Prince Edmund Morn left with a smile, evidently pleased with the outcome of the meeting. He had politely declined Gawain's invitation to dinner, explaining he needed to return to Silver Castle to deliver good news to the aging king.
After Edmund left, Rebecca finally voiced her thoughts: "He seems like a kind person. I thought the crown prince would be difficult, full of courtly airs and all."
"That's because he was addressing a seven-hundred-year-old elder, not a minor noble from a rural fief," Gawain replied, casting Rebecca a look. "Did you think his behavior here was his everyday self? Quite the opposite—he adapted to my style almost flawlessly, which means he prepared thoroughly for this meeting."
Rebecca blinked in confusion. "Huh?"
Gawain thought for a moment, then explained, "Diplomacy boils down to speaking in a way that suits the person you're dealing with. He arrived as a prince visiting a senior noble and displayed the right balance of courtesy and maturity. But when he sensed my tone, he quickly became more relaxed and humorous, making me more inclined to keep the conversation going. That's a skill."
Rebecca scratched her head, baffled. "Uh?"
Gawain sighed. "Just focus on your fireball casting techniques for now."
Even someone as single-minded as Rebecca could feel Gawain's resignation, and she tensed a bit. "Ancestor… am I too dense when it comes to this?"
"Everyone has their strengths; you don't need to force yourself to excel here," Gawain reassured her, patting her head (his height advantage giving him license to do so). "To be honest, I'm not too fond of these scheming skills myself. I still prefer the days when a group would charge headfirst into the wilderness, putting their lives on the line to carve a path."
Rebecca nodded uncertainly. Then she asked with genuine curiosity, "Ancestor, were you serious about what you said earlier?"
"What part?" Gawain asked.
Rebecca looked at him seriously. "Did you really give a type of wine over thirty names, each with a fourteen-line poem?"
Gawain sighed. "Yes, that's true."
"Wow, that sounds amazing!"
"But in reality, it was because we were poor. Back then, our expedition hadn't even reached the fertile plains of the Holy Spirit Plain, and everyone was struggling to fill their stomachs. We gave that wine so many names because it was the only barrel we had left. The poems were a way to entertain ourselves in the absence of anything else. So remember, all these complex noble etiquettes and traditions often come from either excess or desperation. At their core, they're all quite pointless."
Rebecca's eyes gleamed, feeling she had just gained priceless knowledge—something Aunt Heidi would never teach her!
At that moment, the room's window suddenly creaked open, and Amber leapt in. She flopped into a chair, legs swinging as she grinned at Gawain. "You're quite something! After hearing that speech, you're my favorite noble."
"Stop calling me an 'old man'; I'm in my prime!" Gawain glared at her. "Weren't you supposed to be patrolling outside? Sneaking in here to slack off?"
Amber rocked back and forth, unable to stay still for even a moment. "I did patrol—found nothing, so I came in for a drink. Surely you can't deny me a break. But tell me, how are you so sure someone's going to show up here? Look at the prince—he used the front door!"
"If the prince had come through the window, I think Charlie would have popped out of his coffin like I did," Gawain replied with a twitch of his lips. "But not everyone interested in talking to me will use the front door. I'm here precisely to meet such people."
"Fine, fine, you're the boss…" Amber waved dismissively, pouring herself a cup of tea, which she downed in one go. Before leaving through the window, she grabbed two scones from the plate Gawain had set out. "It's cold outside—I need a snack to keep warm."
Gawain felt a pang of regret for not having his Sword of the Pioneer handy.
Turning to his many-times-great-granddaughter, he said, "You should go rest. Tomorrow, when we meet the king, you'll need to be in your best form."
Rebecca nodded, then hesitated. "What about you, Ancestor?"
"I'm used to staying up late. Besides, I want to visit the study—it's been a while, and I'd like to see what's changed."
After bidding her ancestor goodnight, Rebecca left the room. Gawain remained standing for a while before heading up to the study on the second floor.
Though famed for his martial prowess, Gawain Cecil was no mere swordsman; he had also dabbled in scholarship and herbalism. The estate on Crown Street held not only a gallery for weapons, armor, and trophies but also a sizable study.
Seated at a restored desk, Gawain thoughtfully tapped his fingers on the surface, his gaze drifting over the ancient bookshelves and wall hangings before returning to the desk. Memories that didn't belong to him stirred once again, infusing his surroundings with a strange sense of familiarity. The restorers had gone to painstaking lengths, even replicating the magic quill and paper on the desk exactly as they had been in Gawain Cecil's day, which made him feel a faint chill—almost as though someone had prepared for his return long ago.
Despite the vividness of these memories, they weren't his own, making it hard to feel any emotional connection. Soon, Gawain broke his reverie, crouched by the desk, and began feeling around the floorboards.
An hidden compartment opened, and his fingers brushed cool metal. Hooking his fingers around a latch, he pulled it out.
It was a small, ornate box, glowing faintly with silver light, pristine despite its seven-hundred-year age.
"Still here…" Gawain breathed a sigh of relief.
Though much of the estate had been replaced over the centuries, some items, like this little mithril strongbox, could last through the ages.
Intricate magical patterns adorned its surface, along with a crest of sword and shield cast from star iron and gold. This insignia, alongside inscriptions from both Charlie I and Gawain Cecil, and the sealed royal decree passed down through generations of the Morn family, ensured that even if someone rebuilt the estate, the box would still be returned to its original location.
He placed the box on the desk carefully. If the main purpose of this journey was securing the "permanent right of exploration," then this little mithril strongbox was his second goal.
He hadn't brought Rebecca to see it—not because he didn't trust his descendant but because he couldn't be certain it would still be there. It would have been awkward to bring her over with a dramatic "I have something to show you," only to find an empty floorboard.
Following his memory, Gawain infused the box's magical patterns with his power and placed a drop of his blood on the insignia at the center. A clear mechanical click sounded within, and the lid sprang open.
Inside, there were only a few crystals, drained of magic and now merely decorative, and a small platinum disk the size of a palm.
Setting the crystals aside, Gawain took up the disk. Like the box, its surface bore complex magical symbols and characters that shimmered faintly, serving as a seal for communing with elemental forces.
"Good, the key's in hand…" he murmured, slipping the disk and crystals into his cloak. But as he straightened up, a sudden breeze brushed past his ear.
Reacting instantly, Gawain snatched a dagger from the table, his muscles tensed for combat.
"Such sharp instincts—you really are the one," came a young woman's voice from the window. Gawain noticed that the window had opened at some point, and a veiled woman in a purple gown seemed to materialize mid-air, gliding toward the window as if walking on air. "Relax—if we fought, we'd likely level half the city in the process."
Before she could finish, a swift, dark figure suddenly plummeted from the rooftop, accompanied by Amber's battle cry: "Gotcha, thief! I finally caught ya—ahhh!"
Amber, a master of shadow affinity and stealth, and an almost unmatched rogue, was swatted aside by the mysterious woman with casual ease.
But the woman, visibly startled, looked confused after flinging Amber aside. "What… what was that?"
Still gripping his dagger, Gawain replied coolly, "If I'm not mistaken, my bodyguard."
"Oh… apologies," the woman said, her tone unexpectedly courteous. She glanced at where Amber had landed, then turned back to Gawain with an apologetic smile. "She came out of nowhere—I reacted instinctively. Don't worry, she's just stunned."
Gawain relaxed slightly but kept his guard up. "Who are you?"
"Apologies, my entry was a bit… abrupt," the woman on the windowsill gave a polite bow. "The Mithril Treasury sends its regards. I am Merita Pernia, your designated guest specialist. All your deposits in the Silver Treasury are under my care."
Gawain's brow furrowed. "My Little Pony?"