Winning Hearts with Virtue

Once Old Walker's figure completely disappeared, the henchman's tensed nerves slowly relaxed. He looked at the sturdy young man who had just gotten up from the ground, a look of admiration on his face.

This kid didn't show any fear facing Old Walker; he was truly something. Recalling Renard's previous instructions, the henchman pondered for a moment and reluctantly took out a few copper coins from his money pouch, tossing them to the young man. "Here! A reward for you!"

The copper coins traced a near-perfect arc in the air, drawing the envious glances of the surrounding lowlifes.

Many lowlifes eagerly stepped forward, wanting to snatch them up, but upon seeing the henchman's warning glare, they immediately retreated timidly back into the crowd.

The sturdy young man's expression tensed, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes. He nimbly lunged forward, catching the copper coins before they hit the ground, then swiftly and silently pocketed them.

Afterward, his expression returned to normal, and he put on a simple, honest smile. "Thank you, generous sir."

The henchman stared at the young man's face, his expression filled with surprise. This fellow should possess the strength of a Beginner Swordsman and shouldn't have fallen to the status of a lowlife.

Thinking this, he frowned slightly and asked, "What's your name?"

"Tracy Hayden," the sturdy young man replied truthfully.

"Tracy Hayden?" The henchman searched his mind for any memories associated with that name, but the results were not very satisfactory.

He shrugged and said, "I haven't heard anyone mention that name before. You must have come to Saint Brieuc Fortress recently, right?"

"That's right, I drifted here two months ago," the sturdy young man nodded, hiding nothing.

"How old are you, and where are you from?"

"I'm eighteen this year, and I'm from the Province of Roses."

"What did you come here for? How do you make a living? Do you have any family?"

"Uh, I left the Province of Roses and traveled south until I arrived here. I'm living by doing odd jobs now. I... I'm an orphan."

When speaking of his origins, Tracy's expression clearly flickered.

This immediately put the henchman on guard. Just as he was about to ask more, his expression froze. He thought to himself, Why am I asking so much?

He shook his head with a wry smile, blaming himself for being too nosy. He wasn't the lord or a magistrate; why should he bother with all this?

After thinking it through, he shrugged and introduced himself, "My name is Tommy, Tommy Hodgson. Welcome to Saint Brieuc Fortress."

The sturdy young man scratched his head sheepishly and replied, "I know you. You're Young Master Renard's most loyal lackey, one of the famous Eight Henchmen."

"Hmm..." The henchman's expression faltered for a moment, then he asked with a kind smile, "Who said that?"

Regardless of whether Tommy the henchman's mood was good or bad, Old Walker's mood inside the shop was at its absolute worst.

He sat with a stern face on a chair behind the counter, his fingers tapping incessantly on the tabletop, clearly contemplating something important.

After a long while, he sighed, opened a drawer to the left of the table, and took out an old, locked wooden box.

Perhaps due to its age, the keyhole was completely rusted, making it impossible to open.

Fortunately, the wooden box wasn't very sturdy. He pried open a wooden board on the side in a few strokes. Giving it a slight shake, a very conspicuous Golden Medal slid out from the box.

This medal was cast from extremely pure gold, as dazzling as its color. Its owner likely didn't handle it often, as a thin layer of dust had settled on its surface.

However, anyone could imagine that once the surface dust was removed, with just a little candlelight, this medal would regain its rightful brilliance.

Old Walker greedily handled the medal for a long time, only reluctantly placing it back in the box after he had wiped away all the dust.

He placed the box on the counter, staring intently, and fell into deep thought once more.

Purely by weight, this medal was equivalent to five high-quality standard gold coins from the Kingdom of Arthur.

In the impoverished Saint Brieuc Fortress, five silver coins would be enough for a common family of three to live on for two to three months, while five gold coins would ensure they wouldn't have to worry about food or clothing for twenty years.

And this was just the surface value of the medal; its commemorative significance alone could more than triple its value.

After all, it was a Medal of Merit awarded by His Majesty Rochel Hope, the founder of the Kingdom of Arthur, to his followers. Fewer than twenty thousand such medals were distributed, and after decades of time, perhaps less than two or three tenths still exist.

Thinking this, Old Walker sighed deeply and muttered to himself, "A blessing in disguise... or perhaps not!"

His tone was filled with deep regret. He shouldn't have been greedy and acquired this item from that shady dealer. After all, the person who owned this item was not someone he could afford to offend. He had inquired a little and found out the medal's origin—it was Wilson's family heirloom.

He had originally intended to do Wilson a favor and return it, but he ran into Young Master Gilbert on the way. After he explained his intentions, the latter told him to take the medal back, saying it had an important use.

Old Walker wasn't foolish. The illegitimate son had only let slip a hint, and he understood that this young master was also trying to curry favor with Wilson.

Although Gilbert was merely the lord's illegitimate son, in terms of relationship and status, he was certainly not someone an outsider like Wilson could compare to. He naturally knew how to make the right choice.

Old Walker followed the other's instructions and brought the medal back to the shop. As for why the other party didn't return the medal immediately, he didn't dare to ask.

Now, the medal had been entrusted to him for nearly half a year. He had even thought the other party had forgotten about it.

If Renard's subordinate, Tommy, hadn't mentioned it, he would have almost forgotten about this item in the shop.

"A hot potato!" Old Walker glanced at the door. Groups of lowlifes were gathered there, showing no signs of dispersing. Business was likely ruined.

If one were to describe Old Walker's current situation with a Chinese idiom, it would be like a mouse in a bellows—caught between a rock and a hard place!

If he handed over the medal, he would offend Young Master Gilbert. If he didn't, he would offend Young Master Renard. Neither of them was easy to deal with.

Others might not understand Gilbert, but as an old hand who had been in the underworld for decades, how could he not understand the other's character?

He was a man more cunning than a fox, more vicious than a viper, and more ferocious than a wolf.

As for Renard's character, he didn't need to rack his brain. A casual inquiry on the street would yield countless curses and insults.

Old Walker sighed again, slowly putting the box back into the drawer. He then locked the drawer and walked to the shop entrance, closing the door. Clearly, he was no longer intending to do business.

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