Chapter 96: The Long-Awaited Hundred Arrive at Last

The reinforcements that the frontier settlement had been eagerly awaiting for over a month finally arrived.

Earlier that day, a swift boat had raced downstream from upriver and docked at the western edge of the lumberyard. A messenger disembarked and exchanged words with the soldiers stationed there, delivering news that a contingent from the royal capital was on its way. The soldiers immediately mounted their horses and galloped to the camp to relay the message. Upon hearing this, Gawain dropped his work and hurried to the camp’s dock to prepare for their arrival.

The dock itself was an expanded and reinforced version of the temporary pier they had initially built. Though not yet up to permanent standards, it featured a wider walkway and sturdier construction. To the west lay the sawmill, while the east side was left open as a large clearing for future expansion. Already, many people had gathered on that open ground—nearly half the camp’s population, all curious about what the royal capital’s contingent would look like.

Gawain didn’t try to stop the crowd. In fact, he had expressly permitted it: reinforcements from Saint Sunir City would do much to stabilize the morale of the settlers. In a place so devoid of entertainment, the monotony of labor bred tension, and any fresh event was one of the best ways to invigorate the people.

Amber stood on tiptoe along the dock’s walkway, swaying restlessly as she peered upriver. After a short wait, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Why aren’t they here yet? I feel like I’m about to grow cobwebs.”

“Those cobwebs must be pretty speedy,” Gawain shot her a sideways glance. “You just got here. You’ve only been standing around for fifteen minutes tops.”

“Hey, hey, what do you think the people from the capital look like?”

“Don’t put on that country bumpkin act. You’ve never even been to the capital, have you?”

“Tch, talking to you is so boring,” Amber pouted but quickly resumed her chatter. “Hey, did you hear? The leader of this group is supposed to be someone really special…”

“Veronica, the only daughter of Francis II, who converted to the Holy Light a couple of years ago—the so-called ‘Saint Princess,’” Gawain said flatly. “Yeah, that’s a bit unexpected. I never thought the princess, who supposedly spends all her time holed up in the Great Cathedral and never meddles in politics, would come out herself to lead this team… Too bad I don’t know much about her, so I can’t really guess what she’s up to.”

Amber snorted disdainfully. “You nobles are always so suspicious, turning everything into some conspiracy. You’d probably want to analyze even a fart for its cause and effect.”

Standing behind Gawain, Hetty immediately frowned. “Such vulgarity, utterly lacking in refinement.”

Amber’s eyes widened, ready to argue back, but Gawain suddenly raised a hand. “Save it. They’re here.”

Through the trees lining the riverbank, a sail appeared, gliding into view on the Whitewater River upstream.

A sleek white ship, accompanied by several smaller escort vessels, floated downstream with the current.

The large ship bore the unmistakable royal crest of Ansu, matching the messenger’s description perfectly. There was no doubt—it was them.

At the same moment, those aboard the White Oak also spotted the faint outline of the camp on the distant riverbank.

The craftsmen and apprentices had been cooped up below deck for days, their patience worn thin. They had been longing to set foot on solid ground for quite some time, so the news that they were nearing their destination lifted their spirits. Many surged up onto the deck, pressing against the railings to get a better look. What came into view was a sprawling, orderly, brand-new camp.

The camp was far larger than they had imagined, and its neatness was astonishing.

Whispers spread among the crew—they knew what had happened in the Cecil territory and that the settlement had only begun construction a little over a month ago, with just eight hundred refugees involved. Given the known pace of construction in this era, it was already impressive to have pitched a few tents and erected a fence in such a short time with so few hands. But this camp…

It looked nothing like something that could have been built so quickly!

They even spotted a beautiful wooden dock beside the camp, and several wooden houses had already been built!

Veronica stood on the ship’s upper deck at the bow, a place off-limits to the craftsmen, apprentices, and rough sailors. Standing beside her were a plain-looking woman in a white clerical robe with short hair, and a middle-aged man wearing a silk jacket adorned with the royal knightly order’s insignia.

Unlike the noisy crowd below, Veronica quietly gazed toward the distant Cecil frontier. Her eyes shimmered with a radiant light, seeing more, farther, and clearer than anyone else.

She clearly saw something daunting arrayed on the northern side of the camp, on the south bank of the Whitewater River.

After enhancing her vision with the Holy Light, she focused intently—and her heart skipped a beat. Even her usually serene, light-immersed composure wavered, almost betraying her expression.

There, piled like the remains of giants, were countless blood-red skeletons. They were heaped along the riverbank, some massive bone structures stretching hundreds of meters along the shore. A faint, dark red smoke drifted from the bones, which seemed to be decomposing by the minute. A quick glance revealed several propped-up skeletons already severely weathered, as if they might crumble to dust at any moment.

Clearly, these bones had been deliberately placed there, like trophies of war.

Veronica controlled her emotions well, but the middle-aged man beside her could not hide his shock. The knight, bearing the order’s insignia, muttered a few incantations, and his eyes glowed with arcane energy. Using eagle-eye magic to scan the camp’s direction, he gasped, “In the king’s name! What kind of monsters’ bones are those?!”

“More than two months ago, Duke Gawain Cecil warned my father that aberrations from the magical tide had reappeared in this world,” Veronica said calmly, her voice carrying a sacred, otherworldly cadence, “but in my view, that warning was not taken seriously enough. There is no doubt these creatures are real—and that ancient heroes have defeated them once before.”

The man’s tone grew grave. “This must be reported to His Majesty immediately!”

“Yes, Deputy Commander Kohn,” Veronica replied quietly, “but that only makes the situation more difficult.”

“You mean to the east…” Kohn hesitated, then sighed. “A disaster wrought by both nature and man.”

The White Oak finally came to a steady halt at the dock.

Gawain watched as the elegant white ship slowed, its sails fully furled. Magical waves pulsed unnaturally along its sides, guiding it precisely to the pier. Many aboard peered curiously toward the camp, while several sailors pushed out the gangplank, bridging the ship and dock.

The crowd on deck parted, and a squad of soldiers ran down the gangplank, forming two lines on the pier. Then three figures stepped onto the dock: a woman in a priest’s robe with an unreadable expression; a middle-aged man in the royal knightly order’s officer uniform, refined and unlike a typical warrior; and between them, a young woman in a simple white robe, with soft golden hair, serene beauty, and an impressive presence.

Gawain recognized her instantly as the legendary Saint Princess Veronica—he had seen her portrait back in the capital.

“Wow, she’s so beautiful,” Amber whispered, unable to contain herself. “Even more stunning than in the paintings… What does she eat to grow up like that?”

Muttering to herself, she glanced at Gawain, only to find his gaze barely resting on the ethereal princess. Instead, he was staring intently at the plain-looking woman beside her. Amber frowned. “Hey, hey—what are you looking at? Don’t tell me… your taste is weird?”

Gawain snapped out of his daze, confused. “Taste? What taste?”

“There’s a gorgeous princess over there, and you’re staring at the plain one?”

He brushed it off casually. “Don’t be ridiculous. She just reminds me of someone I knew in my past life, so I glanced a bit longer.”

By then, the three had reached solid ground. Gawain cut off his conversation with Amber and stepped forward. “Welcome, welcome. Your arrival is the best news we’ve had in a long time.”

“To meet a legendary hero from seven centuries ago is my great honor,” Veronica said with a slight bow. Her ethereal, sacred aura and the subtle, unearthly rhythm in her voice made Gawain pause briefly before he recovered.

Then she smiled. “Should I address you with the respect due to an elder?”

“No need for formalities. Talking to an old guy who crawled out of a grave like me? If we got all proper, we’d both be stuck in knots,” Gawain said, now fully comfortable with his “resurrected ancestor” role. “Let’s speak as equals. First, let your people rest ashore. There’s not much here, but standing on solid ground beats the deck any day. Then I’ll show you around the camp…”

As he spoke, his gaze casually swept over the plain woman beside Veronica.

His earlier claim to Amber about “someone I knew” was a lie.

Because, in truth, the woman beside Veronica was not just a plain-faced cleric—

To Gawain’s eyes, she was a semi-transparent glow, a shimmering light with human features.

(End of chapter)