The tall, skinny young man flushed with pride at the praise, as if he'd just taken a hit of something. He thumped his chest and promised, "Young Master, leave this to me. I know where Mr. Wilson's Medal of Merit is."
"Oh?" Renard raised an eyebrow, looking even more pleased. "Sorry for the trouble!"
As soon as he said it, he regretted it.
"Young Master Renard, what are you saying? Are you treating me like an outsider?" "Exactly! Serving Young Master Renard is our duty. You don't need to be so polite in the future."
Renard pinched the bridge of his nose. The original owner of this body must have spent plenty of time training these lackeys; otherwise, they wouldn't be so obedient.
After chattering for a while, the tall, skinny young man who'd been given the task left in high spirits. From his smug expression, you'd think he wasn't going off to work but to collect a reward.
The others all looked envious, then gazed at Renard expectantly, as though hoping he'd hand out more tasks.
Seeing this, Renard stopped being polite and selected a few easier tasks from the system to assign.
He assigned only bounty missions. He thought he should handle the killing missions himself—not because he wanted to train, but because he suspected the system wouldn't let him complete them so easily. "Madam Tamara's pet seems to have gone missing. Who'll help look for it?"
"I will!" The volunteer was a young man with a sharp face and beady eyes. Renard vaguely remembered him: he was the leader of this group of lackeys. When Renard wasn't around, he managed the other seven.
The young man had some standing. His grandfather was a historian who'd been granted a knighthood by the King. He was currently at Duncan Fort, compiling biographies of the Duncan Family's dukes throughout the generations.
"Then I'll—damn it, leave it to you. Do a good job and you'll be rewarded. Mess it up and I'll castrate you." Fortunately, Renard had changed course in time. Otherwise, he'd have had to endure yet another sickening display of loyalty.
One by one, he assigned the tasks. Before long, all eight lackeys had dispersed in high spirits, each off to handle his own job.
Only then did Renard let out a deep breath, a contented smile spreading across his face.
He trusted these lackeys. They might grovel before him, but outside they were vicious dogs that bit people. They might not handle things perfectly, but they'd surely get results he'd be satisfied with.
Throughout it all, Selina had stood respectfully to one side. Watching the lackeys leave one after another in high spirits, she looked increasingly puzzled. "Young Master, why did you send them to do all that?"
"Uh..." Renard figured he could brush off the lackeys, but this precocious girl deserved at least a little explanation.
After thinking for a while, he sighed. "It's all because of that Gilbert fellow. Judging by our fight yesterday, he's gotten a lot stronger. I can't afford to ignore him."
"Everyone else thinks he's a good person, he's strong, and, most importantly, he's handsome. If I don't work harder, he'll completely suppress me."
"Although I'm the Legitimate Son and the designated heir under noble law, the final say still rests with that old Hamilton."
"That bitch Florence loves whispering in his ear. If Gilbert really surpasses me in every way, Hamilton might decide to remarry. Then the illegitimate son would become the rightful second heir."
Selina listened intently, looking thoughtful. Then she stuck out her tongue and asked, "Young Master, what does 'remarry' mean?"
"Hmm..." Renard paused, then answered honestly. "It means your first wife has died and you marry another. I saw the word in some old book."
Selina's face brightened with understanding. She smiled. "Young Master, you're so knowledgeable."
Knowledgeable? Hearing the word, Renard couldn't help blushing. Fortunately, she'd accepted his answer, so he wouldn't have to keep lying.
As the saying went, one lie required countless others to cover it up. Sooner or later, something would slip.
In fact, many people thought that after Gilbert had beaten Renard badly and dealt him such a heavy blow, no one would be surprised if Renard did something outrageous.
But his reaction this time had truly caught everyone off guard. People had expected him to go on a rampage and take his anger out on others. Instead, he'd suddenly turned into a good-hearted man, ordering his lackeys to help the townspeople solve their problems.
In the slums of the East District, a short, plump young man stood in front of a group of commoners, his face full of disdain. He pointed to the handcart behind him—or, more precisely, to the clothes on it—and said, "Come on, come on! Young Master Renard was afraid you'd freeze to death, so he prepared winter coats for you."
At first, the commoners didn't dare approach. They watched from a distance, like people at a circus watching monkeys.
No one who'd lived in Saint Brieuc Fortress for more than half a year would believe Renard was doing a good deed. Something was fishy whenever he acted out of character!
Still, some couldn't stand the cold. Trembling with fear, they stepped forward, pulled a fur coat off the cart, and put it on. Then one of them asked timidly, "Young Master Renard won't ask us to pay, will he?"
The plump young man gave him a sidelong glance. "Do you have any money?"
The commoner hurriedly shook his head, while clutching the fur coat around himself as though afraid the other man would take it back.
The plump young man's mouth twitched. Impatiently, he said, "Then why ask? Get lost. You lot piss me off just looking at you."
The commoner immediately scrambled away. Just before disappearing, he turned to look at the lackey, a complicated, unreadable expression in his eyes.
After one person had set an example, the others gradually grew bolder. They crowded forward to pick out clothes they liked.
The plump young man supervised them, his tiny eyes darting around. "One item per person. Line up, and don't make a mess. There's enough for everyone. This is only the first cart."
As he spoke, another lackey drove a horse-drawn cart into the slums. "Come on, line up over here..."
The same scene played out again and again throughout the slums.
Meanwhile, a young man with a sharp face and beady eyes arrived in front of a dilapidated house in the slums. He kicked the door open without ceremony and shouted, "Where's your boss? Get him out here!"
Six burly men were sitting inside. From their clothes, they looked less like adventurers and more like street thugs.
When the men saw the young man, they froze. Then the burliest of them stepped forward with a flattering smile. "Well, if it isn't Lord Ben!"
The young man called Lord Ben took out a handkerchief to cover his nose and gestured for the other man to step back. Then, in a commanding tone, he said, "I've got an important job for you."
Before you continue