Gawain led the procession at a leisurely pace, knowing the welcoming staff would likely need a bit of time to scramble and make the mansion at No. 4 Crown Street ready to greet its owner. He didn't plan on giving the staff, who were merely following orders, a hard time.
Yet, even after a leisurely stroll around half the block, when they reached No. 4, there were still some attendants in uniform hurrying in and out, sweating under the last-minute preparations.
But fortunately, the work was nearly complete.
A tall, slender middle-aged man, sporting a white wig and black bow tie, came out from the mansion and bowed respectfully before Gawain's horse. "Your Excellency, the estate has been prepared. I am James Blaine, currently tasked with managing this property. It is an honor to serve as your butler during your stay in the capital."
"Blaine… That surname sounds familiar…" Gawain thought for a moment, recalling the name with a smile. "Ah, yes—Holly Blaine, Charlie's old squire. The name 'Blaine' was given by Charlie himself."
James Blaine's eyes widened in astonishment. Anyone who had the chance to meet an ancient figure, especially one who knew their ancestors, would likely feel the same wonder. "Yes… Holly Blaine was indeed my ancestor. Our family has served the royal household for generations, and we've always managed their properties in the capital."
Gawain chuckled. "So, this house is now officially a royal asset, huh?"
James Blaine felt cold sweat trickle down his back—this topic had the awkwardness level of reading someone's angsty teenage diary entries to them while they're tied to a chair.
But Gawain had only intended it as a joke, and he quickly moved on. "No need to fuss over this; I won't be staying long."
James straightened up, saying, "It is our duty to serve, my lord, and to ensure the estate is fully prepared."
"Like clearing out the ticket sellers at the entrance and tour guides inside?"
It was always a hassle talking to someone from another world—none of his jokes landed.
Feeling a bit uninterested, Gawain dismounted, passing the reins to the waiting attendant. He then led his entourage, including his many-greats-granddaughter, into the old mansion, which had stood for seven centuries.
As promised by the royal official earlier, the ancient mansions on Crown Street had been preserved to their original appearances over the past seven centuries through regular maintenance. Magic or no magic, much of the original structure should have decayed by now.
Gawain was certain that at least half of the items here were no longer originals, though that didn't bother him—after all, he wasn't really Gawain Cecil.
They walked through a small garden and forecourt, passed a short corridor, and entered the main hall. As the founder's mansion, No. 4 Crown Street was rather modest in size. Any family wealthy enough to own property in the capital could afford a residence twice this size.
As soon as Amber stepped inside, she muttered, "This is it? Doesn't live up to the hype…"
"This was built seven hundred years ago," Gawain said, glancing at the half-elf. "Back then, even Silver Castle was only a little bigger than this."
"I think it's nice…" Rebecca whispered. "My castle only has a big foundation—other than that, this place seems way better…"
Amber rolled her eyes at Rebecca. "Of course. Your family's practically bankrupt by now."
"No fireballs in here…" Gawain reached out, holding down both Rebecca and Amber's heads. "And you, Amber, behave yourself. Just because you're quick at making escapes doesn't mean you can keep acting up—one day, you'll meet a shadow master who'll end you on the spot."
After instructing the knight Byron and the soldiers to settle in, he sent Betty to help prepare dinner in the kitchen (finally, her skillet would come in handy). Then, Gawain started wandering around the main hall.
"They really kept it all…" he murmured after a couple of rounds, memories flooding back as he mentally matched each item with his recollections.
Rebecca followed closely behind, observing the hall's furnishings with a mix of curiosity and complex emotions. Many of the founders' descendants still lived on Crown Street, but she, the current head of the illustrious Cecil family, had never seen her ancestor's home until today.
Some items she recognized only from family records, like the ancient battle axe hanging on the main hall wall.
"That was from a duel with Charlie. Nothing special, really—just a dwarven battle axe I won off him…" Gawain pointed to the axe, rummaging through his memories. "You know, those dwarves are barely waist-high on me, but they're strong as oxen. Human soldiers would find that axe heavy, yet they swing it around like a feather."
Rebecca caught the name. "Charlie… Do you mean King Charlie, the founding king?"
"Charlie Morn, known today as Charlie the First. Who else would I mean?" Gawain chuckled. "He's the only Charlie I ever mentioned."
Though he was only using Gawain Cecil's name, it was exhilarating to boast about "his" past in the first person.
Yet this self-indulgent display wasn't without purpose. Gawain knew he needed to fully immerse himself in this role, as he'd likely rely on his "Gawain Cecil" identity for quite some time.
Amber, meanwhile, showed little interest in family histories or royal secrets. After assessing the hall for how badly Gawain would beat her if she tried to steal anything, she took a seat on the couch, swinging her legs idly. "So, did you come here to pack up some valuables? I mean, your family's broke, and chances like this don't come often…"
Gawain stared at her, wide-eyed. "Where do you even get these ideas?"
Amber smirked. "C'mon, it's a reasonable thought. If you're worried about sneaking stuff out, leave it to me—I can empty this place in three trips to the 'market' without anyone noticing."
A thief openly discussing stealing with the rightful owner—Amber was indeed a rare breed, no longer just the "shame of the elves" but now the "shame of thieves."
"I don't need your help to take anything," Gawain interrupted, dismissing her unrealistic notions. "Even if Francis II is clueless, he won't quibble over something like that."
Amber blinked. "Right. Most of the stuff here is worthless anyway—replicas, mostly. That axe and the vase by the door are the only real items… oh, wait, the vase is fake too."
How did she manage to appraise the entire room in minutes?! If only she'd channel some of that skill into managing her mouth and, maybe, building some courage.
When no one responded, Amber swung her legs and tried another topic. "So, why'd you drag me here? I'm not one of your knights, not a soldier. I'm just a passing thief—how can I possibly help?"
"First," Gawain looked at her, "you did raid my tomb, even if you say it was just for shelter. By kingdom law, that's still a hanging offense, so pardoning you ought to earn me a favor."
Amber shifted uncomfortably.
"Second, I need your skills. Not for stealing, but for your talents as a rogue. This is the capital—there are eyes on this place, watching all of us. Byron's only good at open combat, and Rebecca's only got her fireball. My powers haven't fully returned, so I need you—a skilled shadow master. Satisfied with my answer, Miss Amber?"
The seriousness in his tone caught Amber off-guard, and her expression turned momentarily stunned.
Never had she imagined that a noble, let alone the legendary Duke Cecil himself, would ask for her help so earnestly.
She could brag about this for half a year!
"Well… since you put it that way, I guess I can help…" She turned away, feigning nonchalance. "But if you call me a 'shadow master' a few more times, I won't even charge you…"
Gawain turned to Rebecca. "Can you control a fireball to just sear someone's face without burning them to a crisp?"
Amber: "?!"
Before she could answer, the Blaine family butler returned.
"My lord," James bowed politely, "Prince Edmund has come to visit."