Chapter 773: Your Aunt Will Always Be Your Aunt

How’s the story…

As the holographic projection on the stage continued to scroll through the cast list, the Earl of Barin lowered his head, thoughtfully considering how to respond to the Duchess Victoria’s question.

The Duchess seemed quite fond of this new form of theater called “Shadowplay,” or rather… she was intrigued by certain aspects it presented.

After a few seconds of reflection, the Earl abandoned any urge to flatter or agree and instead spoke candidly: “It’s something entirely new. Just in terms of presentation, it’s quite novel. But as for the story itself… I can’t say I ‘appreciate’ it much, nor do I really connect with the characters.”

This was the straightforward impression of a nobleman who had seen many plays before, upon watching a Shadowplay for the first time.

“But even so, it remains a remarkable thing,” he added after a brief pause. “Not just because the creators thought to project the drama onto a magical network terminal, but because of the script… I don’t know who wrote it, but it certainly couldn’t have been any well-known playwright. They wouldn’t be able to produce something like this.”

“The script…” Victoria Wilde murmured thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on the large holographic projection on stage. The cast list had finished, and now the creators’ names were appearing—first, the playwright’s name: “Philm… definitely not a famous playwright.”

No sooner had she spoken than Philm’s name vanished, replaced by another that caused the Duchess’s expression to shift slightly.

Findel Wilde—followed by the name Eleven Franklin.

“This…” The Earl of Barin, sitting beside her, caught sight of the name as well. His expression grew subtle and somewhat awkward as he glanced at the Duchess. “Perhaps…”

He wanted to say it was a namesake, but quickly realized that was impossible—sharing a surname was another matter entirely. The Duke of the Protectorate’s family name was unique, with no duplicates!

Victoria sat expressionless, her gaze slowly drifting toward one side of the hall. Clearly, she had sensed a familiar magical aura but hadn’t expected that particular name to appear in the stage’s holographic credits.

After several seconds of unbearable silence and a chill in the air, the Northern Guardian suddenly stood and walked toward a small door on the right side of the hall.

Meanwhile, the applause in the vast screening room continued unabated…

…

Listening to the sounds from the adjacent hall, Philm finally exhaled deeply after more than two hours of tension. The young blond man from the North felt his heart slowly settle. After a long moment, he whispered to himself, “At last… I can give my father an answer.”

“And you can give your ‘Mountain Flower’ an answer too,” Findel said with a smile, clapping Philm firmly on the shoulder. “This is a brilliant achievement—something anyone would be proud of.”

Philm blushed, shyly replying, “I…”

Findel laughed heartily. “Don’t be so nervous, my friend. Pursuing love is something to be proud of—and perfectly natural.”

It was clear the Northern heir was in high spirits. Anyone who reaped the fruits of long effort would feel this way, even a well-bred noble destined to inherit the Northern Duchy. This joy even made him forget the earlier unease and vague anxiety, leaving only genuine happiness.

Gawain withdrew his gaze from a small window overlooking the screening room. He was in good spirits too, but unlike Philm and the others, his happiness was tinged with deeper thoughts.

The Shadowplay’s resounding success proved this new form of spiritual entertainment was extremely popular. Its future impact and development potential were promising—just as expected.

More valuable than the influence of this first production, The Immigrants, was the experience gained by the government office and the Shadowplay creators. With a successful reference point, Gawain’s many upcoming plans could proceed smoothly.

The first plan: produce more Shadowplays showcasing the Cecil way of life, their mindset, and the era of magical industry. Promote them domestically while finding ways to infiltrate Typhon, leveraging newly signed trade agreements to encourage merchants to open Shadowplay theaters in Aldern…

The second plan was still vague, roughly involving promoting the New Holy Light Church and “refining” the old gods’ faith.

Applause continued to echo, as many were reluctant to leave the screening room, still immersed in the novel experience and the moving stories. From now on, The Immigrants would likely become a hot topic in Cecil City and the entire Southern Territory, spawning new terms, jobs, and concepts.

Gawain was brewing long-term plans in his mind when suddenly he felt a gaze fixed on him.

Following the feeling, he met Amber’s bright eyes.

“What is it?” Gawain glanced down at himself. “Is there something on me?”

“Just relax your mind sometimes. Don’t put all your energy into scheming,” Amber said seriously—though the second half of her sentence made one want to smack her against the wall. “You even calculate ten years ahead when watching a play. Aren’t you afraid you’ll wear yourself out in this lifetime?”

Gawain was momentarily stunned, a mix of helplessness and self-mockery rising in his chest.

He was being lectured by this half-elf—and he didn’t even get annoyed.

He did plan too much, turning it into a reflex, reducing everything to calculation.

While hundreds could quietly enjoy a story, he only thought about how many Typhon citizens it might turn into “returnees” longing for Cecil, how valuable this new thing could be, and what use it might serve.

But that was exactly what he had to do—and had to be the one to do. Once he decided to build a new order, he lost the right to simply enjoy some things within it.

Thankfully, Amber’s big mouth reminded him to remember the fundamental meaning behind these new creations.

“It really is a good play, worth sitting down and appreciating,” Gawain finally sighed, his previously serious expression softening into a relaxed smile. He glanced at Amber, then toward the monitoring room’s door. “By the way, we have visitors.”

No sooner had he spoken than there was a knock at the door.

Amber and Philm, along with the others, looked curiously toward the iron door. Findel, who had been joking happily with friends, turned his radiant smile up and said in a rising tone, “Oh, visitors! Let me see which interesting friend—frie—”

A staff member opened the door, revealing Duchess Victoria Wilde and several nobles and attendants dressed in plain clothes.

Findel’s bright smile froze as if struck by a sudden chill, his face stiffening. The next word came out as if forced from his throat: “Au… Aunt…”

But the Duchess seemed not to notice the nephew she had raised herself. Instead, she approached Gawain first, offering a flawless bow. “Your Majesty, greetings. I apologize for appearing before you under such less-than-ideal circumstances.”

“It’s no trouble. I already knew you were coming,” Gawain said, smiling and nodding, returning the greetings of the others. “I just didn’t expect you to come watch the very first Shadowplay. I suppose it’s a coincidence.”

“It is a coincidence,” Victoria’s usually icy face softened with a faint smile, but when her gaze landed on Findel, it turned cold again. “Findel, you’re here… is that a coincidence as well?”

“I…” Findel’s forced smile faltered again. The young Northerner, usually radiant, found it hard to smile in front of Victoria. He glanced around, then at Gawain, finally managing to say, “I came with His Majesty to inspect this…”

“Ahem,” the Earl of Barin coughed softly nearby, reminding him, “Marquis Findel, your name was shown at the end…”

Findel: “…”

“Displaying the names of all actors and production staff at the end is a good idea, fitting the magical projection’s nature. Old-fashioned plays never had such a segment,” Victoria said expressionlessly. “Who came up with the idea?”

Findel: “…It was me, Aunt.”

“In your last letter, you said you had entered the Imperial Academy, dedicating all your energy to study and applying your talents to achieve some results…” Victoria looked steadily into Findel’s eyes, speaking slowly. “So… you’ve actually been researching how to produce plays?”

Gawain said nothing, just smiled quietly from the side, silently encouraging them to continue. His smile was genuinely pleased.

Amber even pulled sunflower seeds from her small bag.

Noticing the Emperor and the Intelligence Chief’s obvious enjoyment of the drama, Findel broke out in a cold sweat.

After several awkward, tense seconds, knowing Victoria’s usual impatience, Findel finally steeled himself and broke the silence: “Aunt, I did do some things… I didn’t mention in my letter. Producing plays might not quite fit a noble’s identity, but to me, it’s very meaningful—especially in a place full of new things, in a place dominated by a new order. Some old ideas must…”

Victoria cut him off with a cold, indifferent tone: “Did I say you were doing badly?”

Findel: “…Huh?”

Her ice-blue eyes held no emotion. “I’m just confirming whether you truly had a hand in this new form of theater—Wilde family members must be honest.”

Gawain turned his head slightly and whispered to Amber, who was still cracking seeds, “I thought she’d never joke or tease anyone.”

“Actually,” Amber muttered, “people with poker faces like her are the worst at joking and teasing. You can’t tell from their expressions which parts are serious and which are jokes.”

Gawain thought about it and found Amber’s words quite true. Then he clapped his hands and smiled, easing the awkwardness: “Victoria, don’t be so harsh on the younger generation. It’s good for young people to try new things. As long as they’re not reckless, they should be encouraged openly.”

Victoria withdrew her gaze from Findel and bowed slightly to Gawain. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

A distinct exhale came from nearby.

The one taking the deep breath was Philm, standing just behind Findel.

The young man from a small northern town, born into a humble family, had almost suffocated in the tense atmosphere just moments ago.

“Let me introduce everyone,” Gawain said with a smile as he stood up, effortlessly taking on the role of host. “This is Mr. Philm—the brilliant mind behind the Shadowplay Theatre. His work has already earned the full support of the royal family.

“And here is Duchess Victoria Wilde, one of the Grand Regents I trust deeply, and the protector of the Northern Territories.

“As for the rest… why don’t you introduce yourselves?”

The Earl of Barin and the others, surprised by Philm’s youth and scrutinizing him closely, suddenly dropped their aristocratic reserve and formalities at Gawain’s words. One by one, they shared their titles and positions.

Hearing all those names, Philm felt momentarily dazed…

(End of chapter)