Chapter 255: Clues in the Web

Gawain listened carefully to the patrol soldiers’ reports. From their accounts, he realized that the group they’d encountered wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill bandits or exiled mercenaries. No, these were highly trained, experienced professional soldiers operating with remarkable coordination.

The patrol’s reports were reliable—their captain was a seasoned veteran who had served the Cecil family since the old days. All the veteran soldiers and the best recruits in the territory had been dispersed among the new units as “seeds” to ensure battlefield judgment remained sharp. These men rarely made mistakes in combat assessments.

If it weren’t for the cutting-edge black-tech weaponry wielded by the Cecil troops—technology that was like something from the stars compared to conventional armies of this era—and if the patrol captain hadn’t detected the enemy in time and responded accurately, the encounter could have turned into a brutal, drawn-out battle. But there were no “ifs” on the battlefield. Faced with weapons and tactics they couldn’t comprehend, these suspicious armed infiltrators attempting to penetrate Cecil territory suffered a crushing defeat. Of the ten men in their squad, only two survived.

Gawain examined the spoils the patrol had brought back—weaponry, armor, backpacks. Many items bore scorch marks and melted holes from intense heat rays, yet some remained intact. None of the gear bore any insignia or identifying marks, not even a consistent style. Though all were high-quality, it was clear their owners wanted to conceal their identities.

The tools Amber had mentioned—used for mapmaking—and the rough sketches they’d drawn were laid out on a separate table, along with several other items Amber found suspicious.

Gawain picked up one of the crude maps showing the winding paths through the Dark Mountains, frowning as he studied it closely. Besides the map itself, there were cryptic symbols he couldn’t immediately decipher. Still, even without fully understanding, he could guess what those markings represented.

Amber, sharp in her own field but clearly out of her depth here, looked puzzled at the tools and asked, “Where do you think these people came from?”

“Do I even need to guess? Of course, our ‘friendly neighbors,’” Gawain shrugged, casually tossing the sketches back onto the table. “Well-equipped, well-trained, infiltrating from the Dark Mountains, mapping the terrain and gathering intel along the way. Who else would do something like this?”

He smirked, eyeing the unmarked weapons and armor. “And they even brought these blank-slate kits to hide their tracks… Do they think the Ansu people are fools?”

Just then, the door opened and Hetty walked in. Hearing Gawain’s words, she shook her head. “It’s not that simple. While the Ansu border guards know exactly where these people come from once they’re caught, without solid evidence, capturing them is pointless. After all, the two nations haven’t officially declared war. If a spy is caught, no one admits it. Most nobles are creatures who care about face but have no shame.”

Amber glared at Hetty. “Hey, you’re a noble too! Your whole family is!”

“But that doesn’t stop me from judging other nobles,” Hetty replied, unusually refraining from smacking Amber on the head—probably because there were too many people around and she wanted to keep it classy. She glanced at Amber, then turned to Gawain. “Ancestor, I’ve already arranged for reinforcements at the mines. Knight Byron has personally gone there as well.”

Gawain nodded approvingly. Hetty’s expression grew serious. “Ancestor, do you think these imperial soldiers are a sign that war is coming?”

“They’ve already slipped into the Dark Mountains. War is not far off,” Gawain said bluntly, offering no comforting words. “The Ansu Empire’s eastern defenses are rock solid. The Loren family is an immovable stone. The only weak point along the entire border is the Dark Mountains, which stretch from Ansu into Typhon and border the Gondor Wastelands. But this natural barrier doesn’t allow large armies through. Typhon can only send small infiltration units to stir trouble. And those units only become useful once the empire is truly ready for war.”

Gawain closed his eyes briefly, and a satellite-like overview of the Dark Mountains appeared in his mind.

The range snaked through Ansu territory, then curved south along the Typhon border, forming a natural shield. Toward the Typhon-Gondor Wasteland boundary, the mountains gradually flattened and merged into the land.

He could almost trace the infiltrators’ routes in his mind.

“I’m worried there’s more than just this one group,” Gawain said, opening his eyes and looking at the two Typhon prisoners lying on mats, now somewhat recovered. He approached and looked down at them. “Do you know who captured you?”

One prisoner met Gawain’s gaze without fear. Though pain twisted his face, his voice was calm. “I’ve heard of you—Gawain Cecil.”

“Anything you want to confess?”

“You’ve already asked everything. Your men got nothing out of us,” the soldier said, stiffening his neck. “Even if you really are Gawain Cecil, we won’t say a word.”

“I know you have comrades scattered in several squads hiding in the Dark Mountains, mapping and infiltrating Ansu territory. If I’m right, you’re even planning to lie low inside Ansu, waiting for orders to sabotage, right?” Gawain’s face was calm as he spoke. Drawing on his experience as Gawain Cecil and his quick thinking, he easily guessed the roles these infiltrators would play once inside enemy lands. With each word, the prisoners’ expressions darkened. “Your intelligence is clearly outdated—I bet your commander described the Ansu southern border as barren, undeveloped, lightly guarded, relying on the Dark Mountains’ natural defenses to keep peace for a hundred years. That’s why he sent you in so confidently.”

“No,” the other prisoner coughed, “we know you exist… and your frontier settlements. Our intelligence is better than you think. If you really are the great hero from seven hundred years ago… you must know times have changed…”

Gawain was surprised by their composure and resilience. Not everyone could stand firm before a resurrected legend, even trained soldiers. Most professional soldiers of this era lacked honor or patriotism, but these two clearly didn’t—they were willing to risk life and death, utterly loyal.

How did Typhon train their troops? Had they realized the importance of instilling values?

Gawain silently unleashed a powerful aura of a transcendent warrior. Though his strength was somewhat diminished compared to the original Gawain Cecil, this pressure was unbearable for ordinary men. Under the combined assault of magical and mental force, the prisoners’ faces quickly paled. Gawain spoke slowly, “Don’t be so confident in your intelligence, ‘soldiers of this era.’ Have you forgotten how you were defeated?”

The prisoners’ eyes wavered.

“The patrols in the mountains were just ordinary Cecil soldiers—the most ordinary kind. And they easily destroyed so-called ‘elites’ like you. Think about what would happen if your comrades and an entire legion with the same equipment met them. Your intelligence is outdated, young men.”

With that, Gawain withdrew his pressure. He didn’t try to extract more information but strode toward the door, leaving a word with Leight: “Take care of these two. Try to heal them.”

Once outside the holding room, Hetty caught up. “Ancestor, are you planning to intimidate them, then have Priest Leight heal them and maybe even let them escape, so they’ll warn their comrades and we can track and capture them all?”

Amber, who had followed along, looked shocked. “You can do that?”

Then she sighed. “Nobles really have dirty minds.”

Gawain shook his head. “Don’t think like that. These specially trained soldiers have been indoctrinated. They won’t fall for such tricks.”

Hetty looked puzzled. “Then what was the point of what you said to them?”

“Just some words to look impressive before leaving.”

Hetty was speechless.

She had no idea how to respond politely to an ancestor who casually said “to look impressive.” So she forced herself to forget it and changed the subject. “Will you continue interrogating them?”

“Not likely to get results soon. But their comrades are probably already nearby. Whether they cause major damage in the short term is uncertain,” Gawain frowned, gazing toward the Dark Mountains. He wasn’t worried about the homeland defenses—watchtowers, walls, magical traps, and rune alarms ensured safety. Small infiltration squads wouldn’t be foolish enough to attack a well-guarded frontier town. But he was concerned about the isolated mines, logging camps, and outposts outside the territory. “I need to go into the mountains myself. Amber, you’re coming with me.”

“Ah?” Amber blinked in surprise, then remembered her role as a royal guard and drooped her ears. “Oh…”

The battlefield in the mountains hadn’t been fully cleared. The patrol had limited manpower and only brought back prisoners and some spoils. When Gawain and Amber arrived, Cecil soldiers sent to clean up were hauling away bodies blocking the mountain paths. Gawain and Amber inspected every corpse and the entire combat zone. Then something caught Gawain’s eye.

A scrap of paper lay by the path—apparently an order from a superior to the soldiers. Half of it had been burned away by the heat rays, leaving only a few fragmented, disconnected words.

Yet those few broken words made Gawain’s brow furrow.

“What is it?” Amber asked, curious as Gawain stopped. “Can’t read it?”

“This handwriting… looks familiar,” Gawain said, disbelief on his face. “Could it be… that guy?”

(End of chapter)