When Gawain pointed to the Dark Mountain Range as his intended site of reclamation, the room fell into silence. It was an unexpected choice, and the first to break the quiet was Duke Baldwin Franklin of the Western Region, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Are you certain of this?" he asked, barely masking his disbelief.
Gawain smiled, unbothered. "Why wouldn't I be? Or is there someone who already holds this territory?"
King Francis II, seated at the head of the table, shook his head slowly. "No, indeed. The entire Dark Mountain Range and the lands to the south are unclaimed, perfectly aligning with the law on frontier reclamation. However, the region lies dangerously close to Typhon Empire, and even more critically, it borders the accursed Gondor Wastelands. Are you sure this is wise?"
The Dark Mountain Range formed a natural border for Ansu's southern region. Stretching far to the east, it bordered the Typhon Empire and stretched westward along Ansu's frontier. The mountains finally bent southward, merging into the corrupted lands of the Gondor Wastelands. Officially, Ansu's territory extended into the plains south of the mountain range, but realistically, the kingdom controlled only the north face of the mountains—and even that control was tenuous at best.
The principal reason was the Gondor Wastelands, a region still poisoned by chaotic elemental energies and residual magic. A constant flow of toxic storms and wandering creatures made it nearly uninhabitable. While the wastelands no longer expanded, their destructive reach was far from eradicated. The Ansu kingdom had made several attempts to reclaim this area in the past, even aspiring to restore the lost Gondor territory. But each effort failed miserably, with outposts overtaken by storms, and the resources poured into them wasted.
Ultimately, the Ansu government withdrew its reclaiming forces, halting all efforts at the northern edge of the Dark Mountain Range. Later, as Ansu's northern regions flourished, and diplomatic relations grew with the Violet Kingdom, the kingdom's focus shifted further north. A century ago, the Nightfog Civil War decimated the southern Cecil family and left the southern territories in disarray, further deteriorating conditions near the wastelands. Today, the Dark Mountain Range and the lands surrounding it were as barren as ever.
But Gawain only chuckled. "During my time, the circumstances were far worse. I might not be well-versed in courtly politics, but when it comes to taming hostile terrain, I doubt any of you could rival me."
Seeing his resolve, none of the other noble leaders pressed the issue. For the kingdom's leaders, the question was not whether Gawain could establish a stronghold in the south but how soon he could leave the capital. His chosen location posed no threat to their interests, and, as the others likely thought, "If the old founder wants to settle far away, who are we to argue?"
Indeed, had it not been for the remaining formalities to negotiate, King Francis II might already have been arranging the carriages to send Gawain's party on its way.
With the fundamental question of Gawain's reclamation rights decided, Gawain skillfully led the discussion to address several other "minor matters."
Firstly, the title of Duke Gawain Cecil would remain in effect. However, it would be held in name only, non-transferable to any heirs unless, upon Gawain's second death, the Cecil family had proven itself worthy through territorial success or some other notable achievement. Only then would the family's position be reassessed according to its deeds and holdings.
This arrangement was an awkward compromise, acknowledging Gawain's historic rank yet balancing it with the tarnished legacy left by the Cecil family a century ago. In essence, it was an unprecedented arrangement, legally inconsistent with Ansu's founding laws. However, faced with a resurrected founder, one could hardly expect adherence to the usual protocols.
To soften the implications of this temporary title, they devised an additional condition: Ansu would recognize the Cecil family's complete autonomy in any reclaimed territories, similar to the original land rights granted to Ansu's early pioneers.
Thus, with a few smaller provisions agreed upon, Gawain effectively secured what he had come for—a self-governed enclave, a new Cecil domain unburdened by political interference. Although much of it was settled earlier through Prince Edmund's mediation, today's gathering served to formalize the agreement.
No one raised objections. The land was far from any existing holdings, posing no immediate conflict with the vested interests of current noble families. And with this assurance, King Francis II authorized the required frontier decree, proclaiming the Cecil family's rights to reclaim territory around the Dark Mountain Range up to any neighboring kingdom's border. He further promised logistical support, including a contingent of a hundred skilled workers and apprentices as well as the first year's supply of essential resources like food and cloth.
These workers, comprising artisans and apprentice mages, would serve for a term of three years, after which they could choose to remain. Should Gawain wish to retain any, the Cecil family would "purchase" them at thirty gold crowns per head.
While this support was modest, it was a lifeline for the Cecils. Resources stockpiled in the Cecil treasury were meaningless if they could not provide the skills and provisions needed to jumpstart their new domain. In a time of peace, convincing skilled tradespeople to uproot themselves and resettle on the very edge of the Gondor Wastelands was nearly impossible, making these one hundred craftsmen and apprentices invaluable.
In the end, the deal left both sides content. And as with any agreement between royalty and nobility, it called for celebration.
The Oak Hall was sealed as the court prepared for a banquet in the grand hall. Noblemen and women who were previously out of sight soon emerged, summoned by the ringing of ceremonial bells. A wide assortment of delicious food and drink lined the tables as music filled the air. It was a royal reception, marking the return of a founding hero, and the aristocracy responded with excitement, anticipating new alliances and opportunities.
For Rebecca, this occasion was a revelation. She had grown up in a family far removed from high society, isolated by both their declining fortune and the long-standing exclusion of the Cecils from royal circles. Her only experience of "high society" had been her sixteenth birthday celebration, a humble feast in the manor's hall with a simple spread. In comparison, the opulence of Silver Fort's reception hall, with its music, grand decor, and magic light displays, was an unimaginable luxury.
Initially, Rebecca tried to act composed and refined, but her youthful curiosity and excitement soon overtook her. She peppered Gawain with questions, and he humored her, answering each with enthusiasm as they observed the hall.
Her wide-eyed curiosity and rustic behavior amused the other guests, many of whom eyed her with polite smiles or concealed chuckles. However, none dared openly mock her, as Gawain stood protectively by her side. In his presence, any scorn for the young heiress vanished, replaced with respectful nods and courteous exchanges.
Several young nobles approached to invite Rebecca to dance, perhaps seeing in her an opportunity to connect with the restored Cecil family. Yet each attempt was met with a gentle but firm refusal from Gawain.
"If I don't step in, they'll have her talking circles around herself," he commented lightly as another would-be suitor retreated.
"Overprotectiveness won't help her mature, Lord Gawain," came a warm, measured voice. It was Duke Baldwin Franklin, accompanied by Duchess Victoria Wilde of the North. "She's of age now and should be gaining experience among society."
Gawain turned, regarding them with a wry smile. "I died too young to know much about raising children."
Baldwin blinked, momentarily speechless. Victoria maintained her cool composure, nodding slightly.
"And besides," Gawain continued, gesturing to where Rebecca stood, "she's too busy to bother with social niceties right now."
Rebecca was indeed preoccupied—leaning over a banquet table, sampling the exquisite dishes with enthusiasm.
"How… unrestrained," Baldwin murmured diplomatically.
Gawain chuckled, then looked at Victoria. "Rather than offer parental advice, perhaps I might ask something of you, Lady Wilde?"
Victoria raised an eyebrow, her expression remaining carefully controlled.
"Three months ago," he began, "rumors of a dragon sighting emerged from your territory. It was reported that a traveler saw a dragon fly north over the mountains. I'd like to know more about that."
Victoria's response was calm and deliberate. "Yes, the rumor did circulate. It turned out to be baseless—the traveler had mistaken the winter storm patterns for a dragon's flight. Witnesses were lacking, and under questioning, the witness admitted to drinking beforehand."
"But you've no direct confirmation it was a mistake, have you?"
Victoria shook her head. "No, we do not. I'll pursue the matter further upon my return."
"That would be prudent," Gawain agreed, though he did not expect much. Dragons were notoriously elusive. While the creature that destroyed his estate seemed to come from nowhere, he was certain there was a larger pattern at play, possibly linked to the disturbances near the Gondor Wastelands.
A subtle tension lingered as the evening wore on. Gawain's inquiries struck a nerve with many present, as he had intended. He was neither naive nor entirely certain in his warnings. He knew well that many still doubted the tales of his resurrection and the looming threat of a new magical disaster.
Yet, as he observed the gathered nobility, he sensed their doubt beginning to erode. The warning, coupled with his intent to settle in the unforgiving south, resonated deeper than anticipated.
Whether they believed in the full extent of his vision or not, they now felt the gravity of his concerns. As a founding hero of Ansu, his influence was not merely a matter of nostalgia but a reminder of survival. His final exchange with the royal court had planted the seeds of both caution and respect—a foundation for the new Cecil frontier to grow upon.