Marco, Burning with Jealousy

"Aren't you going to the celebration?"

Roland wiped the sweat from his forehead and asked.

"If you're not going, then I'm not going either."

Sean shook his head and casually picked up another wooden sword.

"Huh? Don't be like that. I'm not a child—I don't need you to keep me company."

"How could I not!"

Sean cut him off decisively.

"I promised I'd protect you! What if that bastard Marco comes looking for trouble while I'm gone?"

"Hehe."

Seeing the conflicted expression on his best friend's face, Roland could not help but chuckle.

"What about your Emily? Aren't you going to ask her to dance?"

"I'm not dancing."

Sean swung his wooden sword halfheartedly and muttered.

"No matter how pretty a girl is, she can't compare to a brother. Besides..."

His voice grew quieter and quieter.

"Even if I went, she might not choose me as her dance partner."

That answer made Roland burst out laughing.

Sean's honest yet aggrieved expression was simply too amusing.

"Damn it! Don't laugh!"

Sean protested, his face flushing red.

"Sometimes I really wonder whether you're actually the same age as me. Compared to the celebration, you actually prefer practicing boring swordsmanship? Unbelievable."

"Boring?"

Roland flourished his sword.

"I think it's pretty interesting."

The two practiced and chatted, and before they knew it, noon had arrived.

Only then did Peyton emerge from the house, yawning.

"Mm?"

Peyton grunted, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and refocused his gaze on Roland in the courtyard.

"Is it just me? How did this kid's swordsmanship become so much more proficient overnight? Could he really be some kind of swordsmanship prodigy?"

"Uncle Peyton!"

Sean waved enthusiastically in greeting, having completely forgotten how Peyton had extorted him yesterday.

Seeing Peyton, Roland also stopped what he was doing and gave a slight bow.

"Yo!"

Setting aside his doubts, Peyton pulled a wineskin from his waist, slowly uncorked it, and teased, "What's this, Sean? You're not going out to join the fun? That's not like you."

"After the celebration, I'm going to report to the Recruitment Office near Black Fir Forest, so I need to practice my swordsmanship as much as I can."

"If I catch Knight Beckham's eye, I might become a Knight Squire and fight alongside a Transcendent Professional like a knight!"

As he spoke, Sean's face was full of yearning.

But seeing his best friend like this, Roland let out a soft sigh.

In his view, going to subjugate Black Fir Forest now was by no means a wise choice.

Even with knights who wielded transcendent power leading the way, that forest shrouded in darkness was far too dangerous.

Yet Roland had already tried to persuade Sean many times, even carefully analyzing all the dangers of Black Fir Forest, only for Sean to brush him off with jokes every time.

Over time, Roland stopped insisting.

He knew his best friend too well.

Beneath that honest and simple exterior lay a heart more stubborn than anyone else's.

Becoming a Knight Squire and fighting alongside knights had been Sean's dream since childhood.

Though they were as close as brothers, some decisions could not be changed by a few words from others.

Everyone had their own path to walk.

Thinking of this, Roland could only silently offer his blessings.

"I hope that iron sword and Heart Protection Mirror can keep him safe and bring him back alive."

As for Peyton and Sean's father, Gary, they held different views from Roland.

In Peyton's words, those weak green-skinned bastards in Black Fir Forest had only succeeded by taking advantage of the nearby villages' lack of preparation and relying on their numbers.

Now that knights were personally leading soldiers to subjugate them, those green-skinned bastards did not stand a chance.

So it would be good to let Sean broaden his horizons, rather than loaf around at home doing nothing.

Looking at his nephew, whose worship of knights had practically become an obsession, Peyton snorted and found a shaded spot to sit down.

He tipped back his head and took a gulp of wine before speaking unhurriedly.

"Kid, do you really like knights that much?"

"Of course!"

Sean put down his wooden sword and nodded vigorously.

"They possess great power and noble character. They punish evil, eliminate wrongdoers, and protect the peace of their lands."

Recalling the stories told by bards, Sean went on and on about the virtues of knights.

"Ha! I can't say much about noble character, but when it comes to strength, there are plenty of people in this world more formidable than knights."

Roland had been focused on practicing his swordsmanship, but upon hearing that, his movements paused and he quietly pricked up his ears.

"How is that possible!"

Sean could not bear to hear anyone tarnish the image of knights in his heart, and his face immediately reddened.

"How is it not possible? I once... Forget it. Why am I talking about this with a childish brat like you?"

Peyton seemed to recall some unpleasant past event, and his expression gradually darkened.

He fell silent for a moment before finally giving a bitter laugh, rising to his feet, and leaving.

Seeing him like that, Roland could not help but speculate.

Could there be other Transcendent Professionals in this world besides knights?

But no one ever answered that question, because Peyton did not return until night fell.

Perhaps because the daytime celebration had been too boisterous, even the tavern, which normally remained lively after dark, now had only its owner, Lauren, dozing behind the counter.

"Creak—"

The sound of the wooden door opening woke the drowsy Lauren.

He rubbed his sleepy eyes and looked up.

A figure stood in the doorway, wearing a hooded cloak with linen wrapped around his face, making his features completely impossible to see.

Lauren was already used to such sights.

After all, this place was not far from Black Fir Forest, and mercenaries often passed through.

Those people who lived by the blade were always strange. Compared to guests covered in tattoos or wearing iron masks, this one merely covering his face was fairly normal.

"Good evening, sir."

Lauren yawned.

"What would you like?"

Noticing Lauren's probing gaze, Marco unconsciously touched the linen around his face. Only after making sure there were no flaws did he speak in a deliberately low voice.

"I'm looking for someone."

He raised an arm and pointed toward the darkest corner of the tavern.

There stood a rickety wooden table, where a tall, gaunt figure was drinking ale alone.

Dim candlelight flickered across the man's sunken cheeks, casting a gloomy air around him.

"Then make yourself at home."

Hearing the reply, Lauren answered lazily, then leaned back against the counter and resumed dozing.

Heavy boots thudded across the floor as Marco soon stopped before the wooden table in the corner and sized up the man before him.

Tattered leather armor, lifeless eyes—his entire body gave off an air of dejection.

Is this guy really an experienced mercenary?

Marco frowned, a trace of doubt rising in his heart.

But on second thought, most of the village's mercenaries had recently gone to Black Fir Forest to hunt monsters. Finding even one willing to take a job was not easy.

He sighed and unconsciously tapped his knuckles against the tabletop.

The crisp tapping startled the man across from him awake. He slowly raised his head, revealing a weary face.

"Hello, sir. I heard you need some help? Oh, right, my name is Sam."

"I'm not interested in your name."

Marco impatiently waved him off, then pulled a cloth bag from his robe and slapped it heavily onto the table.

Seeing the other man's cold attitude, Sam merely shrugged indifferently and reached out to untie the bag.

Inside were two silver coins and a written portrait.

"Once it's done, I'll pay you another silver coin."

At that price, Sam's eyes lit up. He then carefully examined the portrait and the words written on it.

"Roland."

After murmuring the name, Sam looked up.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want him to never be able to lift a hammer again for the rest of his life!"

Marco suddenly leaned forward, candlelight flickering in his eyes.

Whenever he thought of the look in Hawk's eyes when he praised Roland, he felt a suffocating jealousy.

To become Hawk's apprentice, he had spent countless sleepless nights practicing his forging skills, layer upon layer of calluses forming on his palms.

As long as he won the assessment two months from now and became Hawk's official apprentice, his life would be completely changed.

Not only would he inherit his father's Blacksmith shop, he would also gain the chance to serve the nobles.

If luck favored him, he might even be able to establish ties with Knight Beckham.

He would never allow anyone to ruin this perfect plan. Nor could he.

Thinking of this, every word Marco spoke seemed to squeeze out from between his teeth.

"Cripple his right hand for me!"