Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 502 - 501: Speechless Anniversary

After breakfast, Gawain didn’t immediately start dealing with territorial affairs as usual, but instead called out to Aunt Heidi who was about to leave: ”Is there anything urgent at the Administrative Office this morning?”

”No,” Aunt Heidi responded, a bit puzzled, ”the winter work plans have already been arranged, and this morning only involves some daily affairs which can be handled by the assistants.”

”Then let’s not rush to the Administrative Office, accompany me for a walk in the city.”

Ten minutes later, Gawain and Aunt Heidi were already in the central district of Cecil City, with Amber, the personal guard, accompanying them.

Walking on the streets of this newborn city, the unique vitality and energy of Cecil City were omnipresent. The sounds of people chatting and horses trotting filled the air, and people full of spirit and health were everywhere in sight. Although it was already deep autumn and the great sun’s activity had lessened, making the weather colder by the day, these chills hadn’t affected the lives of the people of Cecil at all—on the contrary, the start of numerous new projects in the new city on the northern banks created countless job opportunities, attracting more people to join the workforce in this bustling city.

Yet, just over two years ago, such a thing was unimaginable for the Anzu people—or for any country in the northern continent, for that matter.

Therefore, whenever Gawain walked the streets of Cecil City, a sense of gratification naturally arose in him. This sense made him feel the reality of his existence in this world more vividly, made him realize his deep connection with this world, and see that his efforts and actions weren’t in vain.

Amber followed beside Gawain, curiously glancing at him, seemingly noticing something different from his usually dignified expression. As his personal guard, she had spent more time with Gawain than Aunt Heidi and Rebecca. Whether she liked it or not, she was familiar with every detail in Gawain’s expressions and could tell he had something on his mind, yet wasn’t sure if she should ask.

Fortunately, Aunt Heidi was also there; she might not be as adept as Amber at reading people, but she was a meticulous and sensitive person. After some hesitation, this ”Great Steward” opened her mouth in concern: ”Ancestor, do you have something on your mind?”

Indeed, Gawain had something on his mind—pondering the internal war outside the rocky ridges Fortress, considering how many more years of stable development the Cecil Principality had, thinking about the threats of the god of Holy Light and other gods, and wondering if those evil cult followers, silent for nearly a year, were brewing a new conspiracy. Yet under Aunt Heidi’s slightly worried gaze, he casually said: ”Once Lu’an City is pacified... we can develop peacefully for a few years.”

”As you said,” Aunt Heidi slightly bowed her head, ”some production and construction plans have been scheduled until the second half of next year. As long as there aren’t any major changes in external circumstances, the following years will be critical development years for the Principality.”

”Yes... the premise is that there aren’t significant changes externally...” Gawain spoke slowly, but his mind couldn’t help drifting to that powerful and watchful nation: Typhon—the empire standing at a crucial juncture of reform. How much longer would they tolerate watching Anzu’s civil war? When exactly were they planning to act as Anzu weakened?

Perhaps Daniel’s side of things should be accelerated...

However, Gawain’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a scene on the street not far away.

He saw a group of people emerging from the street corner, each with a wreath woven from some kind of grey-white straw around their necks. They held bags from which they continuously took white flowers, pinning them to every door along the way, and he suddenly noticed many passersby on the street were also wearing white flowers—some on their collars, some on their hats, and some simply in their hands.

”What’s the situation over there?” Gawain raised his hand to point, ”What are they doing?”

Amber glanced over there and casually replied: ”Oh, Annaling Festival is in a couple of days, and lots of people in the city are getting ready for it.”

”Annaling Festival?” Gawain was puzzled, ”It’s a festival? Did it happen last year?”

Heidi seemed to hesitate briefly, her voice slightly unsure: ”Last year... there were actually some festival activities, but the territory was still very unstable, and resources were tight, so the events were small. You probably didn’t notice.”

”Is that so?” Gawain was still somewhat confused, ”But how come I don’t know about this festival?”

Heidi glanced at Gawain, her expression turning slightly odd: ”This festival... it’s normal you don’t know about it. It started after you... passed away back then. On the 45th day of Frost Month each year, people wear straw wreaths, decorate doors and clothes with Death Chrysanthemums, and hold night-time bonfires and dances to commemorate the dead and communicate with their souls.”

”Oh, a festival after my ’death,’ no wonder,” Gawain nodded in realization, then immediately caught on, ”Wait a minute, Frost Month 45th? Isn’t that the last time I went to battle seven hundred years ago...”

”Just as you thought,” Heidi’s expression grew even more peculiar, ”this festival commemorates you—initially a spontaneous commemorative ritual by the people of Cecil, then King Charlie and other founding dukes each held their commemorations for you, and by year 27 of Anzu it became a nationwide festival...”

Gawain: ”...”

This means that in a couple of days the whole of Anzu will be collectively wearing flowers, roasting fires, singing and dancing to celebrate his death anniversary?!

He really wanted to just blurt out ”oh my” like Nicholas Egg at this point, but considering the image of the ancestor, he forced himself to hold back, though he couldn’t stop muttering with a bizarre look on his face: ”Seriously... but, I’ve been resurrected, doesn’t anyone feel there’s something off still celebrating this festival?”

”There’s no choice... after all, it’s been seven hundred years...” Aunt Heidi’s face was about to twist into a knot, but she knew that the ancestor must be more perplexed than she was at this moment, so she could only brace herself and continue explaining, ”The origin of this festival has become a historical footnote that only aristocrats and scholars know a little about—and that’s only if they are really well-educated ones. For ordinary folks, the Soul Day has evolved into just another festival, a day to commemorate ancestors, comfort departed ones, connect with spirits, and pray for peace and blessing... you should understand...”

”I...” Gawain was already sweating bullets, but after thinking hard, he realized he really could only understand—having been ”dead” for seven hundred years, aside from those initial couple of decades, generations of Anzu have been used to commemorating ancestors on this day. In a world where real gods exist and most ritualistic festivals are related to divine beings, this might be the only one not associated with gods; if he didn’t understand, what else could he do?

”Alright, alright, I understand, I understand,” Gawain rubbed his temples with a headache, and for a fleeting moment, he suddenly felt that all his previous worries could just be put aside, ”Celebrate if you want to...”

Aunt Heidi sighed in relief; she had been nervous to death a moment ago, because although this festival is theoretically meant to ”commemorate the great ancestor,” and supposed to be filled with glory, whether the ancestor himself thinks it’s worth commemorating after crawling out of the coffin is another matter entirely. To be fair, she didn’t think the nationwide tradition of dancing around the bonfire to commemorate one’s demise would be a matter of joy—and they did it once every year...

But before she could fully catch her breath, she was interrupted by a lively voice suddenly echoing in, ”Ancestor! Auntie! Ah, and Amber! You’re all here!”

Aunt Heidi looked up, just in time to see Rebecca bouncing and hopping over from afar, and she spotted that silly child clutching a big handful of Death Chrysanthemums...

Instantly, she coldly and calmly realized: Oh no, it’s ruined.

In the moment she was dumbfounded, Rebecca had already raced up to the three of them, first cheerfully greeting Gawain, then turning to Aunt Heidi, ”Auntie! Soul Day is coming soon, we missed it last year; should we celebrate it normally this year?”

Aunt Heidi lowered her voice almost through gritted teeth, ”Re-be-cca—”

Rebecca, oblivious to any change in atmosphere, replied, ”Huh?”

Aunt Heidi opened her mouth, just about to remind the girl about the origin of Soul Day, yet unexpectedly, Amber, who had been quietly observing for quite a while, suddenly spoke, ”Speaking of which, how does your Cecil Clan celebrate Soul Day?”

Amber, the excellent head of the Intelligence Agency, a master spy, an expert in information warfare and sabotage operations, a key player in the textbook-level propaganda battle, the ”Anzu Awakening” event, with three major talents in life: grave robbing, slipping away, and fanning the flames.

Rebecca fell directly into the trap, enthusiastically starting to explain, ”Actually, most of it is the same as everyone else—the Death Chrysanthemums are used to decorate doorways and under window ledges during the day, so ancestors can find their way home, and then at night, there’s a bonfire party, eating, drinking, dancing, and such. Plus, a portion of food is prepared to entertain the souls of ancestors. The next morning, all the Death Chrysanthemums are gathered and taken to the family cemetery, to return the souls to their resting place...”

As Rebecca spoke, she looked over at Gawain, ”Right, ancestor, do you want to... huh?”

Gawain, expressionless, looked at Rebecca, ”Why not just give me the flowers you have? Save you the trouble.”

Rebecca: ”...”

Gawain glanced at Aunt Heidi, still expressionless, ”This child’s poor history knowledge is forgivable—but no one told her the origin of Soul Day? She’s the family heir, after all.”

Rebecca finally fully reacted, standing upright with a head full of cold sweat, ”I... I know! Soul Day was originally a memorial event held to honor the founding king Gawain Cecil, officially becoming a festival in Anzu year 27...”

Gawain couldn’t resist knocking on the silly child’s head, ”Aren’t you aware of all this!”

Rebecca, rubbing the spot where she’d been knocked, ”I just didn’t realize...”

Gawain was utterly helpless: How does this head, which can seamlessly switch between magic skills and mechanical fields, become so rigid in other areas, akin to a nerve dead end?

Rebecca, nervously observing Gawain’s expression changes, tucked in her neck, ”Then... perhaps our family shouldn’t celebrate Soul Day... since ancestor you’re already alive again anyway.”

Nevertheless, Gawain did not immediately answer; he merely gazed at the street not far away where people were preparing for Soul Day, feeling an odd sense arising within him.

After contemplating briefly, he finally broke the silence, ”Soul Day... should still be observed, this year I’ll join in with you.”

This time, not only Aunt Heidi and Rebecca, but even Amber watching on the side was taken aback, ”Ha?! What’s this hobby of yours?”

”Someone who’s climbed out of a coffin doesn’t need commemoration, but other souls... need solace,” Gawain breathed gently, ”The fire at old Cecil... it’s been two years now.”