Chapter 27: The Question of Succession

In the reception room, Gawain met with His Highness the Prince, accompanied by Rebecca, whom Gawain had brought along to witness the world of royalty firsthand.

Edmund Morn—the favored son of Francis II, the current King of Ansu. Gawain hadn’t known this prince before, but in preparation for this trip to the royal capital, he had crammed a great deal of contemporary royal knowledge from Hetty and Viscount Andrew. So he was fairly well-informed about the current royal family.

Francis II was now advanced in years, but his heirs were few. Aside from his youngest son, Edmund Morn, he had only one other son and a daughter. The eldest son, the Prince of Wales, was of mediocre talent and naturally timid, lacking political savvy. For a long time, he had been a source of worry for the old king. Yet, since Francis II had only that one son for most of his life, the Prince of Wales had been heir apparent for seventeen years. Then, late in life, the king fathered twins with a favored consort: Princess Veronica Morn and Prince Edmund Morn.

Compared to the lackluster eldest son, the twins were nothing short of prodigies. From a young age, their extraordinary talents—both martial and intellectual—earned high praise from their tutors. The old king, long troubled by the succession issue, was finally relieved. Without much hesitation, he stripped the eldest son of his heir status and prepared to pass the crown to his new children.

There was no objection from court or country. Even the Prince of Wales accepted the decision with calm resignation.

In Ansu, succession was not limited by gender, but the heir apparent title ultimately went to Edmund Morn—not simply because the king decreed it, but because Princess Veronica had voluntarily renounced her claim before the announcement. She had taken holy vows in the Church of the Holy Light, becoming a nun at the Grant Cathedral (now elevated to high priestess). This was clearly a prearranged plan—the king blessed his daughter’s choice and sent her to the church, then named Edmund heir apparent. Thus, the royal succession proceeded smoothly.

Many believed Veronica’s “conversion” was a royal political move. By placing a high-ranking royal bloodline member within the self-contained Holy Light Church, the king secured influence there. A princess who renounced the throne to devote herself to the Holy Light was a figure the church could hardly refuse—both symbolically and practically. Yet others saw this as a sign of the church’s growing power, encroaching on the monarchy.

Both views had their supporters, but to Gawain, they were all just strategic posturing—empty talk, really.

Gawain wasn’t interested in the royal power plays behind these stories—or rather, he wasn’t yet at a level to engage with those intrigues. Instead, he focused on the young man before him.

Edmund Morn was a strikingly handsome prince, combining martial vigor with a calm, scholarly air. His every gesture seemed textbook perfect. After a brief greeting, Gawain whispered to Rebecca, “See that? Take notes—don’t just think about throwing fireballs all day.”

Rebecca wanted to remind her ancestor that he was the one who had just egged her on to throw fireballs, but she kept quiet, fearing a scolding.

Edmund wore a courteous, measured smile. “I hope you’ll find your stay comfortable here. If any of the servants or maids fall short, please tell Butler James directly.”

“Don’t worry, there’s no place I’m more used to than my own home,” Gawain settled into a high-backed chair. “You’ve kept this place well—almost exactly as it was seven hundred years ago. You even restored my favorite tea set. Impressive. Sit down, don’t be shy.”

“Preserving the hero’s old home is preserving our honor,” Edmund said with curiosity and respect. “I won’t lie—I grew up hearing your stories. I even have a replica of your weapons and armor in my room, dreaming of one day expanding our lands and protecting our people like you did. But whether as heir or king, life can’t be so carefree.”

Gawain studied the prince for a long moment until Edmund shifted uncomfortably. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Relax when you talk to me. Don’t treat me like some old, stuffy relic,” Gawain waved a hand. “I’ve been dead for seven hundred years, but I was only thirty-five when I died—not that much older than you.”

Edmund looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, you have a point. I just can’t help adding those seven hundred years to your age in my mind…”

“There’s definitely a gap,” Gawain chuckled. “Back then, people spoke more bluntly. A fight or a drink was all it took to get to the point. Nowadays, people have to be polite for ages before getting anywhere.”

Edmund paused, then laughed as if relieved. “I thought you’d be as hard to deal with as my father. He lectured me endlessly about etiquette. I told him, too much small talk just annoys people.”

“That’s the kind of talk I like,” Gawain nodded. “So, straight to the point—are you here to feel me out?”

“…That’s a bit too blunt.”

“Ancients were straightforward,” Gawain shrugged. “Besides, those dead for centuries won’t jump out of their graves to hit me. I’m the only one around who can be arranged however I like. So don’t hold back—your old man sent you to find out what I, suddenly risen from the grave, intend to do, right?”

Edmund shrugged. “That’s not exactly my father’s idea—he’s cautious. Even if he wanted to know your purpose, he wouldn’t send me directly like this. This is my own curiosity.”

Gawain gestured for him to continue.

“You’ve been awake a long time now. Surely you know many things have changed in these seven hundred years, especially… the changes from a hundred years ago,” Edmund said, glancing at Rebecca. “You came for the interests of the Cecil family, didn’t you?”

“That’s a broad question. Of course I’m here for the Cecil family’s interests, but which part matters,” Gawain replied, eyeing the prince. “From my perspective, there’s a lot I could claim. The most direct point—the hereditary dukedom and southern lands of the Cecil family—are a big, debatable issue, aren’t they?”

Edmund froze, unsure if Gawain was serious, but forced a smile. “Your titles and lands were inherited by your descendants after your death. Later, your descendants broke the kingdom’s laws and lost their titles and lands. All of this was done within the framework of the kingdom’s laws…”

Gawain shifted closer, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Yes, according to the kingdom’s laws. But legally, my heir can only fully inherit my titles and lands after my death. While I’m alive, only my eldest son holds my secondary title, with limited ‘legal proxy rights’ (note), and all other Cecil descendants have noble status but no legal authority. Clearly, I’m alive now, and Ansu law says nothing about how to define the inheritance rights of someone who died and came back to life—when those rights take effect, when they expire, or how to resolve conflicts during that period.”

Edmund: “?!”

Gawain spread his hands. “So the first step is invalid—the inheritance is void. The Gruman from a hundred years ago shouldn’t have been a marquis, nor held any legal proxy rights of the Cecil family. You just took from someone who never had the right to begin with.”

Rebecca stared at her ancestor, stunned by this move. Nearby, Amber, eavesdropping from the next room, glanced at Sir Byron and whispered, “Incredible—he’s even more shameless than me!”

Prince Edmund’s expression was on the verge of collapse. His mouth twitched as he finally blurted out, “But who could have expected you to suddenly come back to life when the laws were made… Besides, you did die once.”

“So put aside those rules and logic when you talk to me. They became invalid the moment I rose from the grave,” Gawain laughed. “I’m not here to reclaim the lands and titles already taken. I know what that wastrel did a hundred years ago. If it were me, I’d have beaten him to a pulp. The royal verdict was right, and I don’t intend to overturn it. I just want you to know that if I really wanted to argue the Cecil family’s inheritance rights by the letter of the law, there’d be endless loopholes to exploit—because all those inheritance laws revolve around whether I’m dead or alive.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Edmund raised his hand in surrender. “You said people seven hundred years ago were blunt and didn’t beat around the bush, but now I see you’re even tougher than my debate coach.”

“I didn’t just live through Ansu’s savage days—I saw the height of the Gondor Empire. Don’t underestimate the ancients,” Gawain smirked. “When we were savage, we ate raw meat. When we were refined, we had thirty-six names for one kind of wine, each with its own sonnet.”

“That’s impressive,” Edmund admitted sincerely. “So, can we talk in detail about what you plan to discuss with my father tomorrow at noon…”

Gawain nodded, thinking exactly as he expected: compared to the public meeting tomorrow, this was the real negotiation.

(End of chapter)