Chapter 363: What Was Seen in the Cecil Territory

Gawain Orlando walked along the street on the east side of the Mage District, surrounded by the bustling flow of pedestrians passing by.

The elderly scholar from the royal capital paused, taking in this land that still felt quite unfamiliar to him, and the vibrant, lively people who called it home.

He sighed softly.

This was an incredible place—he had never doubted that. Even back in the capital, he often heard news from the south: the legendary Duke of Pioneers had led eight hundred people to establish a foothold in the Dark Mountains. That alone was astonishing. From that moment on, he knew that as long as this land survived even a single day, it would be nothing short of extraordinary.

So, from then on, he often thought about coming here to see for himself how this frontier territory had taken root in the Dark Mountains. It was his scholarly instinct—not just because he was passionate about studying the epic legends of High Gawain Cecil, but because he was endlessly curious about the unknown.

Many say history is the study of the “known,” but Gawain never saw it that way. He was used to uncovering the unknown within history, discovering things no one had ever noticed before. To him, only those who could turn the unknown into the known deserved to be called true scholars.

Now that he was here, standing on this land, he found exactly what he had hoped for—this place was truly incredible.

It was far too prosperous to be a frontier territory barely a year old. The “machines” roared through the night, buildings stood tall and orderly, streets were clean and well-maintained. Public urination was forbidden, and hard work was encouraged as the path to wealth. The people here—the proud and dignified Cecilians—were even more energetic and industrious than many citizens he had seen in the wealthy districts of the capital.

He could hardly believe these people had been refugees just last year.

Yet it was precisely this incredibility that made the scholar, who loved exploring the unknown, feel somewhat overwhelmed.

He had no idea how this land had developed into what it was today, but he knew it operated under a set of “rules” completely different from any social order he had known. The lines between commoners and nobles blurred here; the boundaries between ordinary people and the gifted were no longer so clear. Mud-stained peasants could attend school and learn to read, craftsmen without magical talent used magic to complete their work. Cecil Territory was thriving, yet at times, Gawain felt as if he were trapped in a bewildering, incomprehensible dream—an impression especially strong at this moment.

He sighed again and resumed walking toward the apartment building assigned to him.

He knew he had failed the lord’s task, and he knew it was entirely his own fault. He lacked practical knowledge of farming and craftsmanship, but compiling market price fluctuations and news from inside and outside the territory was no problem for him. What he needed was to learn how to describe these things in the crude, simple language of the common folk, even to think like them—but for a scholar from the capital, with refined upbringing, heritage, and even some noble blood, that was no easy feat.

“Mr. Orlando! Mr. Orlando, please wait!”

A somewhat familiar voice called from behind. Gawain Orlando stopped and turned to see a young man approaching—tall and thin, with messy curly hair and wearing a worn magical robe.

He paused briefly, composed his expression, and straightened up. As a man with a surname, he felt he must maintain his dignity before another named individual.

“Mr. Santis Saide, good afternoon.”

He was polite. Though Santis was a thorough commoner and Gawain had some noble blood, Santis held the rank of a second-level Arcanist. In many cases, magical rank and noble status were considered equivalent, so despite Santis being much younger, Gawain showed proper respect.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Orlando,” Santis nodded, then asked curiously, “Have you just come from the lord? I heard he ordered you to compile a new kind of reading material. How’s it going?”

Gawain sighed in frustration. “Ah, to be honest, I’ve disappointed the lord.”

“How could that be?” Santis was shocked. “You’re a renowned expert in grammar! Was the lord’s request too difficult?”

“On the contrary…” Gawain sighed again and then poured out the day’s experiences. He desperately needed to share what he’d been through, and Santis, gentle and down-to-earth despite his magical rank, was the perfect listener.

After hearing everything, Santis fell silent for a moment. He had pieced it all together. After a brief thought, he extended an invitation.

“Mr. Orlando, if you have some free time, would you like to audit one of my classes?”

“Audit?” Gawain blinked. He knew what Santis did here—the second-level Arcanist hadn’t followed Lady Rebecca to become a researcher in the Arcane Technology Department. Instead, he taught runes to a group of commoner children at the General Academy. Gawain also knew a few younger scholars had gone there to teach other commoners.

To be honest, Gawain had looked down on this somewhat, but since those young scholars were friends of Santis, he understood. Still, he hadn’t expected Santis to invite him to sit in on a class.

“Think of it as a change of pace,” Santis said with a gentle smile. “The children are very friendly.”

Gawain’s mind was in turmoil, but he agreed without fully thinking it through. Before he realized it, he was inside the General Academy, stepping into a classroom.

Santis led him to a chair at the back. Around them, children of all ages ran about, playing hide-and-seek between desks and chairs, shouting from the windowsills. They wore neat, clean new clothes, but Gawain knew they were all commoner children.

They were truly lacking in manners.

The children finally noticed the stranger in the room, and curious eyes turned toward Gawain. He felt awkward under their gaze, half-expecting them to leap forward and tug his beard or pull his clothes—but nothing happened. They simply observed him with a mix of curiosity and caution. A few who came closer stood quietly by his side.

Gawain turned his neck, intending to greet them, but his eyes caught something on the back wall—a smooth “cement” surface covered in painted patterns.

The images were painted with some kind of colored “paint,” certainly not the expensive pigments used for sacred icons in churches. The colors were somewhat off, cheap-looking, yet the scene depicted made Gawain’s eyes widen.

It was a bountiful wheat field, surrounded by towering watchtowers and grand city walls. In the background, the faint silhouette of the Dark Mountains could be seen.

A view from somewhere outside the territory.

Gawain had never seen such artwork before, but its detail surprised him. He murmured to himself, “Truly incredible…”

Suddenly, a boy nearby shouted, “I painted this!”

Gawain looked over, surprised, to see a dirt-smudged child beaming with pride as he pointed at the mural. Then the boy gestured toward a quiet girl beside him.

“And Pea Sister—she and I painted it together!”

The quiet girl smiled faintly but said nothing. Another child nearby chimed in, “They’re the duty monitors this week!”

“Duty monitors?” Gawain’s mind filled with question marks. Before he could ask, a bell rang from outside the classroom.

As if by magic, the chaotic children instantly ran to their seats. Within seconds, everyone was seated, and the room fell silent.

Gawain watched in astonishment, barely able to keep up with the swift change. Then he saw Santis step onto the podium.

The second-level Arcanist placed his teaching materials on the large desk and scanned the room.

“Let’s begin roll call. When I call your name, say ‘present’ or raise your hand.”

At the mention of “raise your hand,” several children’s eyes turned toward the quiet girl.

Santis started calling names.

One by one, children responded. Apart from the roll call and replies, the classroom was nearly silent.

Gawain’s eyes widened as he realized what amazed him.

Order.

An indescribable order existed here, among these commoner children—unpolished, unrefined, and naive—in this classroom.

An order he had never seen even in the royal capital.

This order was completely different from social rules based on “class divisions” or “rank.” It was purer, more absolute.

Like interlocking steel gears.

Santis finished the roll call. Except for one child absent due to illness, all were present. He nodded and opened his textbook.

“Now, let’s begin today’s lesson. Continuing from last time, we’ll learn how spell models transform into magic circles, and how rune knots form during this process.

“First, we need a rough understanding of the history of circle magic…”

From the back of the classroom came the sound of chairs scraping.

After grasping the level of the curriculum these commoner children were receiving, Gawain Orlando nearly slipped to the floor.

(End of chapter)