Tradition

Renard rode his fine horse out of Saint Brieuc Fortress and headed straight northwest. The north wind howled as he gasped for breath, the bone-chilling cold nearly freezing his lungs.

Two miles from Saint Brieuc Fortress, he stopped to rest for a moment and gazed around blankly. All he saw was desolation. Looking back, the muddy road had long since disappeared, and the gray, dilapidated fortress had faded to a blurry outline.

He felt no reluctance or melancholy at leaving. He was like a mere passerby. Perhaps many people would cheer at my departure, Renard thought with a bitter smile.

Of course, before bidding farewell to the Barren Land for good, there was one person he still needed to visit: the martial arts mentor who had introduced Scum Renard to the craft.

As the saying went, even Qin Hui had three friends. The previous Renard might have been scum, but he, too, had someone he respected. That person was Sir Howard.

A man who had earned his title through his own strength, someone who fit the image of a hero from a chivalric novel.

Renard tugged the reins and headed northwest. His powerful horse tore through the dense fog, and the icy wind lifted his brown hair, revealing a face that still looked somewhat youthful.

A strange smile curled his lips as he sneered inwardly, Constantinople Academy, I'll be back soon. I hope I can give everyone a surprise.

Winters in the Barren Land were dry and cold, especially after heavy snowfall.

But that did nothing to dampen adventurers' enthusiasm for earning gold. Renard rode on and soon spotted three adventuring parties returning with their spoils.

The Barren Land covered a vast area but was sparsely populated. Across its fifty thousand square kilometers were hundreds of towns, yet its total population was less than six hundred thousand. If not for the thousands of adventurers and criminals who came here every day to make a living, the Barren Land would have become completely deserted in less than ten years.

Renard spotted a familiar face among one of the adventuring parties, and the other person noticed him as well. They exchanged greetings. "Young Master Renard, are you heading out to hunt?"

The adventuring party called themselves the Twin Swords Mercenary Squad. Their captain was a Beginner Swordsman skilled with two swords. Although they called themselves mercenaries, in truth they were all thugs and unemployed adventurers. They weren't even registered with the Mercenary Guild.

For commoners like them, who struggled every day just to get by, the annual membership fee of ten silver coins was an astronomical sum.

Of course, pretending to be a mercenary wasn't illegal. It wasn't exactly a prestigious profession, after all, and eighty percent of those who called themselves mercenaries were fakes.

The man spoke with great deference, but Renard replied indifferently, "Yes. This is the perfect season for hunting."

He certainly wasn't going to tell them the truth, and hunting made a convenient excuse.

The man looked enlightened and asked respectfully, "Young Master Renard, do you know when Baron Hamilton will hold the winter hunt? The lads are really short on money right now, and all the little ones at home are waiting for it."

The winter hunt? Renard lazily raised his eyelids, pretending to think it over.

The winter hunt was the biggest festival in the Barren Land. Put simply, it was a competition centered on hunting monsters. Anyone could sign up, young or old, and the prizes were fairly generous.

However, since it was an extremely dangerous event, most participants were adventurers and mercenaries who lived by the sword. Ordinary people could only come and watch.

The tradition of the winter hunt began under the Olehols Dynasty and had continued in the Barren Land for hundreds of years. At first, its purpose had been to reduce the number of monsters and maintain public order in the region.

After all, winters here were brutal. Humans could get through them with stored food, but natives such as kobolds and goblins had to survive by raiding.

So every winter, bands of forest raiders would pour out of the Ambrisset Mountains and attack the nearby towns. They didn't cause too much damage to the territory, but they were still a major headache for the local lords.

For their own benefit, the noble lords had therefore organized hunts, which had gradually become a tradition over time.

But the hunts weren't very effective. Monsters bred at an astonishing rate, and facing such troublesome foes, many lords could only let them be. After all, the damage caused by kobold and goblin raiders was far less than the cost of holding a winter hunt.

Saint Brieuc Fortress, however, was different from other cities. It lay just over thirty miles from the Ambrisset Mountains, so if the raiders came looking for plunder, it would be the first place they struck.

For the stability of the territory and the safety of its people—or so his father, Baron Hamilton, always said—Saint Brieuc Fortress held a winter hunt every year, aiming to cripple and frighten the raiders before they arrived.

In the early years of the kingdom, two regular cavalry regiments had been stationed in the Barren Land to keep the border stable. Although the regiments had been so badly understrength that they were down to only a few hundred men, they had still brought the region a long period of peace. Unfortunately, they had eventually been withdrawn.

The Kingdom Military Department had realized that the Barren Land was a godforsaken place that nobody wanted. Keeping two cavalry regiments there was an enormous waste.

This had given Renard's grandfather a headache for quite some time. The combat power of cavalry was truly astonishing; at least while they were stationed there, Saint Brieuc Fortress had never been attacked by monsters.

If only the Duncan Family could raise its own cavalry, even if it was just twenty or thirty riders.

Renard knew the idea was a little ridiculous. Baron Hamilton was already fretting over the wages of a few dozen subordinates. How could he possibly afford cavalry?

Even the most poorly equipped light cavalry would cost dozens of silver coins, and strong warhorses were exorbitantly expensive. Given the Duncan Family's current finances, ten horses was already the limit.

That was because forming a cavalry force required more than just buying horses and equipment. Equipment maintenance, horse feed, and the cavalrymen's wages would all be difficult to manage afterward.

If they really raised two cavalry units, Baron Hamilton would probably be out begging on the street with a bowl in hand within two or three years.

At the thought of it, Renard nearly burst out laughing. Then he noticed the adventurers watching him expectantly. After giving it some thought, he said, "Go into town and have a look. Maybe they've already put up a notice."

The adventurers were overjoyed and immediately set off to check. Before leaving, they remembered to bow humbly. "May your journey be safe, Young Master Renard."

With that, they hurried toward Saint Brieuc Fortress and soon disappeared into the wilderness.

Renard shook his head with a bitter smile and murmured, "The old man's going to have a headache."

But that had nothing to do with him—not for the time being, at least. Once he returned after completing his studies, he might fulfill his duty as the territory's heir. That was, provided Gilbert, the illegitimate son, didn't come looking for trouble.