Gawain sighed, feeling a mix of exasperation and amusement as he looked at Rebecca, the young girl who appeared to be leading their small band of survivors. He couldn't help but wonder if her mind had been scrambled a bit in the recent fights.
"Rebecca," he began, trying to be patient, "while I may have been 'living' here for a long time, I was, in fact, dead, you know? Do you think people know the layout of their own tombs after they're dead?"
Rebecca blinked, a faint frown appearing as she seemed to ponder this. She considered bringing up how the founder of the Auns Kingdom had actually designed his own royal tomb while he was still alive, but quickly decided against it. She suspected her Aunt Hetty might very well kill her on the spot if she tried to correct their ancestor right now. So, instead, she gave a sheepish grin and nodded. "Ahaha… right, that makes sense!"
"Going back the way we came isn't an option," Hetty interjected, her voice taking on a more serious tone as she assessed their situation. "The castle's courtyard and the entrance to the crypt have already been overrun by those creatures. Trying to retrace our steps would be a death sentence."
"We'll have to find another way out," Gawain replied, thinking back to the bits of memory he had inherited. "It's been seven hundred years… I assume the castle's structure isn't exactly the same as it was back then?"
"The upper levels have undergone multiple renovations, but the foundations remain unchanged," Hetty replied quickly. "The hidden passage entrance should still be in the original place."
"That's good to know." Gawain turned to a nearby soldier and extended his hand. "Let me borrow your sword for a moment."
The soldier handed him his sword without hesitation. With the blade, Gawain began sketching on the dusty ground, drawing a rough top-down view of the castle layout, then a cross-section indicating its three levels. Despite the rushed sketch, the outline of the castle and its sections were remarkably clear.
"The entrance is here, two levels below ground, near the wine cellar and the grain storage," Gawain explained as he gestured at the diagram. "Back in my day, those were the wine cellar and storage. Two tunnels connect to it, but both lead directly to the ground level, so they're likely blocked."
Rebecca leaned in, curiosity shining in her eyes. "That's still the wine cellar and storage now… but I never knew there was a third room hidden there."
"It's not exactly a room," Gawain replied with a smirk. "It's a hidden compartment, built between the walls and support beams. When this land was first settled, it was a hostile frontier, constantly under siege by monsters from the Gondor Wastelands and rogue remnants of the old imperial armies. The original Cecil estate was constructed more like a fortress, and hidden pathways and compartments were essential for emergency evacuations and resupplying under siege."
Sir Byron examined the rough map closely and added, "So we need to reach the second-level entrance… and we can't use any passageways that pass through the courtyard. We're here now, in the southeast part of the castle's foundation. The crypt overlaps about a third of the castle's base…"
"In that overlapping area, there should be a passage," Gawain interrupted. "The tomb was constructed seven centuries ago, and the builders were the same ones who built war fortresses. They would have built a secondary exit as part of the standard defense."
He turned to Rebecca, an eyebrow raised. "Are you really unaware of this? I would have thought knowledge of these passages would be passed down through the Cecil family."
Rebecca's face turned red as she averted her gaze. "I…"
"We have failed to uphold the honor you fought for, Ancestor," Hetty said, her voice heavy with regret. "The Cecil family has endured many hardships over these seven hundred years…"
"Alright, I get it," Gawain cut her off with a wave of his hand. Now was not the time for storytelling. "Once we're out of here, I'll sit down with you all and get the full story of what happened over the last seven centuries. Right now, let's focus on finding the passage from this crypt to the hidden tunnel."
The group—Rebecca, Hetty, and Sir Byron—knelt beside the makeshift map, studying it intently. Though they were familiar with the castle, they knew little of the crypt's layout. This tomb, seven centuries old, was not exactly a tourist spot. Even a hundred years ago, when the tomb was still open, family members were only permitted a few visits, and they were never allowed to approach the resting place of the family's founder.
How were they supposed to know where a secret passage might be?
Even Gawain's memories couldn't help here. After all, when he died, he certainly hadn't anticipated one day waking up and needing to plot an escape from his own tomb…
As they pondered the problem, Amber—the half-elf thief—who had been standing quietly to the side, suddenly spoke up. "Um… I might know the way…"
Immediately, every pair of eyes in the crypt turned toward her.
Amber shrank under the intense stares.
Hetty frowned. "How would *you* know?"
Amber swallowed nervously but, encouraged by Gawain's nod, mustered the courage to speak. "I, uh… I came in through that way… The direction should be the same. I'm pretty sure it's part of the hidden passage."
Gawain nodded in approval. "Good. Lead the way."
Amber exhaled a sigh of relief, patting her chest. "As long as you don't hold it against me for… digging around your family's tomb."
Hetty shot the half-elf a withering glare but said nothing, clutching her staff as she turned toward the tomb's entrance. Just as they were about to move, Gawain paused.
"Ancestor?" Rebecca looked at him, puzzled.
"I should have a weapon." Gawain said, nodding as he scanned the room. He might not be the legendary Duke who had once conquered lands, but he knew well enough that having a weapon in this dangerous situation was basic survival.
His gaze swept over the crypt. A soldier stepped forward to offer his sword, but Gawain declined with a nod of thanks. Instead, his inherited memories led him to the black steel coffin. Peering inside, he searched around and found it—a long, heavy sword, its blade jet black but with faint red glints near the hilt.
As he gripped the sword, a familiar, comforting sensation flooded him. Every ridge, every curve of the blade felt as though it fit perfectly in his hand. He instinctively swung it a few times, each movement flowing naturally, as if his body remembered the motions after countless battles.
He realized this was the muscle memory embedded in his current body—a gift from the original Gawain Cecil. Though his soul was different, every muscle in his body remembered how to wield this sword.
It was an unexpected advantage, but not entirely surprising.
Beyond the body's memory, his mind was filled with Gawain Cecil's accumulated knowledge of combat—not only the basics of swordsmanship and horsemanship but also techniques bordering on the supernatural. The knowledge tempted him, but now wasn't the time to experiment. Survival was the priority.
Seeing the black sword in his hand, Rebecca's eyes widened in awe, her voice trembling with excitement. "Is… is that the legendary *Auns Pioneer's Sword*?"
Hetty, who had been halfway to the door, spun around at the mention of the sword. She stared at the weapon in Gawain's grip, her face alight with reverence. "The Pioneer's Sword?!"
Gawain sighed, looking down at the weapon. "It's merely a well-made sword now. After seven centuries, the magic within it has long since faded, despite the blessings of the elves. It'll take time and a skilled hand to recharge it."
He glanced around the tomb and frowned when he noticed an empty stone platform near the coffin. "Wait… I should also have a shield that I never went anywhere without. Was it not buried with me? Where did my shield go?"
Hetty's face fell, her expression one of deep guilt. "Ancestor… we have once again failed to live up to your legacy. The *Auns Protector's Shield* was removed from the tomb a hundred years ago by one of your descendants, Grumman Cecil, and… was lost on the battlefield…"
Her tone was hesitant, as if holding back more details. Perhaps she was worried that telling him the full story of the incident a century ago might cause the "ancestor" to die of anger on the spot—though, conveniently, there was a coffin right there for reburial…
Gawain noticed her hesitation but didn't press for answers. Instead, he muttered a curse under his breath. "That good-for-nothing… Lucky for him, the sword was kept in the coffin, or else that Grumman fool might have cracked it open to complete the set!"
Hetty and Rebecca lowered their heads in silent embarrassment. Having their ancestor come back to life only to berate a long-dead relative was surreal—and incredibly stressful.
Fortunately, Gawain's frustration was brief. His irritation at losing a useful piece of equipment faded quickly, and he led the group out of the crypt.
Upon entering the stone hall beyond the tomb, Rebecca took a quick look around, then gestured toward a shadowy corner. "Betty! It's safe now; you can come out!"
Curious, Gawain turned to see a thin, petite girl tentatively emerging from the shadows. She looked even younger than Rebecca, her freckled face framed by unruly flaxen hair. Clutching a small frying pan as if it were a weapon, the girl glanced warily at Gawain, clearly unsure what to make of this stranger.
"This is one of the maids from the castle," Rebecca explained with a slight shrug. "We're not sure how she ended up getting left behind when the first group escaped. She somehow ended up with us in the confusion." She turned to the girl with a reassuring smile. "Betty, this is…"
A faint tremor from above cut her off, a shiver in the stone that sent a chill through the group.
"Not the time for introductions," Gawain said, raising his sword. He nodded toward Amber, who was already at the entrance, her expression now serious. "Amber, lead the way."