The survivors who managed to escape the nightmare of Cecil's domain were lucky, yet also profoundly unfortunate. They could still see the burning houses, feel the corrupted earth, and remember the terrifying giants emerging from chaotic mists. All these horrors, along with the memory of friends and family lost to them, haunted the survivors ceaselessly.
Even within the relative safety of Tanzan Town, shielded by knights and soldiers, the fear never left their hearts, not even momentarily. Few among them, even the armored soldiers, found restful sleep in those days. Many turned to drink to numb their fears; those too poor to afford it endured nightmares that plagued their minds. As refugees, their conditions on a foreign lord's land were abysmal, and Sir Philip struggled even to maintain discipline among the soldiers, let alone ensure order among the civilians.
Fortunately, their lord had returned, and she brought with her an unexpected source of strength.
Outside Tanzan Town, Rebecca looked upon the gathered survivors from Cecil's lands. They were emaciated, ragged, and weathered, despite Baron Andrew's best efforts at minimal housing and food. For a noble of his time, such care was generous indeed, and Rebecca knew she could ask for no more. Yet, even limited as it was, the mere presence of their lord among them proved to be a potent source of encouragement.
In truth, the loyalty of these people to their lord was shallow at best. They had known Rebecca to be kind, perhaps, but as a young leader who'd only recently taken on her role, she remained largely unknown to many of them. Even so, just her appearance, coupled with her declaration that she would protect them, brought relief to their unsettled hearts. Centuries of feudalism had dulled their curiosity and taught them to be easily satisfied. To Gawain, this was a strength born of ignorance and a lack of education, but it served them well nonetheless.
Only a small group of refugees had come to see their lord off; the rest stayed behind in Tanzan Town, managing their meager belongings and doing whatever labor they could to secure food. Rebecca looked at them, wanting to speak but unsure of what to say. Instead, she turned to Sir Philip. "Look after them, Sir Philip. Try to ensure not one of them is lost before we return."
"With my honor, I swear it!" Sir Philip stood tall. "I will guard each citizen and every possession of the Cecil family in your name."
"Remember to carry out all the tasks I left with you," Gawain added. "Baron Andrew will provide what aid you need, but don't hesitate to spend money where it's crucial. The tasks I assigned are far more valuable than the funds used to achieve them."
The young knight nodded. "Of course! But... are these things really that important?"
"They absolutely are," Gawain replied with a knowing smile. "What seems like mere rumors or gossip at a small scale becomes, at a larger scale, a powerful force—the court itself may feel the effects. Never underestimate the power of words."
After final preparations, Gawain and Rebecca boarded the carriage Baron Andrew had provided, joined by Betty, the devoted Sir Byron, the skilled thief Amber, and a dozen family soldiers. Herti remained behind to manage matters in Tanzan. As Rebecca's "Aunt Herti," she was visibly anxious about her niece's journey to the capital. Standing beside the carriage, she held Rebecca's hand, delivering a stream of advice: "Remember who you are. Don't tarnish the Cecil name, but also avoid needless conflicts with the nobles in the capital. When meeting the king, follow protocol; don't startle anyone with fireballs—remember, the capital isn't like home. If you're unsure of anything, consult Gawain or Sir Byron first, as every word you say will be scrutinized. And above all, listen to Gawain in dealings with the nobility—he's a Grand Duke, and he understands..."
Hearing this, Gawain himself grew tense. In truth, he knew little of such matters. Even the original Gawain Cecil had known little of capital etiquette; in his time, governance involved tavern gatherings, fierce toasts, and arguments with the king. But as Herti looked to him for reassurance, he offered her a calming nod. "Don't worry—I understand."
Thus reassured, Herti smiled, and the carriage rolled onward toward the capital, carrying Rebecca, who knew little, and Gawain, who knew less but appeared to know more.
Meanwhile, Sir Philip began deploying messengers as per Gawain's instructions. Among them were Cecil's surviving citizens, along with some able-bodied locals of Tanzan Town. Even the lowliest ruffians and drunks who could be persuaded for a few coins were recruited. Engaging these types unsettled the young knight, as did their task—dispersing to every gathering place, be it taverns, markets, or seedy neighborhoods, to spread one simple story:
"Have you heard? Trouble's brewing down south with the Cecil family. Their lands were devastated by monsters and dragons! I'm telling you—people are even saying it disturbed the dead! The legendary ancestor himself rose from his grave. Yes, *that* Gawain Cecil! If you don't believe me, head to Tanzan or Timberwood Town and ask around yourself."
Thus, across the southern region, dusty travelers with strange accents could be found, appearing in crowded venues and spreading their tale, drawing listeners with their stories of chaos, dragons, and a hero's resurrection.
"And did you see these clothes I'm wearing? I fled all the way from the southern lands! I tell you, I saw it myself when the Cecil ancestor rose from his grave!"
Everyone shared nearly identical stories, each swearing that these strange events were witnessed firsthand. Even those who hadn't been initially sent by Sir Philip but later carried the tale seemed to repeat it with the same conviction.
If someone were able to gather all these rumors in one place, they'd be amazed to find that there must have been a thousand onlookers inside the tomb to witness the ancestor's resurrection, with another ten thousand crowding outside the grave!
In this era, however, few people had the ability to observe and trace the whispers traveling between muddy village lanes and bustling markets. And those who heard and spread the stories wouldn't think too deeply about their origins.
Meanwhile, in the carriage bound for St. Sunil, Gawain was watching the passing scenery with a sense of boredom, mulling over how he'd approach the king in the Silver Fort. He wasn't entirely certain about the impact of the task he'd set for Sir Philip; in truth, he held no more than thirty percent confidence in its success.
This was a world filled with contradictions and ignorance. The presence of magic made certain things extraordinarily convenient—often to a degree far ahead of the time. Yet these supernatural powers remained the domain of a select few, and most of the people in this world neither knew nor saw a need to harness magic as a productive force. Thus, for the masses lacking in power, life remained in a surprisingly primitive state.
Communication traveled by shouts, transportation by foot. Gossip spread swiftly within a town, as idle chatter was often the only entertainment for peasants after a hard day's work. But to carry news from one town to another? That task was tenfold harder. The wildlands between settlements hindered movement, compounded by the strict controls local lords imposed on who could enter or leave. Without a lord's permission, a commoner traveling even to the neighboring lord's village to buy a chicken risked being hanged!
The travel permit jointly signed by the Cecil and Leslie families could alleviate the restrictions on movement, but it couldn't address all the obstacles in getting the word out.
Still, Gawain believed that some effort was better than none. His goal was simple: to spread the tale of "the resurrection of the Cecil ancestor" as widely as possible, even beyond noble circles, until it became the talk of townspeople, even the poorest peasants. Ideally, the story would evolve into a haunting legend, a tale of horror that would intrigue and grip listeners. Already, the rumors seemed to be taking on this form.
These stories would be altered, exaggerated, and retold with each repetition. Those steeped in the superstitions and fears of a medieval mindset would weave in embellishments of their own, adding layers of mystery and awe. Gawain didn't care about the specific details added—only that the story continued to grow and spread.
Soon enough, everyone would know that the ancestor of the Cecil family had returned to life. And not just any ordinary ancestor; it was the legendary founding Duke, awakened in a time of monsters threatening the kingdom…