Upon hearing Gawain's words, Victoria nodded slightly, while Duke Berdwin, standing beside her, raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to step away?"
"It doesn't matter..." Gawain casually took a glass of red wine from a passing servant's tray and turned back to Victoria. "It's about the dragon."
"That is indeed just a rumor…" Victoria said, her voice as cold as the northern winds.
To those who did not know her, she might have seemed unapproachable. "I've already sent someone to investigate. Aside from a drunken fool, no one saw the so-called dragon."
"I'm not talking about that incident, but about the rumors of dragons in the North over the past few centuries..." Gawain looked into the eyes of the Duchess. "How many dragon tales have circulated since my death?"
Victoria's brows rose slightly, and Duke Berdwin, curious, glanced at her. "Come to think of it… the 'dragon sightings' stories do seem to be your northern region's 'specialty,' don't they?"
"Occasionally, there are stories of dragons in the North. Some small cults even worship dragons. But those are mostly superstitions among the mountain people…" Victoria shook her head. "The North is full of mountains, and snowstorms in the mountains are often believed to be the roars of dragons. Plus, the North borders the Holy Dragon Duchy, where the people consider themselves descendants of dragons and openly revere them. The mountain folk are heavily influenced by them, which leads to strange tales being passed around. But the Wilde family has lived in the North for seven hundred years, and we've never truly seen a dragon in the sky. Those stories are purely fiction."
"But now, a real dragon has appeared. It flew right past me," Gawain said quietly.
"If there were truly a dragon, I would notify you at once…" Victoria replied, her expression softening into what could almost be described as a smile. "I thought you were about to invite me to dance just now."
"I'll pass. I'm no good at it, and with seven hundred years having passed, I have no idea what modern dances are like..." Gawain chuckled and shook his head. He waved his hand. "You all carry on with your business. It's uncomfortable for me to chat with these 'living fossils' from seven hundred years ago. I'll just watch."
Both dukes stiffened in place. Victoria, as always, remained expressionless, but the comment caught them off guard. Normally, such remarks were reserved for younger generations or minor nobles, and hearing it aimed at them felt like stepping back into childhood—except they couldn't argue back.
After watching the two prominent dukes leave, Gawain sighed lightly to himself.
It hadn't been as easy as he'd hoped. When he'd heard the Duke of the North mention rumors of dragons during the meeting, he thought it might be an important lead.
Dragons had left this continent too long ago, almost a thousand years, and there hadn't been any recorded sightings in all that time. To most intelligent species on the continent, dragons had become mere myth. But for Gawain, who had once soared through the skies for many millennia, dragons were not unfamiliar.
After spotting a dragon, he had reviewed his memories and compiled all the dragon sightings he could recall. He found that almost all of the dragons seemed to come from the North.
Whether it was a gap of thousands or tens of thousands of years, whether it was one dragon or a group, they always seemed to cross over the northern mountain ranges and enter the heart of the continent.
And every time a dragon appeared, they seemed to have a clear goal in mind—they would fly straight into the heart of the continent, do whatever it was they needed to do, and then leave quickly, without any interest in sightseeing.
Unfortunately, Gawain's vantage point from the skies had been limited, allowing him to see only parts of the continent and a few southern coastlines. He wasn't even sure how far the northernmost regions of the continent stretched. Therefore, he couldn't guess whether the dragons were coming from beyond the northern mountain barrier or from an even more distant land across the seas.
But one thing was certain in Gawain's mind: the dragons would return.
The group didn't stay long in the capital. On the third day, they left.
The royal aid that had been promised would take some time to prepare: food and supplies couldn't be transported by land. If they did, half the supplies would be consumed on the way. River transport would take at least another half month, as it depended on the rising water levels of the Dolgon River in the Holy Spirit Plains.
It would also take time to gather the hundred craftsmen and apprentices. Each guild had to select the unlucky members who had been ostracized or wronged, and from them, the hundred most unfortunate individuals would be chosen and registered. This process would take time, but Gawain was in no position to wait. He had finally secured the right to open new territories, and his mind was already filled with plans that needed to be executed.
After receiving all the official documents from the king, he couldn't wait to leave the capital.
When they arrived, they had taken their time, stopping here and there. But on the way back, they were in a rush, almost wishing they could fly home directly. Gawain couldn't help but envy the "teleportation spells" he had read about in fantasy novels. If only there were a teleportation spell—he could just open a door and be home. Why go through all this hassle?
Unfortunately, although magic existed on this continent, it wasn't as convenient as the stories made it out to be. Most races here had only mastered basic magic, like casting fireballs or using arcane energy to slap faces. Teleportation and space-related magic did exist in legend, though. The ancient elves, long disappeared from history, were said to have mastered the art of teleportation. There were also stories of dragon language magic, which supposedly contained descriptions of spatial magic…
Unfortunately, no one had ever seen one for real.
Meanwhile, in another part of the kingdom, the Duchess of the North, Victoria Wilde, had already returned to her castle, Winterhold, in her northern territory.
Dukes who guard the kingdom's borders cannot leave their lands for too long. Although the situation in the North is more stable than in the East, it is still important to have someone overseeing the region.
Thus, after her first meeting with Gawain Cecil, Victoria Wilde immediately set off and left Silverhold. She casually tossed her thick and warm silver fox cloak to a servant and quickly walked toward the inner chambers of the castle.
Inside her office, she sat down, and a woman with black hair and black eyes—unremarkable in appearance—approached, placing a cup of hot tea on her desk. She then moved behind the Duchess and expertly began massaging her shoulders.
"You look exhausted," the woman said, her voice low and calming.
"The Duke of the Founding is really resurrected—the legendary Gawain Cecil…" Victoria murmured, "His appearance is exactly the same, and the Sword of the Pioneer is the same as well. I even dared to use a lie detection spell, and everything he said turned out to be true."
The woman, who appeared to be a maid, countered, "A skilled deceiver can evade lie detection, and even if the magic works, it's not always reliable. Magic has its probabilities; you shouldn't rely on it too much."
Victoria shook her head. "Maggie, I still trust my instincts."
"Instincts, huh…" The woman, called Maggie, paused for a moment. "So what do you intend to do?"
"The resurrected hero seems uninterested in involving himself in the current power structure of the kingdom. He only wants his permanent pioneering rights..." Victoria spoke indifferently about her experience in the capital. "What concerns me is his attitude toward the king. I thought the Duke of the Founding would be extremely focused on the legitimate bloodline of the Morn family, and perhaps even confront the current royal family over it. But he openly acknowledged Francis II as the rightful heir of the founding monarch... That caught me off guard."
"They must have met privately…" Maggie's massaging motion paused. "You let your guard down."
"Let my guard down…" Victoria frowned. "And now, the king is probably even harder to control…"
"Are you going to…" Maggie started to ask.
"No…" Victoria shook her head. "The Wilde family seeks the everlasting prosperity of Ansu, not power."
"So, you don't plan to take any action…" Maggie continued massaging. "You're too soft."
"I don't like the way my ancestors acted. It's no longer suited to this era."
As she spoke, Victoria's gaze involuntarily lifted toward the wall across from her.
On that wall hung the Wilde family's crest and five portraits—one of the founding monarch, Charles I, and four of the pioneering knights. These portraits were common in many noble households across Ansu.
Next to the portraits of the Wilde family ancestors hung the portrait of Gawain Cecil—an imposing man dressed in armor, holding the Sword of the Pioneer. His weathered eyes seemed to gaze into the distance, as though his gaze could penetrate time and space to see far into the future. This thought made Victoria shiver, reminded of his resurrection after seven hundred years.
"Victoria?" Maggie's voice came from behind her.
"Take down the portrait of Duke Cecil," Victoria said lightly. "It doesn't belong there anymore."
"Take it down? Is that alright?"
"He told me himself. He's not used to having his portrait hung on the wall while he's still alive…"
There was more weariness in Victoria's voice now. "He's an elder, a friend of my ancestors. I can't just ignore his wishes."
"Alright…" Maggie nodded in resignation and moved to remove the portrait.
Just then, Victoria spoke again. "By the way, Maggie, you're from the mountains, right?"
"Yes…"
"Then you know... the dragon stories? What do you think of them?"
The woman with black hair and black eyes was facing away from Victoria. She paused for a moment before shaking her head. "Just some silly tales."
"But there really was a dragon that appeared in the southern Cecil territory."
"Really?" Maggie, still holding Gawain Cecil's portrait, reached up and began to remove it. "Then it's probably not a good sign."