Wilderness Manor

As Renard stepped out of the corridor, the sound of hearty shouts reached his ears. Dozens of martial arts apprentices were earnestly practicing chopping motions with wooden staffs.

The youngest apprentices were only seven or eight years old, while the oldest were twelve or thirteen. Judging by their clothing, they all came from affluent families.

Watching them diligently practice their swordsmanship, Renard couldn't help but sigh. Even if they practiced martial arts day and night now, how many of them would truly walk the path of a warrior in the future?

Sir Howard sat on a stone stump, instructing the apprentices as usual, though his expression was somewhat grim, as if he'd found a rat dropping in his breakfast.

The apprentices seemed to sense his foul mood and were exceptionally cautious, leaving him no room to find fault and discipline them.

Unable to vent his frustration, Sir Howard felt stifled. He could only nitpick, constantly increasing the difficulty of their training while muttering curses to himself, trying to release his inner grievances.

His emotions were clearly unstable. Renard felt a chill run down his spine as he watched Sir Howard occasionally strike an apprentice with a wooden staff for improper form. He inwardly thought, Perhaps today really isn't a good time to visit.

He slowly retracted the foot he had stepped forward. But it was too late to retreat. Sir Howard turned and noticed his figure. Although the knight's skills were far from what they used to be, his eyesight was still sharp. "When did you get here?"

Renard coughed lightly at the question and then, steeling himself, walked towards Sir Howard with a stiff smile. "I just arrived. I saw you were busy training the apprentices and intended to leave quietly, but I didn't expect to disturb you."

Sir Howard nodded expressionlessly. Combined with the centipede-like scar on his face, he exuded an aura of imposing authority without needing to show anger.

He took a long drag from his cigar, finishing it off, then downed an entire bottle of strong vodka. He sneered, "You don't need to be afraid. I'm in a very good mood today. After all, the family has gained a new member."

In a good mood? I'd believe that if pigs could fly!

Renard shook his head inwardly. If he were truly in a good mood, he'd be holding a cup of vanilla milk tea, not chugging down liquor strong enough to choke a horse, and his lips would be curved in a gentle smile.

Sir Howard waved the trembling apprentices away. Before Renard could refuse, he turned and walked towards the reception hall, saying, "I haven't left this place in two years. Tell me about the outside world."

The reception hall was the most dated building in the inn. It had two floors: the ground floor was a living room, and the second floor was an exhibition hall displaying Sir Howard's lifelong collection, mostly consisting of armor, weapons, and specimens of hunted monsters.

Pushing open the old oak door, streaks of sunlight pierced through, illuminating the somewhat dim living room. Dust motes danced visibly in the air, swirling and rising before settling back to the ground, becoming the most inconspicuous specks of dust.

In the center of the living room stood a long oak table that appeared to be very old, yet its surface glaze remained bright. Eight chairs were placed on each side. The large oak chair at the north end was Sir Howard's seat.

Perhaps it had been a long time since he had received any visitors, as the reception hall was filled with an air of decay. A thick layer of dust covered the floor. Sir Howard opened his mouth and complained, "It's been a long time since anyone came to see this old man."

After speaking, he sat down in his chair with some effort, looking as if he might fade into eternal night at any moment.

Renard took a seat to his left and asked, "Don't other students visit you usually?"

Sir Howard's expression stiffened for a moment, then he shook his head helplessly. "They're either dead or too busy making a living. Who has the time to care about an old man like me?"

The atmosphere in the reception hall became heavy after his words.

After a long while, a drawn-out sigh broke the silence. Sir Howard fixed his gaze on Renard and asked softly, "Is Hamilton doing well?"

"My father is very well," Renard shrugged. "He thinks of you often, but there's a lot of trivial matters in the territory. He'll visit you if he has the time."

Sir Howard tilted his head noncommittally and asked again, "What about Staff? How is he?"

Staff was the captain of the third guard of Saint Brieuc Fortress, second only to Wilson in strength, having reached the realm of a high-level warrior. However, Staff had his own advantages; he was not yet forty and had plenty of time to spare.

"Staff left the Barren Land two months ago," Renard licked his lips and sighed. "As you know, this poor place can't hold onto people."

He recalled the memory of Staff's departure. Staff had proudly told everyone, "I've joined Viscount Albert Clayton's guard. I'll receive a reply soon, and then I'll be able to leave here."

The rough man had made no attempt to hide his pride, not even considering others' feelings.

Of course, there was no need to consider them. After all, he would soon be part of the Clayton Family.

It was a powerful family with one Marquis, two Earls, six Viscounts, and over twenty Barons. Their fiefdom was located in the extremely prosperous Cabbage County.

Although their name wasn't as renowned as the Duncan Family, their coffers were much fuller than those of the Duncan Family members.

This was because Cabbage County bordered the Province of Roses, the kingdom's administrative center. The lords there were incredibly wealthy, far beyond what Saint Brieuc Fortress could compare to.

"Left?" Sir Howard's face showed a hint of loneliness. "He was my most promising apprentice."

Renard knew that Sir Howard had once intended Staff to be his son-in-law, but alas, people seek higher ground, and water flows downhill.

Fortunately, Sir Howard was not an overly sentimental person. He quickly recovered from his disappointment and asked again, "Andrew, he..."

"He's dead," Renard interrupted before Sir Howard could finish. "He said his family pulled some strings, and he wanted to find a way out in the military."

Andrew was a childhood companion of Renard, or perhaps a lackey. His family had been farmers for two generations. What connections could he possibly have? If he had any backing, it was only the bit of swordsmanship he learned from Sir Howard.

Renard took a deep breath and continued, "Two years ago, Andrew left Saint Brieuc Fortress to go on an adventure. Less than two months later, his family received the news of his death. It seems he was killed by a bear goblin."

Bear goblins were a product of the goblins reverting to their ancestral traits. They were not very strong; four or five robust ordinary men could handle them. It was rather ironic that Andrew died at their hands.

Sir Howard opened his mouth and, after a long pause, let out a dejected sigh. The sound pierced Renard's heart, suddenly giving him the illusion of a hero's twilight.

They sat in silence, the quiet atmosphere gradually making Renard lose interest in conversation. He got straight to the point. "I came today to say goodbye."

"I know," Sir Howard showed no surprise. "You just said that this poor place can't hold onto people."