As Gawain's words settled in the air, Victoria gave a slight nod. Beside her, Duke Baldwin arched an eyebrow. "Should I make myself scarce?"
"It's unnecessary," Gawain replied, reaching for a glass of red wine from a passing servant's tray. His attention returned to Victoria. "This matter concerns the dragon."
"Only a rumor," Victoria replied in a tone as cool as the northern winds. Her demeanor was composed and distant, a barrier for those unfamiliar with her. "I've already looked into it. Aside from a drunken witness, no one reported seeing this supposed dragon."
Gawain's expression remained calm. "I'm not referring to that incident specifically, but rather to the last few centuries in the North. Since my departure, how often have dragon rumors emerged in your territories?"
Victoria's gaze flickered briefly, and Duke Baldwin's curiosity piqued. "Now that you mention it, dragon sightings have practically become a trademark of the North, haven't they?"
"Indeed," Victoria replied. "While rumors do occasionally surface, they're largely the superstitions of the mountain folk. The region's snowstorms often lead them to imagine dragon roars, and with the Sacred Dragon Duchy nearby—where dragons are openly revered—it's not surprising that such tales persist. However, the Weald family has ruled the North for seven centuries, and in that time, no one has ever seen a dragon in flight. These tales are baseless."
Gawain regarded her steadily. "And yet I've seen one—passing directly overhead."
"If that were the case, I'd be the first to know," she replied, a slight smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "I half expected you to invite me to dance."
"I'll pass," Gawain chuckled. "Seven hundred years without practice—I doubt I'd recognize a modern dance."
Waving them away, he added, "Go enjoy yourselves. You needn't feel obliged to keep an old relic company."
The two dukes exchanged a look of mild surprise. Rarely were they spoken to in this manner. The experience left them with an unexpected sense of humility, almost as if they were children again.
Gawain sighed inwardly as they left, knowing he hadn't secured the information he sought. Duke Victoria's comments about dragon rumors hadn't provided any substantial leads. For most people on the continent, dragons were little more than myth. But to Gawain, who had witnessed much from his vantage point above, dragons were no strangers.
After his encounter with the dragon, he had sifted through his memories, noting that nearly every sighting originated in the North. Dragons crossing the northern mountains had a tendency to head towards the continent's heart, completing some elusive task before vanishing. Yet from his elevated view, he had only glimpses of the continent and its southern coast. He had no way of knowing if the dragons' origin lay beyond the mountains or from distant lands across the seas.
Still, he had a strong sense: the dragons would return.
With no reason to remain in the capital, Gawain's party left on the third day. The king's promised assistance—provisions and craftsmen—would take time to organize, with supplies planned for shipment along the Dorgon River once it swelled. Selecting a hundred craftsmen required care, as each guild sought to assign its less desirable members—those without connections or who had fallen out of favor. Gawain, eager to advance his plans, collected the necessary documents from the king and departed the capital at a quick pace.
Whereas their journey to the capital had been leisurely, filled with stops, their return was hurried. Gawain found himself longing for teleportation magic, which he had read about in tales of other realms. Such conveniences, however, were rare. Magic in this world was limited primarily to combative applications—hurling fireballs or channeling arcane energy. Advanced spells like teleportation, though referenced in ancient lore, were largely mythical. According to legend, the ancient primal elves had mastered spatial magic, as had the dragons. Yet, no such feats were seen in recent times.
Meanwhile, in the North, Duchess Victoria Weald had returned to her stronghold, Winterhold.
The northern dukes rarely left their domains for long; even in times of relative peace, the North required vigilant oversight. After her discussion with Gawain, Victoria had departed Silverhold immediately, taking the swiftest griffin back to her lands.
Inside the castle, Victoria handed her fur cloak to a waiting servant before heading into her private study. There, a dark-haired woman of plain appearance placed a cup of hot tea on the desk and began to massage Victoria's shoulders expertly.
"You seem tired," the woman said softly.
"The Founding Duke has truly returned," Victoria murmured. "Gawain Cecil. He looks exactly as described, and so does his weapon—the Sword of the Pioneer. I even cast a detection spell on him. Everything he said was truthful."
The woman, Maggie, stopped briefly. "Detection spells can be circumvented by skilled illusionists. Even when they work, magic isn't infallible. You shouldn't rely solely on it."
Victoria shook her head. "I trust my instincts as well."
"Your instincts…" Maggie resumed massaging. "So, what will you do?"
"He seems uninterested in the kingdom's power dynamics. All he sought were rights to open new lands." Victoria's tone remained calm. "Interestingly, he publicly acknowledged King Francis II's legitimacy, recognizing him as a descendant of the founding bloodline. I had expected him to challenge the current dynasty, but he has openly supported the king."
Maggie raised an eyebrow. "They likely met privately. You may have overlooked that detail."
"Indeed," Victoria admitted, a trace of frustration in her voice. "This will only strengthen Francis's influence."
Maggie's hands paused again. "Are you planning to—"
"No," Victoria replied firmly. "The Weald family's goal has always been the stability of Anzu, not a bid for power."
"Still, you won't take any measures?"
Victoria exhaled. "My father's methods were relentless. But times have changed, and I intend to handle matters differently."
Her gaze drifted to a wall bearing the Weald family crest and five portraits, including those of the Founding King Charles I and the four founding knights. Every noble household in Anzu displayed these images as a reminder of the kingdom's origins. Gawain Cecil's portrait hung beside her own ancestor's—a stoic, armored figure, his eyes cast toward some distant horizon.
Victoria looked back, almost as if meeting his gaze. His unexpected return unsettled her deeply.
"Maggie," she began, "please take down Duke Cecil's portrait. It no longer feels appropriate."
Maggie hesitated. "Remove his portrait? Are you certain?"
"…He specifically mentioned his dislike for displaying his image while he lives," Victoria replied, her fatigue evident. "He is my elder, and he knew my ancestor well. I'll honor his wishes."
Nodding, Maggie moved to take down the portrait, then paused at Victoria's next question. "Maggie, you're from the mountains, aren't you? What do you think of the stories about dragons?"
The dark-haired woman hesitated. "They're merely tales."
"Yet a dragon was sighted in the Cecil domain."
"Did it?" Maggie responded with a hint of apprehension as she removed the portrait. "That's rarely a good sign."
The castle walls felt a bit heavier as Victoria watched the portrait come down, pondering what lay ahead.