Ambition

The days that followed were peaceful. Renard stayed in the castle, making plans for his journey, while his lackeys diligently carried out the tasks he assigned them.

"Ding! Help the tenant farmers in your territory get through the cold winter. Reward: fifty denars."

At the crisp chime of the system notification, Renard stopped his quill and once again turned his consciousness inward. In the lower-right corner of the system shop, the number sixty-eight was clearly displayed.

This was the second task he had completed—or rather, the second task his lackeys had completed for him. The progress had been a little slow, but at least the result was satisfactory.

Selina stood by to attend to him. When she saw her young master lost in thought again, a knowing smile appeared on her face. Thinking of the good deeds he had done lately, she felt a warmth in her heart and thought, Though my young master's temperament has changed completely, it's a good thing for the territory.

Then she grew anxious again as she looked at the map spread across the table, her face full of worry.

Renard's nine lackeys were just as troubled. They had realized that the tasks their young master assigned were becoming increasingly bizarre, and the direct result was that the difficulty kept climbing without end.

"Help Mr. McCarthy clear the drains on Vanilla Street?" Ben looked close to tears as he held the note in his hand. Worst of all, it had a reminder marked on it: You must do it yourself.

In fact, every note Renard gave his lackeys had those conspicuous words written on it.

Tommy sneaked a glance at the note in Ben's hand and couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Then he opened his own note, and his gaze instantly went blank. "Clean up the garbage dump in the slums?"

"Pfft!" Raleigh, one of the lackeys, couldn't hold back a laugh. But when he saw his companions glaring at him as if they wanted to kill him, he forced himself to swallow it.

Tommy's lips curled into a cold smile. Pointing to a line of small print at the bottom of the note, he said, "Young Master Renard told me to pick three people to complete the task with me."

Raleigh: "..."

No matter how unwilling the lackeys were, the great cleanup campaign in Saint Brieuc Fortress went ahead in full swing.

The residents had no idea what had gotten into the men who used to throw their weight around, but they were delighted to see them rolling about in the foul, muddy drains. They were filled with the satisfying pleasure of revenge.

Baron Hamilton was pleased as well. Renard not leading his lackeys in causing trouble for the locals had already put him at ease. Now his son was even helping out and doing good deeds, which gave him a great deal more confidence. It seemed his son wasn't entirely useless after all.

Only...

Thinking of his subordinate's report, Baron Hamilton couldn't help frowning. "He actually wants to go adventuring?"

Bennett stood respectfully to the side, a faint smile on his face. "Calling it adventuring might be a bit of an exaggeration. It seems he wants to clear the monsters around the territory. That's a good thing. It shows that the young master has begun to take his responsibilities seriously and cares about the safety of the territory."

"Mm!" Baron Hamilton thought Bennett had a point. His brows gradually relaxed, and a pleased smile tugged at his lips. "Excellent. Those are the noble qualities a capable lord should possess."

Saint Brieuc Fortress lay close to the Ambrisset Mountains, where monsters were numerous and impossible to wipe out. They were a constant source of worry for him.

He didn't believe Renard's efforts would accomplish much, but it was enough that his son had the right intentions.

After finishing his official duties, Baron Hamilton sipped his tea. "Tea from the East may be bitter, but it leaves a distinctive sweetness behind. It's a thousand times better than milk tea. No wonder the nobles in the royal capital favor it so much."

He took a couple of small sips, looking pleased, but soon his expression turned calm again. "My Duncan Family rules over fifty thousand square kilometers of the Barren Land, with the coast right at our doorstep. We should be developing maritime trade on a large scale. It's a shame the man above us has so little vision."

Bennett inclined his head slightly, clearly agreeing. "Maritime trade could bring the Duncan Family immeasurable wealth. Unfortunately, Duke Edmond is devoted to martial arts and has little interest in doing business."

Baron Hamilton couldn't help sighing. He looked out the window at the dilapidated houses, muddy streets, and ragged poor. The sight stirred something in him. "If I were the grand duke, the Barren Land wouldn't look like this."

His words were quiet, but they brimmed with confidence. Before he took charge of Saint Brieuc Fortress, the place had been nothing more than a rundown village, with at most a few dozen households.

Now, by contrast, it had a permanent population of more than two thousand. Counting the merchants who came to trade and the mercenaries who passed through, it had a population of three thousand.

Such an achievement might not be worth boasting about in the wealthy north of the kingdom. But this was the desolate south, in the Barren Land, a place whose very name inspired fear. This was enough to make anyone proud.

Bennett said nothing. As a veteran who had served two generations of lords, he knew which remarks to respond to and which to leave unanswered.

After a long silence, Baron Hamilton sighed softly and asked, "Have the taxes payable to the grand duke been prepared?"

"They were ready long ago." Bennett took out a note and recited its contents from memory. "Ten gold coins, twenty thousand pounds of grain and fodder, five oxen, two milk cows, ten sheep, two suits of armor, ten longswords, two spears..."

As Baron Hamilton listened to the report, his expression darkened until his face was black as a pot. He sighed deeply and waved a hand. "Find a time to send it over."

Bennett inclined his head slightly, respectfully placed the note on the desk, then turned and left the room.

Baron Hamilton sank back into the sofa and picked up the note. He stared fixedly at the figures. They were like blades, carving away at his flesh.

He slammed a hand on the table in fury and roared, "Damn parasites!"

In truth, in this era, which resembled medieval Europe, lords were left almost entirely to their own devices. At least, that was how things were in the newly established Kingdom of Arthur.

In other words, noble lords didn't have to pay any taxes to the King. They only had to swear allegiance to him. But they couldn't escape being squeezed dry by their direct superiors.

Baron Hamilton's direct superior was the current head of the Duncan Family, Duke Edmond.

Of course, the esteemed Duke Edmond wouldn't force his subordinates to pay taxes. They could simply refuse—as long as they could stand against the three thousand private soldiers at his command.

Baron Hamilton clenched his fists. He badly wanted to challenge his short-sighted yet arrogant cousin. But when he remembered that he had only a few dozen poorly trained soldiers under his command, he immediately gave up on the foolish idea.

His face fell. The frustration of having grand ambitions but no way to fulfill them was maddening. He picked up the mirror on the desk and looked at his temples, where many white hairs had already sprouted. "Sigh!"

He let out a quiet sigh, heavy with bitterness and helplessness.