Gwayne Seawright returned safely—bearing not only the royal decree but also news of the Crown's support for his endeavor.
Viscount Andrew, who had waited nearly three months in the frontier town of Valewatch, felt vindicated in his decision. The legendary hero from seven centuries past had not disappointed him. He was no mere warrior brute as Andrew had first feared, but a man both shrewd and far-sighted.
Still, he had not anticipated that the reborn founder would choose the Black Mountains as the cradle for his House's revival.
As a minor noble guarding the Southern Frontier, Andrew was no stranger to those mountains.
Indeed, the former Seawright Domain and the neighboring Lescaille Holdings both lay to the north of the Black Mountains. On clear days, one needed only to lift their eyes to see that towering natural wall.
The mountains blocked the tainted winds drifting from the ruins of Gondor to the south, but they were also known for their monsters, curses, and sinister rumors. Even the boldest hunters seldom dared venture into the range, despite the Southern lords having long since opened the mountains for "hunting rights."
The former Seawright lands lay northwest of Valewatch, while the territory Gwayne had selected—the soon-to-be "New Seawright Domain"—was southeast of the town. Together, the three points roughly formed a triangle.
Of the three, New Seawright lay closest to the mountain range, its southern borders pressing into the treacherous peaks themselves.
A tributary of the Whitewater River, which flowed past Valewatch, meandered into New Seawright's bounds. From a logistical standpoint, it was a practical choice: supplies from Valewatch could easily reach it, and future trade, once the territory flourished, would be facilitated.
If—and it was a large if—Gwayne could first survive and hold that unforgiving land.
Within the Viscount's stone hall, Andrew voiced his unease: "Forgive me, Your Grace, but your chosen site… it is not the most suitable. The land may be vast, yes, but it lies perilously close to the Black Mountains. Without the shelter of civilized holdings, the beasts of the mountains will be a constant threat. Moreover, every Mistmonth, the foul winds from Gondor sweep down over the range. Strong soldiers may weather it, but your peasants and bondsmen will surely suffer…"
Gwayne only smiled. "You have seen the maps yourself, Viscount. I had precious few good choices. Among the marginal lands along the Black Mountains, this is the best.
The foul winds can be countered with alchemy and magic. As for beasts, I will handle them. Once we endure the first year, we can begin mining the mountains, and then we will have a foundation."
He couldn't exactly tell the man he had chosen that cursed place because the buried treasure vault of the First Exodus still slept there, could he?
No—first, he had to recover the treasure. Then it could be known, and even then, only in part. Secrecy, at least for a while, was essential.
Seeing Gwayne's unwavering resolve, Andrew could only bow and relent: "Of course, Your Grace. I shall do everything within my power to support you. But… please, remember the terms of our original agreement."
"I never forget a debt," Gwayne said, laughing. "If you're really worried, I can leave you some of my antique armor as collateral?"
At the long table, Rebecca—currently regaling her Aunt Hestia with tales of the royal court—perked up, eyes sparkling.
The ancestor thinks just like me! Maybe I really did inherit the family spirit!
Hestia gave her a sharp rap on the forehead. "Eyes on me, young lady! And explain yourself—are you telling me that while the king hosted you at a grand royal feast, you spent the entire time eating?"
"I had a little wine too!" Rebecca said defensively. "I'm of age, after all…"
Hestia could only cradle her head in her hands. "Oh heavens…"
Meanwhile, Viscount Andrew hurriedly waved away Gwayne's "kind offer." "Please, there's no need. I have complete faith in the Seawright family's honor—and in the word of a Founding Hero.
May I ask, Your Grace, when do you plan to depart?"
"The sooner, the better," Gwayne nodded. "Once we've gathered the supplies. The High King's promised aid won't arrive for at least a month, but I need my people settled in their new home well before then."
For the eight hundred-odd survivors of the old Seawright lands, their three months of uneasy rest in Valewatch were at an end. Their lord had returned, and with him, the call to begin anew—even if most had no idea what hardships awaited them.
Knights Byron and Philip were dispatched to Valewatch's markets, tasked with purchasing every tool, wagon, barrel of grain, and roll of canvas they could find—along with medicines, axes, rope, nails, and a thousand other necessities.
The sheer list of needed items towered like a mountain. Even Hestia, long entrusted with Seawright family affairs, and Byron, a veteran of the old house, struggled to organize it all. No one really knew what was required to build a domain from the ground up.
Only Gwayne could guide them, for he alone remembered—etched into his mind like iron—the bitter lessons of the First Exodus.
Sure, seven centuries had passed. Technology and magic had changed. But the fundamental needs of pioneers—food, shelter, clothing, medicine, and protection—remained constant across the ages.
As for funding, things were tight but manageable. The gold and silver that Viscount Andrew had returned, plus what Sir Philip had salvaged from the old lands, would just about cover the initial phase.
The townsfolk of Valewatch quickly noticed the stir. For three months, the Seawright refugees had loitered about their town, but now they bustled through the streets, bartering and buying.
The merchants especially took note—and profits.
Grumbling over the refugees' occupation of town hovels quickly faded. Now that the tradesmen were lining their pockets, they looked far more favorably upon the whole affair.
While the knights busied themselves with supplies, Gwayne assigned Hestia and Rebecca a critical task: to compile a full registry of every surviving Seawright subject.
"List every name, every age, every trade or skill," he instructed. "Organize them by family. Create a separate list for carpenters, stonemasons, blacksmiths. And number everyone for easy reference."
It should have been a simple order.
Instead, Hestia and Rebecca stared at him blankly.
"...You've never done a population registry before?" Gwayne asked, dumbfounded.
Rebecca, blinking innocently, replied: "The lands near the castle were managed by Aunt Hestia.
The knights oversaw their own fiefs. As long as we knew roughly how many men, women, elders, and children we had, that was enough. If we needed more detail, we could just… ask around."
Gwayne nearly choked. "Ask around? You ruled the domain by gossip and vibes?"
Seeing the darkening stormclouds on his face, Hestia grew nervous: "Ancestor… surely, back when you and the Founding King built the kingdom, you used these 'registries'?"
Gwayne frantically rifled through his ancient memories.
A moment later, his expression turned green.
Because the truth was—
It had been worse back then.
After the Cataclysm annihilated Gondor, civilization had collapsed.
The survivors who fled the ruins were largely backwater peasants and tribesmen. All the scholars, all the engineers, all the magi had perished at the center of the maelstrom. What remained was a scattered, broken remnant, dragging themselves northward under the guidance of a few battered heroes.
In those desperate days, the great kingdoms of today—Andraste, Tevanyr, and others—had been founded by what amounted to children leading illiterate peasants.
It was only the existence of magic—of individual strength that could shield entire communities—that allowed humanity to survive at all.
But seven hundred years had passed! Seven centuries! And these descendants had made so little progress?
Gwayne could only cover his face and sigh, wondering if he'd need to teach these children how to run a kingdom all over again.