Chapter 25: Journey to the Capital, Part 2
Though he arrived with only a dozen soldiers, though the Cecil name had long since faded from the kingdom’s political center, and though the family’s last property in the capital had been reclaimed by the crown a century ago, Gawain still entered the city in the most conspicuous manner possible—flying the banner from seven centuries past.
That banner was only permitted for use while Gawain Cecil himself was alive. Displaying it now was less about asserting his presence and more about sending a clear message to the current Ansu royal family—
“The one entering the city is no longer the seventeen-year-old Viscount Cecil, but the Duke of the Southlands.”
When the attendant reported this to King Francis II, the aging monarch immediately grasped the meaning behind this “ancient one’s” signal. He walked out onto the terrace of Silverkeep and gazed toward the direction from which the Cecil family was entering.
From this distance, he could see nothing—the city had grown many times larger than in his youth, so vast that even from Silverkeep’s highest tower, the edges of the city were lost to view. He wondered if this ancient figure, awakened after seven centuries, felt any surprise upon stepping into this transformed metropolis.
Would he realize that after seven hundred years, nothing remained as it once was?
The attendant waited nearby for orders. Francis II withdrew his gaze and looked at the unremarkable middle-aged man. “Receive him with the honors due a duke. Then inform him that I will meet with him tomorrow at noon. The Duke of the Southlands is to rest within Silverkeep tonight to recover from his journey.”
The attendant nodded and was about to leave when Francis II called him back. “Also, aside from the meeting arrangements, fulfill all of Duke Cecil’s requests as best as possible—no lapses in protocol.”
The attendant bowed and departed. At that moment, a young man with striking features and pale blond hair stepped forward from beside a nearby pillar—he had been standing there all along. “Father, do you believe this ‘resurrected’ duke is genuine?”
“That’s not the important question,” Francis II replied, watching his heir. “Though Andrew sent that letter, and we have many corroborations, whether this ancient duke is truly who he claims to be depends on what unfolds next. For now, I can only say… this is no farce. This resurrected figure has given us quite the surprise.”
The young man lowered his eyelids, adopting a humble, inquisitive expression. “What do you think his intentions are?”
“Before we meet, all intentions are mere speculation. Judging by the spectacle he’s created on the road and the rumors clearly pushed by someone behind the scenes, he certainly won’t reveal his true purpose upfront,” the old king shook his head. “You may find an opportunity to engage him, but tread carefully. We face an unprecedented situation—do not provoke him.”
The young man promised to be cautious and left the room.
Francis II turned back to the city’s direction, a faint sigh escaping him.
His heir was still too young, too transparent with his thoughts. He was far too invested in this ancient figure who had seemingly dropped from the sky—or crawled out of the earth. The king could see the eagerness plain as day.
But it was no great matter. Rather than letting the prince sneak around on his own, it was better to give him this chance openly.
Once the attendant rode off from the palace, Francis II nodded and spoke to the empty air beside him. “Dark Crow, keep watch on Gawain Cecil and his party. Report any developments immediately.”
As soon as the king’s words faded, a sheer curtain hanging beneath a nearby colonnade fluttered slightly, though no figure appeared.
“Also, do not get too close. If he truly is the legendary figure from seven centuries ago, approaching recklessly will surely alert him,” the king added.
The curtain remained still.
…
Gawain and his group entered Saint Suniel’s city through the main gate, riding along the grand avenue. Nearly half the city had already heard the news. Before reaching Silverkeep, they were met by a royal escort.
The welcoming party was lavish and grand. A red carpet stretched from deep within Silverkeep all the way to Gawain’s feet. Servants and handmaidens in finery scattered flower petals along the route, while trumpeters and drummers played in two rows. All signs pointed to the king having prepared for this moment for more than a day—but Gawain was certain that if he had altered his manner of entry or arrived a day earlier, the welcome would have been even more elaborate.
Who knew how many contingency plans the king had devised for this occasion?
Though Gawain had no experience dealing with nobles or royalty, his memories contained plenty of relevant knowledge. Gawain Cecil had lived through the brutal early days of Ansu’s founding, but he had also witnessed the glory of the Gondor Empire. He could not see what Ansu would be like seven centuries later, but he knew well what Gondor had been.
Seven centuries ago, that once-mighty human empire was unimaginably complex—far beyond what today’s kingdoms could conceive.
“Please follow me to Silverkeep. His Majesty has ordered the finest rooms and meals prepared, along with hot springs to soothe your weariness. The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow at noon. Please rest well tonight,” said a composed official—an inner court noble of unknown lineage—standing before Gawain.
Gawain glanced at Rebecca beside him. The simple country girl had tried to maintain composure all along, but now, before Silverkeep and amidst the grand ceremony, she was utterly overwhelmed, her eyes wide and darting everywhere.
She didn’t know whether to first admire the impeccably dressed honor guard or the towering, majestic palace whose walls gleamed with silver leaf.
“I thought the king would be eager to see me,” Gawain shrugged, still mounted, lowering his gaze to the official. “After all, it’s not every day you meet someone who just popped out of a coffin.”
The official blinked, surprised by the legendary duke’s casual tone, but quickly recovered. “His Majesty considered your journey’s fatigue and thus scheduled the meeting for tomorrow.”
“Is that so…” Gawain deliberately paused, letting the official begin to sweat before continuing, “Well, I appreciate His Majesty’s kindness. But since we won’t meet today, I see no reason to stay in his castle—I’m not used to Silverkeep.”
The official’s expression shifted slightly. “Then you…”
“I’m more comfortable at home,” Gawain smiled. “Though I wonder if Number Four Crown Street still stands after seven centuries?”
At the mention of “Number Four Crown Street,” the official and several nearby courtiers visibly tensed. Though King Francis II had warned them, none had expected Gawain’s request to go in this direction.
That was the Cecil family’s old residence in the capital.
Though Gawain was Duke of the Southlands and mostly lived on his southern estates, like other founding pioneers, he had a home in the capital. It was built by the founding king, Charles I, for each of the original knights who helped establish the realm. These homes were all located on Crown Street—the district closest to Silverkeep.
Whenever the pioneers traveled from their lands to the capital for council, they stayed in their own houses. That was the custom.
Seven centuries later, all the pioneers save one—the one who had just “risen from the dead”—were long gone. Yet every house on Crown Street remained as it had been, maintained and renovated continuously by royal funds to preserve them indefinitely.
They had become living relics, still inhabited by the descendants of those original founders, who had inherited their ancestors’ estates.
Except for the Cecils. Since the gifted Gruman Cecil appeared, Number Four Crown Street had been under royal control for a hundred years…
“Number Four Crown Street…” the official stammered, “It’s still there, but it’s been renovated many times…”
“Oh, naturally. It’s just a house, not a fortress,” Gawain chuckled. “But if it’s been renovated, that means it’s well preserved, right? I shouldn’t have any trouble living there?”
“Of course…” The official had intended to say he needed the king’s approval, but seeing Gawain’s half-smile, he fell silent. “But…”
“I know. It’s been reclaimed by the crown, hasn’t it?” Gawain didn’t want to make a mere messenger uncomfortable, so he volunteered, “But I also heard it’s currently unoccupied—no one’s lived there for a hundred years, right?”
“Yes. The founding king left many things there… no one dares to remove them, and to this day, no one has the right to inherit them. So Number Four Crown Street remains empty.”
Gawain smiled again. “Since no one inherits it, I should be fine staying in my own home for a night, right?”
“Certainly,” the official recalled the king’s orders and nodded. “Please wait a moment—I will lead the way…”
“No need. I still remember the way to my own house.” Gawain waved him off. “Just tell the king I’ll visit Silverkeep promptly at noon tomorrow.”
Then he turned his horse and, before leaving, ruffled Rebecca’s hair. “Silly girl, let’s go.”
Rebecca snapped out of her daze. “Wait—Ancestor, we’re not staying in the palace tonight?”
“What’s so great about the palace? When they built it, I told Charles the soil was no good. Sure enough, by the third year the roof cracked wide open. Come on, I’ll take you to where I used to live—that’s a real home.”
Watching Gawain’s party ride off on their own, the official finally broke into a cold sweat. He grabbed a nearby aide. “Quick! Send a druid who can transform into a bird to Number Four Crown Street. Tell them to prepare immediately!”
(End of chapter)