Chapter 501: The Speechless Anniversary
After breakfast, Gawain didn’t immediately dive into managing the domain affairs as usual. Instead, he stopped Hetty, who was about to leave. “Is there anything urgent at the Administration Hall this morning?”
“No,” Hetty replied, puzzled but obedient. “The winter work plans have already been set. This morning is just routine matters—things the assistants can handle.”
“Then don’t rush off to the hall. Come with me for a walk in the city.”
Within minutes, Gawain, Hetty, and Amber—the royal guard—were strolling through the heart of Cecil City.
Walking these streets of the young city, the unique vitality of Cecil was palpable. The air buzzed with the chatter of people and the clatter of carriages. Everywhere he looked, citizens appeared vibrant, fulfilled, and healthy. Though deep autumn had arrived and the Great Sun’s activity was waning, bringing colder days, the chill hadn’t dampened the spirit of the people. On the contrary, with a slew of new projects underway in the northern district, countless jobs and opportunities were drawing more and more people into the city’s workforce. Cecil was as lively as ever.
Yet, just over two years ago, such a scene was unimaginable—not only for the people of Ansu but for any northern nation on the continent.
So every time Gawain walked these streets, a deep sense of satisfaction welled up inside him. It reminded him that he was truly alive in this world, that he was inseparably connected to it, and that all his efforts and actions had meaning.
Amber, walking beside him, glanced at him curiously. From his usually stern face, she caught a flicker of something different. As the lord’s guard, she had spent more time with Gawain than even Hetty or Rebecca. Whether she liked it or not, she was familiar with every subtle expression he made. She could tell he was troubled but wasn’t sure if she should ask.
Fortunately, Hetty was there too. Though not as perceptive as Amber, she was sensitive and thoughtful. After a brief hesitation, the “chief steward” spoke with concern, “Ancestor, is something on your mind?”
Gawain did have worries—he was thinking about the civil war outside Rockhold Fortress, how many peaceful years the Duchy of Cecil might still have, the threats from the God of the Holy Light and other deities, and whether the cultists who had been silent for nearly a year were plotting new schemes. Yet, under Hetty’s worried gaze, he casually said, “Once Luan City is pacified… we can focus on steady development for a few years.”
“As you said,” Hetty bowed her head slightly, “some production and construction plans are scheduled through the second half of next year. Barring major changes in the external situation, the coming years will be critical for the duchy’s growth.”
“Yes… assuming the outside world stays stable…” Gawain murmured, but his mind drifted to a powerful, watchful nation: Typhon. That empire was at a pivotal point of transformation. How long would they stand by while Ansu was torn by civil war? At what point of Ansu’s weakening would they strike?
Maybe it was time to speed up Daniel’s arrangements…
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a scene ahead on the street.
A group of people emerged from a corner, each wearing a wreath woven from pale gray straw around their necks. They carried bags from which they pulled out small white flowers, pinning them on every door along the way. Gawain also noticed many passersby wearing white flowers—some on collars, some on hats, others simply holding them.
“What’s going on?” Gawain pointed ahead. “What are they doing?”
Amber glanced over and casually said, “Oh, the Day of Remembrance is coming up in a couple of days. Many people in the city are preparing for it.”
“Day of Remembrance?” Gawain was puzzled. “A festival? Did we have this last year?”
Hetty hesitated slightly before answering, “Last year… there were some activities, but the domain was still unstable and resources scarce, so only small-scale events took place. You probably didn’t notice.”
“Is that so?” Gawain still looked confused. “But why have I never heard of this festival before?”
Hetty gave him a strange look. “It’s normal you don’t know. It only started after you… passed away. On the 45th day of Frost Moon each year, people wear straw wreaths, decorate doors and clothes with death chrysanthemums, hold nighttime bonfires and dances to honor the dead and communicate with their spirits.”
“Oh, a festival for after I ‘died’—no wonder,” Gawain suddenly understood, then a chill ran down his spine. “Wait, the 45th day of Frost Moon? That’s the day I last went to battle seven hundred years ago…”
“Exactly as you think,” Hetty’s expression grew even stranger. “The festival commemorates you. It began as a spontaneous memorial by the people of Cecil, then the late Duke Charles and other founding dukes held their own ceremonies. By the 27th year of Ansu, it became a nationwide holiday…”
Gawain: “…”
So in a couple of days, everyone in Ansu would be wearing flowers, lighting fires, singing and dancing to celebrate his death anniversary?!
He really wanted to blurt out a “Holy crap!” like Nicholas, but for the sake of the ancestor’s dignity, he held back—though he couldn’t help muttering with a weird expression, “You guys… don’t you think it’s a bit odd? I’m already alive again, and you’re still celebrating this day?”
“There’s no helping it… it’s been seven hundred years,” Hetty’s face twisted in sympathy. She knew the ancestor was probably even more conflicted than she was. She forced herself to explain, “The festival’s origin is now just a historical footnote, known only to nobles and scholars—those who are well-educated. For ordinary people, the Day of Remembrance has evolved into a regular holiday, a time to honor ancestors, comfort spirits, communicate with souls, and pray for peace… I’m sure you understand…”
“I…” Gawain was sweating bullets, but after thinking it through, he realized he really could understand. He had been ‘dead’ for seven centuries. Aside from the first few decades, generations of Ansu people had long grown accustomed to honoring their ancestors on this day. In a world with true gods, where most ritual festivals were tied to deities, this was probably the only one without divine involvement. If he didn’t understand, what else could he do?
“Alright, I get it, I get it,” Gawain rubbed his temples, suddenly feeling all his earlier worries fade into the background. “If you want to celebrate, then celebrate…”
Hetty exhaled in relief. She had been terrified moments ago. Although the festival was theoretically an honorable commemoration of a great ancestor, it was another matter whether the ancestor himself—who had crawled out of his coffin—still thought it was worth celebrating. Frankly, she didn’t think it was something to be happy about that the whole country gathered around bonfires every year to mark his death anniversary.
Before she could catch her breath, a lively voice interrupted: “Ancestor! Auntie! And Amber! You’re here!”
Hetty looked up to see Rebecca bounding over, clutching a big bunch of death chrysanthemums.
Instantly, she realized: oh no, we’re doomed.
Before she could react, Rebecca was already in front of the three of them, cheerfully greeting Gawain, then turning to Hetty, “Auntie! The Day of Remembrance is almost here! We missed it last year, but this year we should celebrate properly, right?”
Hetty ground her teeth and hissed, “Re-be-ca—”
Rebecca didn’t sense anything wrong. “Huh?”
Hetty opened her mouth to remind her of the festival’s origins, but Amber, who had been quietly observing, suddenly spoke up, “By the way, how does the Cecil family celebrate the Day of Remembrance?”
Amber—the brilliant head of military intelligence, master spy, expert in intelligence warfare and sabotage, one of the main architects behind the ‘Luan Awakening’ incident—had three specialties in life: grave robbing, sneaking away, and stirring the pot.
Rebecca fell right into the trap, happily launching into an explanation: “It’s mostly the same as everyone else—we decorate the doors and windowsills with death chrysanthemums during the day so the ancestors can find their way home. Then at night, we hold a bonfire party with food, drinks, and dancing. We prepare an extra portion of food to welcome the spirits of the ancestors. The next morning, we gather all the chrysanthemums and take them to the family cemetery to send the souls back to their resting place…”
As she spoke, Rebecca looked at Gawain. “By the way, Ancestor, do you want to… uh?”
Gawain stared blankly. “Why don’t you just give me those flowers? Saves you the trouble.”
Rebecca: “…”
He then turned to Hetty, still expressionless. “This kid didn’t study history well, fine—but didn’t anyone tell her about the origins of the Day of Remembrance? She’s the family heir, after all.”
Rebecca finally snapped to attention, breaking out in a cold sweat. She straightened up and said, “I… I know! The Day of Remembrance started as a memorial for the founding Duke Gawain Cecil, and officially became a festival in the 27th year of Ansu…”
Gawain couldn’t help but tap her on the head. “But you just said you knew!”
Rebecca rubbed the spot he tapped. “I just didn’t realize it…”
Gawain sighed helplessly. Such a genius who could seamlessly switch between magic and machinery, yet so straightforwardly dense in other areas.
Rebecca watched his expression nervously and shrank her neck. “Then… maybe our family shouldn’t celebrate the Day of Remembrance… after all, Ancestor, you’re alive again.”
But Gawain didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at the people preparing for the festival down the street and felt a strange emotion stir inside.
After a moment, he broke the silence: “The Day of Remembrance… should still be observed. This year, I’ll celebrate it with you.”
Hetty and Rebecca’s eyes widened in surprise, and even Amber, who was watching the scene unfold, was taken aback. “Huh?! What kind of hobby is that?”
“Those who have crawled out of their coffins don’t need to be remembered,” Gawain said softly, “but some souls… need comfort. The old fire in Cecil… it’s been two years now.”
(End of chapter)