After accepting the hospitality of Viscount Andrew, Gawain and his group were temporarily housed in the castle's guest rooms. At Gawain's specific request, even the two soldiers, maid Betty, and Amber were each given clean, comfortable quarters.
After dismissing the attendants, Hetty couldn't hold back her question, "Ancestor, do you think Viscount Andrew is reliable?"
Though they were neighboring lords, Hetty knew well the ways of nobility—no honor, no trustworthiness, though these were the very virtues they professed to uphold. Yet in the desolate and wild southern regions, far from political centers, the ways of the nobility were even more lacking.
Now that the Cecil family had hit rock bottom, Hetty felt little confidence that they could gain any advantage in dealings with other nobles—even with the unexpected return of their ancestor as a possible asset.
"Reliable? I hadn't even considered that," Gawain replied, surprising Hetty.
Rebecca, seated nearby, exclaimed, "What? And yet you said all those things to him…"
"Because it was necessary," Gawain said, turning to Rebecca. "We're practically at the end of our rope. And what do you have in your purse? Do you even have enough for the next meal?
"So we need assistance, and Viscount Andrew is the only option we have. Who else do you know in this southern region?"
Rebecca, a bit baffled, asked, "But why do you think he will help?"
The one who answered wasn't Gawain but Amber, who was casually munching grapes at the table. She scoffed at Rebecca, "Seriously? Because he doesn't want to lose money."
"Doesn't want to lose money?"
"When that knight, Philip, brought the refugees to Tanzan, Viscount Andrew already made up his mind," Amber said, her tone unhurried. "He could've closed the gates and let the refugees fend for themselves or starve. Let's be real—out here, kingdom law doesn't mean much compared to coins.
"But since he did accept them, it's clear he intends to collect repayment from the Cecil family. He took in the refugees because he thought the Cecils could repay the debt. You see, the deal was sealed from the start—today just clarified and extended it."
Rebecca gaped at her. "How…how do you even know these things? Are thieves supposed to understand all this?"
Amber grinned, baring her teeth, "Is it that complicated? I don't know noble etiquette, but I know thieves don't leave empty-handed. How are nobles different from thieves, really?"
Rebecca was incensed, grabbing her staff to conjure a fireball. "If you don't shut up, I'll hurl this fireball at you!"
Amber, sure Rebecca wouldn't actually do it, grinned and taunted, "Oh yeah? Bet you can't even summon an ice arrow."
The words had barely left her mouth when a whoosh of air brushed past her ear. An ice arrow zipped by, leaving a trail of frost against the wall. Not far away, Hetty stood with one finger raised, her expression indifferent. "Here's the ice arrow you wanted."
A bead of cold sweat formed on Amber's forehead. The precision of the ice arrow, brushing so close to her skin, struck her with more fear than the spell itself. The precision required for such control was astounding.
Meanwhile, Rebecca's mouth twitched; she knew her Aunt Hetty's offensive magic rarely hit its target—a glancing shot was typical.
Gawain clapped his hands, signaling an end to the bickering. "Alright, enough. You're all on the same side—let's tone it down."
The authority of their ancestor did the trick; Hetty and Rebecca put away their staffs, complying without hesitation. Amber, always impish, also knew when to stop, her mouth shutting for once (mainly thanks to the ice arrow's intimidating power).
Just then, a knock came at the door. After receiving Gawain's permission, Betty, the young maid, entered.
"Master, Lady Hetty, Lady Rebecca…" Betty greeted them one by one, skipping Amber entirely. "Sir Philip is here."
"Oh, we've been waiting for him," Gawain nodded, noting the frying pan still in Betty's hands. "Hold on—why are you still carrying that?"
Betty blinked, then replied, "Because…we haven't returned home yet, so I didn't want to lose it by putting it down."
Gawain sighed, pinching his brow. "Fine…suit yourself."
Moments later, Philip, the knight who had led the Cecil refugees to safety, entered the room.
Gawain was slightly surprised by Philip's youth; he appeared barely in his twenties, with short, light-blond hair, deep-set eyes, and a prominent nose. Though his features weren't particularly striking, his aura of valor and his upright posture gave him a presence that set him apart.
Not wearing armor, Philip was dressed in a simple outfit, a longsword at his side. Bandages peeked out from beneath his sleeves and around his neck, evidence of his injuries.
"Milady, my lady…" Philip greeted Rebecca and Hetty with a bow upon entering. "I'm relieved to see you both safe."
"Please rise, Sir Philip," Rebecca quickly helped him up. "It's all thanks to you that we could save those soldiers and civilians."
She noticed his bandages. "Those injuries…"
"Injuries from the escape, but they're healing well," Philip said hastily. "Viscount Andrew arranged for a healer and an apothecary. But…"
He paused, his expression shifting with an uncertain mix of shame and reluctance.
"You mean the gold and silver we gave you when you fled the castle?" Hetty guessed, putting him at ease. "Don't worry—that was meant for emergencies. We told you to use it as needed."
"You needn't worry—Viscount Andrew only took part of the funds…" Philip's face brightened slightly as he lowered his voice. "Before entering the town, I split up the remaining valuables among several trusted soldiers, hiding some outside the city walls as well. I wanted to keep enough for our people's sustenance or, if needed, for the soldiers to make their way independently."
Gawain nodded approvingly. This young knight clearly possessed both bravery and intellect. Leading a small group of soldiers to safeguard defenseless civilians during a retreat showed his courage. Realizing he couldn't challenge another noble's authority and wisely taking measures to protect his lord's assets—and considering the soldiers' futures—spoke to his acumen.
He smiled in approval. "Well done. How many people made it out alive?"
From the moment Philip entered, he'd noticed Gawain, whose imposing figure was impossible to ignore. Now, hearing his question, Philip seized the chance to ask, "Are you…?"
"It seems Viscount Andrew has already informed you," Hetty said with a nod. "This is the ancestor of the Cecil family, one of the founding Dukes of Ansu, the Dawn…"
Before she could finish, Gawain cut her off, "Alright, alright—no need for that old title; it gives me goosebumps."
But before he could even complete the sentence, Philip was already kneeling, one knee on the ground. "Duke Gawain! I heard the news, but I never imagined it could be true! You are the model of all knights. Since childhood, I have…"
"Enough, enough! How much longer is this going to go on?" Gawain hastily pulled Philip up, feeling unprecedentedly awkward as a foreign spirit inhabiting someone else's body. "Just tell me, how many people made it out alive?"
Philip struggled to control his emotions, his expression sobering as he answered. "Out of those who broke through that day, only a little over a thousand. After attacks from beasts, injuries, and illness, less than nine hundred survived to reach Tanzan."
"And the exact number?"
"Eight hundred seventy-three. Besides myself, sixteen are regular soldiers, thirty are militia, and the rest are civilians."
Rebecca swayed unsteadily.
"So…this is all that's left of Cecil's people," Hetty murmured, "I never imagined…"
Gawain placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Do you know how many people we had when we first fled from the heart of Gondor seven hundred years ago?"
Hetty looked at Gawain. "At that time…?"
"We had tens of thousands," Gawain sighed. "So, yes, today's situation is a bit of a headache."
Hetty fell silent.
Meanwhile, in Viscount Andrew's office, the viscount was busy drafting a confidential letter.
This letter was addressed directly to the king.
Because of the threat from the Gondor Wasteland, the Kingdom of Ansu had regarded the southern region as a critical line of defense since its founding. Even in the current era of relative peace, many regulations established centuries ago were still in place in the southern lands. For instance, every noble in the region, no matter how small, was a direct vassal of the Ansu royal family, granted the right—and the duty—to report directly to the king.
"To His Majesty the King, Your loyal vassal extends his greetings.
"As you may know from my previous letter, the territory of Cecil has been struck by disaster. Now, even more astonishing news has arisen. The matter is unprecedented in its strangeness, yet I have personally verified that it is indeed true.
"The founder of the Cecil family, High Duke Gawain Cecil, the foremost of the Seven Generals of Ansu's founding, has returned to the living.
"I witnessed with my own eyes a light descending upon the desolated lands of the Cecil territory, obliterating the invading creatures. Soon after, a dragon appeared (a detailed report on the dragon shall be submitted separately). Upon investigation, I, alongside Viscount Cecil, beheld the miraculous revival of a hero…"