Martial Arts Master

On the summer solstice of 1024, the sun hung high in the sky. It had not rained for nearly a month, and the scorching sunlight had left the grass on the ground somewhat wilted. Even the bees and butterflies had vanished.

Before dawn, the farmers drove their oxen and horses into the fields. In the farmland where wheat had already been harvested, they used seed drills to plant peas, chickpeas, and soybeans that Young Master had bought from overseas heathens two years ago.

This summer was hotter than usual. At around ten in the morning, the farmers had no choice but to stop their work and lead their animals to rest beneath the shade of the trees by the fields.

Fortunately, Wessen Territory had many rivers large and small, as well as waterwheels to lift water, so there was no fear of drought in the fields.

Beside a patch of farmland near Weissenburg, a group of farmers sat in the shade, enjoying the breeze and discussing the strange occurrence on the distant mountain.

Not long ago, several people had noticed that the scenery on the mountain had become distorted. That was the Weissen Family cemetery.

Those farmers believed that something major had happened there, while others thought they had simply been dazed by the heat.

Whether the farmers were dizzy or not, Frederick did not know. He himself was feeling somewhat lightheaded, while Ah Fu had already fainted onto the ground and nearly smashed his head into Frederick's great-grandfather's tombstone.

Just moments ago, Richard Nahl, an old friend of the late Lord Weissen, had come to pay his respects. His overwhelming grief had caused him to lose control of his emotions, and the power he released had had an enormous impact on the surroundings.

Such was the terrifying might of a Sword Saint!

A memory surfaced in Frederick's mind. In his previous life, one of his university dormmates came from a family of fishermen. One summer vacation, the rich kid in their dorm had rented his family's fishing boat and invited everyone to experience deep-sea fishing. Someone had been assigned the task of getting seasick.

Though he clearly knew he was standing on the grass in the cemetery, it felt as if he were standing atop a stormy sea. Everything around him rose and fell, swaying violently, forcing him to adjust his balance to avoid falling.

In Richard Nahl's eyes, his old friend's young son looked like a bowling pin grazed by a bowling ball, wobbling without falling.

He stroked his beard, narrowed his eyes slightly, and made a decision.

After swaying for several minutes, Frederick finally steadied himself. Once he had regained his footing, he heard Richard Nahl say calmly, "Let's go."

Richard Nahl turned and headed toward the cemetery gate. As he passed Ah Fu, he raised a foot and kicked him in the thigh, sneering, "Stop pretending."

Ah Fu climbed to his feet expressionlessly, as if nothing had happened, and followed Richard Nahl and Frederick out of the cemetery.

"After I became famous, many people wanted to know me, but Henry was the most unusual of them all," Richard Nahl said, recounting the past to Frederick. "The first time he met me, he asked whether, in the Dark Lands, one could cut a hole in the river ice during winter and have fish crawl out on their own."

"At the time, many people wanted to recruit me. I thought Henry wanted to use my hobbies to get close to me."

"After spending more time together, I realized that he genuinely only wanted to ask where on this land there were good places to fish."

"Four years ago, when we met for the last time, he told me that you were a smart little fellow. He said that once you grew up, he would leave the territory for you to manage, then hire me as a bodyguard and travel to the southern rainforests, the western ocean, the northern ice seas, and the farthest reaches of the east to see what fish we could catch."

A faint smile appeared on Frederick's lips. His father really was capable of doing something like that.

"He's gone fishing at the Starlight River now," Frederick said. "I think he'll keep Pisces for himself."

Richard Nahl laughed, reached out, and rubbed Frederick's golden hair. "If he doesn't, I'll beat you up every day for him to see."

Frederick's mouth twitched. Then his heart skipped a beat, and he asked in surprise, "My lord, are you planning to stay here?"

"You don't welcome me?" Richard Nahl asked.

Scratching the back of his head, Frederick said, "I'm afraid there won't be enough roasted pork knuckles in the territory."

Richard Nahl laughed and rapped the little fellow on the head.

He continued, "Over the years, I have traveled to many places, fought countless Martial Artists, and seen innumerable martial arts techniques."

"Now I need to find a place to settle down, properly refine my martial arts, and take in some students along the way."

Frederick immediately said happily, "That's perfect! I have established Weissenburg University at the manor by Brombach Lake, and I am the principal. I can appoint you as vice principal right now. You can focus there on researching martial arts and teaching students."

"I have a group of promising young people here, including Jürgen, Lothar, Andrei, Gerd, Heinz, Bernd, Matthias, Stefan, Oliver, Michael, Miroslav, and others. They certainly will not disgrace your name."

Other than the surviving Franz, the older generation of fighters in Wessen Territory had all passed away. The new generation was still immature. If they could receive guidance from an internationally renowned Sword Saint and scholars from Constantinople, their future would be limitless.

Richard Nahl's favorite food was Wessen Territory's roasted pork knuckle. First, several cuts were made into the pork knuckle, which was rubbed with salt and a sauce made from cheap Spices, then stored in an ice cellar to marinate at a low temperature for two days. Next, it was boiled in stock. After being removed, the sauce and moisture on the skin were wiped away, then it was brushed with a crispy-skin glaze made from honey, wine, vinegar, and water. Finally, it was air-dried and roasted over high heat in an oven, then served on a plate lined with sauerkraut.

Frederick felt that if Richard Nahl were willing to open a class at Weissenburg University and take students, he would have no problem treating him to nine roasted pork knuckles every three days.

Richard Nahl looked at the child counting people on his fingers with mixed laughter and exasperation. Anyone else would have understood his hint that he wanted to take him as a disciple, but this fellow had gone ahead and arranged his position and work. Not only had he not considered himself, he had not even asked about the salary.

"Have you not considered yourself at all?" the Sword Saint said irritably. "Or are you afraid to go onto the battlefield?"

"You talked for so long without mentioning the vice principal's salary. Don't tell me you intend to pay me in roasted pork knuckles?"

"The honey used for roasted pork knuckles is rather difficult to buy. Forget it."

Frederick froze for a moment, then scratched the back of his head. "I'm afraid my talent is too poor and would tarnish your reputation."

"Honey... ah! How did I forget that?!"

Seeing the little fellow suddenly startle himself, Richard Nahl asked curiously, "What is it? Did you think of another crazy idea?"

Frederick answered, "I thought of a type of sugar that can barely replace honey!"

Richard Nahl laughed. "If such sugar existed, honey would not be so precious."

"Don't tell me it's Lead Sugar. That stuff is poison!"

"No, no!" Frederick shook his head like a rattle. "It's sugar made purely from grain. It isn't poisonous, and it costs far less than honey."

Richard Nahl shook his head slightly. "Don't waste food. So many people have tried to make something that could replace honey, yet no one has succeeded all these years."

Frederick said with complete confidence, "It'll be fine. I can definitely make it!"

Richard Nahl continued shaking his head. Countless people in the world wanted to make sugar. At present, the closest thing to success was sweet wine, which was still far from sugar.

"You may try," he said, slipping into the role of an elder, afraid that his old friend's son would go down the wrong path. "But you may use no more grain than your own body weight. If you exceed that amount, you must stop and abandon the idea for good."

Frederick had never lacked nutrition since childhood, and neither had several generations before him. At eight years old, he was already 1.3 meters tall and weighed thirty kilograms.

After thinking it over, he said confidently, "I'll definitely succeed on the first try!"

Richard Nahl patted his head. "If you truly succeed, I'll accept you as my disciple."

Frederick thought for a moment, then said, "If I succeed, we split the profits from this business fifty-fifty."

Richard Nahl merely smiled, treating it as a child's wild fantasy.

Several days passed just like that. During that time, Frederick had Ah Fu go to Munich in the south to buy glutinous rice imported from the south. Thanks to water transport, its price was not very high, and the locals only occasionally bought it to make porridge for a change.

On the last day of June, Richard Nahl scooped up some malt sugar with a spoon. After examining it for a long time, he tasted it, and his expression immediately turned solemn.