After cleaning up the battlefield, Renard rode his fine horse around the area twice. Once he'd confirmed that nothing valuable had been left behind, he pulled on the reins again and headed northwest.
As he galloped along, he took a moment to open the system's quest screen and glance over it. The quest to slaughter goblins was only twenty-two percent complete.
Renard's mouth twitched, and his good mood vanished at once.
He swung his whip faster. Along the way, he caught up with a few goblins and cut them down with a casual swing. "Twenty-three percent, twenty-four percent..."
His horse raced on. Despite a few delays along the way, he still reached his destination at noon.
As far as the eye could see, the area was deserted. The only signs of life were a few inns built from shabby planks and stone, where passing merchants could rest. The buildings looked rather run-down, and seemed to have been standing for decades.
The place was barely three to five miles from the Ambrisset Mountains—in fact, it stood right at their foot. The innkeeper must have been no pushover to make a living in such a dangerous place.
And indeed, he wasn't. Sworded Lord Howard Garden was a renowned bounty hunter in the Barren Land, and had earned many prestigious titles, including "Blue Spider Hunter," "Ogre Hunter," "Troll Hunter," and "Scythe Demon Hunter."
When the Demon Disaster broke out more than twenty years ago, he slew dozens of Demon Slayer Archers single-handedly, earning the favor of the Kingdom Military Department. Later, his outstanding service in battle won him the title of lord.
Demon Slayer Archers were exceptionally brutal demons from the abyss, famed for their cunning and speed. During the Demon Disaster, many lords fell victim to their assassinations.
To hunt Demon Slayer Archers, one needed at least the strength of a Battle Qi Warrior and considerable skill in martial arts—not to mention mastery of exceptional archery.
Anyone capable of hunting dozens of Demon Slayer Archers could rank among the top hundred warriors in the Barren Land.
But even the strongest warriors could have terrible luck. On one mission to clear out a lesser demon's lair, Sir Howard ran into several Scythe Demons. They fought a bloody battle, and the demons only managed to escape with their lives by making a desperate sacrifice.
Having lost his sword hand, Howard's strength had plummeted. He had no choice but to retire from the army and leave the bounty-hunting world behind.
Sir Howard returned to his hometown, Saint Brieuc Fortress. With the wealth he'd accumulated over half a lifetime, he built this inn, took on apprentices to teach them martial arts, and settled into a simple, peaceful life.
His first half of life had been marked by the valor of giving his life for his country on the battlefield, and by the tragedy of having no need to return home wrapped in a horsehide shroud.
Renard was still thinking about this when he reached the inn's entrance.
Wilderness Manor? The shabby sign only just made out the words, but the name suited the place well enough.
He tossed his horse's reins to a stable hand and stepped inside. A stench of decay mixed with cheap tobacco and liquor instantly hit him in the face.
The inn wasn't very large. There were only eight tables in the front room, but plenty of customers—at least fifty or sixty. They kept a cautious distance from one another, drinking while staying on guard.
This was the last place to rest before entering the Ambrisset Mountains. Whether they were adventurers about to head in or ones who had just come out, they all chose to dull their nerves with alcohol here.
The inn also had its fair share of merchants, though they were all small-time traders. They came to buy goods from adventurers and resell them in other cities, earning a profit of forty or fifty percent on each round trip.
Hardly anyone here knew Renard. Adventurers were the sort who might not live to see tomorrow, so who would bother caring about anyone else?
But there were always exceptions. Not long after he entered, someone recognized him. "Renard, you're here."
The speaker was a gaunt, middle-aged man who looked to be somewhere in his fifties or sixties. His face was weathered, with a hint of plainness about him. He held a rag and a tray, dressed just like an inn's serving boy.
But anyone who treated him like an ordinary serving boy would pay dearly for it. Renard gave a slight bow and greeted him respectfully. "Good afternoon, Mr. Eckert."
Eckert Winter, a Professional Thief, Sir Howard's close friend, and a High-level Warrior.
Thieves weren't petty pickpockets and bandits. They were professionals, like swordsmen or archers, and often scouted the terrain and gathered information during adventures—in simple terms, they were scouts.
"Here to see Howard? You've picked a bad time." Eckert set down the tray and wiped his hands on his rough clothes. Then, in a friendly warning, he said, "There's a happy occasion today, but he's not in a good mood. Be careful what you say."
A happy occasion? Renard pondered for a moment, then gave a helpless smile. "Lady Isa had another adorable little girl?"
"Yep, the fourth one." Eckert took a deep breath and said with certainty, "He's just not meant to have a son."
Renard nearly burst out laughing. Unable to resist teasing him, he said, "If one of them could use her beauty to win the heart of some Kingdom Aristocrat, Teacher Howard could leave this godforsaken Barren Land."
Of course, it was only a joke. There was no chance of it ever coming true.
Those high-and-mighty figures would never come to this backwater. And even if they did, they wouldn't take a fancy to some country bumpkin. Stories of princes and Cinderella simply didn't happen.
Even if some important figure did take a liking to Sir Howard's daughter, she would probably end up as his mistress. Given Teacher Howard's temperament, he would never stand for such an insult.
Since Renard had things to do, the two chatted for a while before he took his leave and headed toward the backyard.
The inn's backyard was a mess, with the stink of horse manure filling the air. The servants were rushed off their feet, but whenever he passed, they bowed their heads nervously, no matter how busy they were. It showed just how deeply ingrained the Kingdom of Arthur's class system was.
Renard paid them no mind. He was afraid he'd throw up his breakfast if he opened his mouth, while the servants naturally took his silence for the proper bearing of a noble.
He hurried across the cluttered yard. Once he was far enough away, he took a deep breath.
Scum Renard had been spoiled since childhood and rarely set foot in places like this. And when Renard the shut-in was at home, he kept the place spotless. He couldn't stand a smell this disgusting.
Drawing on Scum Renard's memories, he passed through the narrow passage between two walls and came upon a spacious training ground.
Calling it a training ground was generous. It was just a patch of packed earth surrounded by a simple wooden fence, with a stone block at the far end. Sir Howard liked to sit there and drink tea while overseeing his apprentices' training.
When he was in a good mood, he would even teach the apprentices advanced fighting techniques. Most of the time, though, he only explained them verbally, since he was no longer the spirited bounty hunter he had once been.
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