Chapter 48: Satellite Warning
Gawain focused intently on the image that only he could see. He confirmed that it indeed depicted the terrain centered around the current Cecil settlement, covering roughly a hundred kilometers in every direction. However, the controls he once used to adjust the view’s zoom and angle no longer worked.
The image was locked within this limited range—no panning, no zooming.
What’s more, the once crystal-clear satellite view had degraded into a blurry, distorted mess, overlaid with strange patches of color.
What did those colors mean? Thermal imaging? Some other kind of sensor readout? Or was it simply a malfunction?
Gawain clearly remembered the voice he’d heard when exiting the high-altitude perspective—words like “power failure,” “mainframe reboot failed,” and “escape protocol” echoed in his mind. So a system fault was highly likely. The inability to adjust the view only reinforced that suspicion.
His thoughts began to stretch further: perhaps his soul—or rather, his spiritual form—had undergone some mutation. Though he now inhabited a human body on the surface, his mind still retained the ability to connect with that “thing” in the sky. For months, he’d been offline, but the crystal he’d unexpectedly acquired had strengthened and reestablished that link. As for the ancient device above—whether satellite or space station—it remained in a faulty state. Whether it was a last flicker of power or a partial reboot, it was still barely functioning. The monitoring image had become an unrecognizable blotch, but at least it proved the device was still there.
This line of thinking brought a new worry: if his spirit’s connection to that “satellite” was deeper than he imagined—perhaps even symbiotic, life-and-death intertwined—then if that device truly died, wouldn’t that be catastrophic for him?
He knew this was unlikely. After all, he had been reborn in the body of Gawain Cecil, and he distinctly heard the words “escape protocol,” meaning his spirit should have separated. But when it came to survival, even the smallest risk couldn’t be ignored.
The problem was that the device was probably stuck in synchronous orbit around this planet, while he was trapped in a backward medieval kingdom. Forget repairing the satellite—he couldn’t even see it.
As these thoughts churned, Gawain continued scrutinizing the overhead image. He noticed the blurry color patches weren’t static; they shifted subtly. Some areas brightened, others dimmed, cycling in a pattern. The overall shape and distribution remained roughly the same.
Just as he tried to decipher the pattern, something changed.
A floating window appeared at the top of the image, like a translucent overlay. Inside, a line of flickering, distorted text appeared—characters he didn’t recognize. Not Chinese, nor any script from the kingdoms or races of Loren continent.
Yet as he stared in shock, the meaning of the words translated directly into his mind:
“New data: Giant planet activity increased. Alert level raised to four.”
The image began to shake violently, interference rippling across the color patches. Gawain snapped awake, his attention snapping back to the real world. The first time he switched perspectives, the scene before his eyes wobbled briefly before stabilizing. Ignoring the lingering dizziness, he sprang up from his desk and strode toward the tent’s entrance.
Amber, who had been lurking invisibly nearby, was startled and suddenly emerged from the shadows. “Whoa!”
Outside, two militia guards standing watch turned in surprise to look at him. Gawain paid them no mind and instead lifted his gaze to the sun hanging high in the sky.
The massive sun moved slowly and majestically across the horizon. Its light wasn’t harsh, surrounded by a faint, misty halo. Everything seemed normal—until thin red streaks began to appear on the sun’s surface, like bloodshot veins in an eye.
The image in Gawain’s mind continued to play. The color patches on the thermal-like overhead view surged, deepening rapidly before settling into a new stable state. Numbers and symbols flickered at the edges, but he couldn’t make sense of them.
Suddenly, realization dawned: these colors weren’t a glitch. They represented a special monitoring mode—perhaps far more useful than a simple overhead view.
The red streaks on the sun’s surface—now blotches—grew more numerous, catching the attention of workers in the camp. They looked up, gesturing and discussing the sun’s strange changes, until the foreman shouted for them to return to work.
Nearby, Hetty, who was helping reinforce the foundation using earth-hardening magic, also noticed. She glanced at the sun, then toward the central tent—where Gawain stood, his expression grave as he watched the sky.
She hurried over. “Ancestor, it looks like another sunspot.”
Gawain waved her off, signaling her to stay quiet. His eyes remained fixed on the sun, but his mind was focused on the mental image.
After a while, the red areas on the sun stopped expanding. The text above the monitoring image changed first, displaying a new message: “New data: Giant planet activity normalized. Alert lifted.”
The red streaks on the sun faded quickly, and the shifting colors on the image calmed, returning to their original state.
Yet despite the lifted alert, Gawain’s own vigilance remained high.
New discoveries had spawned new clues, which piled up into fresh questions.
Countless theories and deductions swirled in his mind—some bold, even bordering on madness—but he forced himself to stay calm and seek the most plausible explanations.
“Ancestor… are you alright?” Hetty asked, worry creasing her brow. “You look pale…”
Amber had slipped out of the tent earlier, but Gawain’s intense presence had kept the usually noisy half-elf silent. Now, with Hetty breaking the silence, she dared to speak.
“He ran out before the sunspots appeared. It startled me,” Hetty added.
“Hetty, did you feel any change in the magic?” Gawain suddenly turned to her, serious.
“There was a surge just now. Casting spells became much easier,” Hetty nodded. Magic surges were normal when sunspots appeared—indeed, sunspots themselves were normal. But recently, both sunspots and magic surges had become more frequent. Coupled with the disasters in Cecil territory and Gawain’s earlier warnings, she couldn’t help but grow anxious. “Could it be… again?”
Her face paled.
“No, it’s not at the level where monsters appear,” Gawain shook his head, trying to calm her. His judgment came partly from the overhead view—no signs of magical contamination—and partly from his own experience as Gawain Cecil. The elemental forces in the air remained stable, so there was no cause for alarm. “Just a typical sunspot and magic surge.”
“Sunspots and magic surges are normal, but usually only happen once every few years,” Hetty fretted. “This is already the second time in a few months…”
In truth, Gawain’s own anxiety was no less intense.
If anything, his worries were compounded by the tenuous link between himself and that “monitoring satellite” in the sky.
Still, he knew he had become the pillar of the entire Cecil territory. Especially in front of Hetty and Rebecca, he couldn’t afford to show weakness or doubt.
Besides, weakness wouldn’t solve anything.
“Don’t worry. There won’t be any monsters. Even if a magical storm comes, I have experience dealing with it,” Gawain reassured his descendants. “Everyone just focus on their work. Only by building a strong, stable home can we hope to withstand nature’s fury.”
Seeing the confidence in Gawain’s eyes, Hetty felt reassured. She gave a slight bow and returned to her work.
Watching Hetty use magic to strengthen the foundation, Gawain nodded slightly.
Perhaps Hetty and Rebecca couldn’t fully transcend the limitations of their era and class, but they shared a fundamental trait rare among nobles of this time: they didn’t see themselves as separate from their people.
Otherwise, a noblewoman like Hetty wouldn’t be out on the construction site lending magical aid.
As the earth hardened rapidly under her magic, Gawain marveled at the convenience of magic—but also realized something else: once the mint’s hardware was ready, hiring some down-on-their-luck wild mages to help build the camp might be a good idea.
But before that, there were more pressing questions to consider.
Gawain returned to his tent, sat at his desk, and quickly jotted down three questions on a blank sheet of paper:
What is the relationship between the sun above and the magical storms on the ground?
What is the possible function and current status of the “monitoring satellite”?
Why did Gawain Cecil from seven hundred years ago leave behind a crystal that could help him reconnect with the satellite?
(End of chapter)