Chapter 680: The Informed

After another long pause, Amber finally broke the silence again. The half-elf lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “…So that means I don’t have to keep searching for my birth parents anymore, right, old man?”

“We only wanted you to live like a normal child. And normal children have parents,” Pittman said in a low voice, shaking his head slightly. “When we realized you were about to completely lose your earliest memories, Sari Randolf and I lied to you—we said you were found in the forest and that your parents were missing. Maybe we should have made that lie more thorough, so you wouldn’t have spent all these years obsessing over your birth parents.”

“You always knew the name ‘Android No. 36’?”

“After Sari Randolf died, I found some scholars who specialize in ancient scripts and asked them to translate those letters…” Pittman sighed and spoke slowly. “But by then, it didn’t really matter. After reading his notes, even without understanding the letters, I could guess your origins… That’s why I once thought about taking this secret to my grave.”

Amber pressed her lips together. “Good thing you didn’t, or else even if I dug you up, I’d give you a hard time.”

Pittman spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t even know whose temper you inherited.”

Amber’s lips moved slightly but she didn’t say a word. She just stared down at the yellowed, worn diary for a long moment before muttering, “At least it’s an answer…”

Gawain reached out and gently brushed her head. “Not so bad, huh?”

“I’m not crying.”

“I never said you were…”

“…It’s okay,” Amber shook her head but didn’t pull away from Gawain’s hand. “It’s just… this answer is nothing like any of the ones I imagined.”

“As an outsider, I can’t plan your life or decide your thoughts for you. But from where I stand… it’s all in the past,” Gawain said, looking at Amber. “Those who created you, and everything Sari Randolf wrote about in his diary—it’s all history now. These people and events shaped who you are today. Since you’re still alive and well, you should look forward.”

Amber took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. She looked up and rolled her eyes at Gawain. “You know, you’re really terrible at comforting people.”

Before Gawain could respond, she laughed bitterly and shook her head. “But I’m an android… so maybe I’m just wired to respond to that kind of thing.”

She seemed to adjust her mood quickly. Though she wasn’t quite back to her usual playful self, she smiled with a sense of relief. “You’re right. I should look ahead. Whether I’m an android or something else, at least I finally have an answer. And I know the secret my foster father kept hidden all these years. No matter how you look at it, that’s a win.”

Gawain glanced at the half-elf. “But there are still plenty of mysteries about you. Are you going to keep searching?”

“Of course I am,” Amber said, shaking her head vigorously. Her ears twitched slightly in the air. “The truth might be scary, but I’m more afraid of the unknown. To put it bluntly, even if I’m going to die someday, I want to die knowing why.”

“That doesn’t sound like something you’d normally say,” Gawain said with a smile. “Knowing you, you’d probably try to run away even if death was coming. Maybe even survive by some miracle.”

“Exactly,” Amber said, hands on her hips, “which means it’s a situation where running isn’t an option.” Then she glanced at the diary on the table, her expression thoughtful. “And after reading this, I really want to understand something—especially what drove my foster father to take such a desperate risk that cost him his life…”

The event that led Sari Randolf to take that fatal gamble.

Gawain knew exactly what Amber meant. To steal a book kept in the Southern Cathedral, Sari Randolf—who had been living under an assumed identity for decades—risked everything. He was caught by the church’s supernatural enforcers and sentenced to death by the local nobility and bishop.

What kind of book could have such a pull on him?

Their eyes both turned to Pittman—the old man who carried so many secrets. He probably knew something.

“By now, there’s no point in hiding secrets,” Gawain said. “What exactly was Sari Randolf trying to steal from the cathedral? Was it really just a book?”

“It really was just a book,” Pittman said with a bitter smile, spreading his hands. “An ancient tome dating back five or six hundred years. I don’t know its exact title or contents, but it was probably a notebook or a collection of observations. Its author mentioned many scattered secret places and ruins, including what might be a Shadow Fortress. Sari hoped to find your origins there, to uncover the secrets behind that fortress.”

“Just for that? He risked his life over this?” Amber’s eyes widened. “Why not just let it rot in history? Why did he have to go looking for it?”

“You’re right. It was the stupidest thing he ever did. I still curse him in my dreams for it. But none of us expected such a small matter to cost him his life,” Pittman shook his head. “The cathedral that held the book was just a regular regional church, but that day, a few ascetics from Luan City happened to visit. Sari slipped up. It wasn’t just a matter of ‘knocking over the lord’s candle.’ He was caught right near the cathedral’s relic vault.”

Pittman sighed. “That day, his luck ran out.”

Gawain frowned. “Is the book still in that cathedral?”

“After the incident, the local clergy donated most of their collection to the Luan Cathedral to make up for their ‘lack of vigilance.’ I don’t know if the book Sari sought was among them… but probably.”

After a moment of silence, Gawain said quietly, “Luan City now belongs to the Empire. It’s a training ground for the White Knights.”

“It used to be the Southern Church’s headquarters. Their collection was vast,” Pittman reminded him. “Books have always been precious assets. The church is keen on gathering them, especially after the decline of the Cecil family in the South. Over half the books from the past century in the South are now stacked in the Luan Cathedral’s library.”

“That’s fine. We can search slowly,” Gawain said casually. “We need to organize the collections from churches and academic institutions across the country anyway, to consolidate knowledge from various fields. This is a good place to start—the Luan Cathedral’s library. Ritter said the path of the Holy Light requires both a sound mind and body. The White Knights trained there can’t just spend their days doing weighted cross-country runs or chasing bears in the mountains.”

“But we don’t even know what the book looks like,” Amber said, frowning. “We don’t even know the title…”

“Then we start by cataloging all the notebooks and travelogues. In a cathedral library focused on religious texts and supernatural studies, there can’t be many miscellaneous books worthy of inclusion.”

Amber and Pittman both nodded, approving Gawain’s plan.

After a moment’s thought, Gawain added, “Also, about that ‘Shadow Fortress,’ there might be someone else who can help us.”

“Who?”

Pittman didn’t react immediately and asked instinctively. But Amber’s eyes flashed as she instantly guessed the answer. “That Ophelia?”

“If Sari Randolf’s intelligence was correct, the Shadow Fortress should be another Rebellion base. And Ophelia Norton was in charge of more than one Rebellion fortress back then,” Gawain smiled and nodded. “Among the projects that ancient rebel was responsible for… maybe one of them was you.”

…

On the first floor of Silverkeep, the grandest banquet hall was ablaze with light. Elegant court music floated through the air.

The great nobles qualified to enter the “inner chamber” for the banquet moved through the magnificent castle hall. Dressed in their finest gowns and suits, wearing the most appropriate smiles, they navigated the social minefield of a feast destined to be recorded in history. But compared to previous castle banquets, the nobles here seemed more restrained and tense—

The founding of the new empire had changed everything. The centuries-old noble system was about to be overturned after the signing ceremony following the banquet. Though those present were the “progressive” old nobles who supported reform and the new order, this was still an era they had never faced before. Confronted with a new social structure and an unpredictable future, these “new imperial nobles” couldn’t help but tread carefully.

They smiled in the banquet hall, but their muscles were taut. They invited partners to dance, but every step felt like walking on a tightrope or a blade’s edge. Their conversations seemed effortless, but every word was weighed ten times over in their minds. Every sentence they heard was scrutinized against every face in the room.

At the far end of the hall, the three Grand Regents were the focus of many nobles’ attention. Nobles tried to pass by the “Triumvirate” casually, hoping to overhear useful intelligence. But it wasn’t easy—if the Grand Regents discussed important matters, they would naturally use soundproof wards. And getting too close without tact would surely earn their disdain, which was unacceptable for nobles skilled in social etiquette.

So some nobles turned their attention to the “little princess.” The princess seemed to dislike the stuffy atmosphere inside and spent most of her time outside. Those in the know said she was a lively, innocent girl, so many tried to get close to Rebecca—but it proved even harder than cozying up to the Triumvirate.

A beautiful lady in a pale purple court gown had just returned to the inner banquet hall. She wore a frustrated expression as she vented to acquaintances. “Her Highness asked me if I could fold grass into a grasshopper, then if I knew how to solve the magic interference equation—I couldn’t answer a single question. It was terribly embarrassing.”

A man in a dark red suit looked at her sympathetically. “Countess Lentini, didn’t you try opening the conversation with your specialty—the ladies’ rapier? The princess is said to be fond of martial arts.”

“Oh, don’t mention that!” The countess reacted strongly. “Of course I tried—then the princess just pulled a sword from a nearby guard and threw it to me, asking for a demonstration—while I was wearing my evening gown!”

“Ah, that must have been a disaster,” the man in red shrugged. “But at least you’re luckier than Count Barin.”

“Count Barin?”

Standing nearby, Count Barin’s face turned pale, as if still shaken. “I’d heard that Her Highness the Princess was skilled in fireball magic, so I thought to start a conversation on that—she was delighted, and then she conjured a fireball as big as a door… I completely lost my composure.”

The two nobles from the capital immediately found common ground and sighed in unison. But their lament was soon cut short by a voice bordering on a wail: “You’re both luckier than I am!”

Lentini and Barin turned to see a young nobleman with neat blond hair and a refined face, clutching a stack of papers, utterly defeated.

“Mr. Finley, what’s going on?”

“Who told me the Princess liked math? Our friendship is over!” The young noble waved the papers wildly. “I said I was good at math, and the Princess handed me a pile of tests! Can someone please tell me what any of this means?!”

…

Elegant court music floated through the great hall, the cheerful melodies masking the surface gaiety. Veronica Morn stood quietly in an inconspicuous corner, her gaze sweeping over the crowd weaving through the hall—dancing, chatting, laughing—as if she were an impassive spectator watching a play she had already memorized.

Yet when snippets of conversation about nobles being bested by Princess Rebecca drifted to her ears, the corners of her mouth twitched into a faint smile.

“Today must be the most exhausting banquet they’ve ever attended,” Veronica said, turning to smile at Gawain and Amber as they approached, nodding politely to Pittman trailing behind them. “They’ve run into the most unpredictable member of the royal family.”

“Nobles always waste too much effort on useless things, which is why they live such tiring lives,” Gawain remarked casually. “Of course, Rebecca’s upbringing is part of the problem.”

Veronica smiled softly. “I quite like that child’s personality… reminds me a bit of myself back in the day.”

“…I can’t imagine that at all.”

“Time changes many things—you should know that well,” Veronica replied. “So, the Emperor of the Empire isn’t showing up at the banquet but instead seeks out me, the awkward former princess. Is there something you need?”

Gawain got straight to the point. “Do you know about the Shadow Fortress?”

“…Yes. It’s a project I personally shut down.”

(End of chapter)