Chapter 526: A Single Deal

After the welcome banquet ended, Gawain didn’t immediately follow up with Victoria or Veronica. Instead, he let the guests rest at the Autumn Palace or accompany the staff he assigned to show them around. His excuse was that he wanted them to get to know the land as much as possible and to recover from the exhaustion of their long journey. Using this reasonable pretext, he effectively left the guests to their own devices for three whole days.

Victoria didn’t waste that time. Over those three days, she did everything she could to learn about Cecil—from the daily lives of its people to scattered intelligence on the Cecil army, from market goods to local resources. Though her access was limited, she seized every opportunity to deepen her understanding of this land.

On the fourth day, she finally received word from Gawain.

In the lord’s study, Victoria Wilde sat on a single armchair reserved for guests. She looked around with mild curiosity at the place where Gawain usually worked. Her gaze swept over the packed bookshelves and decorative suits of armor before settling on a massive map hanging on the wall between two bookcases. The map depicted the entire Ansu region in exquisite detail, even including parts of the Gondor Wasteland, Typhon, the Holy Dragon Principality, and the Ogure tribal lands. It was the most beautiful and precise map Victoria had ever seen—every mountain and river was marked with accuracy, and numerous numbers indicated distances.

It wasn’t unusual for a lord to hang maps in his study, but such a meticulously detailed one was rare. Victoria’s eyes landed near the center of the map, pausing on a spot in the eastern part of the Holy Spirit Plains.

Near the Greatwood Pass, a bright red X was marked, with a note beside it: Ansu 736, Harvest Moon, Day 43.

That was the exact date and place of the last large-scale battle between the Eastern rebels and the kingdom’s army before winter.

“Seems like you’re quite interested in my map, Miss Wilde of the Wilde family?” Gawain’s voice suddenly came from beside her, pulling Victoria out of her brief reverie. She saw the founding duke enter the room and take a seat on the armchair next to hers.

“Betty, prepare some tea and bring it to the study,” Gawain called to the young maid standing by the door after sitting down. Then he turned back to Victoria. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long—newly established principalities always have a lot on their plates.”

“Of course. I can only imagine how busy you must be every day,” Victoria replied with a slight bow. Though she was also a guardian duke, the vast difference in rank meant she had to maintain proper etiquette even in informal settings. She then looked back up at the huge map. “You have excellent cartographers, and it seems you pay close attention to the situation beyond the southern borders?”

“The people of Cecil want peace, but the outside world won’t always grant us that,” Gawain smiled. “If you want to live securely, you have to keep an eye on what’s happening beyond your borders. And you’re quite concerned about this place yourself, aren’t you?”

The delegation’s movements around the city were public knowledge, so Victoria didn’t bother hiding her interest. She simply nodded. “This land is mysterious to us. Since autumn began, the entire southern region has been like a fog-shrouded secret to the capital, which naturally piques our curiosity.”

Just then, the maid Betty brought in tea and began pouring for the guests. Taking advantage of the moment, Victoria straightforwardly shifted the conversation to what she really cared about. “Duke Cecil, what is your view on the civil war in Ansu?”

Gawain kept his smile and looked at her calmly. “I regret seeing the descendants of old friends come to such a state. But if you’re asking which side I support in this civil war—I can only say, I support neither.”

That was the answer Victoria expected. Her expression didn’t change as she continued, “The war wasn’t started by us. No one in Silverfort wants Ansu to break apart. Since the sudden rebellion in the East, we’ve been on the defensive.”

“Ah, ‘he started it first’—I heard Hetty say Rebecca used to complain like that after fights when she was a child,” Gawain raised a hand. “You know, until just before winter, Rebecca often got scolded by me for causing trouble. So you really should be grateful—grateful that Charlie, Snow, Anthony, and Evans didn’t come back with me. Otherwise, you’d have more to worry about than just this civil war. Miss Wilde, when the time comes, will you tell Snow Wilde that it was Anthony Loren and Charlie Morn’s kids who threw the first punch?”

Victoria’s carefully prepared explanations and negotiation scripts all fell apart.

She hadn’t spoken with anyone senior enough to be considered an elder in nearly twenty years. In this regard, her experience was even less than Rebecca’s, who got scolded twice a month.

Fortunately, her mind was sharper than Rebecca’s. After a brief moment of shock, she quickly gathered her thoughts. “I understand. You and the kingdom’s founders didn’t build this nation for us to tear each other apart. This civil war must be heartbreaking for you. But the situation has already escalated. War doesn’t stop just because we want it to. We can’t simply hand the country over to a patricidal usurper prince and a kingdom duke who broke his oath. I’m sure the East won’t compromise easily either. So the civil war will continue, and Ansu’s strength will only weaken further. And we all know—Typhon is right next door, waiting for Ansu to bleed dry.”

Gawain looked into Victoria’s eyes. “Good. At least you realize Typhon is nearby. So, to end this war quickly—and in a way that meets your expectations—what plan have you come up with?”

Victoria hesitated for a moment, then said what Gawain expected: “The king’s throne cannot remain vacant.”

Gawain adjusted his posture, leaning back against the sofa. “Wales Morn?”

“…King Francis once designated Edmund as heir and swore an oath before our ancestors, but that oath must now be abandoned. Ansu needs a king, needs to become whole again. Prince Wales is the only candidate at present,” Victoria paused, watching Gawain’s every expression. “We hope to crown Wales Morn as the new king. This is the shared will of the northern and western guardian dukes.”

She studied Gawain’s face carefully, but he showed no change. The founding duke maintained his faint smile, listening like an outsider, and after she finished speaking, he remained silent for a long moment.

The atmosphere froze for a full two minutes before he finally broke the silence. “Victoria, how is the Mithril Pact in Winterhold holding up?”

Victoria’s heart skipped a beat. Though her face remained composed, the tension in her eyes didn’t escape Gawain’s notice.

Gawain felt nothing. Just as he had predicted long ago, as a founding hero shrouded in legend, the nobles of Ansu didn’t mind hanging his name on walls, writing it in books, carving it in stone, or even placing him on altars—but they absolutely did not want that founding hero to sit on the throne.

Because the heroes on walls, in books, and on stones could be fakes. The one on the throne would be real.

But he never expected that seven-hundred-year-old emergency pact to be of any real use. He only mentioned it briefly before continuing, “Do you think Wales would make a good king?”

“He will,” Victoria answered cautiously, still thinking of the Mithril Pact. “Prince Wales isn’t as sharp as Edmund, but he inherited his father’s steadiness and integrity. Only a king like that can heal Ansu’s wounds after the civil war and restore the country’s vitality quickly. And after suffering the trauma of war, people will want a gentle king. They will support Prince Wales.”

“But that alone won’t change the situation with the East,” Gawain said. “I know your plan: crown a king, gain legitimacy, win more noble support, and rally the people’s courage. It’s a good idea, and it might even work a little. But don’t forget, the East also has a qualified heir who has been more deeply rooted in people’s hearts for nearly twenty years. Even if you crown Wales early, the East can immediately crown a new king and reset the situation.”

“But if you support Prince Wales, the new king’s legitimacy will be greatly strengthened, and more nobles and commoners will side with the royal family,” Victoria couldn’t help but say. “Your attitude is crucial…”

“Do you want me to publicly support one of Charlie Morn’s children killing another?” Gawain tapped the small table between the sofas. “You should understand, it’s hard for me to take sides openly in this civil war.”

Victoria knew Gawain wasn’t incapable of taking a stand—he simply didn’t want to.

This founding duke was both cautious and radical. His current caution stemmed from his distrust of the kingdom’s army—but he also seemed to distrust the Eastern rebels.

This was already the best-case scenario he had anticipated.

“So what do you mean…” the duchess looked into Gawain’s eyes, probing.

“I don’t oppose Wales’s coronation,” Gawain said calmly. “But if you want me to recognize him as king, he has to prove himself worthy of the crown.”

He paused briefly.

“As for the Mithril Pact in Winterhold—Miss Wilde, you can safely put it away. I have no intention of using it.”

Only then did Victoria Wilde truly breathe a sigh of relief.

Gawain Cecil hadn’t explicitly supported either the royalists or the East, but at least he had no plans to become king himself.

That meant Ansu wouldn’t face another civil war.

With Gawain’s stance clear, the duchess felt more at ease. Following the plan she had prepared before departure, she began to seek greater support from him. “Thank you for your understanding. But if you could give the kingdom’s army more support, this civil war might end sooner. As you said, simply crowning Prince Wales won’t fundamentally change Ansu’s current situation. The bloody balance between the kingdom’s army and the East must be broken.”

“I already said, I merely ‘do not oppose Wales’s coronation,’” Gawain interrupted. “I won’t openly support either side in this war. And frankly, the southern lands just went through a war. My army needs rest, and my people need recovery. We can’t afford further losses.”

That was a reasonable argument Victoria couldn’t refute.

After a moment of silence, Gawain suddenly spoke again. “But as Charlie’s friend, I can’t just watch his kingdom fall apart.”

Victoria’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean…”

“I’m willing to offer help in other areas—outside of troops,” Gawain said calmly. “For example, weapons and armor…”

(End of chapter)