Gawain was unaware of Rebecca's cheeky and audacious idea. However, he was well aware that Viscount Andrew's protection of the Cecil refugees was far from charitable. The era of noble lords defending their people with unwavering loyalty, with all ranks united in rebuilding civilization, was long gone. Though the Kingdom of Anzu hadn't yet returned to the heights of Gondor, its nobles had mastered the art of self-interest with remarkable skill.
There was no doubt that from the moment the Cecil refugees stepped into Tanzan Town, a debt had landed squarely on Rebecca's shoulders. But bearing this debt was better than having them perish.
"The Cecil family will be grateful for your help…" Gawain broke the silence. "However, the disaster itself is our most pressing concern."
Viscount Andrew had been observing Gawain since he entered, seated between Rebecca and Hetty. He was curious about this dignified man in ancient noble attire, with a large sword by his side. He had never heard of such a person in noble circles, yet Hetty and Rebecca's respectful demeanor indicated he was no ordinary man.
So when Gawain spoke, Andrew seized the opportunity to ask, "Forgive my curiosity, but who might you be, sir?"
"Gawain Cecil, ancestor of the Cecil family, one of the founding generals of Anzu, the Duke of the South, and the Pioneer among Pioneers…" Hetty, who had anticipated this question, immediately rose with a serious expression. "You surely grew up hearing his name—the Light of the Dawn."
Gawain held his stern expression, trying to look as dignified as possible, nodding slightly in agreement with Hetty's grandiose introduction. But he couldn't help a small frown at her last line, leaning toward Rebecca and whispering, "What's with that last title?"
Rebecca whispered back quickly, "The founder granted it to you after you passed…"
Gawain was shocked. "That old romantic couldn't come up with something less melodramatic?!"
Meanwhile, Viscount Andrew was momentarily dumbfounded. Had the noblewoman before him, facing such hardships, finally lost her sanity? After all, as Gawain had anticipated, no one would believe a story about the Cecil family's ancestor rising from the grave. Nobles and scholars would dismiss it as a fairytale—though superstitious commoners might, just might, believe.
Andrew showed admirable composure by refraining from calling a servant to give Hetty a calming draught.
"Lady Hetty, please… give me a moment…" Andrew struggled to maintain his composure, seemingly searching for words that would be tactful yet convey his disbelief. But he eventually blurted out, "I understand you've experienced an unimaginable nightmare, but isn't it… a bit far-fetched to use such an outlandish story?"
Hetty's expression remained unchanged. "I expected you to react this way. In fact, even we found it hard to believe. But the ancestor of the Cecil family has indeed risen from his long slumber. We witnessed him rising from his tomb, holding the Sword of the Pioneer. And we have confirmed he is truly alive, not some form of undead."
Andrew looked bemused, as if trying to decide whether to indulge Hetty's story out of politeness. "If you have any specific request, please state it directly…"
Gawain gestured for Hetty to sit down, then placed the Sword of the Pioneer on the table, fixing his gaze on Viscount Andrew. "Viscount, what would be the point of Hetty inventing such a tale? A viscount's domain has been destroyed by monsters and elemental chaos, and even a dragon appeared over our land. Such an event alone is enough to alarm His Majesty in the capital. In such dire circumstances, do you really think we'd go through the trouble of putting someone in ancient attire and handing them a fake relic just to spin a fairy tale for our amusement?"
As he spoke, Gawain channeled his magical energy into the Sword of the Pioneer. Ancient crimson patterns lit up along the blade, sharper than ever. Near the hilt, a symbol of crossed blades and plows appeared—the very crest of the Cecil family, set at Anzu's founding to represent their legacy of pioneering.
Knights, too, possessed magical power, though their use of it differed greatly from mages. Although the Sword of the Pioneer had lost much of its former power, its basic features remained intact. Andrew, who had once seen a replica of the sword in the Royal Cathedral, was left staring in disbelief. If this wasn't a mere forgery, it could only be the real sword—the revered relic housed in the Cecil family tomb that no one dared disturb, even in their decline.
Could a fallen family really have exhumed their ancestor, unearthed the sacred sword, and fabricated such a monumental lie?
Andrew hesitated, realizing that if this were a ruse, its cost would be absurdly high. But if it wasn't a ruse…
The thought of an ancestor springing to life from his own grave was, frankly, unbelievable.
"You're welcome to bring in elven artisans to authenticate this sword. Their kind forged it, after all; they'll know how to examine the elven sigils. Or compare me to the portraits of the founding dukes—fortunately, seven centuries of rest haven't much altered my appearance…" Gawain remarked, watching the conflicting emotions on Viscount Andrew's face with a slight smile. "If you can, seek out any elven mercenaries who may have participated in the Second Pioneering. Some of them may still remember me."
"No… that won't be necessary," Viscount Andrew muttered, rubbing his temples, clearly out of his depth with this surreal situation. "A legendary hero like you… I suppose it's possible for someone to awaken after a seven-hundred-year slumber."
Yet it was obvious that Andrew remained skeptical. He was merely choosing to suspend disbelief rather than engage in a debate he felt ill-equipped to handle. In truth, he seemed to think, *What does it matter if the Cecil ancestor is back or not?* Since the Cecils claimed it was true, he would treat it as such.
But just as he came to this conclusion, Andrew seemed to realize something Gawain had mentioned earlier. "Wait… did you say… a dragon appeared in your lands?"
"Yes, a blue dragon," Gawain confirmed, nodding. "It came from an unknown direction but eventually flew off to the northwest…" He then relayed the events in the Cecil territory.
"Abominations… creatures from the magical tide… and a dragon… By the heavens…" Viscount Andrew's brow furrowed deeply, his sickly complexion paling further as he muttered, "What on earth is happening to this world…"
"How the world fares is a matter for scholars and His Majesty to consider," Hetty interrupted. "For now, our priority is getting word of this crisis to Saint Sunil. The situation is already dire."
"I've already sent a messenger with news of the attack on the Cecil lands…" Andrew said. "He set off on horseback and should be halfway there by now."
Clearly, Viscount Andrew was capable of prompt action, not only providing refuge for the Cecil refugees but also swiftly dispatching a messenger to alert the king. For a border noble, this was unusually commendable. However, Hetty knew more was needed. "Viscount Andrew, that won't be enough. This matter is serious enough that Rebecca must personally inform His Majesty. And with Duke Cecil awakened, he, too, must journey to the capital. We're grateful for your support, but we need more help."
Andrew lowered his gaze, considering Hetty's words. He then rose, pacing before the long table, his hands clasped behind his back.
"What exactly do you need? Fresh horses? Supplies? Guards?"
"All of that…" Rebecca said bravely, "and we also need you to continue caring for the Cecil citizens until we return from the capital or secure a new land to settle them."
Andrew raised a hand, cutting her off. "And therein lies the issue. I have been as generous as possible in assisting my neighbors. I am willing to be a giving man, but I am merely a viscount. How much can I realistically offer to sustain these refugees?"
Gawain took a sip of his now-cold tea, thinking that the viscount had finally arrived at the "real" business.
Rebecca, growing impatient, said, "Sir Philip brought a supply of gold and silver during the evacuation. That should suffice—"
"Ah yes, I'm aware of the gold and silver," Andrew interrupted her again. "Rest assured, I am not one to exploit misfortune. But all things—herbs, food—have their costs. I believe I mentioned the brave knight arrived here badly injured, as were the soldiers and citizens he brought with him. I used my finest herbs and even hired the best priests for their treatment. These things are expensive, and the gold and silver merely cover the essentials."
Rebecca's eyes widened in realization.
"Again, I'm not trying to take advantage of the situation," Andrew continued, his tone unwavering. "So I will keep providing refuge for the refugees and offer you all the assistance I can. I only want to be certain that, in the end, the Cecil family will have the means to repay this debt."