No Way Back

After carefully surveying the surroundings, Roger found quite a few traces of man-dug ditches and ponds on the flat beach. Most had been washed away by the rolling tides.

Beside the salt-making workshop stood a pit pond, presumably used to store the brine after it had been sun-dried.

The sun was at its fiercest now, and Roger had no desire to bake beneath it. He raised a hand and pointed at the low, sealed stone hut. "Ponytail, smash open the broken lock on that stone house. We'll lock those three captives inside later."

Ponytail drew an axe from his waist and was about to smash the lock.

"Young master, don't smash it. That lock can't lock anything anyway—I'll just take it off." Little Horseherd hurried over to stop him.

Roger nodded. "Ponytail, go to the ship and have Baldhead and the others escort the captives down. Bring down the oil lamps, felt blankets, and everything else from the ship too."

"Little Horseherd, clean up that grass shack later. Everyone will stay there tonight." Roger had taken a liking to the outermost shack, where one could watch the sea in every direction without a single blind spot. Inside were only a long table pieced together from planks and several benches built from wooden stakes.

The two answered and went about their tasks. Roger, meanwhile, walked into the most spacious grass shack in the middle and curiously examined the salt-boiling workshop.

Several crude earthen stoves stood in a row inside the long shack, their iron pots already removed. The stove rims and surrounding ground were coated in yellowish-brown salt stains, and even the reed-mat curtains were dusted with salt crystals.

In his previous life, many fishermen along the coast had liked to boil salt by crude methods to preserve their catches. Roger had seen such small salt-boiling workshops in coastal fishing villages when he was young.

The process was not particularly complicated. Those workshops also had methods for refining coarse salt, and Roger knew a little about them.

But Roger had no intention of making some grand move like a salt-industry revolution. He had chosen this isolated island solely to find a quiet patch of ground where he could temporarily plant his feet.

Now that he suddenly had money and a seagoing ship, he had begun planning how to gather a group of warriors with no ties or burdens, have them sail south with him, then head eastward back to that distant land.

Yet with the current state of navigation, it seemed impossible to send Roger back to that faraway East.

Besides, it was probably the fourteenth century now. The Northern Song had been gone for nearly two hundred years, and the Southern Song by now seemed to—

Roger suddenly slammed a fist into a wooden pillar of the shack. "Fuck! It's over! The Mongol-Yuan rule now—if I go back, I'll be one of the fourth-class lowly people. Uh... I should count as one of the Semu people, right?"

Although being transported to a godforsaken place like Scotland, poor as a church mouse, was nothing less than a heaven-collapsing opening.

This chaotic age was actually quite suited to a desperado like him.

See? He had only been here a short while, yet by relying on a fearless, life-risking attitude, he had at least scraped together some capital to stay alive.

If worse came to worst, he could pick up his old trade in smuggling. Could a living man really let himself be choked to death by piss?

It's not bad here either. Marry some big-breasted, brainless broad and become a carefree little rich man. As Roger thought this, a rare smile surfaced on his face.

The next day.

In the clean and tidy sitting room on the first floor of Milkhouse Manor, Roger reclined in a lounge chair, holding a cup of refreshing Welltown ale in his right hand as he comfortably drove away the summer heat.

Louis sat on a low stool beside the chair. The boy was only fourteen, the most honest and dutiful son of Knight Colin. Yet he was naturally intelligent and gifted at learning, and was currently studying Latin and theology at Brodick Church.

Roger had a rather favorable impression of this adoptive younger brother. When he had been badly wounded and bedridden last month, aside from his adoptive mother, this younger brother had been the only one to come up to the attic from time to time to visit him.

"...Those are all lowborn rabble. How can you spend every day mixing around with them? Your father and uncles will be back soon. You've caused such a huge mess again this time—who knows what harsh punishment you'll receive? Why can't you stay honestly at the manor?"

"I heard you even captured several pirates and imprisoned them on Holy Island. Hurry and have someone send them to Brodick Castle. Those pirates are no good. What if they hurt you again?"

"God, my son, can't you give me some peace of mind? Your brother is about to formally become a knight and marry..."

With a mouthful of ale down his throat, the endless nagging of his adoptive mother beside him seemed completely shut out. Roger picked up the clay jug that had been chilling in well water all morning, filled his cup again, then quietly passed it to Louis beside him.

Louis accepted the ale and swallowed, but his eyes darted toward the woman across from him.

"Roger, have you been listening to me at all?" His adoptive mother's voice had already taken on a note of anger.

Roger coaxed the boy beside him into gulping down the entire cup of ale, then flashed his adoptive mother a shameless rogue's grin. "What did you just say?"

His adoptive mother looked displeased. "I said that once your brother takes a wife, I'll immediately find you a noble girl to marry. With a woman keeping you in line, you won't run wild and commit all manner of mischief every day."

Roger had had plenty of women in his previous life, but he had never considered marriage. Naturally, he had no desire to accept such shackles in this life either. He waved a hand. "There are women everywhere outside. I'm not lacking any."

Roger rose to leave after saying this. His main purpose in returning this time had been to bring the weapons and armor seized from the ship back to the manor for the blacksmith and tailor to try repairing, while also checking on Blackhide Dog's injuries.

That thug had proved remarkably tenacious. His vital signs had basically stabilized.

His adoptive mother stopped him at once. "You've only just come back. What are you going to do now?"

"I'm going to the kitchen. The fermented bread the fat cook sent over yesterday was said by the lads to be delicious. I'm taking some more to Holy Island."

His adoptive mother's anger flared to the heavens. "You're still going to that isolated island to mingle with those lowborn rabble?"

Roger was displeased by those words as well. "Mother, you may see me as the second son of a noble family, but in outsiders' eyes, my reputation may be worse than those lowborn rabble."

"If those lowborn rabble hadn't helped me this time, your son would already have been chopped to pieces by pirates."

With that, Roger went around his adoptive mother and headed straight for the kitchen in the rear courtyard, utterly ignoring the sobbing in the sitting room.

After entering the kitchen, he instructed the fat cook to prepare a large bag of fermented bread and a basket of fruit, vegetables, and cheese. Then he summoned Little Horseherd Igo, had him fetch felt blankets and several changes of close-fitting clothes from the attic bedroom, and led Little Horseherd out of the manor residence carrying the large bundles.

"Roger, you absolutely must not cause trouble again. Your father and the others will be back soon..." His adoptive mother's tearful cry came from within the residence.

They'd better not come back. Roger muttered inwardly, quickening his pace toward the coast east of the manor.

A small rowboat rented from Lamlash Village was moored there.

Young Master Roger was a wealthy man now and spent generously. The fishermen were more than happy to rent their idle little fishing boats to him.