Task System

The lanky youth's face lit up upon hearing the praise, as if he'd just taken drugs. He patted his chest and vowed, "Young Master, leave this to me. I know where Mr. Wilson's Medal of Merit is."

"Oh?" Renard's eyebrows lifted slightly, and he said with even more satisfaction, "I'll trouble you then!"

After saying this, he couldn't help but feel a bit regretful.

"What are you saying, Young Master Renard? Are you treating me like an outsider?" "Exactly, serving Young Master Renard is our sacred duty. Please don't say such polite words anymore."

Renard squeezed his forehead hard, figuring these lackeys must have been thoroughly trained by the original owner of this body, otherwise, they wouldn't be so obedient.

After a noisy half-hour, the lanky youth who received the task left excitedly. Seeing his smug look, it was as if he wasn't going to work, but to receive a reward.

The rest all showed envious expressions, then gazed expectantly at Renard, as if hoping he would assign them more tasks.

Seeing this, Renard stopped being polite and selected easier tasks from the System to assign.

He only assigned bounty quests. He felt that killing quests should be completed by himself, not because he wanted to train himself, but because he felt the System wouldn't let him complete them so easily. "Madam Tamara's pet seems to have gone missing. Who will go help find it?"

"I will!" A sharp-mouthed, monkey-faced youth raised his hand. Renard had some impression of him; he was the leader of these lackeys. When Renard wasn't around, this person managed the other seven.

He had quite some status. His grandfather was a historian, awarded the title of Knight by the King, and was currently in charge of compiling the biographies of the successive Dukes of the Duncan Family at Duncan Fort.

"Then I'll... I'll... damn it, leave it to you. There'll be a reward if you do well, and I'll castrate you if you mess up." Fortunately, Renard quickly changed his words, otherwise, he would have had to endure another round of nauseating displays of loyalty.

The tasks were distributed one by one. In less than a moment, all eight lackeys dispersed excitedly, each going about their own business.

Only then did Renard deeply exhale, a look of contentment appearing on his face.

He felt very reassured about these lackeys. Although they were obsequious to him, they were vicious dogs outside. If he entrusted matters to them, the process might not be perfect, but the outcome would definitely satisfy him.

Throughout the entire process, Selina stood respectfully by the side. Watching the lackeys leave one by one with excitement, the confusion in her eyes grew stronger. "Young Master, why are you having them do these things?"

"Uh..." Renard felt he could brush off the lackeys, but he should explain a little to this precocious girl.

He pondered for a while and sighed, "It's all because of that Gilbert fellow. Judging from our encounter yesterday, his strength has greatly improved. I have to take his existence seriously."

"To outsiders, he has good character, strong abilities, and most importantly, he's handsome. If I don't work harder, I'm afraid I'll be completely suppressed by him, unable to breathe."

"Although I am the legitimate son and the designated heir according to noble law, the final decision still rests with that old man Hamilton."

"Florence, that wretched bitch, loves to whisper in his ear. If Gilbert truly surpasses me in all aspects, Hamilton might not hesitate to remarry. At that time, an illegitimate son would become the rightful second heir."

Selina listened attentively, appearing thoughtful. Then, she stuck out her tongue and asked, "Young Master, what does it mean to remarry?"

"Hmm..." Renard pondered for a moment and truthfully replied, "It means that after the first wife dies, one marries another wife. It's a term I saw in an ancient book."

Selina showed a look of sudden realization. She smiled brightly, "Young Master is truly learned."

Learned? Renard's old face couldn't help but blush upon hearing the word. Fortunately, she accepted his answer, and he didn't have to continue lying.

As the saying goes, one lie requires countless others to cover it up, and there will always be slip-ups.

In fact, many people thought that Renard, having been severely injured by Gilbert and suffering such a huge blow, any out-of-line behavior from him would be understandable.

However, his reaction this time was truly unexpected. People thought Renard would go on a rampage looking for people to vent his anger on, but instead, he suddenly turned into a good Samaritan, ordering his lackeys to help the town residents solve their problems.

In the slums of the East District, a short, stout youth stood with a look of disgust in front of a group of outcasts. He pointed to the cart behind him, or rather, to the clothes on the cart, and said, "Come, come, Young Master Renard is afraid you'll freeze to death and has prepared winter coats for you."

The outcasts initially didn't dare to approach, only watching from a distance, looking like they were watching monkeys at a circus.

Anyone who had lived in Saint Brieuc Fortress for more than half a year wouldn't believe Renard would do good deeds. When something unusual happens, there must be a reason!

However, some couldn't bear the cold and fearfully walked up, grabbing a fur robe from the cart and putting it on. They then timidly asked, "Young Master Renard won't ask us for money, will he?"

The short, stout youth shot him a glance and asked, "Do you have money?"

The outcast quickly shook his head in denial, simultaneously tightening the fur robe around him, as if afraid he would snatch it back.

Seeing this, the short, stout youth curled his lips and impatiently said, "Then what's the point of talking? Hurry up and get lost. Looking at you makes me angry."

The outcast immediately scrambled away. Before disappearing, he turned to look at the lackey, a complex and unreadable expression flashing in his eyes.

With a role model, the other outcasts gradually became bolder, and they swarmed forward to pick out clothes they liked.

The short, stout youth supervised from the side, his large eyes darting around. "Only one per person. Line up, don't cause trouble. Everyone will get some; this is just the first cart."

As he spoke, another lackey arrived with a horse-drawn carriage. "Come, line up here..."

The same scene played out repeatedly in the slums.

Meanwhile, a sharp-mouthed, monkey-faced youth arrived at a dilapidated house in the slums. He unceremoniously kicked the door open and shouted, "Where's your boss? Get him out here quickly!"

Six burly men were sitting inside the house. Their clothing suggested they were not adventurers but more like street thugs.

The men were startled when they saw the youth. Then, the most robust man stepped forward and said with a fawning smile, "Oh! It's you, my lord!"

The youth, referred to as "my lord," took out a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth and waved his hand, signaling the man to step back. Then, in a commanding tone, he said, "I have an important matter to assign to you."