The Recruit

In the dead of night, the study room remained brightly lit.

Hundreds of murmuring voices reciting texts converged, like ten thousand flies buzzing, making the already suffocating summer night even more unbearable. No one noticed that among those buzzing flies, one voice grew fainter and slower.

"The essence of man is the sum total of all social… social… re…"

His consciousness plummeted into darkness, and in a daze, he seemed to hear screams and shouts around him. He wanted to tell them he was fine, that if they helped him up, he could keep reciting, but this effort, like his consciousness, vanished in an instant.

"I've been wandering in another world for ten years, sometimes I miss those days of happy slackerdom~"

"Even if my mighty body trembled and I bowed down, I still miss home~"

Richard lay on a flatbed cart piled high with goods, humming a tune no one could understand, a coarse cloth handkerchief covering his face to shield him from the scorching midday sun.

After a while, perhaps finding the journey's monotony finally unbearable, he suddenly sat up.

He was probably under twenty years old, but tall, well-proportioned, and finely built. A leather armor was cinched by a wide cowhide belt, and he wore a pair of well-made deerskin hunting boots. Together with the longsword hanging at his side, they conveyed a sense of vigor and martial prowess.

It was just that at this moment, he was yawning incessantly, his eyes full of sleep, which somewhat detracted from his imposing aura.

"Hey, you, tell me the truth, when are we finally going to reach that, that place?"

"Corun." The driver, who was leading the horse, was accustomed to this strange traveler's forgetfulness. "My lord, you can already see Corun's city walls."

Richard perked up, turning his head to look into the distance along the road.

At the end of the hazy horizon, where sky and earth met, a thin, earthy-yellow line gradually grew larger as the cart approached—it was the distant city wall.

"Faster!"

The caravan, which had been traveling in the wilderness for nearly a week, also yearned for the city's prosperity. The sound of hooves suddenly intensified. An hour later, Corun's appearance fully unfolded before Richard's eyes.

This was a renowned majestic city throughout Pompey. Its original designers had put much thought into it; the passing river had been slightly modified and dredged to form a natural moat.

The architectural style of the Northeastern Province was simpler than that of the Southern Province. There weren't many extra decorations on the city walls, only flags featuring eagles and crossed swords fluttering weakly on the flagpoles—the emblem of the Augustus Family, the lords of Corun.

But the sheer size of the city walls, built from giant rocks and rising to fifteen ren (a unit of measurement), already made it worthy of the title "majestic city."

A long line of people waited outside the city gate to enter, including local commoners and desert caravans with camels, clearly indicating robust commercial activity. Two silver-armored halberdiers guarded a waist-high wooden box, collecting varying amounts of entry tax from each person.

When it was Richard's turn.

"I'm a noble." He proudly pulled out an emblem from his money pouch and flashed it, drawing envious and fearful glances. The caravan's two-gold-coin entry tax was waived.

The tax collectors reluctantly moved aside, and the wheels creaked as they turned, entering the city gate's passage and quickly emerging on the other side.

"My lord." The caravan manager, his face beaming, held out a small bucket of finely brewed dark rye beer to Richard. "Thank you for your care on the road."

This traveler, strange in many ways, had been picked up from the Southern Province. He had proactively declared himself a noble and offered to help the caravan avoid road taxes. The manager initially didn't believe him; what noble would do such a thing?

But it turned out he was telling the truth. At least ten gold coins in taxes had been saved along the way.

Richard took the beer and glanced around to ensure no one was nearby. He then made a gesture with his index and middle fingers together, rubbing them against his thumb.

The Pompey Empire, from north to south, east to west, had rich and varied customs, some even starkly different, but the meaning of this gesture was generally understood nationwide—money.

"What do you mean?" The manager looked at Richard, bewildered.

"What do I mean? What else could I mean! Commission fee!" Richard slapped the carriage, and the thick oak board instantly let out a crack, revealing a faint, indented palm print. "You think you can get rid of me with a bucket of ale after saving ten gold coins in road tax?"

Commerce cannot produce virtue, and virtuous people should treat it cautiously and not seek profit from it. A down-and-out knight is still a noble, and the more down-and-out he is, the more he should uphold his dignity. What was the difference between this behavior and that of a hooligan?

The manager looked at Richard, his eyes first showing confusion and disbelief, then finally transforming into profound admiration.

Look at the young people nowadays! No wonder I'm so old and still just a manager! If I don't change my mindset, how can I ever have my own caravan in the future?

He opened his mouth to say something, but seeing the handprint on the carriage, he ultimately chose silence, which was golden. He dutifully counted out five gold coins from his money pouch and handed them over. "Here you go, my lord."

"That's more like it." Richard snatched them up and turned to leave.

"Wait!" The manager suddenly called out from behind him.

"What do you want?"

"That beer is mine." He snatched the wooden bucket back fiercely.

Richard, holding his sword, was dashing through Corun's wide streets.

His current destination was Corun's Noble's Estate, the institution responsible for managing all noble fiefs in the province.

This place was easy to find; from any corner of the city, if one looked up, they could always see the soaring dome of the Noble's Estate. It was a remnant of ancient ancestors; people in Pompey rarely built such tall structures anymore.

Some said it was uneconomical, others that the exquisite geometric algorithms had long been lost, and still others that the lords of the Noble's Estate had no sense of propriety and forbade taller buildings to steal their thunder.

Richard privately leaned towards the last possibility.

But regardless, this building, set on a six-story base, was undoubtedly the most magnificent in Corun City.

Twenty-four granite columns fanned out symmetrically on either side of the main entrance, supporting the massive, bread-shaped curved dome. Between the ends of the columns were distributed circular epic narrative carvings, depicting stories from the ancient Nero's Rebellion era.

Above the main entrance hung a bronze mermaid statue, two ren (one ren = one meter) tall, holding scales in her left hand and a law book in her right. At a glance, it was clear it was the work of a master, incredibly detailed and lifelike.

Richard stepped towards the main entrance. As soon as he set foot on the first step of the base, a green-eyed male attendant scurried forward, greeting him with a standard eight-toothed smile.

"Sir, this is the Noble's Estate."

The butler's reminder subtly conveyed two meanings: if Richard was a noble, he was in the right place; if not, he should know better than to linger.

"Richard Orlando, I'm here for my fiefdom," Richard stated, pulling two crumpled parchment scrolls from his pig-bladder coin purse.

The green-eyed man took them, meticulously verifying the documents and signatures, especially the seal at the bottom.

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on Richard's lips, hinting at derision.

For a swordsman, keen observation was a fundamental skill. He noticed the butler had subtly flinched when he heard Richard's name.

Butlers serving at the Noble's Estate were undoubtedly highly trained; it was rare to see any expression beyond a slight smile on their faces. Such a reaction could only mean he was inwardly affected.

Richard, of course, knew why.