Military Talent

Karl frowned as he swept his gaze over the scene, discomfort stirring within him, but his purpose remained clear.

Following the intelligence, he strolled seemingly casually toward the cages of Third Platoon.

Soon, he found cage number seventeen.

Seven or eight slaves were confined inside, most of them listless and dispirited. One of them was an elderly man with graying hair and ragged clothes, leaning against a corner. Though haggard, there seemed to be a discerning gleam in the depths of his eyes, unlike the others. He appeared to be the so-called Old Morrell.

Karl walked up to the cage, his gaze settling on the old man.

Though Brendan did not understand why the Lord had suddenly taken an interest in an old slave, he still dutifully stepped forward and rapped the bars with his sword sheath, waking the trader.

The trader opened his eyes and, seeing Karl and Brendan's attire, immediately put on a fawning smile. "Interested in this old fellow, gentlemen? He may be old and skinny, but I heard he used to be some sort of official. Sharp-minded, too! He'd be perfect for bookkeeping or guarding a gate! Cheap price, just ten Silver coins."

"Ten Silver coins is too expensive. Two at most," Karl said flatly.

The trader considered it. Old Morrell had been sitting unsold for a long time, and nobody had ever shown any interest. Getting two Silver coins for him was still pure profit.

"Deal! You're a forthright man, sir!" Afraid Karl might change his mind, he agreed at once.

Though Brendan did not understand why the Lord wanted to buy an old man, he still stepped forward and paid.

The trader swiftly opened the cage, pulled Old Morrell out, put a simple rope shackle around him, and handed the lead to Karl.

The moment the transaction was completed and Karl touched Old Morrell's arm, the system prompt silently confirmed it again, as if it had finally locked onto its target.

Karl did not spare the other slaves another glance. Taking his newly purchased slave and Brendan with him, he turned and left the market.

Once they reached a slightly more secluded place, Karl stopped and looked at Old Morrell, who remained silent but wore a complicated expression in his eyes.

"Your name is Morr?" Karl asked calmly. "You used to work at the Royal Capital Military Engineering Bureau? You took part in projects at Carnford?"

Old Morrell's body jolted. He abruptly raised his head, and an incredulous light burst from his clouded eyes as he stared at Karl. "You... how do you know that? Who are you?"

"I am Karl von Schmidt, Carnford's newly appointed frontier Lord." Karl looked at him. "Before I came, I saw your name in a file at the Royal Capital Archives. I never expected to find you here. I need someone who understands fortifications and defense. You are the best candidate."

The shock on Old Morrell's face gradually turned into bitterness and a trace of mockery. "Carnford... that graveyard abandoned three times? A Lord? Young man, going there is just courting death... And what can I, an old slave, possibly do?"

"If I can buy you out of a cage, I can keep Carnford from becoming a graveyard." Karl's voice carried unquestionable confidence. "As for what you can do... tell me, Engineer Morr. Do you still want to take up a surveying rod and blueprints again? Or are you willing to rot away as a slave in this Northern Territory?"

Morr's gaunt chest heaved violently. He stared at Karl's young yet unusually composed face, and the humiliation and despair of the past several years seemed to have found an outlet.

He suddenly drew a breath and said hoarsely, "If you... if you truly intend to rebuild Carnford... if you need my knowledge... then perhaps these old bones of mine can still draw a few accurate lines, my lord."

"Good." Karl nodded. "Brendan, remove his shackles. From now on, he is an employee of the territory, not a slave."

Old Morrell felt the relief of the shackles being removed from his wrists. He looked at Karl, his gaze complicated, before finally letting out a long sigh that carried a faint spark, one that had nearly gone out long ago.

Karl brought Old Morrell back to the City Defense Army barracks. Passing through gazes both curious and indifferent, he did not head straight for the training ground but first returned to his crude tent within the camp.

Along the way, Karl noticed that although Old Morrell had been freed of his shackles, his thin, tattered clothes could not withstand the Northern Territory's cold wind. The old man was shivering as he walked, his lips turning bluish purple.

Karl frowned and gave Brendan a quiet instruction.

Brendan nodded and hurried off. By the time Karl led the two of them into the tent, Brendan had returned, carrying a set of fairly thick and clean coarse-cloth clothes, along with an oil-paper package that gave off the fragrance of freshly baked Black Bread and roasted meat.

"Put these on. Eat something." Karl handed the clothes and food to Old Morrell, his tone calm, as if he had merely done something insignificant.

Old Morrell froze. His hands trembled slightly as he accepted the heavy, clean clothes, which carried the distinctive scent of fabric. Then he looked at the enticing food inside the oil-paper package, and his throat bobbed involuntarily.

He had wandered in ruin for so long that he had grown used to cold stares, scolding, hunger, and bitter cold. This sudden concern, free of any hint of charity, left him at a loss.

"Th-thank you, my lord..." His voice was dry, and he could barely form a complete sentence.

"Change quickly. Don't let yourself freeze sick." After saying that, Karl turned and walked to one corner of the tent, where he spread out the map he had obtained from the Governor's Office and appeared to begin studying it, no longer looking at them.

Old Morrell hurried to comply, taking off the rags that could barely cover him and changing into the thick new clothes.

Warmth gradually drove away the biting chill, and the old man's stiff body slowly relaxed.

Then he crouched in a corner of the tent and carefully ate the food.

The Black Bread was rough but filling. The roasted meat was only ordinary beast meat, yet it was rich with fat and smelled wonderfully fragrant.

After the hot food reached his stomach, a long-lost warmth spread through his entire body. At last, a trace of color returned to Old Morrell's pale face, and his body stopped trembling uncontrollably.

As he chewed, he secretly lifted his eyes to look at the young Lord.

Karl was studying the map intently, his finger moving slowly across it, sometimes pausing and sometimes tracing along a route.

The tent was not well lit, but the outline of his profile looked remarkably focused and steady.

He was not especially tall or imposing, appearing to be only a young man who had recently come of age.

Yet at that moment, in Old Morrell's eyes, this young man's back seemed to contain a weight and strength wholly unsuited to his age.

The lake of his heart, long frozen and dead for years, seemed to have been struck by a red-hot iron, hissing as faint yet genuine warmth rose from it once more.

He remembered the blueprints he had once drawn, the fortification plans into which he had poured his heart, only for them to be abandoned when Carnford fell; the talent and ambitions that had been utterly denied because of political infighting...

Perhaps... perhaps this time would be different?

Perhaps this young Lord, who seemed unlike the others, could truly create some small miracle in this hopeless land of the Northern Territory?

Perhaps these old bones of his, deemed useless and on the verge of decay, could truly be of use again instead of rotting to death in some corner with endless regrets?

An indescribably complicated emotion surged within him, mixed with gratitude, hope, the excitement of regaining his dignity, and a caution that dared not hope too much.

He swallowed the last bite of bread, wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and struggled to his feet before walking behind Karl.

His steps were still somewhat unsteady, but his back straightened unconsciously.

Facing Karl's back, he spoke in a hoarse whisper, solemnly and quietly, loud enough for only the two of them to hear:

"Thank you, Lord Karl."