Gawain took his time on the journey to the capital. Though Rebecca seemed a bit anxious to hurry, he set a slower, more deliberate pace, stopping in every town along the way. In each place, he had his soldiers blend in with the locals, spreading rumors of "the revival of Duke Gawain Cecil" and that he would soon arrive in Saint-Sunil. He also hired bards and local ruffians to spread more exaggerated versions of the tale, funded by Viscount Andrew's generous support.
Originally, Gawain worried that he and Rebecca might struggle to navigate dealings with local "unsavory" types. However, to his surprise, Sir Byron, their middle-aged knight, proved remarkably adept at managing these interactions. While his combat skills weren't particularly impressive, his knack for liaising with the rougher elements was extraordinary. In each town, he would quickly establish connections with the "rats" of society, ensuring that by the time the soldiers began their rumors, word of the events in the south had already reached the common folk.
Gawain recalled what Rebecca had told him about Byron's background—he wasn't born into nobility but had once been a wandering mercenary before being taken in by the previous Cecil viscount. Clearly, his mercenary skills hadn't faded.
Another invaluable companion on this journey was Amber, who, as expected, was a natural at dealing with the town's riff-raff. Professional or just downright sly, Amber was so efficient that she returned with more money than Gawain had originally given her to bribe the locals. This behavior, of course, drew a stern rebuke from the proper Rebecca. In an attempt to uphold his lofty image, Gawain held Amber to task, making her return the stolen goods and swear not to repeat the offense. Amber, visibly crestfallen, seemed to feel her very self-worth had been denied. Gawain was starting to think reforming her sense of ethics was a lost cause.
The slow progress wasn't just to spread rumors; Gawain also needed to observe this world more closely. It wasn't merely a matter of the 700-year gap in his inherited memories—he wasn't from this world at all. The scenes he'd watched from above had been like a map without depth, while his inherited memories lacked the immersion and flexibility he needed to navigate this world fully. This became especially clear when he'd tried accessing memories only to realize he was missing crucial "keywords."
The journey allowed Gawain to experience a cross-section of the kingdom, from the impoverished southern villages to the bustling central cities, from untamed wilderness to towering human-built fortresses. Each place added dimension to the map in his mind, blending his inherited memories with the real sights he now encountered.
After about two months of travel, the towering walls of Saint-Sunil finally appeared before them.
Built on the plains, this city dwarfed the impoverished towns of the south. Its white walls and uniform blue-tiled roofs gave it the nicknames "The Holy White City" and "The Blue-Capped Crown." Since the time of Charles I, the first king, had led settlers here, clearing land and building a city of earth and stone, Saint-Sunil had been expanded and rebuilt countless times. The original walls were long gone, with only commemorative remnants remaining in the city's old quarter. The current walls, built from stone from the northern Rockridge and eastern territories, were reinforced with molten copper and lead, with crystals of blessed earth elements embedded at regular intervals to prevent cracks.
Standing at the foot of Sunil's walls, Gawain gazed up at the gleaming stone bricks, realizing that none of this matched the city in his memories. The small town Gawain Cecil remembered was entirely gone.
With legitimate travel documents and solid noble credentials, Gawain and his party entered the city without any trouble. King Francis II, ruler of Ansu, awaited them in his palace, Silver Castle, anxious to meet these visitors from the south, especially the singular figure from 700 years past.
The king had been waiting for days, teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Reports from the south, dispatches from every town along Gawain's route, and a steady stream of official and unofficial reports piled up on his desk. Every source, in multiple versions, spoke of the ancestral duke rising from his grave and leading his descendants to the capital. But despite the steady stream of reports, the duke himself had yet to arrive.
Each plan the king devised with his advisors had crumbled in the face of Gawain's leisurely pace and public appearances, until Gawain Cecil's return became widely known. While it was an exaggeration to say the whole kingdom knew, the rumor had certainly reached merchants and minor nobles.
So, King Francis II's options were limited. He'd have to greet the duke openly in Silver Castle, speak with him publicly, and send him on his way—all under the public eye.
But Gawain had no intention of relieving the king of his anxiety so quickly. He'd achieved his initial objective, and now it was time to gauge the king's stance and those around him.
Instead of heading directly to Silver Castle, Gawain ordered his soldiers to unfurl the prepared flags shortly after entering the city. These banners bore the insignia of the Cecil family alongside the royal sword and shield emblem—symbols used when Gawain Cecil had held the title of Duke of the South. Even with only twelve soldiers, they would march with the dignity of a ceremonial guard.
Though the Cecil family had fallen, they retained a final shred of pride. Despite being impoverished, they had cultivated the finest soldiers in the South. Even if there were only a few left, they marched with heads held high, their flags streaming as Rebecca and Gawain joined them on horseback.
At the front rode Byron, the former mercenary turned knight, trying his hardest to appear as noble as possible to do justice to the family he served. But Gawain rode up alongside him, muttering, "Relax and forget the formalities. When we first arrived here, some of us were carrying woodcutting axes."
At the back of the procession, in the carriage meant for Gawain and Rebecca, sat the thief Amber and the drowsy maid Betty.
"Nobles sure are a strange species, huh?" Amber remarked, poking Betty's arm. "They've got a carriage but insist on riding horses to show off. Total nonsense."
Betty's head bobbed up and down in what seemed like a nod, though a small snot bubble suddenly formed at her nose.
Amber blinked, then noticed the frying pan beside Betty. Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she reached out, intending to swipe it with her deft fingers…
But Betty suddenly clutched the pan tightly, glaring at a stunned Amber. "No! Sir said this is mine!"
Amber: "..."