Chapter 3 (2/2)

The thoughts in his mind, however, were as turbulent as crashing waves.

The memories belonging to Gawain Cecil were pouring out in a mad rush, but they were being categorized and recorded as though his brain was a computer’s hard drive. In the brief moment of his dizziness, his mind had retrieved the information that was easiest to understand, and made him aware of the identity he was supposed to mimic.

The biggest surprise was the corpse’s name—he was also named Gawain.

It was just that this “Gawain” did not hold the surname of “Gao”, but had a different one, “Cecil”.

Was this some kind of coincidence?

Right now, Gawain had no energy to think about how miraculous this coincidence was, for the memories of Gawain Cecil was still gushing forth. He had to concentrate every inch of his fiber to not faint or reveal a ferocious expression on his face. Under this foggy state, he could vaguely hear the young girl who had hit him with her metal staff answer him in a clear voice, “This is Year 735 of the Anzu calendar. Lord Ancestor has been sleeping for over seven hundred years…”

Herti had also let out a sigh of relief when she heard Gawain’s answer. As a scholarly spellcaster, she had some knowledge about the animation of the dead—these blasphemous creatures had a fatal flaw in their souls. In the moments of their awakening, they were almost unable to speak or think, and even though the stronger ones may soon acquire the power of thought, they had no memories of their previous life.

One more thing was that they could never tell their own names—even if they had retrieved their memories, or if someone had told it to them. If they were to speak the name of their past life, the fire of their soul would turn on them and burn them, and even if they could not be burned to death, that kind of pain was unbearable to the undead souls.

Not to mention that the burning of a soul was a phenomenon that could not be concealed.

Thus, her unease melted away. However, she was still in great confusion, because if the ancestor she was looking at did not rise back from the dead, there was no other explanation for this—

Ancestor, why did you suddenly wake up after dying?

But no matter how confused she was, she still had to behave with propriety. Herti thus stepped forward and bowed nervously. “Ancestor of the Cecil Clan, I am your descendant, Herti Cecil. This young woman beside me is also your descendant, Rebecca Cecil. Please, on account of her youth, do not pursue her rash conduct, and… please forgive us for disturbing your rest.”

Well, so this person in front of him was his great-great-great-great… great granddaughter, and so was the one beside her.

The tumult of memories rushing in had finally ceased, but there was no time for Gawain to peruse the orderly files in his mind, for he had to make sense of the situation around him as soon as possible. He grunted as he leaned on the coffin to get up. “I’m alright. I even know how I awoke. Will someone help me to my feet?”

He realized that he had overestimated how acclimatized he was to his body, and felt a little embarrassed that he still could not get up.

Rebecca, who was staring at him with apprehension as she gripped her staff in her hand, realized that this was her moment to shine. She jumped up to the stone platform at once and held Gawain’s elbow as she said, “I’ll help you out of the coffin, I’ll help you out of the coffin…”

It sounded strange no matter how he listened to it [1. Helping someone out of a coffin sounds like a funeral procession, which is strange.].

“More than seven hundred years huh…” Gawain’s stiff body was helped out of the coffin by the young woman. He looked down and eyed his clothes. His sighs confused Rebecca. “What material is this made of?”

“It looks like moon shadow cloth woven by the elves…” Rebecca said slightly uncertain.

“Such black technology.”

Rebecca responded, “Ah?”

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With Rebecca’s help, Gawain was able to step down from the stone platform and stand firmly on the ground. He felt his control over this body increasing swiftly, as though his soul was doing a rapid driver installation, such that his mind and body were attuned with astonishing speed.

He released Rebecca’s hand, and tried to take a small step forward.

He was almost in tears at the next moment. If there was a microphone beside him, he felt that he could thank every single person he ever knew and every single TV station with unique phrases of gratitude for all.

It had been such an eternity that a time-traveler in a novel would have almost been capable of slaying the gods and unifying the universe, but he had just completed the first hurdle of being a human: walking upright.

It was only after he had succeeded in his act of bipedalling that he remembered the little girl who he had almost forgotten, that little girl who had been surrounded by the brawny men.