Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 258 - 257: Seven Hundred Years Apart

Gawain was somewhat surprised at this moment, but due to having discovered some clues beforehand, he wasn’t too shocked in his heart.

He just looked at the distant blond elf male who was on guard against him, and memories related to the other party emerged in his mind—memories from seven hundred years ago, from Gawain Cecil. He clearly knew the background of this elf and also knew how this elf accepted human hiring as a free warrior and briefly became a subordinate of Gawain Cecil in a mixed corps. Although these memories were not his own, after nearly a year of integration and adaptation, he has been able to skillfully immerse himself when retrieving memories of Gawain Cecil.

Even close friends and family of Gawain Cecil wouldn’t sense any inconsistency in his reaction, and the elf named Soldrin won’t be able to tell.

Yet even so, Soldrin still showed no intention of lowering his weapon. He tightly held the short bow in his hand, his eyes quickly scanning the Cecil Clan warriors around him. He could sense these people were ordinary individuals with little magic power in their bodies, yet their equipment had unique, auto-operating magical surges. He had never seen this type of soldier before; neither human nor elf armies had corresponding types, but he suspected this missing unit was wiped out by these soldiers.

The reaction of the elf ranger was within Gawain’s expectations. The latter chuckled, "Although such an awkward reunion, I’m still pleased to see a familiar face from seven hundred years ago appear before me—Soldrin, let your people lower their weapons, there’s no need to make things end badly."

Soldrin frowned, aware of Gawain Cecil’s strength. If the opposite was indeed the real deal, even without those bizarre soldiers around, his team wouldn’t be able to leave, but surrendering requires skill too. After a moment of silence, he slightly relaxed the bowstring in his hand, more than the naked eye could perceive: "Will you spare these soldiers?"

"They are Typhon Soldiers, and I’m aware of the changes of this era, so I cannot let them go," Gawain noted the change on Soldrin’s bowstring, thus speaking calmly, "Normally, I would resolve all of them to leave no hidden danger, but since you’re here, as long as you’re willing to cooperate, I can guarantee their survival."

Gawain was certain that after his words fell, those tightly gripping their weapons loosened various muscles to different extents—no one wanted to seek death. Even these soldiers who were extremely loyal to the Typhon Empire were not foolish; naturally, they’d understand that revolt in such circumstances would hold no meaning. Using Soldrin’s favor to give them a step to surrender was fitting—besides, it was a step for Soldrin too.

The elf ranger exhaled a breath; though he knew if from memory, Gawain Cecil, the other party would understand his meaning, it was only at this moment that he truly relaxed. But before putting away his weapons, he couldn’t help but question one last time: "I still don’t dare believe you’re real—how can you prove you’re the real Gawain Cecil?"

Gawain hadn’t spoken yet when Aunt Heidi standing next to him couldn’t hold back, "How dare you question the ancestor’s identity repeatedly?!"

Gawain raised his hand, calming Aunt Heidi, then looked at Soldrin with a half-smile, "You’re sure you want me to prove my identity?"

Soldrin quietly looked at Gawain, his expression unchanged.

"Alright, this is your idea," Gawain spread his hands, "I know the real reason why you ’never exert more than seventy percent of your strength’, and I also know this reason was your initial motive to leave the Silver Empire and travel across the mainland. You once sought Great Wizard Baldiga for this reason, and that wizard specialized in the field of..."

"Alright, you don’t need to say more," Soldrin released the bowstring, waving a command for the soldiers behind him to disarm, "I believe you are the real Gawain Cecil—I am willing to let you handle this, and I also believe you’ll keep your promise to ensure the safety of these soldiers I’ve brought."

The Typhon Soldiers disarmed one by one; this feeling of surrendering without a fight truly irritated these elites, especially the three knights, whose anger was visibly apparent. Yet reason forced them to accept this fact—this was already the best outcome.

The resurrected Gawain Cecil was indeed real, and standing a hundred meters away from them in such circumstances required them to even feel fortunate that their commander was an old acquaintance of their enemy, as this at least spared their lives.

On the other side, Gawain also couldn’t help but exhale—after knowing Soldrin’s presence, he hoped to resolve the problem bloodlessly. He knew the strength of this elf ranger, a high-ranked ranger, even limited by his talent, unable to breakthrough to legendary status, his combat power was quite formidable. Gawain himself at present could probably contend with Soldrin, but in combat, he wouldn’t necessarily have spare capacity to protect others. Should the Cecil Combat Corps clash with this Typhon elite, damage would be unavoidable.

Casualties unavoidable on the battlefield are one thing; casualties that can be avoided are another matter entirely.

Prisoners were disarmed individually and tied up, while mages and knights like those transcendent got an extra layer of magic silk ropes for precaution. Soldrin, however, escaped such treatment—anyway, ordinary restraints couldn’t control a high-ranked ranger. Having Gawain personally overseeing presence was safer than any other measure.

Before being taken away, Soldrin finally looked curiously at the still-busy open excavation site, ultimately unable to figure out what was being excavated there.

On the way back to Cecil, Amber (loafing the whole way) kept curiously eyeing Soldrin, causing the high-ranked ranger discomfort as Amber, who appeared scatterbrained, stared at him. Soldrin couldn’t help but frown, "Got a problem?"

Amber cautiously glanced at Gawain and Aunt Heidi not far away, lowered her voice to mutter to Soldrin, "I’m just curious, were you the old man’s friend?"

Soldrin was bewildered by the strange self-created term, "What does ’old man’ mean?"

"It’s Gawain," Amber boldly said, "He told me, that thing dug up from the coffin is the old man—but he taught me this, and he won’t let me say it to him."

Amber hadn’t finished speaking when she felt a swift rap on her head, Gawain’s voice coming from beside, "You think lowering your voice means I can’t hear it?"

"Old man, why is it that when you walk there’s no sound... Ouch, that hurts!"

Soldrin stood dumbfounded watching Gawain tap Amber on the head. Suddenly he felt as though he had glimpsed the Gawain Cecil he first met on the Gondor wasteland—back then, Gawain Cecil was the same, carefree, lacking any decorum, able to quickly blend with anyone in the team —be it humans or another race’s mercenaries—though at that time Gawain didn’t have the habit of knocking skulls, this relaxed form was very similar.

It’s just in the latter part of memory, after the founding of Anzu and Gawain Cecil becoming the leader of the southern borders, this carefree attitude gradually faded away. The weight of responsibility and a certain pressure caused the legendary knight who rose on the Northern Conquest Road to become more stern and humorless. In Soldrin’s last bits of memory regarding Gawain Cecil, he couldn’t recall the other person being as lighthearted and cheerful as now.

Lying in the coffin for seven hundred years, did my mindset revert to that of a twenty-five-year-old? Or did I gain some clarity after experiencing life and death?

Soldrin believed it was the latter.

A person who has become a legend, shaped great achievements, and gone through life and death, has no need to pretend to be profound.

His guess accidentally hit the truth. Gawain’s carefree mentality did indeed stem from his experience with life, death, and incredible insight. However, the years he lived through far surpassed the imagination of the Elf Ranger...

Upon returning to the territory, Gawain directly handed over the captives to Sir Philip waiting in the barracks. He decided to temporarily imprison these people, and after a bit of reprimand, send them to the mines or to the site on the northern banks for infrastructure work—when spring comes next year, they could even be sent to clear land on the northern banks. Anyway, there was work everywhere on the territory now, and considering its development today, there was no fear of them causing trouble.

The mercenary mage caught earlier was even sent to the Cecil Mechanical Manufacturing Facility after some "education" to become an assistant to Nicholas Egg—Saint Nicholas Egg’s anti-magic field was like an unsolvable absolute defeat for mages below middle-rank, and now, that mercenary mage had turned utterly docile, even received the first month’s excellent production bonus.

As for Soldrin, he was directly brought to the feudal lord’s mansion by Gawain.

To get intelligence, one should start with this "old acquaintance".

Soldrin walked into Gawain’s "castle," and as he stepped into the hall, a warm aura enveloped him. The cold winds of winter outside were completely shut out. This "castle," which didn’t appear too grand or towering, was warm enough to make Soldrin find it unbelievable.

The environment here made him feel extremely comfortable.

The silver elves are species living in the tropical southern regions of the continent. Although the entire Silver Empire manages to avoid extreme heat due to the influence of its mountains and magical surge, they are generally more adapted to living in warm environments. Even though Soldrin had traveled in the relatively colder north for many years and had adapted to its climate, he would still be delighted with a warmer environment.

However, what puzzled him was that he didn’t see any heating devices like fireplaces in the hall.

"This place is heated using the ’Heating Path,’" Gawain casually explained, noticing Soldrin’s motion of searching for a fireplace in the hall. "It’s a heating method I invented. Deep within the mansion, there’s a copper heater heated with fire magic symbols, and the heat is then distributed to rooms through hot pipes and brick channels surrounding it. The walls here have layers, and the roof is insulated as well—living here is much more comfortable than in a cold, icy castle. I’m planning to improve this thing so it can provide heat to the entire district."

Soldrin listened closely and watched Gawain with considerable astonishment: "When did you learn about these things?"

"I have some unique experiences," Gawain smiled slightly, leading Soldrin toward the study. "Seven hundred years apart, I think we have a lot to discuss."

Soldrin smiled and followed: "Indeed."

After assigning Amber to guard outside, only Gawain and Soldrin were left in the study, revealing that in the absence of others around, the seemingly indifferent and distant Elf Ranger showed slight relaxation.

Gawain sat behind the desk and motioned for Soldrin to find a seat, then curiously observed this "friend from seven hundred years ago": "How did you end up in Typhon?"

"Just traveling around," Soldrin replied casually. "I’m just a free ranger, naturally looking for new employers after the employment period in one country ends."

This was not the whole truth, but Gawain didn’t probe further and instead smiled: "Speaking of which, seeing you’re still wandering, hasn’t that problem been resolved yet?"

"I’ve almost given up," Soldrin sighed helplessly. "Even the potion crafted by Great Wizard Baldiga didn’t work; there’s probably no one in this world who can help me."

"You actually have it quite good like this; no one can discern your true strength—you even acquired a nickname that sounds quite impressive, ’Golden-haired Soldrin,’ which sounds like you’re taking the popular lover’s route..."

Soldrin glanced at Gawain: "Would you enjoy that?"

Gawain instinctively touched his hairline: "Forget it, my hairline has finally stabilized recently..."

Soldrin sighed, suddenly feeling that encountering an old friend seven hundred years later wasn’t as joyful as imagined.

"It’s quite warm in here; why don’t you take off your wig?"

"No!"