Chapter 22: Gazing at the Sky

After carefully marking the secret letter with a special seal, Andrew, the Viscount, rolled it up and meticulously sealed it with wax. Once everything was done, he exhaled softly, running through the details in his mind to make sure he hadn’t missed or messed up anything.

There shouldn’t be any mistakes—the agreed-upon content was all there, written truthfully and convincingly. Andrew was quite confident in his storytelling skills; he believed anyone who read the letter would be convinced that he was truly an eyewitness to “that incident.”

Now, it was up to the old king far away in the capital to decide whether he was willing to believe it.

Or rather, whether he wanted to acknowledge its truth.

It was a risky move, but Andrew wasn’t one to shy away from risk. If he hadn’t taken risks back then, he never would have stood out among his seven siblings to become the heir of the Leslie family.

What he hadn’t expected was that this new gamble would tie him to the Cecil family.

That once-great house, long past its prime, which had withdrawn from the kingdom’s political center a century ago and had dwindled so much in recent years it seemed destined to fade into oblivion.

Andrew had always kept a close eye on his “neighbors.” Not just because their lands bordered each other and they often traded, but because the Cecil family’s decline had accelerated sharply in the past two years. If things continued as before, Andrew could expect to double the Leslie estate within his lifetime—the young girl who had hastily inherited the family was no competent lord. Despite her efforts, she was certain to lose what little remained of her heritage.

But fate had played a cruel joke on everyone, and in a way no one could have foreseen: when Andrew first heard that the Cecil lands had been destroyed by monsters, he was stunned; when he learned those creatures resembled the magical tide beasts recorded in history, he was still stunned; when merchants spoke of a dragon appearing in the city, he was stunned again. Yet when Rebecca Cecil and Hetty Cecil arrived at the castle accompanied by a man claiming to be their ancient ancestor… Andrew showed remarkable composure and acceptance.

That was because he had finally gotten used to being stunned.

After finishing his conversation with that “ancestor,” Andrew returned to his chambers feeling he had made the right decision.

A noble line on the brink of extinction, with lands burned to barren soil, held no value. No matter how much he squeezed, there was nothing left to gain. If he wanted to recoup his investment, it was better to transform from a greedy exploiter into a generous neighbor. And the presence of that “ancestor” was key—Andrew was now ninety percent convinced the story was true. Whether the Cecil family had that ancient forebear was an entirely different matter.

He placed the sealed letter inside a silver tube, wrapped it with a strand of magical thread, and handed it to the old steward standing nearby. “Give this to the best ranger messenger—send it out on a griffin. The messenger should deliver it to Silverkeep after the first courier arrives but before anyone from the Cecil family gets there.”

The steward took the tube and was about to leave when Andrew called after him, “Wait. Also, go to the treasury and return the gold and silver belonging to the Cecils exactly as they are.”

“Yes, my lord. But is it enough to just return them as is?”

“That’s enough for now. When they set out, I’ll prepare a little something extra as travel expenses.”

The situation had changed. The “fees” he had previously charged out of petty greed had become a hot potato. Returning the treasure intact was only the first step, but he couldn’t go too far all at once.

Andrew weighed everything carefully in his mind, hoping that the ancient man from seven centuries ago would understand his sincerity.

Night had fallen deep and heavy.

Gawain, wrapped in his robe, pushed open the balcony door of his room and stepped out onto the terrace on the second floor of the Viscount’s castle.

In this world, the night sky held no moon. Instead, a dense tapestry of stars blanketed the heavens—far more numerous than those on Earth. Their cold, shimmering light bathed the land below. Each star felt utterly unfamiliar to Gawain.

Since arriving in this world, he had taken a liking to gazing upward—day or night. By day, he watched the enormous, gentle sun; by night, the moonless sky.

His eyes drifted among the stars, searching for a single, unmoving, extraordinary celestial body.

But it was a futile effort. The stars were countless, and without sufficient data or calculations, he couldn’t pinpoint the spot where he had once looked down upon the earth. Even if he found it, he wouldn’t be able to distinguish it from the sea of stars.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. He knew better than anyone that the sky here held secrets. Something was hidden up there—perhaps a surveillance device, a satellite, a space station, or a ship. Though it was likely long inactive, he couldn’t rule out the possibility that something else still hung in the sky, operational.

He had once been part of that surveillance system—this was the closest guess Gawain had come to after days of pondering.

If he hadn’t had those experiences watching over the earth, if he had simply transmigrated into Gawain Cecil upon arrival, he wouldn’t have this awareness or the accompanying pressure. But he did know certain things. As a soul from modern Earth, he couldn’t suppress his curiosity… or his anxiety about the sky.

What exactly was hanging up there? What impact might it have on the land below? Would it remain quietly in place forever? And what about its creator—if there was one—what purpose did they have?

All of this gave Gawain a sense of urgency he couldn’t share with others. It was like an Earthling suddenly realizing there was an alien ship parked in orbit overhead. Even if that ship had been motionless for hundreds of thousands of years, it was hard to feel at ease.

He had to understand the origins of that thing—or those things—to rest easy.

And even without that worry, his curiosity alone wouldn’t let him ignore the sky.

“Hey, you look up at the sky every day, huh? Either the sun or the stars,” a girl’s voice suddenly came from behind.

Gawain turned to see the half-elf thief sitting on the terrace railing, her back to the outside, grinning at him. Her legs swung casually beneath the railing, utterly unconcerned about falling.

He glanced at her. “Sneaking onto someone’s balcony in the middle of the night to scare them isn’t very polite.”

“The night belongs to me. Shadows are everywhere. I go wherever I want,” Amber said, swaying on the railing. Her body melted into the shadows, and in the next moment, she appeared on the other side of the terrace. “And you, a great hero from seven centuries ago, are you really afraid of someone suddenly talking to you at night?”

Gawain was too embarrassed to admit he’d just gotten goosebumps.

“So, what exactly are you looking at every day?” Amber asked when he remained silent. “During the day, you watch the sun to find your way. At night, are you reading the stars? Do you practice astrology?”

“What do you think’s up there?” Gawain countered.

“The sky? Just stars and the sun, right?” Amber answered casually. “Oh, wait… don’t tell me you’re going to preach about the gods’ palaces being up there too? I’m not interested—I worship the Shadow and the Lady of the Night. Her divine realm lies in the deepest part of the starless night, a place completely different from the real sky. I just close my eyes and pray sometimes—that’s my worship!”

“You really are a follower of the Lady of the Night?” Gawain looked at Amber with some surprise. Though he himself had no faith, his memories of Gawain Cecil included plenty of knowledge about the world’s religions. The myriad gods and sects fascinated him but also kept him at a distance. He hadn’t expected this seemingly irreverent thief to be a believer.

“I just believe in whatever, really. The Lady of the Night doesn’t demand offerings or issue divine commands, and there’s no need for regular worship or ceremonies. Why not believe if it costs me nothing?” Amber said lightly, speaking words that true devotees might find blasphemous. “Besides, the path of shadows is somewhat connected to her power. Sometimes I think praying actually makes me stronger—though every time I realize it’s just the illusion of being drunk.”

Gawain smirked and decided not to bother with this half-elf who had no filter.

A true disgrace to the elves—no matter what her other half was, she was a disgrace to that bloodline too.

“Hey, hey, why are you silent again?” Amber wasn’t about to let him off the hook. “You still haven’t said what you’re looking at.”

Gawain gave her a sidelong glance. “Have you ever heard the saying that when people die, their souls return to the sky and wander among the stars? That each star is actually the soul of an ancestor…”

“Nope. I’ve heard that believers’ souls are taken by their gods to party in the divine realm, while unbelievers’ souls are collected by the god of death, whose wife combs away all their memories with an iron comb before tossing them back to the world. So some say everyone’s a follower of the god of death, no matter their faith,” Amber rattled on. “But your idea’s interesting—people go to the sky after death? Is that some religion from seven centuries ago?”

Gawain felt a bit awkward. “No, that’s…”

“Oh right! You’re dead, aren’t you?” Amber’s eyes widened like she’d discovered a new continent. She bounced over to him and leaned in eagerly. “Did you go straight to the sky after you died? What’s it really like to die? Tell me!”

“Go away!” Gawain pushed her face away firmly. “When people die, they know nothing. Got it? I was just rambling out of boredom!”

“Tch…” Amber glared at him for a long moment, then turned away when she realized he really didn’t want to tell her. “Old people are so boring.”

“Say that again?!” Gawain shouted.

In a flash, Amber vanished.

(End of chapter)