Chapter 5: The Role of the Thief Lady

Gawain wasn’t sure if the girl named Rebecca had gotten her head knocked silly during the fight with the monsters earlier, but he patiently said, “Even though I’ve been ‘living’ here for many years… I was already dead back then, okay? When you’re dead, do you even know what your own grave looks like?”

Rebecca thought for a moment, wanting to remind her ancestor that the royal tomb of Ansu, the founding king, was built while he was still alive—and that the king himself had even helped design it. But after a moment’s reflection, she figured if she kept arguing, Aunt Hetty might just smack her on the spot. So she swallowed her words and gave an awkward laugh. “Haha… fair enough.”

“We can’t go back the way we came,” Hetty sighed, analyzing the situation calmly. “The castle courtyard and the entrance to the ancestral tomb are both occupied by those monsters. Going back the same way is a death trap.”

“We have to find another route,” Gawain said, recalling the memories he’d inherited. “Seven hundred years have passed. The castle’s structure probably isn’t the same as it was back then, right?”

“The upper levels have been renovated several times, but the foundation remains intact,” Hetty replied quickly. “The entrance you mentioned should still be where it was.”

“Good, that makes things easier,” Gawain said, reaching out to a nearby soldier. “Lend me your sword for a moment.”

Taking the longsword from the soldier, Gawain began sketching on the ground. First, he drew a rough overhead outline of the castle, then a side view divided into three main levels. Though hastily drawn, the general layout was clear.

“The entrance is here, two levels underground, next to the wine cellar and granary—well, it used to be the wine cellar and granary. There are two passages leading inside, but both start from the surface, so they’re probably blocked.”

Rebecca looked curiously at the rough map Gawain had drawn. “That’s still the wine cellar and granary now, but I never knew there was a third room between them…”

“It’s not a room, but a hidden mezzanine,” Gawain smiled. “They used some architectural tricks to conceal it between walls and support beams. This land wasn’t peaceful back then—borderlands, constantly raided by monsters from the ruins of Gondor and deranged old imperial soldiers. The earliest Cecile holdings were basically built like war fortresses. In that context, secret passages and hidden walls were essential—for emergency escapes and resupplying during sieges.”

Sir Byron studied the simple map carefully, then drew a line diagonally below it with his own longsword. “So we need to reach the castle’s second-floor entrance… without using any above-ground passages, including the courtyard. This is where we are now. The ancestral tomb is an underground structure built southeast of the castle, overlapping about a third of the castle’s foundation…”

“There should be a passage in that overlapping area,” Gawain interrupted. “The tomb was built seven hundred years ago by the same craftsmen who built the war fortress. They followed the same standards and rules, so a secret passage must exist.”

He glanced at Rebecca with some surprise. “You really don’t know anything about this? These should be knowledge passed down through the Cecile family for generations.”

Rebecca lowered her head, a little embarrassed. “I…”

“Ancestor, we have failed to uphold the glory you won for our family,” Hetty bit her lip and said with difficulty, “The Cecile family has been through a lot in these seven hundred years…”

“Alright, I get it,” Gawain waved his hand. “Now’s not the time for stories. Once we get out of here, I’ll want to hear all about what happened in the past seven centuries. For now, our priority is finding the route from the tomb to the secret passage.”

Rebecca, Hetty, and Byron crouched over the crude maps, studying them intently. They knew the castle well, but the tomb’s internal layout was a mystery. This seven-hundred-year-old tomb wasn’t some tourist attraction with cheap admission. No one casually wandered in and out. Even a hundred years ago, when the tomb wasn’t sealed, the family heirs only had limited chances to enter—and were forbidden from approaching the ancestors’ resting places.

Who knew where the secret passage opened?

Faced with this problem, even Gawain’s memories were useless. After all, when he died, he certainly never imagined he’d have to get back up someday and figure out how to escape…

Just as they were at a loss, Amber—the half-elf thief who had been quietly staying on the sidelines—suddenly spoke up. “Um… I might know the way…”

Immediately, all eyes in the tomb turned to the half-elf thief.

Amber’s neck shrank nervously.

Hetty frowned. “How do you know?”

“I…” Amber was scared, but seeing Gawain’s encouraging look gave her courage. “I snuck in from that direction… the way should be about right. I guess that’s the secret passage.”

Gawain nodded. “Good. Lead the way.”

Amber patted her chest. “Just don’t hold it against me for digging around in your family’s ancestral tomb…”

Hetty shot the blunt half-elf a sharp look, then picked up her staff and headed toward the tomb’s main door. Gawain paused before stepping forward.

“Ancestor?” Rebecca looked at him curiously.

“I need to bring a weapon too,” Gawain said. Though he wasn’t the legendary duke who had expanded the lands seven centuries ago, he still knew the basics of self-defense in a dangerous place.

His gaze swept the tomb. A soldier offered his sword, but Gawain declined. Guided by his memories, he approached a black steel coffin and peered inside.

Inside, he found a heavy longsword, entirely black except near the guard where the blade shimmered faintly with a deep red hue.

The moment he grasped the sword, a familiar, natural feeling surged through him—as if every groove on the blade perfectly matched the lines of his palm. Gawain instinctively swung the sword twice; each movement felt as if it had been honed through countless battles.

He knew this was the memory left in his current body—even if his soul had changed, every muscle still remembered how to wield this weapon.

It was a pleasant surprise, though not entirely unexpected.

Besides the body’s muscle memory, his mind also held all the combat knowledge of Gawain Cecile’s past life—not just basic swordsmanship and horsemanship, but also those supernatural powers that seemed almost like magic. That knowledge was tempting, but now was not the time to experiment or learn.

First, get out of this mess.

Rebecca’s eyes widened when she saw the black longsword, her voice trembling slightly. “Is that… the legendary Ansu, the Pioneer’s Sword?”

Hearing Rebecca, Hetty, who had already reached the door, turned back sharply. She stared at the sword in Gawain’s hand, her face betraying her excitement. “The Pioneer’s Sword?!”

“It’s just a sharper sword now,” Gawain sighed. “Seven hundred years have passed. Even a weapon blessed by the elves won’t avoid wear and corrosion forever. Its magic has long since dissipated. Recharging it would take who knows how long.”

He then looked toward a small stone platform in front of the coffin—empty. His brow furrowed. “Wait, I should have a shield that never leaves my side. Didn’t it go with me to the grave? How could such a big shield just be missing?”

Hetty’s expression darkened instantly. “Ancestor… your descendants have once again failed your trust. The Shield of the Ansu Kingdom’s Guardian was taken from the tomb a hundred years ago by your descendant Gruman Cecile—and was lost on the battlefield afterward…”

Hetty hesitated, clearly holding back more. Perhaps she feared that revealing this century-old scandal might cause the old ancestor to have a fatal heart attack on the spot—though with the coffin right there, reburial wouldn’t be hard…

Gawain noticed Hetty’s reluctance but didn’t press. Instead, he frowned and muttered, “Good-for-nothing… At least the sword stayed in the coffin. That Gruman wasn’t crazy enough to pry open the old ancestor’s coffin just to make a matching set!”

Hetty and Rebecca could only lower their heads, sweating nervously. Having the ancestor jump out of the coffin to curse the great-grandfather was way beyond fantasy. The pressure on the younger generation was suffocating!

Fortunately, Gawain was only annoyed about missing equipment. After cursing once, he said no more and led everyone out of the tomb chamber.

Once they reached the stone hall, Rebecca glanced around and then waved toward a corner. “Betty! Come out! It’s safe now!”

Gawain looked over and saw a small, skinny girl—probably even younger than Rebecca—cowering in the shadows. She wore a rough cloth dress, had a few freckles from adolescence on her face, and her flaxen hair was tied back. In her hands, she clutched a frying pan tightly.

Seeing Gawain, the girl named Betty looked hesitant and nervous. With her simple mind, she probably had no idea where this stranger had suddenly appeared from…

“She’s a maid in the castle. We don’t know how she got left behind by the first breakout team, but somehow she just ended up following us,” Rebecca explained simply. “Betty, this is…”

A faint tremor from above the tomb interrupted Rebecca.

“Not the time for talking,” Gawain raised his longsword and looked at Amber. “Now, lead the way.”

(Second update! Time to cast your recommendation votes!)

(End of chapter)