Chapter 24: Journey to the Capital

Gawain didn’t travel quickly.

Though Rebecca seemed a bit anxious the whole way, Gawain insisted on setting the pace himself. At every town they passed through, he made the group stop. After each stop, he sent soldiers disguised as travelers or mercenaries into the crowds to spread the news: “The founding Duke Gawain Cecil has been resurrected,” and “Duke Gawain will soon arrive at Saint Suniel.” At the same time, he bribed local bards and street ruffians to spread similar rumors—only more outlandish and bizarre versions. Thanks to funding from Viscount Andrew, Gawain had enough resources to pull this off.

At first, Gawain worried that neither he nor Rebecca had experience dealing with local toughs, and that might cause trouble. But to his surprise, Sir Byron, the knight traveling with them, proved remarkably capable. Though not the strongest among his peers, Byron’s skill in handling society’s riffraff was impressive. Almost as soon as they arrived in a town, he’d have connections with the “rats” on the streets. Before the soldiers could even spread the official news, rumors about the southern lands were already circulating among the lower classes.

Gawain recalled Byron’s background—according to Rebecca, Byron wasn’t born a noble but had been a wandering mercenary. After a certain incident, the previous generation of the Cecil viscounts took him in, granting him knighthood. Clearly, the former mercenary’s experience hadn’t gone to waste.

Another big help was Amber, which didn’t surprise Gawain. She was a natural when dealing with thugs and ruffians. Whether it was professional skill or sheer savvy, Amber excelled. Gawain gave the half-elf some funds to bribe the gangs, and when she returned, she actually had more money than she started with.

Of course, Rebecca, raised with impeccable manners, strongly condemned this behavior. To maintain a dignified image for future generations, Gawain had to hold Amber down and make her promise to return the stolen money—and never do it again.

Amber was deeply hurt, as if her very worth had been denied. Gawain suspected it might be impossible to help this “elfish disgrace” develop a normal worldview.

Besides letting the rumors ferment, the slow pace served another, less easy-to-explain purpose: Gawain needed to understand this world better.

Not because his memories were seven centuries out of date, but because he wasn’t truly from this world. The images he’d seen from above were only useful as maps, and the memories he inherited lacked the immersion and flexibility needed to navigate reality. He realized this after several failed attempts to search his memories for relevant “keywords.” So, for Gawain, the most urgent task was to learn about this world firsthand.

Fortunately, the process went smoothly.

He saw the impoverished, backward southern countryside of the Ansu Kingdom, bustling central cities, wild forests, and human-built fortresses. All these sights gradually merged with the overhead maps in his mind.

Judging by certain details, he confirmed that the “latest” overhead map in his memory wasn’t too outdated—probably recorded about ten years ago. That was the last glimpse he had before he’d been suspended in the sky.

For a world moving at this slow pace, a ten-year-old map was perfectly usable.

As for whether his long absence from the southern lands would cause problems in Tansan Town, Gawain wasn’t as worried as Rebecca. He trusted Hetty’s abilities and was fairly certain Viscount Andrew would honor their deal—not because he trusted the man’s character, but because mutual interests bound Andrew tightly to the Cecil family. Before leaving the south, Gawain had Philip the knight spread various rumors. Besides announcing Gawain Cecil’s resurrection, these rumors kept the surviving Cecil vassals in the spotlight, forcing Viscount Andrew, who sheltered them, to keep supporting the refugees until Gawain returned from the capital and everything settled.

No matter how long the journey took, every trip had an end. Two months after leaving the southern region, the towering walls of Saint Suniel finally appeared before Gawain’s party.

Built on a plain, this city dwarfed the poor southern towns. Its white walls and vast stretches of neat, bright blue rooftops were its defining features, earning it the nicknames “The Holy White City” and “The Blue Crown.”

Since the founding monarch Charles I led his people to cultivate this plain seven centuries ago, the city had undergone countless expansions and renovations. The original earthen walls were long gone, with only a few commemorative ruins left in the old district. The new stone walls were ten times larger, built from hard stone quarried in the northern Rockridge and eastern regions. The bricks were fused with molten copper and lead, and every hundred meters, a crystal blessed by earth elementals was embedded to prevent cracking or collapse. The luxury of these walls was something the city’s founders could never have dreamed of.

Standing beneath the walls of Suniel, Gawain looked up at the gleaming stones in the sunlight, realizing his memories held no details matching this place.

This city was no longer the small town he remembered.

With proper travel documents and reliable noble identification, Gawain’s group entered without incident.

King Francis II, ruler of the entire Ansu Kingdom, awaited these visitors from the south in his palace—the Silver Fortress—especially one special guest from seven centuries past.

In truth, he had been waiting for many days, nearly driven to the brink of madness.

The old ancestor was a relentless troublemaker, and this king was not going to be played like that. Reports from the south and intelligence from every town along the route had been pouring in nonstop. Official reports and rumors stacked over a meter high on his desk, with over a hundred versions of the story—plus dialect variations. All centered on the same core: the old ancestor had suddenly risen from his coffin and was leading his descendants straight to the capital. Yet, despite all the news, the old ancestor himself…

Just wouldn’t show up!

The initial contingency plans made after receiving Viscount Andrew’s secret letter had long been abandoned. Strategies devised with trusted advisors failed one by one as the old ancestor leisurely toured and flaunted himself. Now, Gawain Cecil’s return was common knowledge—well, maybe not quite “common” given the era’s slow information flow, but merchants and minor nobles with access to news all knew.

So King Francis II’s options were limited.

He could only receive the legendary returning duke openly in the Silver Fortress, speak with him openly, and send him off openly.

At every step where people would watch, everything had to be aboveboard.

But Gawain wasn’t ready to let the king off the hook just yet. His initial goal was achieved; now he wanted to test the king’s attitude and that of his court. So, instead of quietly heading straight to the Silver Fortress, shortly after entering the city, he ordered the soldiers to unfurl flags they had prepared in advance.

The banners bore the Cecil family crest alongside the Ansu royal sword and shield, side by side—the exact flag Gawain had reconstructed from memory, used when Gawain Cecil was still the Duke of the Southlands.

Even with only a dozen heavy infantry, they would present themselves as a proper honor guard.

The Cecil family had indeed declined, but even in its weakened state, this clan—once warriors who expanded the kingdom under the old king—still held onto their last shred of pride: defending their people and land, never yielding on the battlefield. Rebecca, only seventeen and barely able to cast a fireball, might be the weakest lord in Cecil history—inept in both civil and military affairs, and possibly with a few screws loose—but she still led the last few family soldiers to hold the castle, allowing the remaining civilians to escape, relying on that inherited honor.

Thus, the Cecils, despite having the poorest fief in the south, still produced the finest warriors.

Even if only a dozen remained alive.

The soldiers raised their banners and formed two lines on horseback. Seeing the crests fluttering, they seemed inspired, heads held high. Behind them, Rebecca and Gawain dismounted from the carriage and rode alongside the troops.

Byron led the way at the front. The former mercenary turned knight did his best to appear like a true noble, not wanting to disgrace the family he served. But Gawain rode up beside him and whispered, “Relax—forget the formalities. When we first came here, some people were carrying nothing but logging axes.”

At the very end of the procession, in the carriage that should have held Gawain and Rebecca, sat the thief lady Amber and the dozing little maid Betty.

“Nobles are such weird creatures, huh?” Amber leaned out, peering at the riders outside, then poked Betty’s arm. “They have a carriage but refuse to ride in it, choosing to show off on horseback instead. What a bunch of idiots.”

Betty nodded slowly, as if agreeing, but suddenly a tiny snot bubble appeared.

Amber blinked, noticing the frying pan resting by Betty’s side. Mischievous thoughts sparked in her eyes. Using her skills as a master thief, she silently crept toward the pan…

Betty suddenly grabbed the pan close, glaring at the shocked Amber. “No way! Master said this is mine!”

Amber: “…?”

(End of chapter)