The lackeys left in high spirits. They had barely stepped outside before they started arguing over how to divide the gold coins, and the rapport they'd just built collapsed in an instant.
Soon, the sounds of punches and kicks followed, mixed with someone's cries of pain.
Watching their figures gradually disappear into the distance, Renard's furrowed brow slowly relaxed. He shook his head and chuckled.
If you wanted a horse to run, you had to feed it. Likewise, if you wanted your lackeys to work hard, you had to give them a few perks now and then.
A relationship maintained by mutual benefit was the most fragile kind, but it was also the most dependable. At least, the lackeys wouldn't abandon him before he went bankrupt.
But his most pressing problem now was a lack of money. Counting on his fingers, he realized it would still be several days before Hamilton gave him his allowance. These next few days would be a rough slog.
He racked his brains for ways to make money, then rejected one idea after another. In the end, he couldn't come up with anything good.
Scum Renard was lazy and useless. As far as his memories went, there were only three ways to make money: robbing people, staging accidents to extort them, and living off his parents.
It was downright depressing. After transmigrating, everyone else seemed to have their heads full of money-making ideas: making gunpowder, forging steel, or, failing that, producing soap, perfume, or wine. Any of those could keep them fed, or even make them filthy rich.
He was just a gaming nerd. He might've been smarter than the average person, but he'd wasted all of it on games. He couldn't understand why such a golden opportunity to transmigrate had fallen into his lap.
And he'd ended up in the wrong place, too. This world's metalworking was even more advanced than that of his original world. Gunpowder had existed for thousands of years, while soap and perfume had been bestsellers for centuries.
Brewing alcohol? Sorry, this world had hundreds of varieties, and the Northern Continent where he lived was the birthplace of barley beer and fruit wine. Saint Brieuc Fortress's main source of income was brewing and selling barley beer.
Renard let out a deep sigh and racked his brains again for a way to get money. Just then, he spotted Selina passing by with a tray. He called her in. "Selina, can you think of any good ways to make money?"
He added, "Nothing illegal, and preferably something that doesn't require any capital."
If his lackeys had been there, they'd have answered in unison: Sell your ass!
Fortunately, Selina wasn't that kind of person. Still, when she heard his requirements, she froze for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know."
Renard's face fell. He smacked his forehead. He really was clutching at straws. What kind of money-making scheme could a maid come up with?
But her next words warmed his heart, casting all his troubles into the far distance. "Does Young Master really need money? I have some silver coins. They're all from the tips you've given me, and I've been saving them instead of spending them."
Renard could feel her kindness. He instinctively took her small hand in his. What a kind girl. His family wasn't well-off, yet she was always thinking of a good-for-nothing like him.
He didn't want a girl like her to suffer any hardships. Smiling, he replied, "I'm not short of money. How could Young Master ever be short of money?"
Selina bit her lip. "Young Master, am I useless? I can't help you with your troubles."
"How could you be?" Renard immediately corrected her. "Selina, you're the most helpful person there is."
Well, as a shut-in, he was almost entirely useless at cheering girls up.
After finally seeing Selina off, Renard started worrying about money again. He'd really learned the truth of the saying: With money, a man could stand tall; without it, even a man had a hard time.
If he only had to support himself, he could easily cut back on expenses. But supporting all nine lackeys would be quite a challenge.
Just as he was frowning over his predicament, an elderly voice came from outside the door. "Is Young Master worried about money?"
Renard turned around in surprise. An elderly man with a hooked nose was standing quietly outside.
A chill ran down his spine. He had no idea when the man had appeared. Fortunately, he wasn't an enemy, or Renard would've been done for.
Renard gave him a courteous smile. "Mr. Bennett."
Although this was only the second time he'd met the old man, he already felt close to him. Scum Renard's memories held plenty of details about him.
Bennett was the Lord's Mansion's chief steward, the strongest warrior in Saint Brieuc Fortress, and the most powerful person in the territory after Baron Hamilton. He was also the territory's tax officer and mayor, and the most trusted subordinate of both the previous lord and the current one.
Of course, none of those titles mattered. What mattered was that, apart from his mother, Bennett was the person who cared about Renard the most.
Without Bennett's protection and support all these years, Scum Renard would've been beaten to death countless times. He wouldn't have been able to stand against Gilbert, either.
"Thank you again for saving me. Otherwise, Gilbert really would've beaten me to death." Renard thanked him sincerely.
Bennett looked a little surprised, then smiled kindly. "Protecting Young Master is my responsibility."
Bennett wasn't much of a talker, and he soon steered the conversation toward money. He walked into the room, took four cards from inside his robe, and respectfully set them on the table. "These are worth forty gold coins. Take them, Young Master."
Forty gold coins? Renard stared at the cards on the table, searching his memories for anything related to them. It took him a while to figure out that they were Magic Crystal Cards issued by the royal bank of the Kingdom of Arthur, much like checks in his previous life.
Magic Crystal Cards were extremely rare in the Barren Land. The region was desolate, trade was poor, and there were few bank branches. Scum Renard had only ever seen them twice.
Each Magic Crystal Card before him was marked with the number ten, meaning each one was worth ten gold coins.
Renard swallowed. He really wanted to take the cards, but after thinking it over, he shook his head. "I can't take your money."
As he searched his memories for information about Magic Crystal Cards, he'd come across some unpleasant scenes. Scum Renard had borrowed money from Bennett more than once, and the total had amounted to at least dozens of gold coins. It was all money Bennett had painstakingly saved for his old age.
Bennett didn't know how to refuse. Or perhaps he'd already come to see Scum Renard as family, someone younger than him, and gave to him selflessly.
Renard had to summon all his resolve to make that decision. The money would've been enough to let him do a lot of things, and he wouldn't have had to worry about money for at least two years. But could he really accept it with a clear conscience?
Perhaps Bennett could see what he was thinking. He smiled and said, "This isn't my money. The lord asked me to give it to you."
"My father gave it to me?" Renard looked startled. By the time he came to his senses, Bennett had already vanished from sight.
The old man's ghostly movements sent a chill down Renard's spine. If the four Magic Crystal Cards hadn't been on the table, he would've thought he'd just seen a ghost.
Renard pinched the bridge of his nose, his memories in turmoil. What was the old man up to?
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