Despite having only twelve soldiers, and although the Cecil name had long faded from the kingdom's political center, Gawain Cecil entered the city in the most striking way possible. He raised the ancient banner from seven hundred years ago—a flag that hadn't flown since Gawain Cecil himself had once walked the earth.
The flag, which bore the emblem that only Gawain Cecil could use in his lifetime, was a statement that conveyed a clear message to the current Ansu monarchy: "The one entering the city is not a seventeen-year-old baroness of the Cecil family but the Grand Duke of the South."
When his attendants relayed the news, King Francis II quickly grasped the ancient hero's intent. The aged king stepped out onto the balcony of White Silver Castle, gazing in the direction of the Cecil family's entrance. Although he could not see any sign of the incoming party—such was the sheer size and scope of the city that even from the highest point of White Silver Castle, the horizon stretched endlessly—he couldn't help but wonder if this ancient one would be amazed by the changes in the capital. Seven centuries had passed; the city was no longer what it had been. Did he sense how much things had changed?
Francis II remained lost in thought. He knew that Gawain's reappearance sent ripples through the kingdom. His eyes drifted to his middle-aged attendant, who awaited orders quietly. "Prepare to receive him as a duke," Francis II instructed, "and tell him I will meet him tomorrow at noon. Invite him to rest in White Silver Castle to ease the weariness of his journey."
The attendant, after bowing to take his leave, paused when the king spoke again. "Also, aside from the meeting itself, fulfill all other requests the Duke of Cecil may make. We must meet him with the utmost respect."
Once the attendant departed, another man stepped forward—a young man of noble bearing and golden-blond hair, dressed in opulent attire. He had been standing by the nearby column, his expression marked by a blend of curiosity and determination. "Father, do you believe the tale of this 'revived' duke is genuine?"
Francis II cast a measured gaze upon his son. "That's not our immediate concern. Although we received Viscount Andrew's letter and ample corroboration, whether or not this ancient duke is truly who he claims remains to be seen. For now, it's clear this is no trivial charade. The one who reappeared from the past has brought us a significant 'surprise.'"
The young man lowered his gaze in contemplation before cautiously asking, "What do you believe his purpose is?"
Francis II shook his head, his voice thoughtful. "Until we meet, we can only speculate. Judging by the fanfare and calculated rumors he's orchestrated along the way, he won't lay out his intentions openly. Approach him if you wish, but mind your conduct. We're dealing with an unprecedented situation—avoid provoking him."
The young man nodded respectfully before departing, leaving Francis II alone on the balcony. He let out a slight sigh. His son was earnest, but far too young to conceal his true intentions. His eagerness was all too transparent; it was clear he found this ancient figure intriguing. His need to understand the one who had seemingly stepped out of a legend was palpable, even if he tried to mask it.
Since it would happen regardless, Francis reasoned he might as well grant the young man permission to approach.
Once he saw his attendant leave on horseback, the king subtly nodded, and, glancing at the empty space beside him, instructed, "Dark Raven, observe Gawain Cecil's group, and report any incidents."
As he spoke, a shadow flickered in the fabric of the nearby curtains, although no figure appeared. The king added, "But don't get too close. If he is the legendary figure from seven centuries ago, he'll notice anyone coming near." The curtain remained motionless, seemingly empty.
Gawain and his company entered the capital through Saint Sunil's main gates, their horses trotting down the central avenue. Half the city must have already known of their arrival by the time they encountered the official delegation sent to receive them near White Silver Castle.
The procession was splendid, with a red carpet unfurled from the depths of White Silver Castle to Gawain's feet. The guards and ladies-in-waiting scattered petals along the path, and trumpeters and drummers played a triumphant melody in two rows. It was clear that the king had prepared for this event well in advance—yet Gawain knew that if he had chosen a different manner or time of arrival, the arrangements would likely have been adjusted accordingly.
He wondered just how many contingencies the king had considered to ensure this moment was handled smoothly.
Although Gawain hadn't interacted much with nobility or royalty in this lifetime, the memories in his mind held a wealth of related experience. The original Gawain Cecil was born in a rough era at the founding of Ansu, yet he had also witnessed the grandiosity of the Gondor Empire. He didn't know what Ansu was like seven hundred years in the future, but he had seen the splendor and complexity of Gondor, a human empire at its peak.
Compared to the power and intricacy of that era, the contemporary kingdoms on the continent could hardly measure up.
"Please accompany me to White Silver Castle. His Majesty has prepared the finest rooms, the best cuisine, and hot spring baths to relieve your fatigue," announced a dignified-looking official—a noble from one of the inner court families, though Gawain didn't recognize the exact house. Gawain looked over at Rebecca, who was wide-eyed with curiosity as she took in the grandeur around them.
Though she had tried her best to remain composed throughout their journey, standing in front of White Silver Castle amidst the extravagant welcome ceremony left her visibly stunned. Her eyes darted between the gleaming ranks of the ceremonial guard and the towering palace, its walls plated in silver.
Gawain raised an eyebrow. "I thought the king would be eager to meet me," he said, still seated on his horse and looking down at the official. "It's not every day one gets to meet someone who's climbed out of a coffin."
The official seemed taken aback by the Duke's frank manner but quickly recovered. "His Majesty wishes to allow you a night of rest, considering the long journey."
"Oh?" Gawain feigned surprise, pausing until he saw the official's growing unease. Then he continued, "In that case, I appreciate His Majesty's consideration. But if we're not meeting today, there's no need for me to stay in his castle. I'm more comfortable at home."
The official's expression shifted. "And by that, you mean…"
Gawain smiled. "I'd rather stay at my own place. That's assuming it's still standing. Has number four on Crown Street been demolished in the past seven hundred years?"
The official and a few nearby nobles exchanged startled glances. Francis II had warned them to expect unusual requests, but they hadn't anticipated this particular one.
Crown Street number four was Gawain Cecil's former estate in the capital.
Although he was the Duke of the South and spent most of his time on his lands, the founders of Ansu had all owned estates in the capital. King Charles I had granted these estates to each of the first generation of pioneering knights, and they were all located on Crown Street—the closest district to White Silver Castle.
Whenever the original founders traveled from their lands to the capital to attend matters of state, they would stay at their respective residences on Crown Street. It was tradition.
Now, centuries later, all the founders (except one who had apparently returned from the grave) were long dead, yet each of these homes remained preserved. The royal family had continued funding repairs and restorations over the centuries to maintain them as monuments.
These estates had become historical relics, still owned by the descendants of those early knights. Only the Cecil family's estate had become a royal property—one hundred years ago, after a certain Grumman Cecil had caught the king's disfavor.
"Number four on Crown Street…" The official hesitated. "Yes, it's still there. It has been renovated many times…"
Gawain chuckled. "I would hope so. The estate isn't as sturdy as a castle. But if it's been renovated, then it must be in good shape. I assume it's still habitable?"
"Of course…" The official, realizing he couldn't delay further, nodded. "But…"
"I understand. The estate now belongs to the crown, correct?" Gawain clarified to ease the man's discomfort. "But as I hear, it's been vacant all this time. No one's moved in over the past century, I assume?"
"That's correct. Since the founding king left… certain things there, no one has dared to remove them. Today, no one claims the right to inherit the estate, so number four on Crown Street remains empty."
Gawain nodded, amused. "If no one has claimed it, then I'll go home for the night. That shouldn't be an issue?"
"Certainly." Remembering his orders from the king's steward, the official relented. "Please allow me to lead the way…"
"That won't be necessary. I still remember the way home." Gawain waved a hand dismissively. "Simply inform His Majesty that I'll pay my respects at White Silver Castle tomorrow at noon."
With that, he turned his horse around and, before departing, gave Rebecca's head a light tap. "Wake up, child. We're going."
She blinked in surprise. "Ancestor, we're not staying in the castle?"
"What's so grand about the castle? When they built it, I told Charles the ground wasn't suitable. Sure enough, the roof split within three years. Come, I'll take you to my old home—that's where we'll feel truly at ease."
The official watched as Gawain and his group rode off, feeling a bead of sweat finally break free. He quickly turned to an aide. "Send a Druid who can transform into a bird. Get to Crown Street number four and make preparations immediately!"
As they made their way to Crown Street, the capital's streets came alive with murmurs and whispers. News of the ancient Duke's arrival, of his bearing and his retinue, spread rapidly. The citizens and lesser nobility were abuzz, discussing what the return of such a figure could mean for the kingdom. Merchants, peasants, and travelers all turned their heads, hoping to catch a glimpse of the "resurrected" founder. Gawain remained calm, a steady presence amidst the bustle of the crowd, yet keenly aware of the many watchful eyes.
The estate on Crown Street was just as he remembered. The grand structure stood tall, though it bore signs of countless repairs and reinforcements. As they crossed the threshold, Gawain took in the familiar halls, now filled with a century's worth of dust and silence. Yet, the echo of history lingered, unmistakable and deeply comforting.
Inside, he couldn't help but feel a momentary pang of nostalgia. This was his home, a place he had thought lost to time. He could almost sense the memories etched into its stones, the laughter of those long gone and the silent resilience that seemed woven into the walls themselves.
Rebecca, still overwhelmed by the grandeur of the capital, looked around with wide eyes. "Ancestor… is this really where you lived?"
Gawain simply nodded, his gaze distant. "This is where it all began."
The following day, as they prepared to meet with the king, Gawain's thoughts turned to the future and the monumental task that lay ahead.