Difficult Problem

The lackeys left excitedly, and as soon as they were out the door, they started arguing about how to divide the gold coins, their newfound camaraderie collapsing instantly.

Immediately afterward, the sounds of punches and kicks could be heard, interspersed with the pained cries of someone unknown.

Watching their retreating backs, Renard's tightly furrowed brow gradually relaxed, and he shook his head with a wry smile.

If you want a horse to run, you have to let it eat grass. Similarly, if you want your lackeys to work diligently, you have to give them some benefits from time to time.

While relationships maintained by self-interest are the most fragile, they are also the most stable. At least the lackeys won't abandon him before he goes bankrupt.

However, his most pressing problem now was a lack of money. Counting on his fingers, he realized there were still several days until Hamilton would give him his allowance. These days would likely be difficult.

He pondered ways to make money in his mind, dismissing each idea one by one until he couldn't come up with anything good.

Scum Renard was not one for manual labor. If there were any ways to make money in his memories, they were: one, outright robbery; two, staging accidents; and three, living off his parents.

It was truly pathetic. Others transmigrated with a head full of money-making ideas, creating gunpowder, forging steel, or at the very least, making soap, perfume, or wine. They could always maintain a basic standard of living, or even become incredibly wealthy.

He was just a gaming otaku. Although his IQ was higher than average, it was all wasted on games. He couldn't understand how such a great opportunity to transmigrate had fallen into his lap for free.

Moreover, the world he transmigrated to was all wrong. The forging technology in this world was even more advanced than in his original world. Gunpowder had existed for thousands of years, and soap and perfume had already become bestsellers hundreds of years ago.

Brewing? Sorry, this world boasted over a hundred types of alcoholic beverages. The northern continent where he was located was the birthplace of ale and fruit wine. Saint Brieuc Fortress's main source of income was brewing and selling ale.

Renard sighed deeply, racking his brain once more for ways to get money. Coincidentally, he saw Selina walking by with a tray. He called out to her, "Selina, do you have any good ideas for making money?"

He added, "Preferably without any capital, and as long as it doesn't break the law."

If his lackeys were here, they would have unanimously told him: "Sell your ass!"

Fortunately, Selina wasn't that kind of person, but her expression still faltered when she heard his request. She then shook her head, "I don't know."

Renard's face fell. He slapped his forehead. He was truly desperate, seeking help from anyone. What good ideas could a mere maidservant come up with?

However, what she said next warmed his heart, casting aside all his worries. "Is Young Master short on money right now? I happen to have some silver coins here. They're all from the tips you've given me over time, which I've been saving."

Renard could feel her kindness and involuntarily took her small hand. What a kind girl. His family wasn't wealthy, yet she was always thinking of him, a good-for-nothing.

He didn't want such a girl to suffer any grievances. He smiled and replied, "I'm not short on money. How could your Young Master be short on money?"

Selina bit her lip. "Young Master, am I very useless? I can't help you with your worries."

"Not at all," Renard immediately corrected her. "Selina is the most useful!"

Well, as an otaku, he was terrible at cheering up girls.

After finally seeing Selina off, Renard started worrying about money again. It was true what they say: a rich man is a hero, a poor man is just a man.

If he only had to support himself, he could live frugly. However, he had nine lackeys to feed, which was no small feat.

Just as he was frowning with worry, a slightly aged voice suddenly came from outside the door: "Is Young Master worrying about money?"

Renard turned his head in surprise and saw an old man with a hooked nose standing quietly outside.

He couldn't help but feel a prickle of fear. He didn't know when the man had appeared there. If it had been an enemy, his life would have been forfeit.

Renard smiled with feigned composure. "Mr. Bennett."

Although this was only the second time he had met the old man, he already felt a sense of closeness. This was because Scum Renard's mind held many memories of him.

Bennett was the head steward of the lord's mansion, the strongest martial artist in Saint Brieuc Fortress, the person with the most power besides Baron Hamilton, the tax collector and mayor, and the most trusted subordinate of both the former and current lords.

Of course, these titles were not important. What was important was that Bennett was the person who cared most about Renard, besides his mother.

If it weren't for Bennett's protection and support over the years, Scum Renard would have been beaten to death countless times, let alone rivaling Gilbert.

"Thank you again for saving me. I would have truly been beaten to death by Gilbert otherwise," Renard said sincerely.

Bennett was initially taken aback, then broke into a gentle smile. "Protecting Young Master is my duty."

Bennett was a man of few words and quickly steered the conversation back to the issue of money. He walked into the room, took out four cards from his embrace, and placed them respectfully on the table. "Here are forty gold coins. Young Master, please take them."

Forty gold coins? Renard stared at the cards on the table, searching his memories for related information. It took him a while to understand that these cards were Magic Crystal Cards issued by the royal mint of the Kingdom of Arthur, similar to checks in his previous life.

Magic Crystal Cards were extremely rare in the Barren Land. After all, it was a desolate place with poor trade and few mint branches. Thus, Scum Renard had only seen them twice.

The Magic Crystal Cards before him were uniformly marked with the number ten, indicating their face value of ten gold coins each.

Renard swallowed. He desperately wanted to take these Magic Crystal Cards, but after some thought, he shook his head and said, "I can't take your money."

While searching his memories about the Magic Crystal Cards, he had seen some unpleasant scenes. Scum Renard had borrowed money from Bennett more than once, totaling at least several dozen gold coins, all of which were the old man's hard-earned retirement savings.

Bennett didn't know how to refuse, or rather, he had already come to regard Scum Renard as his own junior, selflessly dedicating himself.

Renard made this decision with great resolve. Although this money was enough for him to do many things and would last him at least two years without worrying about money, could he take it with a clear conscience?

Perhaps sensing his inner thoughts, Bennett smiled and said, "This isn't my money. It's from the Master, who asked me to give it to Young Master."

"From Father?" Renard's expression was one of shock. By the time he reacted, Bennett had already vanished from sight.

His sudden, ghostly appearance sent a shiver down Renard's spine. If not for the four Magic Crystal Cards on the table, he would have thought he had seen a ghost.

Renard pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind a jumble of conflicting memories: What game was the old man playing?

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