Chapter 324: Gawain’s Vision

Gawain had many thoughts swirling in his mind, yet it was difficult for those around him to fully grasp the depth of what he was contemplating.

He wanted to change the world, to build a new order—though at first, his only goal was survival in this harsh realm. But the longer he lived here, the more that desire evolved. Still, changing the world was no easy feat.

Even looking at just the small kingdom of Ansu, he could see the immense inertia accumulated over seven centuries—the inertia of the landed nobility, the inertia of the common folk, the inertia of the social system itself. Everything in this country was built upon the old order, and if that order remained unchanged, then nothing would truly change.

He had indeed carved out his own domain, establishing the Cecil Territory in the far southern lands, along with a brand-new social order. But even he knew this was only the beginning. He could draft new laws, use magitech to boost productivity, assemble a more advanced administrative team, and implement more scientific and rational governance—but all of this was merely surface-level work.

Whether the administrators or the governed, just a year ago they were all part of the traditional Ansu system—small merchants, fallen scholars, ordinary commoners, even serfs and slaves under the old landed aristocracy. They could obey Gawain’s commands and carry out his orders, but deep down, they hadn’t truly changed. The new laws and new order in the territory were just another set of rules from a noble lord to them. They knew what to do, but many didn’t understand why.

As long as people’s minds remained unchanged, any transformation would be temporary. The benefits of industrialization would be squandered by the limitations of “human nature.” Gawain understood this well, which was why he insisted on compulsory education in his territory, especially for minors. He didn’t just order schools to teach reading and writing; he also introduced lessons on the kingdom’s structure, the history of nobles and commoners, the principles and fairness of social resource distribution—everything aimed at ideological enlightenment.

It was easy to bring in new machines, but awakening the minds of people in this era was difficult. The serfs and slaves, who had nothing and suffered constant oppression, sometimes resisted these ideas. They had accepted and adapted to their fate, even embraced the entire Ansu system. If you told them that noble lords and slaves shared the same blood, they might think you were heretical and irrational. But this wasn’t due to ignorance—it was the era itself that had twisted them into this shape.

Sometimes Gawain wondered if his push for a new order, new laws, and new ideas was too radical. But one thing was clear—neither the magical cataclysm nor the war between Typhon and Ansu would wait for him. The more he understood the current state of the world, the more he felt time slipping away. So he had to accelerate everything as fast as possible. Without the twin swords of the magical cataclysm and war hanging over his head, would he really be in such a rush?

Lost in thought, Gawain was brought back to reality by Rebecca’s voice: “Ancestor, what are you thinking about?”

He looked up at Rebecca’s curious face, then at Hetty standing behind her with a thoughtful expression, and at the few trustworthy faces around him. A faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Rebecca, do you remember something I once told you? The reason the nobility has degenerated and corrupted over these seven hundred years isn’t because their lineage is flawed, but because they’ve grown complacent and arrogant.”

Rebecca thought for a moment and nodded. “You did say that…”

“Protecting the people, defending the land, upholding honor—these noble principles aren’t wrong in themselves. But relying solely on nobles’ self-discipline to enforce them is wishful thinking,” Gawain shook his head. “Many nobles preach about noble bloodlines, innate righteousness, and even have scholars concoct theories proving that moral and just traits are encoded in noble blood. So they claim no extra moral oversight is needed for nobles to strictly follow these principles. But that’s all nonsense.”

At this, nearly everyone’s eyes widened. Rebecca and Hetty stared at their ancestor in disbelief, unable to believe such heretical words came from one of Ansu’s founding great nobles. Sitting nearby, Solderin couldn’t help but rub his chin, smiling at his old friend.

“There’s no such thing as being born noble. Nobility is just a decoration added by later generations,” Gawain continued. “Do you think I don’t know the origins of those founders seven centuries ago? They were just apprentices, blacksmiths, carpenters’ descendants. How did they become ‘innately noble’ seven hundred years later? The truth is, no one dared to challenge them, so they all got inflated egos and lost all sense of decency…”

No one could refute the words of their ancestor from seven centuries ago, so the room fell silent as everyone listened intently. But one person could still speak up—Solderin, the equally ancient elf ranger. Smiling, he looked at Gawain and, after he finished, spoke calmly:

“So, my old friend, if one day you beat them all down, what kind of new order do you want to build afterward? Even the legendary ancient kings of Gondor saw their dynasties decay and collapse. Humans are a short-lived, forgetful, and fickle species. How can you guarantee your new order will last forever?”

His words laid bare some hard truths, and the room grew quiet.

“Of course I can’t,” Gawain answered simply and honestly. His opening words startled some, but then he smiled. “That’s why I’m not building an order for a single city or kingdom, nor for a single dynasty. I’m building an order for civilization as a whole—one where no noble is born inherently superior, where no ruler can act recklessly. On that day, whoever sits on the throne—be it emperor, king, or something else—must always be cautious, always vigilant, because there will always be a force ready to pull them down the moment they err.”

That was enough said; some things didn’t need to be spelled out.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Amber nervously touched her neck and looked at Gawain seriously.

“To be honest, you’re not going to kill me to keep this quiet, are you?”

Gawain didn’t answer, just casually patted Amber’s head with a smile.

“You always surprised people seven hundred years ago, and you haven’t changed a bit,” Solderin stood up from his chair, approached Gawain, and suddenly knelt on one knee, solemnly performing the human knight’s salute to his lord. “As I promised before I left—Solderin Frostleaf, ready to return under your banner.”

Gawain returned the salute with equal solemnity and helped his old friend—at least, the old friend from the memories he inherited—up. “Welcome back. But for now, you need to rest and heal properly.”

Pittman chuckled nearby. “Lord, don’t worry. With my ointments and healing spells, he’ll be back to full health in no time.”

Gawain looked deeply at the old druid. He was certain this was the first time Pittman had ever addressed him so formally as “Lord.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll leave the wounded in your care.”

One by one, people left, and soon only Gawain and Amber remained in the study.

“You were just muttering about me being a threat you needed to silence, so why are you still clinging around now?” Gawain teased the half-elf lady with a smile.

For once, Amber didn’t respond to his teasing. She simply looked at him seriously, breaking the silence after a long moment.

“I’ve been thinking about how much of your big talk is actually sincere.”

“All of it,” Gawain said frankly, then nodded. “But now that I’ve cooled down and thought it over, you’re right to say it’s a bit of hot air—after all, the Cecil Territory has only just found its footing. Planning kingdom-wide affairs now is a bit premature.”

Amber rolled her eyes. “That’s not like you to be so modest. And just because others don’t know doesn’t mean I don’t. The Cecil Territory may have just stood firm, but the webs and pawns you’ve spread… they’re not just in Cecil.”

She paused, arms crossed, looking at Gawain. “Today, I finally understand why you act so strangely. You never intended to be a simple pioneering noble.”

“Actually, I did want to build steadily,” Gawain spread his hands. “If I could, I wouldn’t meddle in the contemporary Ansu noble system. But then again… they’re foolish and rich. Why wouldn’t I take advantage?”

“I’d have to be crazy to believe you!”

Gawain: “…”

Meanwhile, in a secret underground chamber near the Ansu-Typhon border…

In a side hall overgrown with vines and roots, a mutated plant suddenly swelled. The flower-bud-like structure at its tip rapidly expanded, matured, and split open. From the cracked pod emerged a woman clad in high priest robes, her long dark green hair flowing behind her.

Beltira’s face was pale and grim. She glanced down at her hands and arms, confirming all her wounds had healed. Then she stepped forward, dragging the intimidating roots and vines behind her toward a black-robed figure who seemed to have been waiting at the side hall’s entrance.

“High Priest Highton,” Beltira said coldly, “I didn’t expect that your first act after emerging from the Flesh Abyss would be to greet me. That’s quite surprising.”

“Seeing the usually flawless High Priest Beltira in such a state is even more surprising,” the stern, gaunt Highton replied. “But I’m not here to welcome you. I’m here to tell you that during your absence, the Grant High Priest has awakened. He wants you to see him immediately upon your return.”

“The Grant High Priest has awakened?” Beltira frowned, then nodded coldly. “Very well. I understand.”

(End of chapter)