Edmund Moen left the room with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with the results of their conversation. Although Gawain had extended an invitation for the prince to stay for dinner, Edmund had politely declined, explaining that he needed to return to the Silver Fort and relay the "good news" to his father, King Francis II.
Once the prince departed, Rebecca, who had been quietly observing, finally voiced her thoughts, "He seems like a kind person—I thought a crown prince would be strict and hard to talk to, with all that palace etiquette."
"That's because he was speaking to an elder noble, not just a minor, struggling viscount," Gawain replied, casting her a glance. "Do you think the behavior you just saw is how he usually acts? Quite the opposite. He was courteous because he'd prepared. He's done his homework on me, that's for sure."
Rebecca looked puzzled. "Huh?"
Gawain tried to explain in simpler terms. "The key to negotiation is saying the right thing to the right person. Edmund came here as a prince meeting an elder of a noble family. He was polite and respectful, and then as he noticed how I spoke, he quickly adapted, matching my style with humor and ease. That's skill."
Rebecca scratched her head, still looking lost. "… Um, okay?"
Gawain sighed, realizing he might have set the bar a bit high. "Never mind. Just focus on perfecting your fireball technique."
Rebecca, sensing his exasperation, hesitated. "Ancestor, am I… am I just not good at this?"
"Everyone has their strengths. Your talents lie elsewhere, and that's fine." He patted her head, feeling tall and authoritative. "Honestly, I don't care much for scheming and negotiating. I preferred the old days when people put their lives on the line to carve a path through the wilderness."
Rebecca seemed to understand a little better now. She nodded but then asked curiously, "Ancestor… was all that you said earlier true?"
Gawain blinked. "What part?"
"You know… when you mentioned giving a type of wine thirty different names and writing a fourteen-line poem for each?"
With a sigh, Gawain answered, "Absolutely true."
"Wow, that's amazing!"
"It might sound impressive, but it was because we were poor. Back then, the team barely had enough to eat before reaching fertile land. Naming one wine thirty times and writing sonnets wasn't creativity; it was boredom. Either nobles made up rituals when they had too much, or because they were starved for entertainment."
Rebecca's eyes sparkled, soaking in this new knowledge—lessons her Aunt Heidi certainly never shared with her.
Suddenly, the window creaked open, and Amber leaped into the room, throwing herself into a chair and casually kicking her feet up. She grinned. "You're not too bad, Gawain! Just from hearing you, I'd say you're the least stuffy noble I've ever met."
"Stop calling me 'old man'; I'm in my prime!" Gawain shot her a look. "And weren't you supposed to be patrolling outside? Or did you just sneak in for a break?"
Amber tilted her head, feet still swinging as she took a sip from her cup. "I was patrolling! And when I didn't find anything, I figured I deserved a break. You can't expect me to keep going nonstop, can you? By the way, what makes you think anyone's gonna sneak in here? Even the prince came in through the front door."
"If the prince had climbed in through the window, I imagine King Charles himself would have climbed out of his tomb to correct him," Gawain deadpanned. "But not everyone wanting information will walk through the front door. I'm here tonight to wait for those folks."
Amber waved her hand dismissively. "Alright, alright. You're the boss." She poured herself another drink, then stood to leave, but on her way out, she snatched a couple of biscuits from the tea tray. "It's cold outside—I need a little something to keep me warm."
Gawain sighed, watching her go, regretting that the Sword of Pioneer wasn't within reach.
Turning to Rebecca, he gave a quick nod. "You should go rest. Tomorrow's meeting with the king requires you to be at your best."
Rebecca nodded, then asked, "What about you, Ancestor?"
"I'm a night owl," Gawain replied. "I'll go to the study for a while. It may be an old place, but I want to see how much has changed."
After Rebecca bid him goodnight and left the room, Gawain lingered briefly before heading upstairs to the study. Though famed for his prowess in battle, Gawain Cecil wasn't solely a warrior; he was a scholar and herbalist, often taking comfort in books. Thus, alongside the armory in this ancestral home was a modest yet well-stocked study.
Sitting at the restored desk, Gawain drummed his fingers on its surface, his eyes drifting over the shelves and wall paintings, absorbing every detail. In his mind, memories not entirely his own swirled. Though the room felt eerily familiar, he reminded himself these memories belonged to another man.
But he had to admit, whoever maintained the estate did an incredible job replicating it—down to the placement of the feathered quill and parchment, positioned exactly as Gawain Cecil had left it. It was almost obsessive, to the point where he felt a slight chill.
Almost as if someone had known he'd return one day.
He took a deep breath, dismissing the unease, and knelt down to inspect the floor beneath the desk. His fingers grazed an inconspicuous panel, and with a gentle tug, a hidden compartment popped open. Inside was a small metal box, radiating a faint silver glow as if it had been crafted yesterday.
Gawain breathed a sigh of relief. It was still there.
Many items in the estate had likely been replaced over the centuries, but some things, like this small mithril box, could survive for hundreds of years. The box was engraved with intricate patterns and bore the seal of the Moen family, co-signed by King Charles I and Gawain Cecil himself.
This box was one of his key objectives in coming to the capital.
After injecting a trace of his magic into the box's pattern, he pricked his finger and pressed a drop of blood onto the central emblem. The box emitted a soft click and sprang open.
Inside were only a few items: a couple of decorative crystals drained of their original magic and a platinum disk no larger than his palm. He set the crystals aside, picking up the disk to inspect it. Engraved with runes, it shimmered faintly as though it held a hidden power.
"Finally… the key is in hand," Gawain murmured, pocketing the disk.
But just as he rose, he felt a cold breeze against his cheek. Instinctively, he grabbed a dagger from the desk, his muscles tense, ready for any sudden attack.
A calm, female voice drifted from the window. "Impressive reflexes for someone out of action for seven centuries."
Gawain noticed the window, now ajar, and a slender woman, her face partially veiled, floating just outside. She wore a flowing purple gown and seemed to walk on air as she moved toward him, a polite smile on her face.
"Please, put down the weapon. You and I are… not quite on equal footing, should a fight break out. I'm only here to talk."
Before she could finish, however, a shadowy figure suddenly launched itself from above, accompanied by a shrill battle cry. "Aha! Caught you, thief—ow!"
Amber, master of shadow and stealth but possessing minimal combat ability, was deftly swatted away by the woman's hand, flying back into a nearby chair.
A bit startled, the mysterious visitor looked at Gawain, raising a brow. "What… exactly was that?"
"My… bodyguard, I believe," Gawain replied, lowering his dagger but keeping his guard up.
"Apologies," the woman said, surprisingly polite as she glanced at the sprawled-out Amber. "She startled me. But don't worry—she's fine, just unconscious for a moment."
Relieved, Gawain kept a wary gaze on the woman. "Who are you?"
With a graceful bow, she replied, "Apologies if my entrance was… unconventional. I am Merita Pernia, your dedicated representative from the Mithril Treasury. I oversee your holdings in the Saint Silver Vault."
Gawain squinted. "Did you just say… 'Mithril Pony'?"
Suppressing a laugh, Merita gave him an apologetic smile. "No, Mithril Treasury—a premier institution for secure holdings."
Gawain relaxed, though he remained cautious. "So, you're a banker?"
"In a sense, yes," Merita replied. "I represent the institution tasked with safeguarding your ancient wealth. Given your unique circumstances, it was deemed best for me to meet you personally."
This piqued Gawain's interest. "Go on."
"The vault is extensive, containing relics and funds amassed during your time and preserved for posterity. Now that you've returned, our protocols require a face-to-face confirmation of ownership and a review of your assets," Merita explained, her gaze unwavering.
Gawain crossed his arms, assessing her. "I see. But let me guess—my revival wasn't exactly in your ledger."
"Indeed, it was… unforeseen. But the Mithril Treasury is known for its adaptability." She presented a small, ornate key. "This
grants you access to all pertinent assets, and I am here to assist you with any financial matters."
He took the key, examining it briefly before slipping it into his coat pocket. "Efficient, I must say. And here I thought I'd have to dig through old chests for every coin."
"Efficiency is our pride," Merita replied, smiling. "However, I am also tasked with informing you of the terms: your holdings are secure, but to claim full control, you must present documentation proving your identity."
Gawain nodded, unfazed. "You'll get your documents. I assume the vault contains more than just gold?"
"Yes, and some items may pique your interest more than others. Unique artifacts, letters, and…" Merita hesitated, "certain things left by the Cecil family. I believe they are meant for your eyes alone."
"Curious," Gawain murmured, then met her gaze. "What's your role in all this?"
Merita inclined her head. "I am here solely to assist. But, of course, discretion is vital. Not everyone would welcome your return so enthusiastically."
"Understood," he said, glancing at Amber, who had begun to stir from her chair. "Then I'll keep my expectations realistic."
Merita glanced over, chuckling softly. "It seems your guard has recovered. If you need anything further, you know where to find me."
And with a final bow, she departed as gracefully as she had arrived, leaving Gawain to ponder her visit—and the hidden vault waiting for him beneath the city.
As he locked the small mithril box and slipped it back into its hidden compartment, Gawain felt a surge of determination. His ancestral wealth was intact, but retrieving it was only the first step. The kingdom was ripe with intrigue, and with allies like Merita and resources in the Mithril Treasury, he might just have a chance to secure his family's future.
As Amber groaned back to consciousness, Gawain smirked. "Sleep well?"
Amber blinked, looking embarrassed. "Who… who was that?"
Gawain chuckled. "A bank representative. And, as you so aptly demonstrated, not someone to mess with."
Amber frowned. "I'll remember that. Next time, I'll… find another window."