Chapter 21: The Deal Is Struck

After accepting Viscount Andrew’s invitation to a banquet, Gawain and his companions were temporarily settled in guest rooms within the castle. At Gawain’s specific request, even the two soldiers, the maid Betty, and Amber each had clean, tidy rooms to stay in.

After all, Viscount Andrew’s castle was quite large.

Once the servants had left, Hetty couldn’t help but ask, “Ancestor, do you think Viscount Andrew is trustworthy?”

Though neighbors by territory, Hetty was well aware of noble customs—marked by a lack of both honor and integrity. Despite their constant talk about these virtues, nobles often fell short, especially in the remote, wild southern regions far from the political center. The nobles’ way of survival here was often unsavory. Now that the Cecil family had completely fallen from grace, aside from the sudden reappearance of an ancestor—which was a rare plus—Hetty had little confidence in gaining any advantage over other nobles.

“Trustworthy? I never even considered that question,” Gawain’s answer surprised Hetty. “A few hours ago, I didn’t even know what Viscount Andrew looked like.”

Rebecca gasped beside him. “What? And yet you talked to him so much…”

“Because it was necessary,” Gawain said, looking at Rebecca. “We’re basically at the end of the line. Forget about the destitute subjects we still have to feed—look at your own pockets. Do you even have money for your next meal? We have to seek help. Viscount Andrew is simply the only option. Besides him, do you know anyone else in the southern lands? As for how reliable he is… I don’t know him, nor his family. I only learned about his territory from you a couple of days ago. How could I possibly know if he’s trustworthy?”

Rebecca frowned, struggling to follow. “Then why do you think he’ll help us?”

The answer didn’t come from Gawain, but from Amber, who had been quietly stuffing grapes into her mouth at the table. The half-elf wiped her mouth and rolled her eyes at Rebecca. “Because he doesn’t want to lose money, duh.”

“Not want to lose money?”

“When Sir Philip brought the refugees to Tansan Town, Viscount Andrew had already made up his mind,” Amber said calmly. “He could have just shut the gates and let the refugees starve or wander off. Don’t talk about mutual aid laws—out here in the frontier, the kingdom’s laws are worth less than a merchant’s gold coin. The fact that the viscount accepted the refugees means he expects compensation from the Cecil family. He believes the Cecils can pay. The deal was already made back then. Today, we’re just expanding and clarifying the terms.”

Rebecca stared at Amber, dumbfounded. “How do you even understand this stuff? Has the bar for thieves gotten that high these days?”

Amber grinned. “Is it that complicated? I don’t get your noble logic or all your rules, but I do understand one thing: thieves never walk away empty-handed. When it comes to profit, what’s the difference between you nobles and a thief who doesn’t want to lose out?”

Rebecca’s face flushed with anger. She drew her staff and summoned a fireball the size of a head. “If you don’t watch your mouth, I swear I’ll roast you with this!”

Amber, clearly not taking the threat seriously, smirked and taunted, “Come on, try conjuring an ice arrow then~”

No sooner had she spoken than a chill swept past her ear—a razor-sharp ice arrow zipped by so close it nearly grazed her skin, freezing a patch of the wall behind her. Nearby, Hetty stood with a single finger raised, her expression cold and unyielding. “Your ice arrow, as requested.”

A cold sweat trickled down Amber’s face. The terrifying precision of that shot was even more unnerving than the arrow itself. She wondered what level of magical control it took to pull off such accuracy.

Rebecca smirked slightly. Aunt Hetty’s offensive magic was as notoriously inaccurate as ever—just drawing outlines and dodging.

Gawain clapped his hands, ending the brief skirmish. “Alright, we’re all on the same side here. Let’s behave.”

When the ancestor spoke, it carried weight. Whether they liked it or not, Hetty and Rebecca put away their staffs in submission. Amber, though cheeky and aggravating, knew when to back down—especially after that ice arrow scare—and pouted silently.

Just then, a knock came at the door. With Gawain’s permission, the young maid Betty pushed it open.

“Master, Lady Hetty, Miss Rebecca,” Betty greeted them in order, skipping Amber entirely. “Sir Philip has arrived.”

“Oh, we were just waiting for him,” Gawain nodded, then noticed the frying pan in Betty’s hand. “Wait… why are you still holding that?”

Betty blinked and thought for a moment. “Because… we’re not home yet, and I’m afraid of losing it if I put it down.”

Gawain buried his face in his palm. “Well… suit yourself.”

Moments later, Sir Philip—the knight who had led the refugees out of the Cecil lands—entered the room.

Gawain was a bit surprised. The young warrior looked barely in his early twenties, with short, pale blond hair, deep-set eyes, and a prominent nose. His features weren’t strikingly handsome, but his martial bearing and upright posture made him stand out among ordinary men. He wore plain clothes rather than armor, with a longsword at his side. Bandages were visible on his exposed arms and neck.

He had indeed broken through with wounds.

“Lord, ladies,” Sir Philip greeted Hetty and Rebecca with a bow. “I’m glad to see you safe.”

“Sir Philip, please sit,” Rebecca quickly helped him up. “Thanks to you, those soldiers and civilians survived.”

She noticed the bandages. “These injuries…”

“Sustained during the breakout, but they’re healing,” Philip said hurriedly. “Viscount Andrew arranged for priests and healers. But…”

The young knight’s expression turned troubled, tinged with shame and frustration.

“You mean the gold and silver you brought out of the castle?” Hetty spoke up. “Don’t worry about that. Those were emergency funds. We told you to use them as you saw fit.”

“Rest assured, only part of the treasure was taken by Viscount Andrew,” Philip’s face brightened a little. Then he lowered his voice. “Before entering the town, I secretly entrusted some valuables to trusted soldiers and buried some outside the city. I feared the viscount might be too greedy. At least this way, there’s money left to support everyone or help the soldiers fend for themselves.”

Gawain nodded slightly. This was a young man with both courage and brains. Leading a small group of a dozen soldiers to protect a large number of defenseless civilians through enemy territory showed bravery. And knowing to safeguard the entrusted wealth and plan for the soldiers’ survival before entering another noble’s domain showed foresight.

“Well done. How many survived?”

Philip had noticed Gawain’s imposing figure in the room from the start. Now, hearing the question, he finally dared to ask, “Are you…?”

“Looks like Viscount Andrew already told you,” Hetty nodded. “This is the Cecil family’s ancestor, the founding duke of Ansu, Gawain Cecil, leader of the Seven Generals…”

Before she could finish, Gawain cut in quickly, “Alright, alright, no need for the cheesy titles. They give me goosebumps…”

Before he finished, Philip was already kneeling on one knee before him. “Duke Gawain! I… I heard the news but never imagined it was true! You are the model of all knights—I’ve admired you since I was a child…”

“Enough, enough! When will you stop?” Gawain hurriedly pulled Philip up. As a foreigner inhabiting another’s body, he’d never felt more awkward. “First, tell me how many survived.”

Philip struggled to control his excitement, then his expression darkened with the weight of the topic. “Over a thousand broke out that day. After losses from monster attacks, injuries, and disease, fewer than nine hundred made it to Tansan Town.”

“Exactly how many?”

“Eight hundred seventy-three. Of those, sixteen were regular soldiers, thirty were militia, and the rest were civilians.”

Rebecca swayed slightly.

“So these are the last survivors of the Cecil lands…” Hetty murmured. “I never expected…”

Gawain patted Hetty’s shoulder. “Do you know how many we had when we first fled the heartland of Gondor over seven hundred years ago?”

Hetty looked at him. “Back then…?”

“Over tens of thousands,” Gawain sighed. “So yeah, this situation is pretty grim.”

Hetty was speechless.

Meanwhile, in Viscount Andrew’s office, the viscount was penning a secret letter.

The letter was addressed directly to the king.

Because of the existence of the Gondor Wastelands, Ansu had regarded the southern border as the kingdom’s most vital buffer zone since its founding. Even though the south had been peaceful for some time, centuries-old customs still persisted here. For example, every noble in the southern lands was a direct vassal of the Ansu royal family, with the right and duty to communicate directly with the king.

“Your Majesty the King,

“Your direct vassal sends greetings.

“You have likely been informed in previous correspondence of the calamity that befell the Cecil lands in the south. Now, new developments have arisen. This matter is unprecedented and strange, but I have personally confirmed its truth.

“The ancestor of the Cecil family, Gawain Cecil—the founding duke of Ansu and leader of the Seven Generals—has recently returned to the living.

“I witnessed a radiant light descend upon the wastelands of the Cecil lands, banishing the invading monsters. Afterwards, dragons appeared (I will submit a separate report on the dragons). I personally investigated and, alongside Viscount Cecil, witnessed the resurrection of the heroic spirit…”

(End of chapter)