Gwayne's journey toward the royal capital of Solis Ardent was slow.
Though Rebecca often looked anxious to hurry along, Gwayne set the pace deliberately. At each town they passed, he ordered their company to halt and had the soldiers, disguised as travelers or mercenaries, blend into the crowds, spreading tales of the "Pioneer Grand Duke Gwayne Seawright's glorious return from the grave" and how "Lord Gwayne would soon arrive at Solis Ardent." He also paid local minstrels, rogues, and street thugs to spread even wilder versions of the story—strange and colorful tales that would quickly capture the imagination of the smallfolk. Thanks to the funding secured from Viscount Andrew of Valewatch, Gwayne had more than enough coin to keep the rumors flowing.
Originally, Gwayne worried that neither he nor Rebecca had the street smarts needed to handle dealings with such unsavory elements. But to his surprise, Ser Byron—a grizzled knight traveling with them—proved extraordinarily capable. Though hardly a famed warrior among his peers, Byron had a gift for navigating the shadowy underbelly of society, quickly making connections with the local "rats" in each town they entered. Before long, every marketplace and tavern buzzed with whispers of the miraculous resurrection of the ancient hero.
It made sense in hindsight. Byron was no true noble by blood—he had once been a wandering mercenary, only later knighted after an incident during the previous Seawright lord's reign. Clearly, the man had not wasted his old skills.
Another invaluable helper, as Gwayne fully expected, was the half-elf thief Amber. She excelled in dealing with criminals and lowlives. In fact, her professionalism was so impressive that when Gwayne gave her money to bribe a few local thugs, she managed to come back with more money than she left with. (An act which, of course, drew furious condemnation from Rebecca, and left Gwayne no choice but to suppress his own amusement and force Amber to return the "extra earnings" and solemnly swear never to do it again.)
Trying to instill proper morals into that half-elf... Gwayne figured it was a hopeless cause.
But the other reason for their slow pace wasn't so easily spoken aloud: Gwayne needed to understand this world.
It wasn't just the seven centuries of change since his supposed death—it was because he himself wasn't truly from this world at all. The sweeping views he'd seen from the skies above were only as good as a rough map. The memories he'd inherited from the real Gwayne Seawright lacked flexibility and emotional depth. Too many times he'd tried to search those memories for useful knowledge, only to find them lacking.
Thus, Gwayne needed firsthand experience.
Fortunately, his efforts were paying off. He had seen the impoverished, backward villages of the southlands, and the bustling cities of the fertile heartlands. He had seen the wild forests and the mighty fortresses built by humankind. Little by little, the fragmented impressions in his mind—the old sky-maps and the patchy inherited memories—began to knit together into a clearer whole.
Judging by details he recognized, he guessed the latest sky-map he carried in his mind was no more than ten years outdated—still more than accurate enough for this slow-changing world.
As for leaving the southlands for so long—Rebecca fretted, but Gwayne did not. He trusted Hestia's ability to manage affairs back in Valewatch, and more importantly, he trusted that Viscount Andrew would stick to their bargain—not out of virtue, but because mutual interest bound him to the Seawrights. Before leaving, Gwayne had already set up a web of rumors that ensured the refugees of Seawright lands would remain in the public eye—and that Andrew, having taken responsibility for them, could not simply cast them aside.
At last, after two months of travel, the towering walls of Solis Ardent came into view.
Built upon open plains, the city was a grand sight compared to the impoverished towns of the south. Its dazzling white walls and endless blue-tiled roofs had earned it the titles of "The Holy White City" and "The Blue-Crowned Jewel." Since the days of the founding King Charles I, when rough earthworks first rose upon the fields, the city had undergone countless expansions. The original dirt walls had long since vanished, replaced by monumental stonework drawn from the Rockspine Mountains and the Eastern Quarries, mortared together with molten copper and lead. Blessed crystals of earth-element magic were embedded every hundred paces to prevent decay or cracking—a level of extravagance that the early pioneers could scarcely have imagined.
Standing beneath Solis Ardent's walls, Gwayne realized: This city bore no resemblance at all to the modest fortress he recalled.
With proper papers and noble credentials, they encountered no trouble at the gates.
Within Solis Ardent's gleaming heart stood the Silver Citadel, the royal palace of High King Francis II—the monarch who now anxiously awaited their arrival.
In truth, the king had been waiting a very long time, teetering on the brink of a nervous collapse.
Ever since receiving Viscount Andrew's secret letter reporting Gwayne's resurrection, the entire royal court had been scrambling. Daily reports from the south piled upon Francis's desk, a mountain of conflicting rumors, formal notices, secret dispatches, and overheard tavern chatter. Each day more arrived—and each day, the legendary Grand Duke himself... failed to show up.
Initially, careful plans had been made to manage the situation. Contingency after contingency was prepared... and then rendered useless by Gwayne's antics. The ancient hero chose to meander north at a snail's pace, spreading his fame like wildfire at every turn. By now, every merchant, minor noble, and tavern drunkard in the southern provinces had heard the astonishing tale: the legendary Grand Duke had returned.
At this point, Francis II had no choice left. When Gwayne Seawright arrived, there would be no secrecy, no quiet dismissal. He would have to be received openly—honored formally—before he could be "encouraged" to leave the capital. And so the king sat in the Silver Citadel, waiting in mounting dread.
Yet Gwayne had no intention of making it that easy. Having achieved the first stage of his plan—spreading word of his revival far and wide—he now wanted to test the king's response... and the responses of those around him.
Thus, upon entering Solis Ardent, Gwayne ordered the soldiers to unfurl the banners he had so carefully prepared.
One bore the crest of House Seawright—the sword and plow entwined. The other bore the royal sigil of the Sword and Shield of Andraste. Side by side they flew, just as they had seven hundred years ago when Gwayne Seawright still lived as Grand Duke of the Southlands.
Even with only a dozen battered soldiers, they marched as if leading an army.
The Seawright family had declined terribly since those golden days. Their lands were ruined, their heiress young and inexperienced. And yet, the pride that had carried them through the great Founding still burned bright. Even if Rebecca was but a seventeen-year-old girl with little skill and a questionable brain, even if their soldiers were barely a handful, they would march with heads held high.
Ser Byron led the column, struggling mightily to maintain the stiff posture expected of a true knight. Gwayne, seeing his discomfort, rode up beside him and whispered with a grin: "Relax. Leave the noble posturing behind. When we first came here centuries ago, some of my men carried lumber axes instead of swords."
At the rear of the company, the carriage—once meant for Gwayne and Rebecca—now carried Amber and the sleepy little maid, Betty.
Peeking out the window, Amber muttered disdainfully: "Nobles are such weird creatures. They've got a perfectly good carriage and they'd rather ride around looking fancy. Brainless."
Betty nodded drowsily, a bubble of snot forming at her nose.
Seeing it, Amber's mischievous heart stirred. She stealthily crept closer, reaching for Betty's beloved frying pan—the girl's prized possession.
Just as her fingers brushed the handle, Betty jolted awake, clutching the pan tightly to her chest and glaring fiercely: "No! Master said this is mine!"
Amber froze, blinking.
"...Huh?!"