Chapter 257: Seven Hundred Years Unseen

Gawain was a bit surprised at the moment, but having uncovered some clues earlier, he wasn’t entirely caught off guard.

He simply stared at the blonde elf standing warily in the distance, and memories related to this man surfaced in his mind—memories from seven hundred years ago, belonging to Gawain Cecil. He knew exactly who this elf was, how he had once served as a freelance warrior hired by humans, and how he had been under Gawain Cecil’s command in the mixed legion. Though these memories weren’t his own, after nearly a year of integration and adaptation, he could effortlessly immerse himself in them.

Even Gawain Cecil’s closest friends back then wouldn’t detect anything off in his reactions, and certainly not this elf named Solderin.

Still, Solderin showed no sign of lowering his weapon. He gripped his shortbow tightly, his eyes darting quickly over the nearby Cecil soldiers. He sensed these were ordinary men with little magical power, yet their gear emitted strange, self-operating magical responses—soldiers of a type he had never seen before, neither in human nor elven armies. He guessed that the missing troop had been wiped out by these soldiers.

Solderin’s cautious stance was exactly what Gawain expected. He smiled and said, “Though this reunion under such circumstances is awkward, I’m glad to see an old acquaintance from seven centuries ago standing before me—Solderin. Tell your men to lower their weapons. There’s no need for this to end badly.”

Solderin frowned. He knew Gawain Cecil’s strength. If this really was the genuine article, even without those strange soldiers around, his own unit wouldn’t have been able to leave this place alive. But surrender had its own art. After a moment’s silence, he slightly relaxed the tension on his bowstring—barely noticeable to the naked eye. “Will you spare these soldiers?”

“They’re Typhon troops. I’m aware of the changes in this era, so I won’t let them go,” Gawain said calmly, noticing the subtle shift in the bowstring. “Normally, I’d eliminate them all to avoid any future trouble. But since you’re here, if you cooperate, I can guarantee their lives.”

Gawain was certain that as soon as he finished speaking, the Typhon soldiers gripping their weapons would all relax their muscles to varying degrees—no one wanted to die, not even these fiercely loyal soldiers. They weren’t fools; they knew resistance was pointless. Offering them a way out through Solderin’s goodwill was the best option—and it gave Solderin a way out as well.

The elven ranger exhaled deeply. Though he knew that the Gawain Cecil from his memories would understand his meaning, only now did he truly relax. But before lowering his weapon, he couldn’t resist one last question: “I still can’t believe you’re real—how can you prove you’re the true Gawain Cecil?”

Before Gawain could answer, Hetty, standing nearby, blurted out, “How dare you question the identity of our ancestor?!”

Gawain raised a hand to calm her, then looked at Solderin with a half-smile. “You want me to prove it?”

Solderin stared silently, expression unreadable.

“Alright, if that’s what you want,” Gawain shrugged. “I know the real reason you never push yourself beyond seventy percent of your strength. I know that’s why you left the Silver Empire to wander the continent. You once sought out the archmage Baldiga for this very reason, and his specialty is…”

“Enough, you don’t have to say more,” Solderin interrupted, loosening his bowstring and signaling his men to disarm. “I believe you are the true Gawain Cecil. I’m willing to submit to your judgment, and I trust you’ll keep your promise to ensure the safety of my soldiers.”

One by one, the Typhon soldiers laid down their arms. This unresisting surrender infuriated the elite troops, especially the three knights, whose anger was barely contained. But reason forced them to accept the reality—this was the best outcome.

The resurrected Gawain Cecil was indeed real, standing just a hundred meters away. Under these circumstances, they had to be grateful their commander was an old acquaintance of the enemy—it at least saved their lives.

On the other side, Gawain couldn’t help but exhale in relief. Knowing Solderin was here, he had hoped to resolve things without bloodshed. He understood the elf ranger’s strength—a high-level ranger, whose combat prowess was formidable even if he couldn’t reach legendary status due to his own limits. Gawain’s current power might still handle Solderin, but he couldn’t guarantee protecting others in a fight. If the Cecil legion clashed with these Typhon elites, casualties would be inevitable.

Casualties on the battlefield were one thing; avoidable ones were another.

The prisoners were disarmed and bound, with mages and knights additionally restrained by magical silk cords as a precaution. Solderin himself was spared such treatment—ordinary ropes and shackles couldn’t hold a high-level ranger. With Gawain personally overseeing the group, that was the safest measure.

Before being led away, Solderin cast a curious glance at the still-busy open-air excavation site. He still couldn’t figure out what they were digging for.

On the way back to the Cecil territory, Amber (who was mostly just along for the ride) kept eyeing Solderin curiously. The half-elf’s awkward demeanor made the high-level ranger visibly uncomfortable. Solderin frowned and asked, “Is there a problem?”

Amber glanced cautiously at Gawain and Hetty nearby, then whispered, “I’m just curious—are you an old friend of ‘Old Dumpling’?”

Solderin blinked, puzzled. “What does ‘Old Dumpling’ mean?”

“That’s Gawain,” Amber said casually. “He told me that the zombie dug out of the coffin was ‘Old Dumpling’—though he taught me that, he doesn’t want me to call him that…”

Before she finished, she felt a quick tap on her head. Gawain’s voice came from beside her: “You think I can’t hear you just because you’re whispering?”

“Old Dumpling, how do you walk so quietly… ow, that hurts!”

Solderin stared in disbelief as Gawain rapped Amber’s head, suddenly reminded of the Gawain Cecil he’d met back in the ruins of Gondor—back then, Gawain was just as carefree and unrefined, able to quickly bond with anyone in the group, human or otherwise. Though he hadn’t had the habit of knocking people on the head, that easygoing spirit was unmistakable.

But in the latter half of his memories, after Ansu’s founding and Gawain becoming Duke of the Southlands, that carefree nature faded. The weight of responsibility and pressure made the legendary knight more serious and taciturn. In Solderin’s last memories of Gawain Cecil, he couldn’t recall him ever being so lighthearted.

Seven hundred years in a coffin seemed to have reset his mindset to age twenty-five—or perhaps, after facing death and seeing through certain truths, he’d changed.

Solderin believed the latter.

A man who had become a legend, shaped great deeds, and survived death had no need to feign depth.

His guess accidentally hit the truth. Gawain’s easygoing attitude indeed stemmed from his experiences with life and death and his incredible journey—though the years he’d lived far exceeded what the elf ranger could imagine.

After returning to his domain, Gawain handed the prisoners over to Sir Philip, waiting at the barracks. He decided to detain them temporarily, give them a stern talking-to, then send them to work in the mines or on construction projects along the northern shore come spring. There was plenty of work to be done, and the territory was stable enough to handle them without trouble.

The mercenary mage they’d caught earlier had been “educated” and assigned as an assistant at the mechanical workshop under Nicholas—whose anti-magic field was a nightmare for mid-level mages. The mercenary was now obedient and had even earned his first month’s productivity bonus.

As for Solderin, Gawain took him directly to the lord’s manor.

To get intelligence, he had to start with this “old acquaintance.”

Solderin stepped into Gawain’s “castle.” The moment he entered the hall, a wave of warmth greeted him. The biting cold of winter outside was completely shut out. Though the “castle” wasn’t grand or towering, it was surprisingly cozy.

The environment felt very comfortable.

Silver elves were native to the continent’s southern tropical regions. Though the Silver Empire’s high mountains and magical currents prevented extreme heat, they generally preferred warmer climates. Solderin had traveled the colder northern lands for years and adapted, but he still appreciated a warmer environment.

What puzzled him was the absence of fireplaces or other heating devices in the hall.

“This place is heated by a ‘warmway,’” Gawain explained, noticing Solderin’s search for a fireplace. “It’s a heating method I invented. Deep in the manor is a copper heater warmed by fire runes. The heat travels through pipes and brick channels to every room. The walls have insulation layers, and the roof is heat-resistant—much more comfortable than a cold, stone castle. I’m planning to improve it to heat the entire district.”

Solderin listened carefully, eyes wide with surprise. “When did you learn all this?”

“I’ve had some special experiences,” Gawain smiled slightly, leading Solderin toward the study. “Seven hundred years apart—we have a lot to talk about.”

Solderin smiled and followed. “Indeed.”

After assigning Amber to guard the door, only Gawain and Solderin remained in the study. Without others around, the usually aloof elf ranger seemed a bit more relaxed.

Gawain sat behind the desk and gestured for Solderin to take a seat nearby. Curiously, he asked, “How did you end up in Typhon?”

“Just wandering,” Solderin replied casually. “I’m a freelance ranger. When my contract with one country ends, I naturally look for a new employer.”

That obviously wasn’t the whole story, but Gawain didn’t press further. Instead, he smiled and said, “By the way, since you’re still out wandering, does that mean your problem hasn’t been solved yet?”

“I’m about ready to give up,” Solderin sighed helplessly. “Come to think of it, even Master Baldiga’s potions didn’t work. I guess there’s no one in this world who can help me.”

“Well, there’s a silver lining,” Gawain said. “No one can really tell your true strength—and you’ve even got yourself a pretty impressive nickname: ‘Solderin the Blonde.’ Sounds like you’re playing the charming heartthrob role…”

Solderin shot him a sideways glance. “Would you be happy with that?”

Gawain instinctively ran a hand over his hairline. “Forget it. My hairline’s finally stabilized recently…”

Solderin sighed again, suddenly feeling that meeting an old friend seven hundred years later wasn’t exactly something to celebrate.

“It’s pretty warm in here. Why don’t you take off that wig?”

“Nope!”

(End of chapter)