Only after Old Walker's back had disappeared completely did the henchman's tense nerves finally relax. He looked at the burly young man who had just gotten to his feet, admiration showing on his face.
The kid hadn't shown the slightest fear in front of Old Walker. He was quite a character. Remembering Renard's earlier instructions, the henchman thought for a moment, then reluctantly pulled a few copper coins from his purse and tossed them to the young man. "Here! A reward for you!"
The coins traced an almost perfect arc through the air, drawing the eyes of the surrounding commoners.
Many of them were eager to rush forward and snatch the coins, but when they saw the henchman's warning glare, they immediately shrank back into the crowd.
The burly young man's face tightened, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes. He darted forward and caught the coins just before they hit the ground, then stuffed them into his pocket with lightning speed.
Once he was done, his expression returned to normal, and he wore a simple, honest smile. "Thank you, generous sir."
The henchman studied the young man's face, surprise plain in his expression. The other man seemed to have the strength of a Beginner Swordsman. By rights, he shouldn't have fallen so low as to become a commoner.
Frowning slightly, the henchman asked, "What's your name?"
"Tracy Hayden," the burly young man answered truthfully.
"Tracy Hayden?" The henchman searched his memory for anything associated with that name, but came up empty.
He shrugged. "I've never heard anyone mention that name. You must have come to Saint Brieuc Fortress recently, right?"
"That's right. I drifted here two months ago." The burly young man nodded without hiding anything.
"How old are you, and where are you from?"
"I'm eighteen. I came from the Province of Roses."
"What brought you here? How do you make a living now? Do you have any family?"
"Uh, I traveled south after leaving the Province of Roses and ended up here. Now I get by doing odd jobs. I... I'm an orphan."
When he spoke about his background, Tracy's expression clearly flickered.
This immediately put the henchman on guard. He was about to ask something else when he suddenly froze, thinking, Why am I asking so many questions?
He shook his head with a wry smile, blaming himself for meddling. He wasn't a lord or a lawman, so why was he bothering with this?
Once he'd thought it through, he shrugged and introduced himself. "My name is Tommy. Tommy Hodgson. Welcome to Saint Brieuc Fortress."
The burly young man scratched his head with an honest grin and replied, "I know who you are—the most loyal follower of Young Master Renard, one of the famous Eight Henchmen."
"Hmm..." The henchman froze for a moment, then asked with a kindly smile, "Who told you that?"
Whatever Tommy the henchman was feeling, Old Walker's mood in the shop was certainly at rock bottom.
He sat in a chair behind the counter with a dark expression, his fingers tapping incessantly against the tabletop as he pondered some important matter.
After a long while, he sighed and opened the drawer on the left side of the desk. Inside sat an old wooden box with a padlock.
Perhaps because of its age, the keyhole had rusted completely shut, making it impossible to open.
Fortunately, the wooden box wasn't very sturdy. He pried off a side panel in just a few tries and gave it a slight shake. A striking golden medal slid out.
The medal had been cast from exceptionally pure gold, shining as brightly as its color suggested. Its owner must not have handled it often, since a thin layer of dust had settled over its surface.
Yet anyone could imagine that all it would take was a wipe to clear away the dust, and the faint glow of a candle, to make the medal shine as it was meant to.
Old Walker turned it over greedily in his hands for a long time, until he'd wiped every speck of dust from it. Only then did he reluctantly put it back in the box.
He placed the box on the counter and stared at it without blinking, sinking into thought once more.
Judging by weight alone, the medal was worth as much as five high-quality standard gold coins from the Kingdom of Arthur.
In poor Saint Brieuc Fortress, five silver coins would cover a typical family of three's expenses for two or three months, while five gold coins could keep them fed and clothed for twenty years.
And that was only the medal's material value. Its commemorative significance could easily double its worth.
After all, it was a Medal of Merit bestowed by His Majesty Rochelle Hope, founder of the Kingdom of Arthur, upon one of his followers. Fewer than twenty thousand medals like it had ever been issued, and after decades had passed, perhaps fewer than a third still existed.
At the thought, Old Walker sighed deeply and muttered to himself, "This is trouble, not fortune!"
His voice was thick with regret. He shouldn't have let greed tempt him into buying the thing from Goldfinger. Anyone who owned such an item was surely someone he couldn't afford to offend. A little inquiry had been enough to uncover the medal's history: it was a family heirloom of Wilson's.
He'd originally intended to do Wilson a favor by returning it, but on the way he'd run into Young Master Gilbert. After Old Walker explained why he had it, Gilbert had told him to take the medal back, saying he had an important use for it.
Old Walker wasn't stupid. The illegitimate son had only hinted at his intentions, but that was enough for him to understand that this young master also wanted to curry favor with Wilson.
Though Gilbert was only the lord's illegitimate son, his status and connections were beyond anything an outsider like Wilson could hope to match. Old Walker knew perfectly well which side to choose.
Following Gilbert's instructions, Old Walker had brought the medal back to his shop. As for why Gilbert didn't return it himself, Old Walker hadn't dared to ask.
The medal had been left in his care for nearly half a year now. He'd even thought Gilbert had forgotten about it.
If Tommy, one of Renard's men, hadn't mentioned the item, Old Walker himself would almost have forgotten that the thing was still in his shop.
"A hot potato!" Old Walker glanced toward the door. Crowds of commoners had gathered outside, with no sign of leaving. It seemed there'd be no business today.
If there were a saying to describe Old Walker's current predicament, it would be like a mouse caught in a bellows—getting blasted from both ends!
If he handed over the medal, he'd offend Young Master Gilbert. If he didn't, he'd offend Young Master Renard. Neither of them was easy to deal with.
Others might not know Gilbert well, but after decades of experience in the underworld, how could an old hand like Old Walker not understand his character?
He was more cunning than a fox, more venomous than a snake, and more vicious than a wolf.
As for Renard's character, Old Walker didn't even need to use his own judgment. He could ask anyone on the street and hear endless curses and insults.
Old Walker sighed again, slowly put the box back in the drawer, and added a lock to it. Then he went to the shop entrance and shut the door, clearly deciding not to do any business.
Before you continue