Gwayne was starting to find Viscount Andrew rather interesting. He behaved more like a merchant than a nobleman.
Yet even so, he was not a particularly clever merchant—or at least, not in Gwayne's eyes.
A shrewd merchant wouldn't have laid all his cards on the table so early—speaking openly of debts, payments, and negotiations. A true noble wouldn't have stooped to discuss such vulgar matters at all. The proper course for Andrew would have been to continue extending aid quietly, subtly weaving his influence into the knights and soldiers he sheltered, letting the laws of the land eventually confirm his right to demand repayment. He could have even pressed the matter before the royal court—and once it reached that stage, whether Rebecca wanted to repay or not would no longer have mattered.
The very structure of Andraste's laws and noble customs would have done the work for him.
Still, Gwayne could understand Andrew's caution. The fall of House Seawright was no secret. And with the destruction of their core lands, Rebecca's ability to repay any debt was—at best—uncertain.
"House Seawright will not leave debts unpaid," Rebecca said quickly, though she lacked the forcefulness needed to truly convince. "We still have lands on the border—forests and mountains untouched by the disaster. And as long as I remain heir, there is a loan reserved for our house in the Mithril Vault. If it comes to it—"
Gwayne coughed sharply, cutting her off.
He had seen enough. He had taken the measure of the situation, sifted through the memories that haunted his mind, and it was time to act.
He rose to his feet, voice cutting through the room like a blade: "Rebecca, patience. Viscount Andrew—look further than your own ledger."
The viscount met Gwayne's gaze—and though he remained skeptical, he instinctively stiffened under that steady, ancient stare. Regardless of whether he believed the man's identity, he could not deny the presence, the weight of command.
"My apologies," Andrew said, bowing his head slightly. "It is true... I have been a touch greedy."
That blunt admission caught Gwayne slightly off-guard. Still, he nodded approvingly. "Better honest greed than hidden deceit. Greed itself is no crime—it is how one acts on it that matters. But right now, child, we face matters far larger than debts and coin. A viscounty destroyed. A dragon soaring across the realm. Twisted beasts of the Cataclysm walking again."
He leaned forward, his tone sharpening.
"But," Gwayne continued, "let us be practical. You fear that helping House Seawright will drain you dry. Very well. Let me make this clear: not only will House Seawright repay any debt... but if you have the vision to seize this moment, we can bring you wealth beyond measure."
Andrew narrowed his eyes. "I am listening."
Gwayne tapped the hilt of the sword at his side. "I am your greatest investment."
Andrew froze for a few heartbeats, then offered a wry, almost helpless smile. "My lord duke... assuming you truly are the Gwayne Seawright of legend... you must understand. Seven centuries have passed. The Kingdom of Andraste stands in its second dynasty. Your titles, your lands, your properties... all have long since been parceled out, inherited, or reclaimed by the Crown. With all due reverence, I must think first of my people, my duties as a lord."
Gwayne only chuckled softly.
"Think bigger, my lord viscount. Must investments only be gold and land?"
Andrew tilted his head. "Then what are you offering?"
Gwayne lifted the Pioneer's Sword, its ancient runes catching the light.
"I hold," he said, "the Right of Eternal Conquest."
He let the words hang a moment, savoring the growing tension in the room.
"When Gwayne Seawright bears the Pioneer's Sword," he continued slowly, "he holds the right to claim any unruled land for himself. Whether it lies within the wild frontiers of Andraste, beyond the borders of the eastern Tevanyr Imperium, within the savage Wastelands of Old Gondor, or even across the lost marches of the northern city-states—it matters not. Wherever the sword is raised, wherever conquest is won, that land becomes House Seawright's domain. The kings and princes of all neighbouring realms must acknowledge it."
He smiled, teeth gleaming like a blade drawn at dawn.
"This right was granted not by one king, but by a council of realms—Andraste, the Silver Elves of Valenwood, the Grand Kingdom of Highlands, the tribes of the Augurei, the city-states of the North. It was sworn in blood and magic, ratified by crown and covenant. And its term of validity... is eternal. So long as I live, the right shall endure."
Gwayne's smile widened slightly.
"The founding lords who granted it never imagined I would one day rise again to wield it."
Andrew simply stared, stunned beyond speech. Even Rebecca gasped aloud: "Lord Ancestor! Truly?!"
Gwayne cast a wry glance at Hestia. "Remind me who was supposed to be in charge of her history lessons?"
Blushing, Hestia hurriedly explained. "Rebecca's grades in history... left much to be desired. But to your question, my lord—the Right of Eternal Conquest has never been repealed. When the last of the original Pioneers passed from the world, it was enshrined as sacred law. No king, no scholar would dare erase it."
Andrew found his voice again. "Indeed, my lord. It remains enshrined in the Royal Codices—revered as a symbol of mankind's triumph over the darkness."
Gwayne shrugged casually. "Well, it would seem my... unexpected return has made an ancient law relevant once again."
He saw Andrew's gaze flicker—lingering not on him, but on the sword he bore.
"I admit," Andrew said carefully, "I never imagined this possibility. If the Right of Eternal Conquest truly stands, then yes—you could rebuild House Seawright anew. But I must caution you—it would be a long, arduous venture. You must realize how little open land remains fit for settlement."
"I know," Gwayne replied easily. He looked over at Hestia and Rebecca. "They've briefed me. All the easy lands have been claimed. What remains are the swamps, the wastelands, and the cursed borders of Old Gondor."
Andrew spread his hands. "Then where will you carve your new realm?"
Gwayne simply smiled.
In his mind's eye, he saw the world not as these people did—not as scattered maps or crude charts—but in the sweeping, impossible clarity of a modern satellite's gaze from on high. Though that connection had long been severed, and though the images were surely outdated by now... it would be more than enough.
"I shall find a way," Gwayne spoke simply. "And you, Lord Viscount, need only ask yourself one thing: how much is it worth to be the first to stake your fortunes on the return of a Pioneer?"
Andrew lowered his eyes, sinking deep into thought.
At length, he spoke: "If your Right of Eternal Conquest is recognized by the Crown... then I, humble as I am, would be honored to aid you."
It was a perfect noble's answer—polite, cautious, and non-committal.
Rebecca, however, still burned with youthful outrage. "Why wouldn't the King recognize it?!" she blurted out. "It's enshrined in law! The founding lords swore to uphold it!"
Gwayne merely chuckled.
"Because no king," he said, "would want a rival hero rising from the grave."
He tapped the Pioneer's Sword lightly against the floor.
"And no king," he added, "wants his people worshipping a symbol he cannot control."
Before he could explain further, Amber chimed in mischievously from across the table: "Also, it ruins their three-day mourning holiday!"
She winked outrageously, earning a scandalized glare from Hestia.
"Ignore her," Gwayne said, waving a hand. "The real reason... Hestia and Viscount Andrew both understand already."
Hestia sighed. "A kingdom needs heroes to revere—not heroes who might still act. A dead hero strengthens a throne. A living one... threatens it."
She didn't dare say the rest aloud. Not in front of other nobles. Especially not when the current royal line traced its blood back to a bastard child of dubious claim.
"So," Gwayne said lightly, "our true task is simple."
He rested his hand on the Pioneer's Sword once more.
"We shall make the Right of Eternal Conquest live again!"