Saint Brieuc Fortress covered less than a hundred hectares and had a permanent population of just over two thousand. It was tiny—nowhere near as large as the towns of tens of thousands of people he remembered from his previous life.
Its small area, sparse population, and remote, backward location meant there were no entertainment facilities at all.
Gilbert had just returned from the bustling royal capital. His only amusement was probably sparring with the handful of capable guards in the territory.
Though they called it sparring, his real aim was to build relationships and lay the groundwork for claiming the position of heir.
How could those simple, honest men see his true intentions? They only thought this bastard son was good-tempered and good-natured—in fact, good in every way. He was a thousand times better than Renard.
If only young master Gilbert could become the lord!
That was what the few guard captains thought, and it was also what every resident of Saint Brieuc Fortress thought.
Renard either didn't know what others thought or simply didn't care. He sauntered over to the edge of the training ground and looked up. Several guards were leaning on the wooden railing, watching the spectacle and occasionally cheering.
Following their gaze to the center of the training ground, he saw two figures locked in a fierce fight.
One was Wilson, captain of the Saint Brieuc Fortress guard. His position was somewhat like that of a police chief in Renard's previous life, responsible for maintaining order throughout the territory.
The other was naturally Scum Renard's old nemesis, the tall, handsome young man, Gilbert.
Wilson had already reached the strength of a Beginner Qi Warrior. Gilbert could fight him without losing, not because he had reached the same level, but because Wilson was deliberately holding back.
Still, judging purely by their moves, the two were evenly matched.
After exchanging dozens of blows, they abruptly separated, then launched into an extremely sickening round of mutual compliments.
"Mr. Wilson, you're incredible. Even my martial arts instructor isn't as good as you."
"You've improved again, young master Gilbert. It probably won't be long before you reach the ranks of an Intermediate Warrior."
The guards around them were full of praise as well, and they clearly meant every word.
A cold smile curled Renard's lips. He clapped with all his might, though his rhythm was decidedly unusual.
Everyone was still caught up in the excitement of the fight when the grating sound of his applause suddenly jolted them back to reality. Frowning in annoyance, they turned toward the noise—and their expressions instantly became priceless.
Renard swayed his way over to the railing and leaned both arms on it, paying no attention to the strange looks around him.
In a casual tone, he greeted them. "My dear little brother, why didn't you tell me you were coming back? If someone hadn't happened to mention your name, I would have thought you'd died out there."
His words dripped with hostility, a clear sign that a clash was about to erupt.
The guards exchanged glances, then scattered like startled birds. Their panicked haste made it clear they wanted no part in a quarrel between two noble young masters.
Captain Wilson looked equally uncomfortable. He studied Renard, then Gilbert, and after a long struggle, said apologetically, "Young master Renard, young master Gilbert, I have some matters to attend to, so I'll leave you two to it."
With that, he strode out of the training ground.
Renard shrugged indifferently and didn't even look at him, keeping his eyes on Gilbert.
Gilbert ignored Wilson as well, staring fixedly at Renard.
The two stared at each other for a full five minutes, then both broke into smiles, like old friends who hadn't seen each other in years.
Gilbert opened his arms and walked toward Renard, his face alight with joy. "My dear elder brother, forgive me for not coming to see you. I heard you were injured and needed to rest, so I didn't want to disturb you."
Renard opened his arms too and embraced him without hesitation.
As their bodies crossed, the smile vanished from his face. In a voice full of killing intent, he said, "My dear little brother, you shouldn't have come back. If you'd stayed quietly in the royal capital, I might not have been able to touch you. But here in Saint Brieuc Fortress, you'll find it hard to escape."
Gilbert's expression changed abruptly at those words. A chill ran down his spine. His arms stiffly pushed Renard away, but Renard was still smiling, as if those murderous words hadn't come from him at all.
Gilbert took two steps back and silently studied Renard. The other man seemed different, especially his eyes. They appeared more composed, with all his malice and ruthlessness hidden deep within them.
He felt he'd seen that look somewhere before. That was right—in the mirror.
Scum Renard had been a thoroughgoing hoodlum and spoiled brat, while gamer Renard had been a scheming shut-in with an IQ of 150. The new personality formed by combining the two would give plenty of people a headache.
Gilbert was one of them. The man before him felt like a stranger. The old Renard had been ruthless and vicious, an unabashed villain; this one was undoubtedly a hypocrite just like himself.
The more he thought about it, the stiffer his smile became.
Renard asked with a cold laugh, "You got an 'Excellent' on your end-of-year assessment?"
Gilbert frowned. He wasn't used to Renard's condescending tone, but soon let it go and nodded openly.
His expression showed undisguised arrogance. He had every right to be proud: achieving that result at fifteen was truly remarkable in a backwater like the Barren Land.
Renard paid no heed to his childish attitude. He vaulted over the railing and stood face-to-face with him. "Fight me. I want to see what you learned at Arthur Academy. I hope Father's efforts weren't wasted."
"Fight you?" Gilbert seemed to have heard the biggest joke in the world and couldn't help sneering. "My dear elder brother, you think you can beat me with your half-baked swordsmanship?"
His face twisted with contempt. He clearly didn't take Renard seriously.
With outsiders present, Gilbert had needed to play the part of a modest gentleman. Now that they were alone, he naturally bared his fangs. "I don't mean to be cruel, but the one wasting Father's efforts is you, you piece of trash. You're garbage, a disgrace, a parasite..."
By then, his emotions had clearly gotten the better of him, and he was barely able to string his words together.
Renard knew why. Gilbert had gone to Arthur Academy, a third-rate school on the Northern Continent, while Renard himself attended Constantinople Academy, one of the foremost institutions of higher learning on the continent.
The two had been treated worlds apart, for a simple reason: Gilbert was a bastard, while Renard was a legitimate member of the Duncan Family.
Being a bastard was a stain Gilbert could never erase from his life—and the root of the conflict between them.
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