Mercenary Peyton

"Enough!"

The arguing stopped abruptly.

A slightly thin figure shoved the door open and strode away with his head lowered.

"Sam!"

Before Roland could react, another broad-shouldered man appeared before him.

At the sight of the man, Sean waved excitedly.

"Unc—"

But the burly man merely glanced at Roland and Sean before chasing after the previous man, vanishing at the end of the street.

"Uh..."

Sean lowered his raised right hand and awkwardly rubbed his nose.

"That man who came out after him was my Uncle Peyton."

"Mm."

"Anyway, let's go inside first."

With that, Sean pulled Roland into the house.

The furnishings inside were rather plain, but everything was clean and tidy.

"Sean, where's your father?"

"He should be selling meat at the shop around this time."

Sean shut the door and tossed the bundle in his arms onto the wooden table with a dull thud.

"So..."

He stared at the bundle on the table and slowly spoke.

"What exactly is this?"

Roland looked around, making sure there was no one else in the house, before stretching lazily and tilting his chin toward it.

"Open it and see for yourself."

"Being all mysterious..."

Sean grumbled unhappily as he reached out to unwrap the bundle.

When the wrapping cloth fell away and revealed three iron swords, his puzzled expression froze instantly before turning into shock.

"Heavenly Father above!"

He cried out, snatching up one of the swords and raising it high. His widened eyes were filled with disbelief.

After standing there in a daze for a long while, he slowly turned his vacant gaze toward Roland.

"Bu-buddy, is this... an iron sword?"

His voice trembled slightly with shock.

"I think your eyesight is fine."

Roland chuckled and shrugged.

"No, I mean..."

Sean excitedly swung it several times. Only after the cold touch of metal assured him that it was real did he carefully hug the iron sword to his chest and ask in a trembling voice.

"Where did you get this?"

"Of course I forged it myself."

Sean did not doubt Roland's words, but seeing the calm look on his face, he could not help feeling a trace of frustration.

They were both learning under Mister Hawk, yet he had not even mastered the most basic hammering techniques, while Roland could already forge weapons on his own!

The gap between them was simply...

"Tsk. Sometimes, the difference between people is greater than the difference between people and dogs."

He muttered under his breath.

But then he thought again—the genius in front of him was his best brother!

That thought instantly swept away the gloom in Sean's heart.

He hugged the iron sword tightly, his mouth splitting into a foolish grin. He caressed the blade for quite some time before reluctantly wrapping it up again.

"Are you planning to sell it?"

Sean asked hesitantly.

"My dad said that selling tools privately without joining the Blacksmith Guild is illegal..."

"But I can ask around at the tavern for you. Maybe there'll be some other way."

Hearing that, warmth rose in Roland's heart.

When he had first crossed over, his body had been too weak, and he had suffered no small amount of bullying from the other apprentices.

Whenever that happened, Sean had always stood up for him. During the time they spent together afterward, Sean had continued taking good care of him.

Without Sean, Roland might not have had the energy to devote himself fully to practicing his craft, much less successfully become a Blacksmith Apprentice and stand out among the many apprentices.

For those reasons alone, Roland felt that giving him an iron sword was nowhere near enough to repay that friendship.

"Why wrap it back up? Isn't your birthday only a few months away?"

The corners of Roland's mouth lifted.

"This is a gift I prepared especially for you."

"A-a gift? For me?"

Sean's pupils suddenly contracted. The usually carefree boy was now completely at a loss.

He carefully ran his hand over the blade, his voice becoming halting.

"Th-this is too valuable. I've never bought a weapon, but an iron sword like this must be worth a fortune."

"All right, all right."

Roland stepped forward without giving him a chance to refuse and pressed the iron sword into his arms.

"Didn't you say so yourself? We're the best brothers."

"The best brothers..."

Sean murmured the words, then suddenly nodded hard, his eyes shining.

"That's right! We're the best brothers!"

He laughed and gave Roland a bear hug so forceful that the latter's bones creaked.

"Easy. Easy..."

Roland struggled free from the enthusiastic embrace and cautioned him.

"No matter who asks, even if your father or uncle asks about it, don't tell anyone that I forged these weapons. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

After imitating a manor guard's salute, Sean began fondly playing with the iron sword in his hands.

Only after quite a while did he notice the other item in the bundle.

"Buddy? What's this?"

"This thing..."

Roland stared at the iron plate with two cloth straps hanging from it that Sean had raised. The corner of his eye twitched several times.

After taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remain calm and stepped forward.

"Look."

As he spoke, he tied the crudely made Heart Protection Mirror over Sean's left chest.

"At least this can block a fatal blow aimed at the heart."

"I see!"

Sean curiously flicked the iron plate on his chest with a finger, producing a crisp ding, then vigorously patted Roland on the shoulder.

"Buddy! You're a forging genius!"

"A genius?"

Roland revealed a bitter smile and shook his head helplessly.

"All right, Sean. Put this, uh... armor away first."

Just as the two finished putting everything away, a set of heavy footsteps sounded outside the door.

They turned to look and saw Peyton push the door open with a grim expression.

Only in the bright sunlight from outside did Roland finally get a clear look at him.

Beneath his high hooked nose, sharp eyes shone from deeply set sockets. His angular face was as resolute as if carved by a blade.

Together with his burly frame, he gave off a faint but unmistakable sense of pressure.

"Uncle Peyton, I'm back!"

Sean called out excitedly.

"This is Roland, the one I mentioned to you before!"

Peyton gave a distracted "Mm," then casually pulled a small wooden barrel from beneath the counter.

As he pulled out the oak stopper, the fragrance of wine, tinged with the scent of fruit acid, immediately spread through the room.

He tipped his head back and took several large gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Wine ran down from the corners of his mouth, forming droplets that hung from his thick beard.

After casually wiping his chin with his sleeve, Peyton pulled his mouth into a half-smile.

"What's this, Sean? Did the noble lord throw you out because you were too poor at learning your trade?"

"Not at all. Tomorrow is the celebration of the Heavenly Father, so Mister Hawk gave us a break."

Sean seemed long accustomed to Peyton's mockery.

Thinking of the iron sword he had just received, he spoke impatiently.

"Uncle Peyton, please teach us some swordsmanship!"

"Us?"

Peyton raised an eyebrow, the wine barrel stopping in midair.

"Yes."

Sean hurriedly nodded, first pointing at his own muscular chest, then patting Roland's thin shoulder.

"You know, once the celebration ends, Lord Beckham will be recruiting soldiers to suppress the monsters in Black Fir Forest. I want to enlist, but all I've got is brute strength."

He scratched his head sheepishly.

"As for Roland..."

Feeling Peyton's scrutinizing gaze, Roland put on a modest smile at the right moment.

"Uncle Peyton, I'm very interested in swordsmanship as well."

"Heh heh."

Peyton chuckled twice and set down the wine barrel.

"Well, what a coincidence. I'm not good with other weapons, but I know a thing or two about sword techniques. Teaching you wouldn't be impossible, but..."

He narrowed his eyes, revealing a smile like that of an old fox.

"What are you offering as tuition?"

"Tuition?!"

Sean's eyes widened.

"Uncle, I'm your own nephew!"

"Cut the act!"

Peyton tipped back the barrel and took another gulp, then let out a satisfied belch.

"Do you know how much those retired veterans at the Training Ground charge to teach their skills?"

He held up one rough finger.

"Ten silver coins a month!"

At that, Peyton deliberately lowered his voice with a kindly expression.

"But since we're family, I'll only charge you five silver coins. What do you say?"