Chapter 26: Can This Be Called a Former Residence?

Gawain didn’t rush the group’s pace. He guessed the staff needed some time to hurriedly prepare the Crown Street No. 4 estate for their master’s arrival, and he wasn’t about to make things harder for those just following orders. Still, even after leisurely wandering around the block, when they finally reached No. 4 Crown Street, they saw several servants in uniform dashing about, sweating profusely.

At least the preparations were nearly done.

A tall, slender middle-aged man with a white wig and a black bow tie stepped out from the mansion. He bowed deeply before Gawain’s horse and said, “Your Excellency, your residence is ready. I am James Brain, currently in charge of managing this property. It is my honor to serve as your butler during your stay in the capital.”

“Brain… that name rings a bell,” Gawain mused, searching his memory. Then he smiled. “Ah, right—Holly Brain, the young page who served Charles back in the day. That surname was actually given to him by Charles himself.”

James Brain’s eyes widened in surprise. Anyone fortunate enough to interact with an ancestor—especially one who knew their own forebears—would feel the same astonishment. “Y-yes, Holly Brain was indeed our ancestor. Our family has served the royal household for generations, managing the Crown’s properties in the capital on their behalf…”

Gawain chuckled. “Well, this house is royal property now.”

James broke out in a cold sweat. That topic was definitely the most awkward moment of the day—like being tied to a chair and forced to recite your teenage angst poetry aloud.

But Gawain was only joking and quickly moved on. “Don’t trouble yourselves too much. I won’t be staying long.”

James straightened up. “I have received orders and will do my utmost to serve you. Preparing the estate properly is our duty.”

“Like getting rid of the ticket sellers at the gate and the tour guides inside first?”

“…Ah?”

Communicating with someone from another world was tricky—the jokes just didn’t land.

Gawain waved his hand, a bit disinterested, dismounted, and handed the reins to a servant waiting nearby. Then, leading his N+1th great-granddaughter and a large group, he stepped into the ancient mansion that had stood for seven centuries.

Just as the court official had said, these historic and significant estates on Crown Street were not only preserved but continuously maintained to retain their original appearance. Seven hundred years is a long time—even with magic, which defies logic—many things should have long since decayed. Gawain was almost certain that at least half of what he saw was no longer original, merely convincing replicas. But he didn’t care—after all, he wasn’t truly Gawain Cecil.

Passing through a modest garden and front courtyard, then a short corridor, they arrived at the main hall. As the residence of the founding duke, No. 4 Crown Street was somewhat modest. Any family wealthy enough to own property in the capital could easily build a house twice this size. Amber immediately muttered upon entering, “This? It’s way smaller than I expected…”

“This was built seven hundred years ago,” Gawain glanced at the half-elf. “Back then, Silverkeep was only a bit larger than this.”

“I think it’s nice…” Rebecca whispered. “The castle I live in has a big foundation, but in many ways, it’s not as good as this…”

Amber rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah. You guys nearly squandered your entire family fortune.”

“No fireballs in here,” Gawain said, pressing down on Rebecca’s and Amber’s heads. “And you, don’t get cocky just because you’re good at running away. If you ever face a true Shadow Master, you might not survive.”

After sending Sir Byron and the soldiers off to rest under the servants’ guidance, and assigning Betty to help in the kitchen (finally putting her frying pan to use), Gawain began pacing around the main hall.

“Everything really has been preserved…”

After circling twice, Gawain sighed softly. Memories flooded his mind, matching each object before him. Though many were no longer original, the familiar feeling from his recollections made him involuntarily nostalgic.

Rebecca followed behind, curious and a little conflicted as she examined the furnishings. The founding pioneers all had descendants, many still living on Crown Street. Yet she—the current head of the Cecil family, descendants of the greatest pioneer—only now saw what her ancestor’s home looked like.

Many items she had only read about in family records, like the ancient battle axe hanging on the main hall wall.

“That was won from Charles during a sword duel,” Gawain said, pointing at the axe while scanning his memory. “It’s not some legendary weapon, just a dwarf’s battle axe. I don’t know how those dwarves grow up—each barely waist-high but incredibly strong. This axe would be heavy for a human soldier, but they could swing one-handed like it was nothing.”

Rebecca perked up at the name. “Charles… you mean the founding king, Charles?”

“Charles Morn, the one we now call Charles the First—who else?” Gawain smiled. “He’s the only Charles I ever mention.”

Though he was just inhabiting Gawain Cecil’s body, boasting in the first person felt pretty great.

But Gawain’s tone wasn’t just for show; he genuinely needed to familiarize himself with this identity. For the foreseeable future, being Gawain Cecil would be very useful.

Amber, however, wasn’t interested in family history or royal secrets. After a quick walk around the hall and weighing how badly she’d get beaten if she tried to steal anything, the pragmatic half-elf plopped down on a sofa, swinging her legs and looking around. “So, you insisted on coming here because you want to pack up and take stuff with you, right? Your descendants have nearly squandered the family fortune. Opportunities like this to move things out don’t come often…”

Gawain stared, dumbfounded. “Where do you get these ideas?”

Amber grinned. “Don’t be shy—it’s a normal thought. If you’re worried about carrying too much, just give it to me. I’ll help you sneak things out without anyone noticing. With my skills, three trips to the market and I could clear this place out…”

A thief openly discussing how to steal from her host—Amber was truly a rare breed. She’d gone from being the elf’s disgrace to the thief’s disgrace.

From racial shame to professional shame—that was quite an achievement.

“Save it. If I wanted to take anything, I wouldn’t need your help,” Gawain waved her off, cutting off her unrealistic plans. “Even Francis II wasn’t so petty about things like this.”

Amber blinked. “Fair enough. Most of the stuff here isn’t worth much anyway. Almost all replicas. Only that axe and the vase by the door are real… oh wait, the vase is fake too.”

Good grief, how long has this girl been practicing to appraise everything in the house so quickly? Could she maybe spend some of that energy working on her mouth and courage?

Seeing no one was paying attention, Amber swung her legs again and changed the subject. “So why drag me here? I’m not your knight or soldier. I’m just a passing thief. What help can I be?”

“First, you dug up my grave. Even if you say it was for refuge, by kingdom law that’s still a hanging offense. I’m letting you off as the victim—you don’t think you owe me some help, do you?” Gawain looked at Amber. “Second, I really do value your skills—not your stealing, but your talent as a stealth expert. This is the capital; who knows how many people are watching this place and each of us with all kinds of motives? Byron is only good at straightforward fighting, Rebecca only knows fireball magic, and I haven’t fully recovered yet. So I do need you—a skilled Shadow Master. Does that answer your question, Miss Amber?”

His tone grew serious toward the end, and Amber was struck by the sincerity. She looked a little stunned.

She never expected to be spoken to so earnestly by a noble—especially as a petty thief with a natural -1 reputation among the aristocracy.

And from the legendary Duke Cecil, no less.

She could brag about this for half a year!

“Well… since you put it that way, I guess I’ll help,” the half-elf said awkwardly, turning her face away. “But you better praise me a few more times—‘Shadow Master,’ ‘skilled expert’—say those a couple more times and I won’t even ask for payment…”

Gawain glanced at Rebecca. “Can you control your fireball so it just singes someone’s face without killing them?”

Amber: “?!”

But Amber didn’t get to experience a singed face, because the Brain family butler appeared.

“Sir, there is a visitor,” James said politely, bowing slightly. “Prince Edmund is here to see you.”

(End of chapter)