Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 3: Finally Able to… Move!

Translator: Atlas Studios Editor: Atlas Studios

After sitting up from what was probably a black metal box, Gawain was in a serious state of confusion. Even the act of “sitting up” was done subconsciously.

His brain was being assaulted by a sense of disorientation and vertigo he had never experienced before. His ears were ringing loudly, his entire body was feeling all sorts of crazy sensations, and his eyes were not only seeing quadruple, but two of the images he was seeing were even in black and white. However, amidst this chaos, his ability to think was not quite annihilated.

Perhaps he should thank whoever had hit him with a stick earlier, for it smacked a precious moment of clarity into him just as he was almost swallowed by the insanity.

But that strike had been really painful…

In the process of getting his thoughts back in order, Gawain finally remembered what had happened earlier—the sudden blanking out of his vision, the start of some escape program, the illusion of falling, and now… this solid, feeling, mobile body.

A body!!

He had a body now!

After having transmigrated for Heavens knew how long, and almost believing that he was actually naturally born as a third-person perspective in the sky, Gawain had received a body!

It was understandable that his mind was confused and that he was disoriented by the sensations he felt from all over his body, for it had been too many years since he had any sense other than his vision. Even if his sanity had been preserved for some unknown reason, it was still difficult for him to get used to being able to feel temperature and pain.

However, Gawain could sense that he was acclimatizing to this body and the feeling of returning to a material state. After the vertigo in his brain had subsided a little, the disturbing quadruple images that his eyes had been seeing returned to normal, and his surroundings now came into view.

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The first thing he saw were four burly men in combat dress nearby. One of them was a middle-aged man whose hair was streaked with white. He was outfitted in a sturdy steel armor, he held a long silver sword, and looked so muscular that even his face looked like it was ripped. On the other hand, the other three men’s armor and weapons were obviously much simpler, and showed signs of being mass-manufactured.

A petite girl was kneeling on the floor, subdued by these large men. Because of the way her hair was falling across her face, he could not see what she looked like, but he noticed the sharp ears sticking out of it.

Farther away stood a woman in a long red dress. Gawain could not help but do a double take at her, for she had an hourglass figure that was complemented by elegance and maturity. This also made him quickly aware of the plain anxiety and fear reflected in this aristocratic and mature lady’s eyes.

However, a noise nearby instantly absorbed Gawain’s attention. He turned his head and saw a young girl who looked at most sixteen or seventeen jumping down from the stone platform he was on in a panic. In the girl’s hand was a metal staff that looked like it could deliver painful smacks…

Connecting the dots, Gawain’s expression turned a little strange suddenly. “Just now… you were the one who hit me, right?”

After he spoke, he was immediately stunned. The words that had come out of his mouth were not in Mandarin, but a language he had never heard of before. However, these foreign words seemed to flow off his tongue as though he had been born knowing them.

Rebecca did not know the existence of the chaotic thoughts that were rioting in her “ancestor’s” mind right now. This noble maiden, who had just inherited the title of Viscountess and suffered under great changes, looked like she was about to cry. “Lord Ancestor… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“I…” Actually, Gawain had not understood what was happening yet—even though he had observed this world for ages, this was the first time his perspective had been changed to that of a first-person one, and he was just as stunned as everyone present, or even more so. “Who are you…”

The gorgeous aristocratic woman in the red dress looked like the calmest person on hand. After Gawain had sat up and started a conversation spontaneously, the fear and anxiety on her face had lessened greatly, and it was her that stepped forward at this moment. Even though she looked wary, she still spoke with composure, “Do you know who you are?”

“Me?” Gawain froze for a moment. Right before he was about to say his name, he quivered, realizing that he was a different person now.

He looked down at the box he was in. Even though the design was a little unusual, this thing was definitely a coffin. Glancing at his surroundings again, he noticed that even though it was more spacious than his home in his past life, it clearly resembled a tomb no matter how he looked at it…

Then, thinking about the expressions of the people around him, Gawain realized one thing. He looked like a corpse that had come back to life.

If he were to introduce himself as someone who did not have the same name as this “corpse”, he would surely be killed off as a monster by these people. What had the young girl called him earlier? Lord Ancestor, was it? If so, he could make a bold guess that he was possessing her ancestor’s body. Whatever their ancestor had eaten that still made this body not decay even after so many years was not his concern right now—more importantly, he was a foreign soul possessing their ancestor’s body, lying in their ancestor’s tomb, and even delivered a kick that sent their ancestor’s coffin lid flying… if he was exposed now, embarrassment would not even begin to describe what he was feeling…

With that reasoning, Gawain looked down and pretended to be deep in thought, while in reality, he was rapidly thinking of excuses to provide, such as having memory confusion after such a long sleep. However, just as he gathered his wits about him, a powerful wave of dizziness struck him.

He had just gotten used to his new body with some difficulty and shed the vertigo, only to be attacked by a second round of faintness. His body almost collapsed back into the coffin, and the aristocratic woman raised her magic staff in the instant she saw Gawain’s strange motion. She was on the verge of lobbing a fireball right into her ancestor’s face when Gawain’s low voice piped up, interrupting her gesture.

“Gawain Cecil. I’m Gawain Cecil, a pioneer of the Anzu Kingdom… What century is this?”

Gawain lifted his head slowly as he spoke. His gaze was as calm and deep as the sea.

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…”

Heidi 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. Heidi thus stepped forward and bowed nervously. “Ancestor of the Cecil Clan, I am your descendant, Heidi 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.