If there was any part of Tanzan Town that left Gawain slightly less disappointed and allowed him to experience a touch of classical elegance, it was the affluent district located in the northern part of town. This area, separated from the slums by a series of roads and a high wall, was home to the town's respectable citizens.
Here stood charming two-story houses built from light-gray stone and cedar wood. The balconies on the second floors displayed drying fish and cured meats, signs of affluence. While Tanzan was merely a town, lacking the scale of a full city, the residents of this wealthy district took pride in calling themselves "citizens," a title that set them apart. They were free people who could pay taxes and held respectable positions, such as landowners and foremen in the mines.
Today, as usual, these respectable folk stood on their balconies, discussing recent events. Every topic of mild interest was worth their time, but recently, the story that occupied everyone's mind was the disaster that had befallen the Cecil lands.
Tanzan Town and its surrounding area were part of Viscount Andrew's fiefdom, neighboring the Cecil lands. Though a large stretch of wasteland separated the two prosperous regions, they were still connected by the main road. Even in this era of limited communication, news of the tragedy in Cecil had quickly spread through the town.
First, a group resembling refugees had arrived, led by a knight and a few soldiers. Soon after, word spread that the Cecil lands had been overrun and destroyed by monsters and elemental waves. The shocking news seemed like a tale spun by bards, something the townsfolk, long accustomed to peace, initially found hard to believe.
Yet the refugees and weary soldiers who entered the town made it impossible to dismiss the story as mere rumor. Viscount Andrew soon ordered stricter curfews and increased patrols around the town's outskirts, solidifying the nightmare into reality.
What had once been idle chatter over drinks became a serious topic of conversation. At first, they only discussed it occasionally in taverns. Now, they took to standing on their balconies, fish and cured meat in the background, to debate it earnestly.
And while the townsfolk speculated on the final fall of the Cecil family, its head had already entered Viscount Andrew's castle after passing through both the affluent and church districts.
Though the lives of Tanzan's poorer citizens were harsh, Viscount Andrew's residence was as grand as ever. Thanks to his prosperous lands and skill in amassing wealth, the viscount's castle was far more opulent than the modest fortress Rebecca had grown up in.
After their identities were announced, Viscount Andrew's steward escorted Gawain and his companions into a spacious, well-lit reception room, where they sat at a long mahogany table, waiting for the viscount.
Seated in a large, comfortable velvet chair and looking at the delicate silver tea set before him, Gawain couldn't help but think of the emaciated peasants and their ramshackle homes outside. He had to admit, the charm he'd once imagined in this world of swords and magic was starting to wear thin.
"Ancestor…" Rebecca whispered, nudging his elbow. "How should we introduce you?"
"Just like we discussed," Gawain replied calmly. "In this setting, we'll be direct."
"Ancestor…" Hetty added, glancing pointedly at Amber. "Are you sure… she should be here?"
Amber was seated across from Gawain, intently studying the silverware. Her primary method of investigation involved pouring out her tea, then stealthily slipping a teacup into her coat. As Gawain watched, she added a spoon to her collection.
Gawain shot her a glare. "Amber!"
The thief yelped in mock surprise, then sheepishly returned her ill-gotten goods to the table. Her collection included two teacups, three spoons, a silver plate, a pocket watch, two goblets, a handful of nuts, and the monocle that the butler had been wearing.
Gawain: "?!"
DoraA-Amber over here, how on earth do you do it?!
He patted his sword, silently grateful for her restraint in not pilfering the relic while exhuming his tomb.
"She's my key witness to my resurrection…" Gawain said, trying to keep a straight face. "And besides, don't you think she'd be more trouble if we left her unwatched?"
Hetty nodded in agreement, convinced.
At that moment, Viscount Andrew finally entered the reception room.
The oak doors swung open as his servants announced him, and a tall, slender man stepped into the room. He wore a fitted black coat with a long train, his dark brown hair slicked back with scented pomade. A thin, neatly trimmed mustache extended from beneath his nose. His complexion was pale, with an unusual flush—a somewhat sickly look that was common among nobles, especially those lacking magical or martial talent.
To experience supernatural power beyond their innate abilities and indulge in unrestrained pleasures, some nobles would overuse costly potions to "enhance perception," with the side effect showing in their pale complexions. They even took pride in this, viewing pallor as a mark of nobility. Meanwhile, the Cecil descendants, who still adhered to ancestral principles of diligent training and honing their skills in martial arts or magic, were seen as peculiar within aristocratic circles.
But the Cecil family had fallen on hard times. Forget about rare potions; Rebecca couldn't even afford to repair the holes in their family castle—not that it mattered much now.
"Ah, the beautiful Lady Hetty, and equally beautiful Lady Rebecca, I must apologize for my tardiness…"
As he entered the room, Viscount Andrew raised his voice, his tone melodic, with a seemingly sincere look of regret on his face. "I've been so busy. The tragedy that befell the Cecil lands has spread through my domain, and the people are anxious. Most of my days are spent organizing defenses and receiving reports from patrols."
Gawain shuddered slightly, murmuring to himself, "Do I really have to talk to all modern nobles in this operatic tone?"
Rebecca whispered, "Ancestor, weren't nobles in your time the same?"
"Back then, we'd usually hide out in taverns, drink hard liquor, and flatter each other over business deals while we hammered things out."
"Well, customs have changed. Though, admittedly, Viscount Andrew's style is… a bit more pronounced than most."
"We understand. You have every reason to be busy…"
Hetty noticed that Rebecca, the rightful heir of the Cecil family, was absorbed in chatting with her ancestor instead of standing up and responding to Andrew. With a sigh of frustration, she shot Rebecca a disapproving glare and rose from her seat. "However, I must remind you that you should address Rebecca as 'Viscount,' not 'Lady.' She inherited the family title last year. In formal settings like this, she should be addressed as Viscount Rebecca or Viscount Cecil."
Noble titles in this world weren't strictly bound to formal conventions. Titles could be prefaced by a first name or surname as the occasion warranted.
Realizing her lapse after Hetty's prompt, Rebecca finally stood up and gave Andrew a polite nod in the manner expected of peers, albeit a little awkwardly. "Viscount Andrew, thank you for your hospitality."
"Of course, Viscount Cecil…" Hetty's reminder seemed to bring Andrew back to a more respectful tone, his voice adopting a touch more gravity as he used the formal title. "I deeply regret what happened in the Cecil lands. It was truly a disaster. But I am relieved that you are safe, and it is good to know that the Cecil lineage endures."
What followed was an exchange of polite, but ultimately empty, words of concern and gratitude. One party was obliged to express their concern according to etiquette, while the other feigned gratitude and warmth. Clearly, Rebecca wasn't particularly skilled in the art of social diplomacy. Without much finesse, she abruptly steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Before the castle fell, Sir Philip led a team to escort the citizens to safety. They should have reached this town. According to the laws established by the founding king, they should currently be under your protection. How are they faring?"
"Of course, the laws set by the founding king are sacred," Andrew nodded. "Although my domain is small, I am more than able to shelter some distressed neighbors. The brave knight was severely injured but is recovering in the Church of the Holy Light, where he receives the best possible care. As for the loyal soldiers and unfortunate citizens, I've placed them in the eastern and southern districts. Not a single person has succumbed to cold or hunger."
The fact that none of the Cecil refugees had died from exposure or starvation was indeed a sign of Andrew's adequate efforts.
However, Viscount Andrew had his reasons for offering sanctuary, as every Cecil citizen he sheltered represented a debt that would eventually fall upon Rebecca. If she hoped to rebuild the Cecil family, she would have to repay Andrew for each life he'd taken in.
Just as the law in Anzu clearly stated, "A noble must provide shelter for the citizens of a neighboring noble in distress," it also stipulated that "the recipient shall provide due compensation to the benefactor." Gawain knew these laws well—after all, he had helped draft them alongside King Charles I.
Though Rebecca was still young and inexperienced, she understood this principle. After hearing Andrew's words, her expression darkened slightly. She doubted her ability to pay off this sudden debt.
She glanced at Gawain, and a mischievous thought crossed her mind. *The old ancestor's clothes… they're antiques, right? Maybe I could convince him to sell them?*