Chapter 24 — Journey to the Royal Capital

The contingency plans drawn up after first receiving the secret letter from Viscount Andrew had long since been abandoned, and the response measures discussed with his trusted advisers had failed one after another in the face of that Xuanmai Sect member's sightseeing and ostentatious parading along the way. Now Gao Yang Cecil's return was known to all—of course, given the information-transmission efficiency of this era, "known to all" was an exaggeration, but at the very least, every merchant and minor noble with the means to gather information certainly knew of it.

That left Francis II with very limited options.

Sitting in the Silver Fortress, openly and honorably receiving that returned legendary grand duke, openly and honorably conversing with him, and then openly and honorably sending this living ancestor on his way.

At the very least, every step that would draw public attention had to be done openly and honorably.

Yet Gao Yang was not about to let His Majesty off the hook so quickly. Or rather, the first half of his goal had been achieved, and now he wanted to test the king's attitude a little—and the attitudes of those around the king. So instead of quietly having the convoy head straight for the Silver Fortress, shortly after entering the city he ordered all the soldiers to take out the banners that had long been prepared in the wagons.

Painted on those banners were the crest of House Cecil and the sword-and-shield crest of the Ansu royal house, the two emblems placed side by side—exactly the banner Gao Yang had reconstructed from memory, the one used when Gao Yang Cecil had still lived as Grand Duke of the Southern Region.

Even if there were only twelve common soldiers, they still had to march with the bearing of a ceremonial guard.

House Cecil had indeed declined, but even in its present reduced state, this house—which had once followed the founding king in expanding the realm and built its name upon martial valor—still retained that last shred of pride: defending the people and the land, never yielding on the battlefield. Rebecca, now only seventeen and capable of nothing but casting a fireball, could well be called the weakest lord in Cecil's history—utterly incompetent in both civil and military affairs, and possibly dropped on her head as a baby—yet even she could lead the last few family soldiers in holding the castle to the death and let the last commoners break through the siege. What she relied upon was that glory passed down to this day.

Thus House Cecil, despite holding the poorest and weakest fief in the Southern Region, had nonetheless produced the finest warriors in the Southern Region.

Even if, by now, those warriors had died until only a dozen or so remained.

The soldiers raised the banners and formed two columns on horseback. Gazing at the emblems fluttering on the banners, they seemed infected by the sight as well, lifting their heads high. Behind them, Rebecca and Gao Yang had also dismounted from the carriage and now rode on horseback alongside the soldiers.

Byron took the lead at the very front. This knight of mercenary origins, who had come to the profession halfway through life, did his utmost to carry himself with the proper bearing of a true noble, so as not to disgrace the house he served. But Gao Yang rode up beside him and told him in a low voice: "Relax. Put those manners and formalities aside. Back when we marched to this place, some of the men were carrying nothing but woodcutting axes on their backs."

And at the very rear of the procession, in the carriage that should have been carrying Gao Yang and Rebecca, there now sat the lady thief and the little maid Betty, who was dozing off.

"Nobles really are a sick breed, aren't they?" Amber poked her head out to glance outside, then turned back and jabbed Betty's arm. "There's a carriage and they won't ride in it—they just have to go out and show off on horseback. Their heads are full of holes."

Betty's head was bobbing, looking as though she were nodding, but suddenly a tiny snot bubble popped out of her nose.

Amber blinked and stared at Betty, then suddenly noticed the frying pan the girl had set down beside her. Mischief stirred in her heart at once. Calling upon her excellent skills as a master thief, she crept silently toward that frying pan...

Betty snatched up the frying pan and clutched it to her chest, glaring at the stunned Amber: "No! The master said this one's mine!"

Amber: "...?"