty asked automatically. That was what Gawain usually had her collect.

“No. About my own biography.”

“Your… biography?” Hetty blinked in confusion. Such a strange request—probably only a resurrected ancestor like herself would ask for that. “What kind? Official heroic biographies published by the kingdom?”

“Not just those. I want every version—folk tales, any account of my life. Even unofficial stories, rumors, and absurd tales told by country folk to scare children.”

Hetty’s expression twisted oddly. “What do you want those for?”

Gawain was about to make up some excuse—like studying how people’s thoughts changed over seven centuries—when a voice suddenly popped out from the shadows. It was Amber, babbling away: “He’s just bored, wants to see which troublemakers tried to slander him over the centuries… or maybe just wants to see how people praise him and feel secretly pleased…”

The moment Amber appeared, Hetty instinctively grabbed her staff and assumed a defensive stance. But the half-elf had learned her lesson from last time and immediately darted behind Gawain, using him as a shield, poking her head out to taunt, “Rua—I don’t believe you’d dare hit your ancestor… Ow, that hurts!!”

She didn’t finish her sentence before Gawain grabbed her ear and dragged her out. Curious, he asked, “What were you thinking? Running behind me for safety after stirring up trouble—do you think I wouldn’t hit you?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry! My ear’s going to cramp, my ear’s going to cramp!” Amber hopped and squirmed.

The tent soon filled with laughter and lightheartedness.

Several days later, a messenger arrived with a reply from Viscount Victor Kant.

The old viscount expressed great enthusiasm for Duke Gawain’s visit and warmly invited him to tour the Kant family’s proud ancient castle and estate. So, the very next day, well prepared, Gawain set out for the Kant domain.

He traveled by carriage, deliberately bringing few attendants—only the coachman, two soldiers, Amber as his personal guard, and Sir Philip, who had recently escorted refugees back to the domain.

As the silhouettes of villages and farms on the Kant border appeared at the road’s end, the sky darkened. A cold wind swept across the land, carrying the scent of damp earth and signaling approaching rain. It seemed that at this late Frost Moon, just before the arrival of Mist Moon, this land would soon be drenched by a hearty downpour.

After this rain, the brief autumn in the Kingdom of Ansu would end, giving way to the long northern winter: first sixty days of foggy, damp Mist Moon, then sixty days of biting Cold Moon, with snow falling intermittently until the month of Renewal. Even the “Southern Lands” of the Cecil domain would be blanketed in frost and snow.

After all, the entire Kingdom of Ansu lay in the continent’s northern reaches.

Gawain wondered if the refugees in the wilderness would reach the Cecil domain before the coldest days arrived, whether the winter preparations would proceed as planned, and if the border between Ansu and Typhon might erupt into war this winter…

He opened the side panel of the carriage. In the dimming, cloud-covered sky, he could already see the Kant ancient castle rising on a hillside ahead. The old stone fortress towered from the domain’s highest point, its dark spires piercing the overcast sky. Below the castle stretched a sprawling town, its buildings packed tightly together.

As night and clouds fell together, the early darkness brought scattered lights to life throughout the town. Gawain counted their number and distribution, gauging the land’s wealth and order.

There were more lights than he expected, visible throughout the town.

A raindrop slanted through the carriage’s canopy and landed on Gawain’s face. Along with the drop came a chill wind. Amber huddled in a corner, pulling her blanket tighter and murmured groggily, “Gawain, close the window…”

Gawain smiled and lowered the panel. The rain’s patter on the waterproof wooden roof grew steadily heavier.

The carriage sped through the fertile, harvested fields of the Kant domain. Behind them, the road leading out of the domain blurred beneath the curtain of rain, fading into indistinctness…

(End of chapter)