After accepting Viscount Andrew's dinner invitation, Wayne's group was temporarily lodged in the castle's guest rooms. At Wayne's specific request, everyone, including the two soldiers, the maidservant Betty, and Amber, was given a clean, tidy room.
Viscount Andrew's castle was certainly large enough.
After the servants were dismissed, Hestia couldn't help raising a question. "Great Ancestor, do you think Viscount Andrew can be trusted?"
Though they were territorial "neighbors," Hestia was well versed in the ways of nobility, which was to say, neither integrity nor honor could be found among them, despite those being the two qualities they loudly proclaimed above all others. Especially here in the wild, undeveloped Southern Marches, far from the political center, the nobles' methods of survival were even more unsavory. With House Seawright having hit rock bottom, and the sudden appearance of an ancestor being about the only thing in their favor, Hestia had little confidence in gaining any advantage in dealings with other nobles.
"Trustworthy? I never even considered the question," Wayne's answer took Hestia by surprise. "A few hours ago, I didn't even know what Viscount Andrew looked like."
Rebecca was startled. "Huh? Then why did you negotiate so much with him..."
"Because it was necessary," Wayne looked at Rebecca. "Calling our situation 'desperate' would barely be an exaggeration. Setting aside the displaced subjects who still need feeding, look at your own pockets. Do you even have money for your next meal? So we have to seek help. Viscount Andrew was simply a choice born of having no other choice. Besides him, is there anyone else you know in the Southern Marches? And as for how reliable he is... I don't know him, I don't know his family, and I only learned the boundaries of his domain from you two a couple of days ago. How would I know if he's reliable?"
Rebecca's head was spinning. "Then why were you so sure he'd help?"
The answer came not from Wayne, but from Amber, who had been sprawled by the table stuffing grapes into her mouth. The half-elf wiped her lips and rolled her eyes at Rebecca. "Duh, because he doesn't want to lose money."
"Doesn't want to lose money?"
"When that Ser Philip showed up at Gulltown with refugees, Viscount Andrew had already made his decision," Amber said unhurriedly. "He could have easily kept his gates shut and waited for the refugees to wander off or starve outside. Don't cite the mutual-aid laws, out here on the frontier, the kingdom's laws carry less weight than a merchant's gold coin. So the fact that the viscount took in the refugees means he intended to collect compensation from House Seawright. He had that intention and he believed House Seawright could repay the debt. See? The deal was already done back then. And today... was just about expanding and clarifying its scope."
Rebecca gaped at Amber. "You... how do you even know this stuff? Is the bar for being a thief really this high these days?"
Amber flashed her teeth. "Is it really that profound? I don't understand your noble protocols and all those rules, but I understand the basic principle that a thief never leaves empty-handed. When it comes to profit, is there any difference between you nobles and a thief who refuses to walk away with nothing?"
Rebecca erupted with fury, whipping out her staff and conjuring a head-sized fireball. "If you don't start watching your mouth, I swear I'll put a fireball right in your face!"
Amber, seemingly confident that this inexperienced young lord wouldn't actually follow through, taunted with a grin.
"I dare you to whip up an ice arrow instead~~"
The words had barely left her mouth when she felt something whistle past her ear with a frigid chill. An ice arrow flew so close it nearly grazed her ear-tip, freezing a patch of icicles onto the wall behind her. Hestia stood a short distance away, one finger still raised, her expression ice-cold.
"Your ice arrow."
A bead of cold sweat rolled down Amber's face. The terrifying proximity of that ice arrow to her skin was more frightening than the arrow itself, she couldn't help wondering just how much magical control it took to achieve that kind of precision.
Rebecca, meanwhile, twitched slightly at the corner of her mouth.
Aunt Hestia's offensive magic is consistent as ever, never actually hits a person, just traces the outline...
Wayne clapped his hands, ending the brief commotion. "All right, we're all on the same side here, more or less. Settle down."
The ancestor's word still carried weight. Willing or not, Hestia and Rebecca both put away their staves in compliance, and Amber, though impudent and eminently slappable, knew when to quit (mainly because that ice arrow had been very persuasive). She pouted but said nothing more.
Just then, a knock came at the door. With Wayne's permission, the little maidservant Betty pushed it open and entered.
"My lord, Lady Hestia, Miss Rebecca," Betty addressed each in turn, skipping Amber entirely. "Ser Philip is here."
"Good, we've been expecting him," Wayne nodded, then noticed the frying pan in Betty's hands. "Wait... why are you still carrying that?"
Betty blinked, thought for a moment, and said. "Because... we're not home yet. If I set it down somewhere, it might get lost."
Wayne pressed a hand to his forehead. "You... fine, suit yourself."
Moments later, Ser Philip, the knight who had led the Seawright refugees in their breakout, walked into the room.
To Wayne's mild surprise, this was a remarkably young warrior. He looked to be barely in his early twenties, with short, pale gold hair, deep-set eyes, and a strong nose. His features weren't extraordinary taken individually, but his martial bearing and upright frame were more than enough to make him stand out. Since they were indoors, he wore no armor, just everyday clothes with a longsword at his hip. On his exposed arms and neck, partially unraveled bandages were still visible.
He really had fought his way out wounded.
"My lady, madam," Ser Philip bowed immediately to Rebecca and Hestia upon entering. "I'm so relieved to see you both safe."
"Ser Philip, please, stand," Rebecca quickly helped him up. "We owe you a great deal, those soldiers and civilians survived because of you."
She noticed the bandages on him. "These wounds..."
"Sustained during the breakout, but much better now," Philip said hastily. "Viscount Andrew arranged a cleric and an apothecary for me. But..."
The young knight's expression turned pained, tinged with shame and frustration.
"You mean the gold and silver we had you carry out of the castle," Hestia said preemptively. "Don't worry about it. That money was always meant for emergencies. When we sent you off with it, we told you, it was yours to use at your discretion."
"Please don't be concerned. Actually, the gold and silver Viscount Andrew collected was only a portion," Philip's face brightened somewhat. He lowered his voice. "Before entering the town, I split off some of the valuables and entrusted them to a few soldiers I trust. I also buried some outside the walls. I was worried that if Viscount Andrew turned out to be too greedy, we'd need to keep at least some money to feed everyone, or to give the soldiers a chance to fend for themselves..."
Wayne gave a slight nod. This was a young man with both courage and brains. Leading a mere dozen soldiers to escort a large group of defenseless civilians through a breakout spoke to his valor. And thinking ahead, before entering another noble's territory, knowing he couldn't match a noble's power, figuring out how to preserve as much of his lord's assets as possible, even planning for the soldiers to survive on their own, that was truly impressive.
He gave an approving look. "Well done. How many people survived in total?"
Philip had actually noticed Wayne in the room from the moment he'd walked in, the man's build was hard to miss. Now, hearing him speak, he finally had the chance to ask. "Could you be..."
"It seems Viscount Andrew already told you," Hestia nodded. "This is the ancestor of House Seawright, the founding Grand Duke of Andraste, the Radiant..."
Before she could finish, Wayne cut in. "Enough, enough, you don't need to say that cringe title. Just hearing it gives me goose..."
But Philip had already dropped to one knee before Wayne. "Grand Duke Gwayne! I... I'd heard the news, but I never imagined it could be true! You are the exemplar of all knights. Ever since I was a boy, I've..."
"All right, all right, are we still not done?!" Wayne hurriedly pulled Philip back to his feet. As an outsider occupying someone else's body, the awkwardness he felt at this moment was truly unprecedented. "First, tell me how many survived."
Philip struggled to contain his excitement, and his expression darkened with the change in topic. "Only a little over a thousand people made it out during the breakout. After subtracting those lost to monster attacks, those who fell behind from injuries, and those who died of illness, fewer than nine hundred reached Gulltown alive..."
"How many exactly?"
"Eight hundred and seventy-three. Of those, besides myself, sixteen are enlisted soldiers, thirty are militia, and the rest are civilians."
Rebecca swayed on her feet.
"So this is the final number of Seawright territory's survivors..." Hestia murmured. "I never imagined..."
Wayne patted Hestia on the shoulder. "Do you know how many of us there were when we first fled the Gondor heartland over seven hundred years ago?"
Hestia looked at him. "Back then..."
"Tens of thousands," Wayne sighed. "So yes, today's situation is genuinely daunting."
Hestia: "..."
At that same moment, in Viscount Andrew's study, the viscount was composing a confidential letter.
It was addressed directly to the High King.
Due to the existence of the Gondor Wasteland, Andraste had designated its Southern Marches as the kingdom's most critical buffer zone since the nation's founding. Even though the south had been peaceful for many years, certain regulations that had endured for centuries still held in this region. For instance. every noble in the Southern Marches, large or small, was a direct vassal of the Andraste crown. They all held the right to communicate directly with the High King, and the obligation to report matters to him directly.
With respects to His Majesty the King, your direct vassal sends his greetings.
You should already be aware of the catastrophe that befell Seawright territory in the south from my previous correspondence. Now there has been a further development. The matter is unprecedented in its strangeness, yet I have personally confirmed that it is true.
The ancestor of House Seawright, Andraste's founding Grand Duke, foremost of the Seven Generals, Gwayne Seawright, has recently returned to the world of the living.
I witnessed with my own eyes a radiance descend upon the ruined lands of Seawright territory, destroying the invading monsters. A great dragon was also sighted (regarding the dragon, I shall submit a separate detailed report). I traveled there personally to investigate and, together with Viscountess Seawright, beheld the spectacle of a heroic spirit's resurrection...